#and like. the entire time i was there the WHOLE TIME

[smileysuh]

eat it

🌙 starring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. “I mean, what if we make a deal? For every ‘A’ you get on these three tests in November, I’ll eat you out till you’re begging me to stop. And in December, if you pass your physics final with a grade above eighty-six percent, I’ll fuck your brains out.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, pussy eating, foreplay, face grinding, dry humping, breast worship, fingering, squirting, dirty talk, using sex as inspiration to study, no nut november, blue balls, dirty talk, praise, multiple little sex scenes, big dick Jaehyun, slight phone sex, mentions of masturbation, teasing, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 4.5k

🍭 aus. Uni au, fuck buddies to lovers, no nut november, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. Short but sweet :) was missing Jae

One:

Jaehyun can tell something is off with you, and despite you being someone he holds at a distance with the label ‘fuck buddy,’ he actually cares about what’s going on in your head, especially when it’s clearly taking away from your enjoyment of him.

He’s not the type to bring something up mid fuck session, but when you both finish, he takes the opportunity to address it.

“You seemed distant today,” he notes.

You release a deep sigh. “November is coming up, I’ve got three big tests and then finals in December, and I’m just… I’m feeling overwhelmed.”

The two of you had decided to keep a purely physical relationship with the idea of focusing on school. You both feel as if you’re too busy with your studies to put as much effort into dating as you’d like, so you’d come to an agreement to fuck whenever you’re both needing it, and keep other things as surface-level as possible.

Despite this arrangement, Jaehyun knows he would be the biggest asshole ever if he didn’t act as at least a friend to you. He has massive emotional walls that he keeps fortified, but there’s no harm in checking in with you. Besides, stress relief is a cornerstone of your relationship, and if his cock couldn’t dristract you from the issues in your life right now, maybe being an avid listener can. 

“What class?” he enquires.

“Fucking physics,” you groan, falling back against your bed and covering your face with a pillow.

There’s a reason Jaehyun had chosen Marine Biology instead of a more mathematics-based science when he got to university. Hell, the intro to physics class in first year had nearly killed him, so he understands where you’re coming from. 

“Well…” Jaehyun swallows thickly. “My frat is doing the whole ‘No Nut November’ bullshit, and we both know I don’t like to lose… but just because I can’t fuck you to destress you, doesn’t mean I can’t eat you out and make you cum as a reward for doing well in classes.”

“Huh?”

Jaehyun laughs, shaking his head. “I mean, what if we make a deal? For every ‘A’ you get on these three tests in November, I’ll eat you out till you’re begging me to stop. And in December, if you pass your physics final with a grade above eighty-six percent, I’ll fuck your brains out.”

You stare at him, the cogs of your mind working clearly behind your inquisitive eyes. “What if we agree on an above eighty average instead of eighty-six?”

“Nah, has to be eighty-six, what kind of floozy do you think I am?” Jaehyun jokes.

“Uh… the kind that just dicked me down without me needing an eighty-six average?”

Two:

It’s November, and while the idea of using Jaehyun as encouragement to study had seemed like a good plan to begin with, you find yourself distracted by the notion of him. Numbers and calculations give way to thoughts about the frat boy studying marine biology, and after struggling with it for an hour, you give yourself a breather to unpack everything.

You and Jaehyun have had an on-again off-again fuck buddy relationship for a little over a year now, and in that period, you’ve fucked only a handful times. With Jaehyun, things are strictly business. There’s not much foreplay, not much chit-chatting- it’s entirely about you both getting your rocks off as stress relief, then going your separate ways.

There’s a part of you that’s always thought extensive foreplay is less of a fuck buddy type of deal, and more of a budding relationship experience, which is why it’s generally been off-limits.

Having a man’s dick in you is one thing, having his mouth on your pussy while he’s neglected, looking up at you and doing his best to make you cum without any pleasure for himself- well, that’s something else entirely.

Neither you nor Jaehyun like to be selfish in this arrangement you have, it’s always a mutually beneficial interaction.

But… if you let him eat you out for doing well in physics… if he doesn’t get to cum or be touched at all… then that’s you being selfish, and the flip side is, he’s being selfless with you. 

Selfless has never been a word you connect to the idea of fuck buddies- and sure, some men love eating out women, some men get super turned on from that, but… you worry you’ll just be blue-ballsing the poor man. 

You never want to blue-ball Jaehyun. Despite your relationship being surface level - except for when he’s buried in your guts - you care about him. And you think it’s this care that has made you put up walls.

You’d agreed when you’d met that neither of you wanted a relationship. You wanted easy sex when it was convenient to you both. No strings attached, no emotions, no foreplay- although, that last caveat was never something verbally agreed to or discussed, moreso of an offshoot of the entire arrangement. 

In an odd way, letting Jaehyun eat you out while he gets nothing in return will be a new stepping stone for your dynamic, and you’re not quite sure where the path it creates might lead. 

Three:

You open your door with a grin, holding your most recent test in your hand. Before you can even tell Jaehyun the good news about your eighty-six percent - on the dot, mind you - score, he’s grabbing you and pressing his lips to yours.

A laugh tumbles out of you as you drag him into your apartment, kissing him back eagerly while the door shuts.

He feels so good, and your body immediately reacts to him, your nipples pushing up against the fabric of your thin night shirt. Jaehyun notices, because his hand comes up to cup your breast, his thumb brushing against the bud and making you moan.

When his lips move to your throat, you take the opportunity to speak. “You don’t even know what score I got on my test.”

“You wouldn’t have called me over if you didn’t get an eighty-six or above,” he notes, breath hot against your neck as he licks at your sweet spot.

“What if I brought you here to beg, to plead for that eighty average to be acceptable?” you tease.

“Begging is really not your style,” he insists, his hands moving down to your sleeping shorts to roughly tug them down.

“Looks like I won’t have to beg for this, though.”

“A deal is a deal,” Jaehyun tells you in the most earnest tone, and it makes you giggle.

“Let’s go to my bedroom.”

“No, I’m eating you out here.”

A moment later, he’s lifting you, setting you onto your kitchen island. The cold surface feels good against your hot skin, and it’s hard to breathe properly as Jaehyun pushes your thighs open.

“Lay down,” he instructs, “and let me give you your reward.”

Four:

“So… This time, I got a ninety,” you tell Jaehyun, holding your phone close to your chest so he can hear you clearly as you meander around your apartment.

“Well, look at you go.”

You can hear the smile in his voice, and it has your body tingling with excitement. “When can you come over?”

“Just finishing up a few things,” Jaehyun explains. “How about nineish?”

“But that’s a whole four hours away!” you groan.

“Somebody is eager.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I was sitting in class and taking the test and all I could think about was your mouth.”

“Yeah?”

“Was getting so wet while doing fucking physics calculations- thinking about your tongue, and the way you hold me down when I cum. You’re a guy who just knows how to eat it, and it’s kind of making me go crazy.”

“Did I mention I’m at the gym right now?” Jaehyun asks, releasing a choked cough.

You grin, moving to sit on your couch. “Gonna sport a stiffy while doing bench presses, Jae?” 

“Pretty close to that, yeah.”

“All I’m saying is- you could be a great tutor, if you gave out sexual favours to all the cute girls who need help.”

Jaehyun laughs. “I feel like that would put me on a career trajectory that has nothing to do with marine biology, and I’m not spending all this money every year just to not use my degree.”

“True, true,” you sigh. “Anyways, I guess I’ll be waiting to see you at nineish.”

“Try not to touch yourself before I get there,” Jaehyun warns. “Or it defeats the purpose.” 

Five:

You’d been shocked to discover upon receiving your third test back, that you had somehow managed to score the highest in the entire class. And now, you’re even more shocked to find that Jaehyun has a few cunnilingus tricks up his sleeve that he hadn’t shown you in your first two strictly oral encounters.

His face is buried between your thighs, his lips wrapped around your clit while his fingers are pumping into your wet core. He angles his digits upward, crooking them in a way that has your whole body tingling-

He’d told you he wanted to make you squirt, you know, as a real celebration after your high marks, and at first, you hadn’t quite believed it would happen.

You’ve never squirted, and no man has ever taken the time to work that sort of thing out of you-

Yet here you are, feeling the first few dribbles splooshing out of your core and onto Jaehyun’s fingers.

It’s an intense pressure, but a completely welcomed one, and it makes your entire body tense with pleasure as he continued to finger fuck wetness out of you, his mouth never leaving your clit.

The sounds you’re making are obscene, but you can’t help yourself, can’t bring yourself to care about noise complaints or people hearing you-

You deserve this after scoring so well on your physics test, and you’ll be damned if you tell Jaehyun to stop or slow down.

“Fuck,” Jaehyun groans, pulling away from your clit to look down at you. “That’s it, baby, let it out.”

God, his dirty talk? It’s gotten better- or maybe you were both just not very verbal before, maybe when things were strictly business you were both holding back a lot of talents in the sexual scheme of things.

You release a whimper, more squirt gushing out of you and onto his hand.

“You look so fucking hot like this,” Jaehyun tells you, his mouth returning to your clit.

The past few times, losing yourself to him eating you out had been easy- but this time, you’re aware that finals are looming on the horizon. You’re not going to see Jaehyun for a couple of weeks, and after pleasure like this, you’re not sure you have the patience to wait that long.

You’re also keenly aware that this will be the third time Jaehyun leaves your house with blue-balls, and while he doesn’t make a big deal about it, you still feel bad.

This whole thing has definitely gotten more complicated, and you have the sneaking suspicion that when finals are over, and you finally get to fuck- they’re going to get a whole lot more confusing.

Six:

Jaehyun is about four hours into studying for his marine biology final when your ringtone sounds through his room.

He releases a groan, because sure, you’re a welcome distraction- but the mere thought of you is enough to give him a half chub and about two hours of distracted thoughts.

“Hey,” he sighs, answering his phone and putting it on speaker next to his text book.

“Hey,” you respond. “Studying?”

“Yup, you?”

“Trying to study,” you release a deep breath. “So… No Nut November has been over for a couple of days, how are you feeling?”

Jaehyun groans, putting his head in his hands. “Like I’m about to bust.”

“So come over?”

Jaehyun’s gaze turns to his phone. The temptation is overwhelming- and he can almost imagine how good your wet pussy is going to feel around his cock- how big his load is going to be when he buries it deep inside of you-

“We both know I can’t do that,” he sighs.

“Why not?”

“I told you, I’m not a floozy.” Jaehyun can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at his own words. He kind of enjoys this whole teasing game of not being the guy who puts out unless you do well on tests. He also kind of enjoys it when you release an irritated sigh.

“Be serious,” you insist.

“In all seriousness,” Jaehyun says. “We both know we can’t see each other until after our finals in three days.”

“But three days is so long away! That’s like seventy-two hours from now!” 

“You’re not going to be awake for all seventy-two of those hours though,” Jaehyun grins.

A grumble escapes you. “You know what I mean.”

Jaehyun can feel his cock beginning to rise in his pants, and he knows he has to cut this call short-

“Well, if you’re not going to come be my stress relief, maybe I’ll have to do it myself,” you tell him.

“Huh?”

“I’m rubbing my clit right now, and you wouldn’t believe how fucking wet I am for you. Been thinking about you for hours.”

“Fuck,” Jaehyun groans.

“It would be an awful shame if you didn’t come and fuck me stupid.” 

“I’ve got to go,” the marine biology major says, and it takes every ounce of his determination for the words to leave his lips.

“For a frat boy, you can be such a prude, Jaehyun.”

“I’m just focusing on something we both agreed a year ago. We both said school comes first. We both said grades above sex, and I’m just keeping us both in line with that intention.”

“I’ll try not to be too upset about this, because you’re right, and I hate that you’re right,” you sigh. “Good luck studying, I’ll see you in seventy-two hours.”

You hang up, and Jaehyun lets out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding.

He looks down at his rock hard cock, which is pressing up against the fabric of his sweat pants, and with one last surge of determination, he goes back to his text book. 

Seven:

You finished your final two hours ago, and you’re now just laying on your couch. Your mind is pretty much blank, your body exhausted- and that’s when there’s a knock on your door.

You release a groan, forcing yourself to your feet.

While you know you’re going to see Jaehyun sometime soon, you definitely don’t expect him to be on your doorstep, and you’re at a loss for words as you stare at him.

“How bad was your final, baby, you’ve got a whole ‘thousand yard stare’ going on,” Jaehyun grins.

“You’re here,” you force out, so shocked that you still don’t know what to say.

“I’m here, and even though your final is done, it looks like you need stress relief.”

A tingle rushes through you, and you nod eagerly, pushing your door open wider so he can enter your apartment.

“How- how was your final?” you ask.

“Wasn’t so bad,” he shrugs, “And don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying marine biology is easy, but it’s not physics.” 

“Jae?”

“Uh huh?”

“I’m so exhausted.” The words come out of your mouth and you break a little, your shoulders slumping. “I won’t have results for a couple of weeks and I don’t know if I did well, and I know you have this whole, ‘I’m not a floozy’ running joke thing-”

“Baby, I’m here to fuck you, don’t worry about getting an eighty-six percent, I’m taking care of you right now even if you failed. Do you think you failed?”

“I don’t think so-”

“And you were highest in your whole class on the last test, so let out a breath, shake off the anxiety, and for the first time in two months, let’s just enjoy fucking, okay?”

“Okay.”

You let Jaehyun grab your hand and he leads you to your bedroom. Once there, he begins to kiss you. He cradles you against his chest, and it’s the most passionate lip lock you’ve ever shared with the marine biology major.

His hands stroke your body, and it’s not some quick tearing off of clothes- no, this time, it’s clear he wants to go slow. 

You stroke his muscles, massaging his shoulders through the heavy fabric of his hoodie. The motion makes Jaehyun groan, and he removes the layer, tossing it onto the floor before wrapping you in his arms again.

One of his hands moves to cup your cheek, and he slowly guides you to your bed. He lays you down before getting on top of you. Your thighs wrap around his hips, and you groan at the first amount of pressure on your sleeping short covered core.

The kiss deepens, but it’s not the kind of erratic and eager lip lock, it’s calculated, passionate, and in a way- loving.

Jaehyun cares about you, of that, you are certain. He cares enough to make this experience an act of worship, of self care, to balance out the absolute shit show that was your physics final, and you really appreciate the attention to detail that he’s putting into this.

His hand slips under your shirt, toying with your breast.

You’d been planning on having a nap, so you’re only wearing a shirt and shorts, no underwear or bra, and the sensation of his fingers playing with your nipple is the most relief you’ve had in a week.

You whimper, breaking the kiss to wiggle under him, hoping for more pressure on your pussy.

Jaehyun’s lips move to your throat. “Proud of you,” he whispers. “I’m sure you did well today.”

You don’t even know what to say, all you can do is moan in response, your brain too fried from your exam to think of words.

“Gonna get you naked,” Jaehyun tells you next. “You good with that?”

“Yes, please.”

Jaehyun pulls away, adjusting so he can slip your shorts off. You work on your shirt, and in moments, you’re naked for him. Then, Jaehyun begins to strip, joining you in nudity before getting onto the bed again.

His lips find yours, and his hand slips between your thighs. His fingers tease your clit, making you whimper against his lips.

If this was Jaehyun from three months ago, his cock would already be inside of you, and you’re reminded again that a November full of foreplay has changed your relationship. He’s more caring with you now, and you kind of love it, especially after the day you’ve had.

His digits slip into your pussy, working you open, and his palm continues to put the right amount of pressure on your clit.

His mouth moves to your throat, giving you space to moan and fill the room with sounds of pleasure.

He begins to do the motion he did when he made you squirt, and soon, that pressure in your abdomen is reaching a breaking point. You can feel the small gush as it wets your inner thighs, pleasure consuming you with the release.

Jaehyun descends to your breasts, sucking on your nipple gently before continuing to kiss down- he gets all the way to your pussy, and he pulls out his fingers in favour of licking your slit.

You whimper desperately as he takes position between your thighs, hands massaging the muscles there and keeping you pinned as he eats you out.

When you look down, you notice his eyes are closed. He’s fully immersed in the act of pleasuring you, and it makes everything feel better.

You give in to the sensation, mind going blank, body going numb except for the feeling of intense pressure that’s beginning to build in the pit of your stomach.

His lips suction around your clit, tongue flicking the sensitive bud, and your own hips begin to wiggle. You’re grinding down against his face, breathing hard as your orgasm becomes closer and closer-

There’s a difference between squirting and a clit orgasm, and while squirting had felt really good, this is about to feel even better.

You try not to put pressure on yourself, and that’s something you’ve learned this past month with Jaehyun.

He could stay between your thighs for half an hour and not get upset that you haven’t cum yet- however, you know it won’t take that long.

You give in to the feelings in your body, focusing on the pleasure as it builds and builds-

“Jae,” you whimper. “I’m close!”

He growls against your clit, sucking even harder, and that’s when you explode.

You release a gasp, the tension in your abdomen snapping as your clit begins to throb, sending delicious pleasure surging through your entire form.

Your thighs threaten to close around Jaehyun’s head but he holds you steady, working you through your orgasm.

The feeling of his tongue on your core isn’t one you ever want to give up, and Jaehyun’s the type of man who doesn’t like to lose- no, he continues to eat you out until you’re finished, until you’re pushing at his head, begging for his cock.

“Please, Jae,” you whimper. “I need you so bad.”

“I need you too, baby,” he nods, swallowing thickly as he adjusts on the bed, getting between your thighs again.

He looks down at you as he positions the head of his cock against your pussy. 

There’s a wordless agreement between the two of you as you stare into each other’s eyes, and Jaehyun slowly pushes into you.

You gasp loudly at the stretch, grabbing at his shoulders to steady yourself.

Nothing but fingers have been inside of you for a month, and the stretch is perfect as Jaehyun’s large cock fills up your core.

“Good?” Jaehyun asks with a grin.

“So good!”

His lips find your throat, and he sucks on your sweet spot, making you grip his shoulders even tighter.

Nothing has ever felt this intimate. You’re clinging to Jaehyun like a life line, your hearts trying to push through your pressed ribcages to meet, as if they were always meant to be one.

There are a thousand emotions bubbling up inside of you, but none of them can be vocalized, all you can do is pant in his ear as he lavishes on you, taking away all your stress. 

He begins to fuck you, starting slow as your body adjusts. You can hear him groaning as he licks your sweet spot, the muscles of his shoulders tensing with effort as he holds himself over you.

You get the sneaking suspicion that he’s very much holding back- that this slow build up is torture for the man who hasn’t gotten his cock wet in over a month.

“Let go, Jae,” you whisper, stroking his hair. “Fuck me stupid, you promised you would.”

Jaehyun releases a groan, pulling away from your throat to look down at you. “After all of this, we need to talk.”

“Huh?” your heart sinks in your chest.

“It’s nothing bad,” he’s quick to assure you, obviously having read your scared expression. “Just, fuck- look, I’ve been thinking- this month has proven we can get good marks and also be fucking, be more than fucking- and I just- I was thinking maybe we could try actually dating, if you wanted.” 

“Jae-” your voice cracks.

“You don’t have to answer now-”

“Let’s do it,” you nod. “I want to try that with you.”

“Thank god.” You can practically see the relief in the way he exhales, and then he presses his lips to yours, beginning to fuck you even harder.

You wrap your arms tight around his shoulders, kissing him deeply as he rails you. Your whole bed is shaking with each powerful thrust, and the pleasure of his cock inside of you mixes with the emotional ecstasy that had been triggered by the notion of dating.

You seriously feel like you’re on cloud nine, and it’s such a massive contrast to how you’d felt even an hour ago.

This man can change your entire mood, and you kind of love that. All your stress has melted away, because of his targeted effort to lift you back onto your feet after such a devastating final exam. 

He cares about you, you can feel it in the way his hips move, the way his lips caress your own. You can even hear it in his deep groans, all his inhibitions going out the window as he gives himself to you completely.

There’s also something to be said about fucking missionary.

When you’d first had sex, you’d done it doggy, not wanting to be staring at each other, not wanting to feel too emotionally connected as you looked into each other’s eyes-

So much has changed in the best possible way, the two of you pressed chest to chest, pressed so tight it’s as if you want to consume each other.

You’re connected, like puzzle pieces, and each thrust has Jaehyun hitting a spot deep inside of you that makes you feel so completely whole.

You’re both gasping into your kisses now, the tension rising by the second-

“Fuck, I haven’t cum in so long-” Jaehyun groans, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours.

“Then fill me up, Jae,” you whimper, stroking his hair and strong shoulders. “Give me all of it.”

“Fuck.”  

“I want this,” you tell him. “I want you so bad.”

He lets out a shuddery breath, and then he kisses you, grunting deeply- the last three thrusts are powerful yet erratic, and his entire body shivers as he falls over the edge. You can feel him filling you up, shooting rope upon rope of cum deep into your core.

Your legs wrap tightly around his hips, keeping him buried to the hilt inside of you, and you press kisses along his face, stroking his hair.

His orgasm lasts five or so seconds, and you can tell from the tension in his muscles that it’s an intense one. He all but slumps over you when he finishes, breathing hard against your skin as he buries his face by your throat.

“Fuck.”

“You can say that again,” you laugh. 

Usually, when Jaehyun and you finish up having sex, he immediately goes home and you go to shower, but today, you hold him close, keeping him wrapped in your embrace.

Neither of you say anything as you wait for your hearts to slow down, and you continue to press little kisses along his skin.

“How about we shower then cuddle and watch a movie?” you ask.

“Baby,” Jaehyun releases a small chuckle, “I would love that more than anything.”

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “This is how you inspired me to study when we first started dating,” you point out. “Encourage yourself with pussy. Get some good sucking now, fuck me stupid, and then, use that as fuel to get your studying done.”

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral, blow job, hand job, masturbation, use of toy/vibrator, multiple reader orgasms, sucking Jae off while he studies, multiple sex positions, dirty talk, praise, rough sex,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.5k I teaser wc. 110

🌙 starring. Jaehyun x afab!Reader

bonus

You can tell that Jaehyun is struggling. His end of the year final is coming up, and he’s as anxious as you’ve ever seen him. 

You’ve done your best to support him with studying, but after everything you’ve learned at the start of your relationship last year, you think you might just know the best way to help him focus.

“Jae?” you call, looking at your boyfriend as he studies at the table by your bed. “How’s it coming along?”

He releases a deep sigh. “Not great.”

You approach him, resting against the table. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Probably not,” he groans.

“Are you sure about that?”

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[mariasont]

Sugar, Spice, Spencer's Advice - S.R

everyone expects spencer reid to fall for purely intellectual types, but what they don't know is your ability to remember his rambling lessons and your diligent googled research makes him feel irrationally turned on

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader warnings: established relationship, some suggestive content, brief mention of food-play (non-graphic, discussion only), spencer being protective, fluff af, spencer's negative outlook on sugar/food (super brief), teasing/banter, flustered spence wc: 1.4k request: here!

You’re happily licking at your ice cream cone, eyes soft with uncomplicated happiness, and Spencer thinks he’s becoming entirely too familiar with this feeling. It’s habitual. To observe you is like revisiting his favorite passage in a beloved book, each time discovering nuances he’s missed before.

He’d given in the instant your expression had turned imploring — big, pleading eyes, soft pout — your most effective weapon. Spencer has abandoned all pretense that he can resist your nightly sugar-driven rituals.

He’d pondered briefly the psychological undercurrents of your craving, but each theory usually ends up dissolving when he’s confronted by the smile you give him when he caves.

His attention drifts back just as your feet land on the dashboard. Spencer half-smiles at the sight of those slip-ons, your comfy choice through the entire day of painfully predictable romance movies. He was pretty sure he lost the plot somewhere around hour two — another mistaken identity plot twist, seriously? — but keeping track of said plot wasn’t really the point anyway. 

He’d watch paint dry if it meant hearing you laugh like that, but thankfully you usually pick slightly better entertainment. Usually.

Spencer reaches over instinctively, his hand finding its place on your thigh, patting twice for good measure.

“Hey, feet off the dash, please,” he says. “Airbags deploy faster than you think, and personally, I’m pretty attached to the current arrangement of your features.”

His mind trips over the calculation against the embarrassment of sounding like an overbearing parent. He’s not even your husband yet. Yet.

But you immediately drop your feet without complaint, settling into a position that looks decidedly safer. Spencer breathes a little easier. He gives your thigh a grateful squeeze, his thumb brushing back and forth just once in a wordless thank you.

You tuck your legs beneath you, body angled toward him, elbow planted on the center console, cheek resting in your palm. 

“My face appreciates you looking out for it,” you tease gently. “Always looking out for me actually. Is there anything else I do that’s, like, secretly super dangerous?”

Spencer’s eyes catch yours, and he lets out a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Come here,” he murmurs, lifting his hand from your thigh to sweep his thumb along the edge of your mouth, collecting the vanilla ice cream that’s smeared there. “As far as dangerous decisions go, I’d say your habit of leaving candles burning unattended ranks pretty high. One of these days you’re going to burn the whole place down, sweetheart.”

“But you said most fires from candles happen because of flammable stuff near them, not just leaving them burning,” you remind him sweetly, nose wrinkling with affection. “So really, as long as I keep things away from my candles, I’m totally safe. And I always listen to you about that.”

His heart flutters with messy pride and affection that makes him feel embarrassingly sentimental. Sure, conversations about Marcel Proust or string theory aren’t exactly your cup of tea (he’s pretty sure you’d turn your nose up at the mere thought), but there’s this distinctly genuine and wonderful way you navigate the world. 

You absorb everything he says — half-formed ideas, scattered facts, fleeting memories — in a way that weirdly puts eidetic memories to shame. 

It’s dizzying, actually, the way you’re smiling at him right now, effortlessly beautiful and clearly unaware that he’s suddenly acutely conscious of how his pulse is pounding. 

He loves you, he knows he does, deeply, and apparently by the way his face flushes hot and his breathing quickens, he’s more turned on by your quiet brilliance than he ever expected.

“Okay, so candles are covered,” he says with mock seriousness, “but what about all my advice on not talking to strangers or, I don’t know, not accepting free candy from mysterious vans? Are those making the cut too?”

“Come on, Spencer, you taught me better than that,” you say proudly. “I know all about risk assessment now, if someone seems sketchy or pushes too hard, it’s probably a danger sign. And,” you add with a satisfied smile, “that’s why you’re the only one allowed to take me for sweets. Want a bite?”

Spencer eyes the melting ice cream warily, the overly sweet scent doing nothing to tempt him, it’s essentially frozen sugar, after all, objectively terrible for him. The mental list of reasons to politely decline is endless.

But the knowledge that your lips have just been there sets off a chain reaction, desire eclipsing logic. Suddenly, he’s more than willing to abandon nutritional morals for the vague promise of an indirect kiss. Though, admittedly, he would much rather prefer the direct approach. But he’s fairly certain that running into a telephone pole would rank even higher risk wise than unattended candles or dashboard hazards. 

So, instead, he ducks his head, taking a careful bite, instantly regretting it when the sticky sweet cold paints his cheek.

Your giggles ripple, making him smile sheepishly as you shift closer. He expects your thumb, mirroring his earlier gesture, but then your lips brush against his cheek, your tongue catching the vanilla drip. Every ounce of rationality deserts him into one helplessly smitten mess.

“You know, saliva actually cleans better than wiping,” you announce thoughtfully. “So, you’re welcome, Spence.”

He’s half certain he’s never mentioned anything about saliva enzymes, but then again, he’s so thoroughly distracted by you most of the time he might’ve. It sounds exactly the kind of oddly specific detail he’d share.

“Okay,” he manages, unable to suppress a smile. “Where exactly did you learn that one?”

“I googled it.” You tilt your head. “Like, I thought food-play might be fun to try with you?” You shrug lightly, expression utterly innocent as if discussing something far less suggestive. “But then all these articles said it can get kinda gross and messy, and honestly, Spencer, I realized you’d probably just stress about germs and clean-up, and there’s no way I’d enjoy it if you weren’t totally relaxed and happy.”

Of all the things he anticipated you might say tonight, casually mentioning food play research was not on the list. It lands like a dropped grenade, exploding into fragments of thoughts he cannot possibly hope to piece together.

His cheeks burn hot as images — sticky and indecent images — flood his mind without permission. Vanilla dripping slowly down your collarbone, lips parted in invitation, eyes sparkling with that innocent curiosity he adores.

But beneath this sudden rush of desire lies something even softer because he can almost see it — your earnest expression as you scroll through webpages, considering all the possible complications, all the ways he might react. 

Spencer’s chest aches in a way he can’t pinpoint, a vulnerability spreading through him that he rarely allows himself to feel. He’s not used to people taking such gentle care of his anxieties, treating his quirks as something precious rather than burdensome. A small, quiet part of him wonders if he deserves this kind of thoughtfulness, this careful, intentional love you offer without hesitation. He wants to believe it, wants to let himself trust it completely, but the tender astonishment that grips him right now makes it hard to think straight.

“You know, angel, next time just come straight to me, okay? I promise my answers are better, and less traumatizing, than whatever you’ll find online.”

“Well, don’t blame me when you start getting texts at two a.m. about my random questions.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you. “I think we both know that if my phone goes off at two a.m., you’re probably not looking for statistics.”

You smile at that.

“I mean, yeah, probably,” you concede. “But honestly, Spence, I did read this thing about late-night dopamine spikes or whatever and —,”

He doesn’t think. He can’t think. The moment the car is in park, his body moves on its own, leaning across the console, hands gently cupping your face as he silences your adorable scientific ramble. He’s never felt such urgency, such an intense, overwhelming need to kiss someone as he does right now. It’s impulsive, reckless, completely out of character, and yet he feels no regret. Only relief. Only you.

For once in his analytical life, Spencer lets instinct win, savoring your lips and the small, surprised sound you make against him. He hopes you hear in his kiss everything he can’t yet put into words.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[invoncible]

BLUFF ✰ mark grayson & mohawk mark w/ childhood bsf! fem! reader cw. canon compliant themes (ex. distress)

SUMMARY. when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity? / wc. 10k oops

— i started this to train my writing skills but it got out of hand T-T anyways enjoy <3

You didn't even notice your phone ringing. It must've been the third time it buzzed on your kitchen counter but for the life of you, you could not look away from the news. Invincible was laying waste to all the major cities of the globe, seemingly unprovoked.

Your breath caught when the news broke to process new information, senses finally tuning into the whirring behind you. You swiped your phone, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.

"Hel—"

"Y/N, thank goodness." Debbie gasped on the other end.

You stood rigid. You've known Debbie your whole life. You and Mark were inseparable growing up—it was a rare occurrence to hear her so unnerved. Her unease was contagious, zapping through the wireless connection and taking root in your conscience.

"Are—" You cleared your throat, clutching the phone tighter. You walked over to the window, dragging down the blinds with two fingers and peeking outside. "Are you okay? You sound—"

"Fine, I'm fine." A shaky exhale was what you were met with, along with the sounds of a car starting up. "Honey, have you seen the news? You need to stay safe." A pause followed, too long to be natural. "Do you have anywhere else to go?"

You scrunched your brows in confusion. "Um... no, I don't. But from what they're saying on the news, the Invincibles are only targeting big cities."

"Listen. If you stay there—" Debbie's line crackled as you assumed she was driving away, far away from the neighborhood and fast. “—‘ll come for you.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I've got my car if something goes wrong.” You pulled away from your phone, glancing at the call screen when you got no response. "Hello?"

"In light of new footage, we have information that—"

The TV fizzled out next, the low drone of cable replacing rowdy chatter of the newsroom. A low-pixel message of NO SIGNAL floated around the screen, bouncing off the edges.

You stared at yourself in the black reflection, wishing it would flip on again so you weren't alone with your thoughts. The paranoia was setting in... you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Mark is—”

beeeeeep.

"Hello?" You whispered over the phone, desperate for Debbie's familiar comfort. “...Debbie? Mark is what?”

A rhythmic beeeep beep met your ears instead. You glanced at your phone once again—CALL FAILED.

"Ohhhkay." You muttered under your breath. This is fine, you soothed yourself.

The electricity in your house died out, gently setting you into darkness. With the TV signal lost and your phone disconnected, the cell towers and power grid were probably down.

This is fine. As long as you stayed inside, you'd be fine.

You pulled down the blinds once more, letting a shred of the sunset glow into your home. Your gaze travelled to Mark's house; across the street, a couple houses down. So easily accessible yet so distant at the same time.

You and Mark were attached at the hip for seventeen years—your entire lives. Separation should have felt strange. But just two years since growing apart, his absence almost felt... normal.

Almost like he was never there to begin with.

You went off to university. You assumed he did, too, but got more reliable intel when you connected with William. He shared that they both got into Upstate, as well as his girlfriend, Amber.

Girlfriend?

You remember the pause you took to process that information—the moment you realized he was moving forward while you remained where he left you. Facing the reality that you were no longer a part of his life.

"Stop fidgeting," You whispered with a little chuckle. "It's high school, not the end of the world."

"High school is where things start to happen." Mark whined as he pulled down the hem of his sweater. "Grades matter, who you hang out with matters, girls matter."

"Uh-huh."

"You think I would make a good jock?"

"You've got the look for it."

"Dumb?"

"Yes."

Mark rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as you both walked up the steps to the next phase of your life. "That's not very nice."

"You can be anything you want, Mark." You groaned, deciding to be encouraging. "Literally. You're good at everything. You'll fit in wherever you want to."

"Okay. Too nice." He huffed and bumped into your side. "But thanks. I just..."

Your brows furrowed in concern when his head dipped, distress sneaking its way through his cheerful disposition.

"Stuff's supposed to happen this year. Big stuff." He was mumbling, unfocused like he regretted taking the conversation this direction to begin with. "I don't want to mess this up."

You wanted to tell him high school wasn't that deep. There were complete losers that all turned out just fine. Something about his expression, though... it was heavy.

You weren't sure what he was talking about, but you knew what he needed. You always did. "Whatever stuff you're talking about... it's gonna work out. You'll take it one step at a time just like you always have, and you have your parents at your side.... William, me."

He offered you a little smile. "We'll do this together?" He held out his pinky finger.

You giggle and interlocked yours with his. "Together."

He broke that promise pretty quickly. Different classes were the first step apart. From there, it only got harder to see each other.

Family stuff was Mark's favorite excuse—vaguely explaining family stuff had become 90% of your conversations. You figured he didn't want to tell you whatever he was really going through, which was fine. It hurt, but it was fine.

Before you knew it, you stopped talking altogether. You didn't think much of it at first—you were approaching adulthood, obviously you were going to get busy. You just thought you'd get busy together. You didn't even know what he was up to these days.

You drew back from the blinds with a long sigh, hoping that Debbie and Mark were safe. Wherever they were.

You trudged down into the basement to turn the generator on. The wooden stairs of the unfinished space crrrrrreaked under your feet. You waved away the dust, pounding your chest to cough the particles that snuck their way into your airway.

It was cooler down here, much darker without the ambient lighting of the sunset above. With your trusty phone flashlight, you managed to maneuver your way through the storage buckets and old boxes to the backup generator.

You grunted trying to pull the lever down. "Shit..." you cursed in disgust, feeling the grime and dust underneath your palm. i want electricity i want electricity, you repeated over and over to block out the icky sensation.

"Need some help?"

"Ah—!" you shrieked, spinning around in a panic. Your flashlight illuminated the figure in front of you, shadowed by the soft light of open door upstairs. "What—" who—?!

"Damn. Relax."

Vaulting over your initial dread, you grabbed something—a wrench or a hammer, you didn’t know, you didn't care—and swung it with all your might.

They caught it in their fist. Your breath shriveled up in your throat at how stiff they were, intercepting your attack without even budging. Their fingers curled tight around the tool and yanked you close.

"tsk, tsk," Their low voice chuckled. "Thought you'd be happy to see me, pretty girl."

You shone your light into the intruder's face, the tension in your body dissipating when you recognized—

"...Mark?" You squinted in the darkness, the flashlight just barely illuminating his face in a ghastly glow. "Wha... what are you doing here?" You huffed.

Blood was pumping through your system, telling you to get ready to run. Your nerves wouldn't calm their tingle even though you realized it was just Mark. Cuz it was Mark, right?

"Checking on you."

"Where's your mom?"

"Smart enough to leave home."

"Oh, yeah. She called. I thought you'd be with her..." You trailed off, frowning when you heard him laughing. "What?"

"Nothing." He hummed. "You're just so..."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Okay..." You gave him a weird look. Then your brain caught up to you: Pretty girl? "Aren't you dating Amber?"

He took a moment to think, tossing the wrench aside and grabbing your wrist in his hand instead. "Am I?"

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing. "I'm... asking you?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"What—" You exhaled, brows knitted in confusion. You tried to pull away but he held firm; for every step back, he followed. "Mark, wait—"

Your phone clattered to the ground, the ray of light spinning chaotically through the darkness before it fell on its back.

"I missed you." He murmured lowly, almost reverent in the way he boxed you against the cold generator. "Shhh..." He calmed your trembling frame with his strong arms (when'd he get so strong?) wrapped around your shoulders.

He burrowed his nose in your hair. "It's me, bunny. Why're you so scared?"

This isn't Mark. Your heart pounded at your chest, eyes frozen and piercing into the darkness over his shoulder—Wake up, dumbass. This isn't Mark.

When your tremors refused to quiet, he pulled back with what you hoped was concern. That's when you saw his hair...

"Is that..." You whispered. The soft light from the main floor was fading, but reflected off the shiny sides of Mark's head. "Are you bald?"

What was he doing in the two years since you saw each other?

"Aw..." He laughed heartily, leaning further towards you and flattening his palms over the top of the generator. "Not quite."

He leaned to your side, breath fanning over the shell of your ear as he continued to snicker to himself softly. He grabbed the lever of the generator and shoved it down.

Your body jostled into his firm chest as it sprung to life. It went clank-clank-clank-clank, pumping electricity back into your home. You heard the melodic trills from upstairs as devices booted up again.

The light in the basement flipped back on. It didn't reach you. Mark towered over you and kept you in shadow. But you could see him—rather, who he wasn't.

"What?" Mohawk Mark grinned down at you, sadistic and teasing. "Not who you were expecting?"

No, not who you were expecting. He looked like Mark, sounded like Mark, felt like Mark... But your Mark had a kind face.

"You're not..."

"Nope."

You felt the heat drain from your body as you simply stared up at him, wide-eyed. Run. Where? Why the fuck was he dressed like ... Invincible...

A connection snapped together in your head, synapses clicking together like legos. Oh. Invincible. Everything made sense now, and you felt a little stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

And now one of those murderous variants you saw on the news was in your home.

"You're really out of it, huh?" He frowned, waving a gloved hand in front of your face. He sighed and looked away, "I thought you'd—"

You had the itch to burst into a sprint. You snatched your phone off the floor and ducked under his arm, skipping stairs to the main floor. Car. Keys? Where the fuck did you put them?

A shuddered whimper tumbled off your lips. You felt helpless, mind racing with too many things at once to pick one task and get out of there. You snatched your purse from the sofa, rifling through it to make sure your keys were inside before going outside.

"Come on, come on," You whispered, out of breath.

"Don't run from me, Y/N," Mohawk Mark sang teasingly, drawing out the last syllable of your name. "Hey, I'm just playing with you."

You screamed anyway, the sound harsh and high-pitched. He pouted, hand firmly around your arm to prevent you from breaking away.

"C'mon, baby. You're hurting my feelings. We're just having fun, yeah? A little roleplay?"

First off, you wished he'd stop calling you things like that. It felt wrong, but... good. With every pet name, he let butterflies loose in your tummy. Your heart pulsed, sending heat to your cheeks. Your brain reminded you, this isn't Mark... this isn't Mark... this isn't the real Mark...

Second, what kinda freaky ass fuck did he turn into?

You rolled out of his grip, barely making it a step away before his arm circled around your stomach, pulling you back into his chest.

"Get the fuck off me—" You squirmed uselessly, your phone and bag tumbling onto the floor. You yelped when he threw you over his shoulder, patting the small of your back affectionately as if securing cargo. "Mark!"

He just laughed, taking off through the door at a abnormal speed. Your nose smushed into his back under the acceleration, stomach somersaulted twenty times over as you soared up into the clouds.

He stopped in the air. With a hoarse shriek you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. He was, in this moment, despite everything. Your legs immediately latched around his waist, and he supported you with hands under your thighs.

"Oh, come on, now." He chuckled with a shake of his head. He easily held you and brought a hand to wipe your cheeks. "I'm just playing around. If I'd known you were this sensitive, I would've taken it a little bit easier on you..."

You hadn't even realized you started crying.

He stared at you, eyes trailing over your face. He laughed softly to himself. "Who am I kidding. No, I wouldn't have. You know how cute you are when you cry?"

You glared at him but his grin only grew wider. "What? M'not gonna hurt you! Haven't I shown you that?"

You stared at him incredulously, finally finding your voice and blowing up at him. Your fists curled, pounding at his chest and jabbing a finger in his face. "You broke into my home and have me hanging 100ft in the air?!"

"So? I'm not dropping you, am I?" You felt his fingers tap against your thigh.

"That—" Your cheeks burned. but from being embarrassed or flustered, you couldn't quite place.

"This world's Mark is the biggest piece of shit for leaving girlfriend all alone."

You blinked, "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, you're..." Mark's head tilted, sharp eyes acutely aware of your confusion. "Ohhh. Don't tell me that fucker didn't lock you down."

You didn't even know what to say. Things were being thrown at you left and right and you were still on the fact that Mark was Invincible. Your mind rifled through all the headlines that had his name... all that pain, death, and destruction... and how you weren't there for him.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Well. I'm a better version, anyway."

[]

The sun finally set on day 2 the war with no hope in sight. Mark just admitted Eve into the hospital—she stubbornly decided to help him with two of his variants and paid the price. Her broken leg was under construction, and she was unconscious.

Mark sighed as he closed the door behind him, looking up to see Cecil waiting for him in the hallway.

"You can't be here, kid."

Mark scowled. "The other Invincibles know about this place. They could kill her to get at me. I... can't lose another friend. I won't."

After Amber, Mark wanted to be with Eve. It was the next logical step, right? Both superheroes, went through a lot together, understood each other... But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not even under Future Eve's advice.

Not when he still held space for you in his heart.

He was an asshole for it, he knew that. He couldn't put a date to the last time you spoke and he selfishly held onto your memory. Were you pining for him like he was pining for you?

His time with Amber taught him a lot. He wasn't going to make you suffer like she did. He wasn't going to ruin the friendship he had with you just because he selfishly wanted your love.

"We're losing this, Mark." Cecil sighed, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. The bruise on his face throbbed with every word. "The world needs you."

"You got every superhero on the planet fighting for you right now." Mark shot back angrily, shutting his eyes only to see you behind his lids.

"Mark. Oliver's out there. Your mother's out there." Cecil pressed, pulling out his phone. "Which reminds me. She left a voicemail."

With his interest successfully piqued, Mark listened as his mother's panicked voice played over Cecil's device.

"I can't reach Mark—if you see him, tell him I'm at Paul's. Oliver insisted on going out there, and I let him on the condition he finds his big brother."

Mark's gaze dropped down to the floor guiltily, a war of emotions swirling inside him.

"I couldn't stop him if I tried. He was going to sneak out anyway, but..." A sharp inhale. "I'm worried. I know they're strong, I know that. But these other versions... they're nothing like Mark." Seconds of silence passed as she collected her thoughts. "Can you check on someone for me? If all these Marks grew up the same, there's a childhood friend on our street that he was never without. I tried to reach her but service went down. Please."

Cecil pulled back his phone. "I already sent agents to her home—"

Mark's head snapped up, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "What did I say about going near my family?"

"I wasn't aware she was family." Cecil raised an eyebrow, pocketing his device and pulling down his cuffs.

"They're my responsibility. She's my responsibility." Mark retorted, running a anxious hand through his hair.

"A thank you would be nice." Cecil mumbled, unperturbed by the boy's argument. "Seeing as you are currently shirking said responsibility."

"Don't—" Mark lurched forward, a threat on his tongue. Cecil flinched backwards, his hand firmly in his pocket finding his controller.

Mark pulled back, dropping his fist. "...Just shut the fuck up, Cecil." He blasted off through the halls.

Cecil watched him leave with bated breath, exhaling slowly when he got the intel that Mark was off the grounds. At least he was out there.

[]

"I killed the Guardians, yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. No big deal."

You raised your eyes in surprise but the notion wasn't as gruesome as you thought it would be. Blinded by love, maybe? Or were you just happy to be talking to Mark again, regardless of the version?

Hours ago, you couldn't imagine sitting in your bedroom with the man who invaded your home. But, genuinely, what were you supposed to do? Pick a fight and lose? Worse, die? You weren't so stupid to waste the goodwill he held for you.

"What happened to me in your world?" You asked, your voice quieter now.

Mark tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. His jaw flexed, like the memory alone was an irritation.

"The resistance killed you to get at me," he muttered, his voice dark, laced with something sharp and unhinged. The crazed gleam in his eye flickered under the dim lighting, like a fire burning just beneath the surface. Then, with an almost amused sigh, he shifted his weight, offering you a small, self-satisfied smile. "Don't worry. I made them pay for it."

You didn’t bother asking how.

Mark’s arm stretched behind you, draping lazily across the back of the pillows, his fingers idly toying with the fabric of your sleeve. Every casual brush of his fingertips sent a ripple of goosebumps across your skin.

"We were a good thing, you know," he mused, voice lower now, softer. gentle. "You didn’t fight me. You didn’t run. You loved me." There was a teasing lilt in his voice that you recognized.

That’s not so different here, you swallowed the thought, masking it with a roll of your eyes. "Did you love me?"

That made him pause. His gaze flicked to yours, brows furrowing slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. Then a slow smirk tugged at his lips, amusement flashing in his expression before he let out a low chuckle.

He leaned in so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. "Let me show you," he murmured, voice dark and filled with intent.

The air between you tightened as his hand trailed from your sleeve, fingers dragging along the bare skin of your arm, slow and deliberate. His touch was light, teasing, like he was waiting for you to react—to pull away or lean in.

You offered him nothing but a careful stare and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes narrowed, delighting in the challenge. His nose brushed against yours, his lips lingering just shy of touching.

Pull away, your brain screamed at you, ringing every warning bell it had in the book. This isn't right.

But his other hand came up, grazing along your jaw... and his fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes... all of it felt so familiar, like something out of a dream. And it'd been so long since you saw his brown wells, you couldn't tear your gaze away.

Your daze was broken when you heard him laugh again. He adored the way you frowned in confusion, the moonlight twinkling in the reflection of your eyes.

“Aww,” he cooed, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “look at you. So easy. This world’s Mark has left you all alone, hasn’t he?”

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he tilted his head, watching you squirm.

“S'like you’ve been waiting for this," he hummed. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes darkened at whatever he saw.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours—you could feel him smiling. “Since he won’t.”

Stop, stop, stop. You wanted Mark, wanted him desperately, but not like this. Not with him.

You released the breath you were holding when he paused his fixation on your lips, head turning minutely to the side as if he was hearing something.

"For fuck's sake..." Mark scoffed, a low chuckle passing through his lips. "Speak of the devil."

What?

Mohawk Mark heard the whistle of air before you did, only clueing in when it grew louder. It reached a peak when a projectile CRASHED through your window—

You scrambled backwards on your mattress as splinters flew everywhere. Mark caught you before you tumbled off the bed, shielding you from the broken glass and wood.

"What's—" You began to ask, but over Mark's shoulder you saw him—the real Mark.

You just stared at each other for a moment, though you couldn't see much past his tinted goggles. But the slow scowl growing on his lips communicated all you needed to know.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Mark—the real one—growled. "Get off her."

Mohawk Mark laughed into your shoulder, turning to face him. "Why? She's not yours, is she?"

Mark's eyes twitched behind his goggles, abandoning his inhibitions and diving at him, grabbing his variant's hair and yanking him off of you—

"Mark..." you warned, fear bubbling in your gut.

—your caution fell on deaf ears; Mark threw him up and drove him through the floor.

"Mark!" you yelled behind him, feeling the air whip past your face, following him as he crashed into the living room below. "Shit—"

Squeaking as you fought against the slope of the cavity, your feet, only clad in socks, provided the worst possible grip and you began slipping down the gap. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt yourself plummeting—

"Hey." His voice was urgent yet comforting, his arms tightening around your body in seconds, pulling you back from the edge. "I got you."

Your hand instinctively gripped his shoulder, grounding yourself as you realized you were suspended in his embrace. As he gently descended to the floor, your eyes moved quickly, scanning the outline of his goggles.

"You... I guess you know now, then." His voice was low, heavier than usual, like a weight he’d been carrying finally released.

The moment your feet met the ground, you stepped back, your heart pounding. Across the room, Mohawk Mark was sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from his nose, unconscious for now. Your gaze flicked back to your Mark, heart still racing.

"Yeah, I know." You snapped, the anger rushing through you, the frustration and confusion bubbling up.

His expression faltered, something unreadable flashing across his face before he sighed, almost too quietly, as if he were disappointed in himself.

"You’re angry," he observed, his voice tinged with regret.

"No shit, I’m angry!" Your hand shot out, slapping against his chest before it balled into a fist at your side. Every inch of you was yelling at him, every question, every unspoken feeling, everything that had been left unsaid for the past two years. "The first time I've seen you in two years and it's—it's not even you?"

"I know, I know," Mark’s hands moved to his mask, tearing it off with an impatience that only grew when it caught on his nose. He grimaced as he yanked it free, tossing it to the side. The dim light of the room revealed the exhaustion etched into his face, but even through that, you could see him—the real him, just... different. Worn down, tired.

"I can explain."

"You better fuckin start."

"Be mad at me all you want, but look at this." His arms gestured wildly around your place. "I was right to not tell you! It could've been way worse, way sooner if you knew anything about what I was really up to. Why didn't you leave when Mom called you?!"

"The phone cut off, asshole, I didn't hear everything she said, and I certainly wasn't aware that you were the one behind Invincible—"

He shook his head, dismissing the topic. He stepped into your space and held onto your arms. "Did he touch you?"

"Get off me."

"Did he touch you?" He pressed, shaking you slightly as his grip tightened around your biceps.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the urgent crack in his voice. "Yes, but I let him."

He pulled away from you as if burnt. A heavy silence hung in the air, nothing but the clattering of broken floorboards crashing down from above.

"...He's a murderer, Y/N." He whispered, eyes narrowed.

You knew that. You knew he was right. "I was... vulnerable."

"He killed people—"

"Shut up," You snapped, cutting him off. "Don't lecture me; this is a nonissue. What was I supposed to do? Hm? Want me to pick up my fists and come out swinging like you did—"

"I thought he was hurting you!"

"My hero." You rolled your eyes, the words dripping with bitter sarcasm. You knew you were being unfair, maybe a little cruel, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were exhausted from the many near death experiences you've somehow survived in the last few hours. Strung so tight you felt like you might snap.

Every inch of you was begging to cry and let him hug you like you both so clearly wanted... but the fact that it took something this bad to get him to show up? That hurt more than anything.

Mark stared at you, his face an amalgamation of emotions, like he couldn’t decide on one.

Should he be angry at you for being difficult, for making him work for this moment when all he wanted was to explain? Should he feel pain, the sharp ache in his chest that another Mark got to hold you before he did? Or was it jealousy, searing heat into his face, that another version of himself had been the one to touch you, to be close to you before he had the chance? Maybe... maybe it was the bittersweet happiness, the relief that he was finally standing here in front of you.

He didn’t even care that you were glaring daggers at him—he missed staring into your eyes, albeit hardened and displeased, making his heart race; the way you’d furrow your brow when you were frustrated, the way your voice would call out to him.

Mark’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out, but he held himself back. Would you even allow it? The distance between you was far more than physical. He had a thousand things to say but in that moment, words felt hollow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he intended.

Childish.

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes again. "All that time and that's all you have to—"

Before you could finish, your world spun. The floor tilted beneath you as Mohawk Mark launched himself into you, sweeping you off your feet and through the door.

[]

"Y/N!" Mark yelled after you, breathing heavy in a panic. "No, no, no, no—" He launched himself from your home, bursting through the roof after you.

You barely heard him over the rushing wind. You clawed at Mohawk Mark's back, the height siphoning the air from your lungs. "Stop..." You ordered weakly.

"Changed your mind already?" He laughed, cradling you in his arms. Your head lolled against his chest. "Don't tell me you buy his bullshit."

"Mm..." The sharp ascent from ground level to the clouds made your head spin, vision darkening as you grew dizzier.

"You're fucking dead!" Your Mark came out of nowhere, shooting up beside Mohawk Mark and bashing his nose in. With a pained groan, he dropped you. "Shit—"

"Look what you made me do, dipshit!" Mohawk Mark snarled, shoving Invincible away and bolting after you.

"Don't—" Mark growled in frustration, racing against time. He watched as your limp body dropped helplessly against gravity.

It never changed. Whether he told you or not, you would end up in these perilous situations regardless. He cursed under his breath, catching Mohawk Mark's ankle and catapulting him into the night sky before pushing forward.

He collected you in his arms before it was too late, wasting no time as he shifted his direction and carried you off to GDA's hospital.

[]

The steady beep... beep... beep of your heart monitor was the first thing you tuned into upon waking up.

"Oh, good."

Your eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting towards Mark. He was bent over your cot, his hand on your forehead while staring down at you with stars in his eyes.

"You just passed out. Nothing serious, but I wanted to make sure." He mumbled, pulling back.

Your eyes drifted back to the ceiling, unfocused and hollow. There was too much—too much to process, too much to feel, too much weighing down on your chest all at once. It pressed against your ribs, thick and suffocating, a tidal wave crashing over you before you could even take a breath. Every nerve in your body screamed with something—fear, exhaustion, embarrassment, confusion—but it all blended together into one overwhelming, crushing force. Your mind was shutting down for its own sake.

The sounds around you dulled into distant echoes, the weight of your own limbs barely registering. Your chest rose and fell, but it felt mechanical.

"Y/N?" Mark whispered, brows furrowing in concern. "Hey." he poked your shoulder.

You shook your head, turning away from him as tears pooled in your eyes. God, you felt so embarrassed.

Mark frowned when you shifted away from him, any comfort he planned to offer dying in his throat. "I'm... sorry." was all he could say.

Nothing.

His leg bounced nervously, chewing at his lip as he fought with his own emotions. "I want to kill him for putting hands on you."

Your brows tightened. Not what you wanted to hear either.

He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. "M'sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault—"

"It is." You sniffled. "I missed you... so much, that I pretended that he was you..." you choked on the words, turning your back to him and burying your face into the pillow. "How pathetic is that?"

Mark's heart squeezed, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed next to you. "Stop. Not your fault." He reiterated.

You scoffed and shook your head, laughing wryly. He frowned, and pulled you to face him. He saw your tears and felt his own pile up behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I told my.... uh, last relationship that I was Invincible. It didn't end well for her, and I didn't want to put you in that same position. Always unsure, always in danger, always waiting..."

"I'm not her, Mark." You muttered.

"I know." He pursed his lips. "I was gone for months at a time—"

"I waited two years for you, didn't I?" You pushed away from him and sunk back into the cot. "You didn't even give me a chance."

Childish. That’s how you sounded. Because in the end, that’s all you two were—two kids who once grew up side by side finding each other once more, with all the petulant hurt coming through the surface.

A beat of silence passed between you, with nothing but your heart monitor to keep the time.

"You said he touched you." He started.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "...don't bring that up."

"No, I want to know." He shifted his weight, hovering over you. His face was painted with something foreign, green-eyed and greedy. "Show me."

Heat blossomed on your face as you lay in his shadow. "Mark..." You laughed nervously. "It was barely anything."

"You missed me so much you had to settle for that." Mark didn't look away from you for a second. "I want to give you the real thing."

You screwed your face up. Again, the thought passed through your mind: you wanted Mark, but not like this. "I don't want this to be a pity thing."

"No," Mark shook his head firmly. "not pity. Everything I feel for you has been there since... since I can remember. And it fucking boils my blood that a different version of me got to you before I had the balls to do it myself. Please," he whispered. "I need this."

"Need what?"

"You." He answered, like the answer was obvious. To him, it was. "I'm done waiting around."

You blinked at him before a soft smile spread across your face. "Me too."

Mark's lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache. He cupped your face in his hands, and you melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You let out a soft sigh when his lips parted slightly, allowing you both to breathe. You pressed forward, kissing him harder, feeling the intensity of everything that had been building between you over the years—years of longing, of waiting, of wanting something more.

Mark responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding against yours.

Where had he touched you? Mark didn't care anymore. By the time he was done with you, you'd know his touch and his alone, and he'd know every inch of you like the back of his hand. He wasn't leaving this room without it. He was allowing himself to be selfish for once; for you, it was worth it.

He sat back on his haunches, tugging his gloves off by his teeth before diving back into you, sliding his bare fingers underneath your shirt, sighing into your mouth as he squeezed your skin in his palm.

"You'll never need anyone ever again," He nosed your cheek, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. "Promise."

This time, you believed him.

— wayyy too self indulgent lmk if it was boring at places :)

© invoncible

[gf2bellamy]

Hii! I am in love with your writing! Specially the sunshine!reader x Spencer, I don’t know if you are taking new requests, if you aren’t feel free to completely ignore this, but I would love to see your take in one of the BAU member (maybe Emily) sort of call out Spencer in the “soft spot” he has for reader. And he’s all like I don’t???? But ofc they would notice this bc 1. They are profilers 2. They just know him. I can imagine Emily’s speech on how it’s ok to let people in and how she thinks they would be good for each other 🥰 or idk something better you can come up

Anyways I just want to thank you for sharing your writing with us 🤍✨

good — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: postprison!spencer so mentions of insecurities in regards to that a/n: hiii !! this is such a wonderful idea <3 i wasnt entirely sure if you wanted post!prison spencer but i thought it fit your request best so i hope thats alright !! <33

Emily narrowed her eyes as she studied the scene unfolding before her. There you and Spencer were, sitting close together in the back of the jet.

Spencer was leaning in slightly, helping you solve a crossword puzzle. She watched as his fingers brushed yours gently when he took the pen from your hand, as he wrote the next answer. You glanced up at him, as if you weren't sure whether to be grateful or flustered. 

He’d practically solved the whole thing in the blink of an eye, but instead of simply finishing it, he waited for you to catch up, his gaze flickering to yours every so often with a small, encouraging smile. 

Emily couldn’t help but shake her head as she looked out the window again.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen the two of you like this—closer than anyone else on the team. She could see it in Spencer’s eyes—he had a soft spot for you, no question. The way he took his time with you, how he tried to make you laugh or ease your stress, it was so different from how he interacted with the rest of them.

And as much as she had grown to appreciate the dynamic, Emily had to admit, she was getting tired of watching both of you dance around the obvious.

Emily couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Spencer smile this much, this freely. It had been a long road since his release from prison, and though he was slowly piecing himself back together, it was clear that you played a significant role in his recovery.

The way he would light up at the smallest of gestures from you, or the way he would seek out your company without hesitation—it was a refreshing change.

Her thoughts were interrupted by your laughter—loud and genuine—as Spencer cracked a joke about one of the crossword clues.

Emily’s eyes flicked to the two of you just in time to see your shoulder brush against his, your body language open, comfortable.

But it wasn’t just your laughter that caught Emily’s attention—it was the look Spencer gave you in that moment. His eyes lingered on you, soft and warm. Emily noticed the way his lips curled upward ever so slightly.

Emily sighed inwardly, leaning her head against the seat. She wasn't sure what either of you were waiting for, but she hoped, for both of your sakes, that you would stop pretending like nothing was happening between you.

The next instance was when Emily had had enough.

The moment you and Spencer walked into the bullpen together, Emily's gaze immediately locked onto the way he had a hand resting casually on the small of your back.

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She knew she wasn’t imagining it—there was no mistaking the way Spencer was always hovering just a little bit closer to you, the way his body seemed to naturally gravitate toward yours. 

“Do you want some coffee?” Spencer asked you. You hesitated for a moment as you approached your desk, dropping your bag down with a soft sigh.

You glanced at the stack of files waiting for you. “Yes, I have like 20 files to get through,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m going to need that coffee.” 

Spencer smiled. “I’ll make you one,” he said, his tone soft as he set his own bag down on his desk. He didn’t waste a moment before heading toward the break room, but not before he threw one last comment over his shoulder. “I’ll help you with some of your files later.” 

He didn’t wait for your response, though Emily could already predict what it would have been—a quick “No, that’s fine.”

You didn’t want him to do too much for you, but Spencer had this way of offering help, and even though you would have rather tackled the work yourself, you knew it would have been pointless to argue with him. 

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to slip out as you watched him leave. You turned your attention back to the files, your hand instinctively covering your mouth to keep yourself from letting out the giggle that bubbled up in your chest. 

Emily saw her opportunity and took it.

Without hesitation, she walked into the breakroom, where Spencer was carefully pulling two mugs from the cupboard.

One was your favorite—white with a print of Snoopy lying on his red doghouse. Spencer had gotten it for you on your birthday after overhearing you talk about how much you loved Snoopy as a kid.

The other mug was his—bright yellow, with an image of Woodstock perched happily on a branch. 

That one had been your gift to him. 

Emily still remembered the way Spencer had reacted when he unwrapped it, his fingers brushing over the design as realization dawned on his face.

“Snoopy and Woodstock have to stay together,” you had said with a grin, eyes twinkling with amusement. 

For a moment, he had just stared at the mug, lips parted as if he couldn’t quite find the words. Then, without thinking, he had pulled you into a tight hug. You had stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, before melting into his embrace.

Emily had caught the entire moment from across the room, sharing an exasperated look with JJ. The two of you were so painfully oblivious to what was right in front of you.

Now, standing in the breakroom, she cleared her throat.

“Morning, Spencer,” Emily greeted, reaching for a cup of her own. 

Spencer, clearly lost in his own thoughts, blinked at her before nodding. “Morning, Emily.”

He carefully poured coffee into the Snoopy mug first, taking his time, as if it was second nature to prepare yours before his own. 

“Have a good weekend?” she asked casually, watching him with thinly veiled curiosity. 

He glanced at her briefly before continuing his task. “Yeah. I was happy to have some days off,” he said with a small nod, carefully placing your cup aside before starting on his own. “You?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” Emily replied, swirling her own coffee absentmindedly. She was biding her time, figuring out the best way to ease into the conversation she really wanted to have. 

“Did you do anything fun?” she asked, the question innocent enough but leading somewhere more intentional. 

Spencer shook his head. “Not really.” 

Emily hummed. “You know, you should do something fun.” 

Spencer finally glanced at her, a little suspicious now. He knew Emily too well to think she was just making small talk. She wasn’t one for casual, meaningless conversation. 

She didn’t say anything else right away, though. Instead, she took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes drifting through the breakroom window, settling on you. 

You were sitting at your desk, chewing absentmindedly on the end of a pencil, clearly lost in thought. Your brows were furrowed as you studied whatever was in front of you, your lips pursed slightly.

It was such a small, unconscious habit, but Spencer had noticed it long ago. He had seen you do it a dozen times when you were concentrating, and for some reason, it was something he always found himself captivated by. 

Emily turned her gaze back to Spencer, and—just as she expected—his eyes were already on you. 

And then, just as quickly as he had let himself get lost in the sight of you, he pulled himself away, dropping his gaze back to his coffee as if it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. 

Emily smirked. Gotcha. 

“She’s good for you, you know,” Emily said, her voice softer now. 

Spencer’s grip tightened slightly around the handle of his mug. He stared at her for a moment. 

Then, just as quickly, he looked away again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered. 

Emily chuckled. “Spencer.” 

He sighed, shaking his head, but Emily could tell he wasn’t annoyed. Just… hesitant. 

“You should tell her,” she said, shrugging. 

Spencer swallowed, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against the counter. “It’s not that simple,” he finally admitted. 

Emily tilted her head. “Why not?” 

Spencer didn’t answer. Not immediately, anyway. But he didn’t have to. 

Emily already knew. 

She knew Spencer was afraid. Afraid of ruining what he had with you. Afraid that you didn’t feel the same way. Afraid that, after everything he’d been through, he wasn’t allowed to have something good. 

"She likes you too, you know that, right?" 

Spencer stilled, the metal spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug as he hesitated. Emily’s words hung in the air between them, impossible to ignore. 

His grip on the spoon tightened slightly before he forced himself to continue stirring his coffee, feigning indifference.

“You don’t know that,” he muttered, his voice quieter than before. 

Emily huffed. “Spencer, you’re a genius. Do you really expect me to believe that you haven’t noticed the way she looks at you? The way she leans into you when you talk, the way she lights up when you’re around?” She tilted her head, eyes sharp as she studied him. “She likes you, Spencer. And you like her. So why are you making this so complicated?” 

Spencer swallowed, staring down into the dark liquid in his mug. “Because… because what if I ruin it?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but Emily heard him. 

Her expression softened slightly. “You won’t.” 

Spencer let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t know that either.” 

Emily sighed. She could see it now—the self-doubt, the hesitation, the fear that had been planted deep within him after everything that had happened. After losing so much.

He was afraid of getting too close, afraid that if he let himself have this, it would eventually be taken from him, just like everything else. 

Her voice gentled. “Spence, it’s okay to let her in.” 

He glanced up at her then, his eyes conflicted, torn between hope and uncertainty. 

“She’s already in,” Emily continued. “You just haven’t let yourself admit it yet.” 

Spencer exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to let himself have this—have you. But that lingering fear, that quiet voice in the back of his mind, kept telling him that if he did, he’d lose you too. 

Emily must have sensed his hesitation because she suddenly reached over and took the spoon from his hand, placing it on the counter with a firm clink. 

“Talk to her,” she said simply. “Or don’t. But don’t sit here and pretend like this doesn’t exist. Because we both know it does.” 

Spencer stared at her, then down at the two mugs once again.

Snoopy and Woodstock.

A pair that was always meant to be together. 

And then, before Emily could say anything else, he grabbed both mugs and walked out of the breakroom—straight toward you. 

Emily watched as Spencer placed the coffee in front of you. You barely even glanced at the mug before flashing him a wide, grateful smile as you wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic.

Spencer’s lips quirked into a soft smile, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than necessary. Emily caught the way his fingers twitched at his side, the way he hesitated—as if debating something in his head. Then, as if gathering every ounce of courage he had, he took a deep breath. 

And then—he said something. 

Emily couldn’t hear it from where she stood, but whatever it was made you freeze. Your mouth dropped open slightly, eyes widening in surprise. 

For a brief, agonizing second, Spencer looked like he regretted saying it, his expression shifting into something nervous, almost panicked. His fingers flexed at his sides, waiting for you to react. 

Then, suddenly—your face broke into a huge smile. 

A real one. The kind that made your eyes crinkle at the corners. The kind that held no hesitation, no uncertainty. The kind that answered whatever question Spencer had just asked. 

You nodded. Quickly. Eagerly. Almost as if you couldn’t believe it had taken this long. 

And Spencer—who had been watching you anxiously—grinned. A wide, relieved, genuine grin. 

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his whole body seeming to relax. His fingers tapped lightly against his leg before he instinctively reached up to push his hair behind his ear, a nervous habit that Emily had seen a million times before.

Only this time, it was different. 

This time, he was happy. 

He glanced at Emily from the side, as if checking to see if she had seen everything unfold. 

Emily, still watching, simply smirked and shot him a small, knowing smile. 

Finally. 

[inseobts]

Fake Proposal

in a way or another, accidentally or not, they end up making fake proposals...

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, ace, law and shanks

a/n: put my whole heart for the shanks one and now I feel lonely af lmao

words count: around 0.6k - 1.9k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

The smell of grilled fish and sizzling meats fills the air as you and Luffy settle into your seats at a bustling restaurant by the shore. The place is packed, laughter and chatter surrounding you as waiters move between tables carrying plates stacked high with food.

Luffy is already bouncing in his chair, eyes darting between different dishes on the menu. He’s practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oi, look at this!” He shoves the menu in your face, pointing at a special section “‘Lovebird Feast’, free dessert for nearly married couples! That’s awesome! I want it!!”

You snort, pushing the menu back down “You’d fake a whole marriage just for free food?”

Luffy tilts his head like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “Duh! Free food’s free food! It's always the most delicious.”

Before you can protest, he’s already turning to the nearest waiter, waving them down enthusiastically, “Hey! We want the lovebird thingy!”

The waiter, a woman with a kind smile, gasps in excitement “Oh! How wonderful! Congratulations, you two!”

You open your mouth to correct her “Stop Luffy, we’re not—“ but Luffy is already jumping ahead.

“Shishishi! We aren’t yet but I’ll do it right now!”

Wait what?!

He suddenly slides out of his chair and drops onto one knee in front of you. The entire restaurant seems to hush. A few heads turn. Somewhere in the back, a musician starts playing soft romantic music.

Oh. Oh no.

Luffy grabs your hand, grinning up at you like he’s having the time of his life “Y/N! We’ve been on so many adventures together, and you always give me food, and you’re really fun to be around!” His grip tightens “So, do you want to marry me?”

The restaurant erupts. People cheer, clapping and whistling like this is the most romantic thing they’ve ever seen.

Your face burns.

This idiot! He didn’t even try to make it sound real!

Still, two can play at this game.

You bring a hand to your chest, gasping dramatically “Luffy, I—I don’t know what to say!” You blink rapidly, pretending to fight back tears “This is so sudden! But...” You clasp his hands in yours, shaking them for extra effect “Yes! A thousand times yes!”

The cheering gets louder. Someone throws flower petals over you. The musician in the back picks up the tempo.

Luffy beams, bouncing to his feet “AWESOME! Now where’s the food?”

The waiter, practically swooning, claps her hands together “Right away, sir! And don’t worry, your Lovebird Feast comes with our cutest personalised decorations, so give us a moment and we’ll get it to you”

Luffy turns to you, grinning ear to ear “See? Told ya it’d work!”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying so hard not to laugh “You’re impossible.”

A few minutes later, your table is overflowing with steaming plates of grilled seafood, buttery rolls, and a massive chocolate cake that says Congratulations, Lovebirds! in fancy frosting and two small drawings of your caricatures with hearts around them.

Luffy digs in immediately, stuffing his face with meat and laughing between bites “Man, this was such a good idea! Maybe we should do it again at another restaurant!”

You snort, shaking your head “What, you gonna propose to me at every place we eat now?”

He swallows a mouthful of food and grins “Maybe! You’d say yes every time, right?”

Your heart stumbles over itself for a second, but you quickly recover “Only if there’s free food involved, I guess.”

Luffy laughs, shoving another piece of cake into his mouth “Then it’s a deal!”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop smiling. Even if it was fake, and even if he only did it for the food…

You kinda wouldn’t mind hearing him say those words again.

Maybe for real, next time.

You’re now on your way back to the ship and just thinking about telling everyone what happened makes you laugh.

“What are you laughin at?” Luffy asks while bouncing his own belly.

“Sanji’s gonna hate us when we’ll tell him what we did to get free food…” you laugh more.

Luffy suddenly stops and you turn to see what’s going on with him. Only to see him trying to mimic Sanji’s face and expression, “Food isn’t a game!! And why did you use my y/n for your stupid plan?!?”.

You start laughing so hard that your stomach starts to hurt.

“Let’s make a bet Y/N… I bet he’s gonna say the exact same words I said just now” he says putting his hand in front of you.

“Mmh okay. I bet he’s going to say something like ‘How dare you propose to Y/N before me!!!’”

Luffy smiles and “That’s a good one. What do you want if ya win?”

Oh, now this is a hard question… What do you want?

Then an idea pop up in your mind.

“If I win I’ll be the captain for one day!” You say smiling proudly at your own mind, imagining already the things you could do and make Luffy do as his Captain.

“Shishishi, that’s a good one. Okay. But if I win… we’re gonna get a real ring your size for the next time!” His eyes close as his smile widens even more, “So? Deal?”

You heart start beating so fast that you’re bearing breathing.

Why?

Why does he want a ring?

And why is he planning on proposing again?

Then you snap out of your thoughts as you hear his laugh again. You look at his hand in front of you, waiting to be shaken.

“Deal…” you say as you now shake his hand.

Back to the Thousand Sunny the first thing Luffy does is looking for Sanji and tell him everything that happened, excluding the bet part of course.

He even mimicked the expressions the waiters and waitresses had while he was proposing.

Then, after a moment of shock and as you were anticipating, Sanji finally speaks “Mon Dieu , food isn’t a game, idiot! And why did you use my precious Y/N for your dumb game…”

“Oh, you lost Y/N. Now we’ll get a ring!!” Luffy smiles at you, ignoring the way Sanji stopped his desperate act just to look at him like he murdered someone.

You blush hard, not being able to even say a word.

“WHAT RING NOW? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? Y/N STOP LAUGHING, THE IDIOT IS BEING SERIOUS!!”

Sanji keeps trying to stop both you and Luffy, but honestly?

You wouldn’t mind getting proposed again, and who knows maybe with the ring it will feel real.

And you don’t mind it at all.

── .✦ Roronoa Zoro:

Zoro knew coming here was a mistake.

The restaurant is way too fancy for his taste, golden chandeliers, white tablecloths, expensive plates that look like they belong in a museum. The portions are tiny, the waiters have that I’m better than you attitude, and worst of all… Sanji recommended it.

You, however, are having a great time.

You sip your drink, smiling at the romantic ambiance, while Zoro sulks across from you, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“This place is nice” you hum.

Zoro scoffs “Tch. Feels like a prison.”

You roll your eyes, about to retort, when his fork suddenly slips off the table. With a sigh, Zoro pushes his chair back and kneels down to grab it.

And that’s when it happens.

A loud gasp echoes through the restaurant.

The soft clinking of silverware stops. Conversations halt. The waiter carrying a tray of wine nearly drops it.

Zoro freezes, fork in hand.

“…What the hell?” he mutters.

You glance around and immediately see the problem. The entire restaurant is staring at him, some people are covering their mouths, others are tearing up, and the woman at the table next to you whispers excitedly to her date “omg look, he’s proposing!”

They think he’s proposing...

Your lips twitch. Oh, this is gold.

Zoro must realize it too, because he slowly looks up at you, processing the situation. The restaurant waits with bated breath. You see the exact moment he decides to roll with it.

Still kneeling, he sighs dramatically and reaches for your hand instead of his fork.

“Guess there’s no backing out now” he says flatly.

A chorus of awws sweeps through the restaurant. Someone sniffles.

You bite your lip, holding back laughter. If Zoro’s gonna pull this, you might as well make him suffer.

So, with your most dramatic expression, you gasp, bringing a hand to your chest “Zoro! Is this—” You choke up for effect “Is this really happening?”

Zoro glares at you, silently daring you to push further.

You do.

You blink rapidly, pretending to fight back tears “I—I never thought this day would come!” You squeeze his hand, voice trembling “Ever since I first saw you, I knew—” You pause, just to let the anticipation build “that you were the love of my life!”

A woman two tables down bursts into tears.

Zoro’s jaw tightens. His ears are definitely red now. But he won’t let you win so easily.

He lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck “Yeah… you know, it’s been real annoying, carrying this ring around for so long.”

Your eyes widen. Oh, he did NOT just—

The restaurant collectively gasps again. Even the chef peeks out from the kitchen.

Zoro still doesn’t have a ring, so the bastard reaches over, plucks a tiny onion ring off his plate, and slides it onto your finger.

“There,” he says, smirking “You happy now?”

You nearly choke on air.

The restaurant erupts. Cheers. Clapping. Someone throws flower petals. A waiter rushes forward with champagne.

You need to end this. Fast.

So, with all the enthusiasm of a dramatic soap opera heroine, you throw yourself into Zoro’s arms, hugging him tightly.

“YES! A MILLION TIMES YES!”

The place loses it. Some guy at the bar is sobbing. The waiter brings out a massive cake with Congratulations! written in fancy chocolate drizzle. The restaurant manager himself personally congratulates you.

You and Zoro finally lock eyes, both of you struggling to keep a straight face.

Still holding you, he leans down, voice low enough for only you to hear.

“You are so dead after this” he mutters.

You grin “Worth it.”

Zoro sighs, but there’s amusement in his expression. He still hasn’t let go of your waist, and for a second, the noise around you fades, the restaurant blurring into the background.

His thumb brushes against your hip.

“You really wanna sell this?” he murmurs.

You raise a brow “What are you—”

And then he kisses you.

It’s quick, barely more than a brush of lips, but it still shuts you up completely. Your breath catches as the warmth of him lingers, his grip firm and steady as if grounding himself.

Then he pulls back, smirking at your stunned expression “Figured we had to make it convincing.”

The crowd loses it again. Someone pops open a bottle of wine. The cheering is deafening.

Zoro slides back into his seat, reaching for his drink like nothing happened, while you just stare at him. Your face is burning, your heart racing.

Did he... did he really just...

“Oi,” he calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. He nods toward your plate “Eat. We scammed our way into this food, might as well enjoy it.”

You pick up your fork numbly, still processing.

Later that night, walking back to the Sunny, still slightly tipsy from the free champagne, Zoro shakes his head, chuckling.

“You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you still went along with it” you tease.

He gives you a sideways glance, smirking “Yeah, well… guess I’d propose to you eventually anyway.”

You trip.

Zoro catches you easily, steadying you with a firm grip, and when he helps you up, he doesn’t let go of your hand right away.

Your heart does something stupid.

“…You serious?” you murmur.

Zoro just smirks, squeezing your hand and giving you a quick peck on your lips before letting go.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see, idiot.”

── .✦ Sanji:

Sunlight spills over the ocean, turning the water into shimmering gold as the sea breeze carries the scent of freshly baked pastries. The café you and Sanji are at is charming, small round tables with white tablecloths, elegant teacups, and a dessert display so tempting even you had to stop and admire it before sitting down.

Sanji, as always, is in his element. He leans back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers, looking completely at ease as he watches the waves roll in. He’s been extra flirty today, not that it’s anything new, but there’s something almost mischievous about his smile as he rests his chin on his hand, eyes locked on you.

“You look stunning today, mon amour.”

You snort, sipping your drink “You’ve said that three times already.”

“And I’ll say it a hundred more if it makes you smile” he replies smoothly, winking.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the way your lips twitch upward. Hopeless flirt.

A waiter suddenly approaches your table, setting down a small menu “Would you two be interested in our Eternal Love Special? It comes with a complimentary dessert for newly engaged couples.”

Sanji’s brows lift, and immediately, you see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

You raise a hand, ready to shut this down “Oh, we’re not—”

Sanji reaches across the table and gently takes your hand in his, cutting you off completely.

“Ma chérie” he sighs, looking at you with the softest, most heartfelt expression you’ve ever seen “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do this.”

Then he quickly turns to the waiter “Thank you, I took it as a sign to finally do what I was planning for months now”

Your brain short-circuits.

Wait. WAIT.

The waiter gasps. The couple at the next table stops mid-bite. A hush falls over the café as all eyes turn to the two of you.

You know Sanji. You know this is fake. But the way he’s looking at you, the warmth in his eyes, the way his thumb gently strokes the back of your hand, it feels real.

You swallow hard “Sanji—”

He stands up, gracefully stepping around the table before lowering himself onto one knee. The sunlight catches his golden hair, framing him like something out of a damn romance novel.

“From the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were special,” he says, voice smooth as silk “Your laughter is my favorite melody, your kindness is my greatest treasure, and every day with you is sweeter than the finest dessert.”

Someone sniffs. You don’t dare look away, afraid your own face might betray you.

Sanji reaches into his pocket, and for a horrifying second, you think he might actually have a ring... He pulls out a thin silver napkin ring from the table setting.

The café erupts into cheers. Someone claps. A woman dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. The waiter looks about two seconds away from fainting.

Sanji takes your hand, slipping the napkin ring onto your finger with such tenderness that your heart physically aches.

“Tell me, my love,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, but with an edge of something more “Will you make me the happiest man in the world?”

You could end this now. Laugh it off, tell everyone it’s fake, and move on.

…But where’s the fun in that?

You inhale sharply, pressing a hand to your chest like you just can’t believe this is happening “Sanji, I—” You let your voice waver for dramatic effect “Of course! Yes!”

The café erupts. Cheers, applause, a waiter brings out a fancy chocolate cake with “Congratulations, Lovebirds!” written in delicate script.

Sanji presses a lingering kiss to the back of your hand before rising to his feet. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear.

“You play dirty, sweetheart” he murmurs.

You smirk up at him “Right back at you.”

The two of you sit back down, and while Sanji smoothly dives into his slice of cake, you… you can’t stop staring at him. Your heart is still racing. He’s been teasing you for so long, but this felt different.

And maybe the little gleam in his eyes says he knows it too.

Sanji casually picks up his fork, cutting into his cake as if he hasn’t just dropped a bombshell in the middle of the café. But there’s something different about the way he looks at you now, a quiet intensity behind his smirk.

You, on the other hand, are trying your best to keep your composure, but your heart is still fluttering uncontrollably. That was not part of the act, you think, biting your lip.

“So,” you begin, trying to regain some semblance of control over your thoughts, “you think I’ll just say ‘yes’ to a napkin ring?”

Sanji grins like a cat who’s just gotten the cream “Only if you’re truly as smitten with me as I am with you,” he teases, his voice dripping with charm “Was that not the most romantic proposal you’ve ever heard?”

You blink at him. That damn smirk. It’s hard to keep a straight face when he’s so pleased with himself.

“Romantic?” You arch an eyebrow, playing along “More like cheesy, Sanji. I mean, come on... napkin ring? Really?”

He chuckles, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear “It’s not the ring that matters, my dear. It’s the gesture.” He winks, leaning back in his chair, looking completely smug now that the moment has passed “Besides, I’m sure I’ll get you a real one soon enough. Once I find the perfect one.”

You blink at him again, still processing how he just seamlessly went from a joke proposal to something that feels strangely serious. Did he mean it?

Before you can dwell on it too much, the waiter returns with another plate, this time with a much larger piece of cake.

Sanji’s eyes light up “Ah, my favorite!” He takes the plate and picks up his fork, but before taking a bite, he looks at you again, that same intensity in his gaze.

“So,” he says, his voice suddenly more quiet, more sincere “did you like it? The proposal, I mean. I know it was a little… unorthodox.”

You’re caught off guard by the seriousness of his tone. He’s not teasing you now, not putting on that flirty act he does so well. His gaze is soft, like he’s searching for your answer, his expression almost vulnerable.

You bite your lip, fighting back the heat creeping up your neck “I...” You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what to say. You want to tease him, but there’s something there in his eyes “It was… unexpected” you finally say, your voice softening “But… sweet, I guess.”

Sanji’s lips curl into a grin again, but this time, it’s gentler, less playful and more genuine. “You know, you’re the only woman I’d do something this stupid for.” He leans closer, his voice dropping even lower, his breath warm against your ear “So, maybe... just maybe, you know... when the time is right, I’ll actually make it real.”

Your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t tell if he’s joking or if this is one of his moments of sincerity. But then, the way his hand brushes against yours as he pulls back from the table feels like something more.

You stare at him, and he meets your gaze, his blue eyes twinkling with something you can’t quite place.

Before you can say anything, Sanji’s finger gently taps the napkin ring on your finger, the little silver band now feeling strangely significant “Just wait,” he says softly, “the real proposal will be a thousand times more romantic. And you’ll be the one telling me yes.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the thought, knowing he’s both serious and playful, making you realize that, despite all the teasing and drama, he does mean it. And maybe, just maybe, you’re a little bit more excited about the idea than you want to admit.

“You better keep that promise, chef” you reply softly, your voice almost teasing, but with a genuine undercurrent that you both recognize.

Sanji leans back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself “I’ll hold you to it, mon amour. You’ll see. I’m a man of my word.”

And as the two of you continue eating, the quiet intimacy that lingers between you both speaks volumes. Even if the proposal was a joke, the feelings beneath it were anything but a joke.

── .✦ Portgas D. Ace:

The crew is in the midst of celebrating their latest victory, mugs of rum and plates of food scattered across the long table. Everyone is laughing and teasing each other, the air thick with camaraderie and joy. Ace is leaning against the railing, surrounded by his crew, his usual playful energy filling the space.

You’re off to the side, chatting quietly with Marco, enjoying the rare peace amidst the rowdy celebration.

“Looks like everyone’s having a good time” you say, smiling as you watch the crew’s antics.

“Yeah,” Marco replies, “they definitely need moments like this. It’s been a while since we’ve had a reason to really celebrate.” He glances at you, a soft smile on his lips.

Meanwhile, Ace is leaning over the table, listening to the crew, and you notice the mischievous glint in his eyes as he exchanges a few words with Thatch. The two of them laugh, and you can see Ace’s trademark grin forming.

Suddenly, someone’s voice rises above the others, slurring slightly from the alcohol “Hey, Ace!” he shouts, clearly a little tipsy “I dare you to do something! You’re always pulling pranks, it’s your turn!”

Ace smirks and looks over at them, his eyes flicking to the rest of the crew who eagerly start egging him on “What do you have in mind?” he asks, leaning in as if he’s genuinely curious.

The others grin at each other, clearly having had too many drinks “I dare you to propose to Y/N, right now!”

The crew erupts into laughter, clearly loving the idea. You’re still talking to Marco and don’t hear it, unaware of the dare.

You turn around, confused, just as Ace, with his usual confidence, strides over to you. His eyes lock onto yours, and his smirk widens, his posture already dramatic as he drops to one knee in front of you.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice loud and theatrical, “will you marry me?”

The entire crew gasps and then bursts into laughter. You freeze, completely caught off guard.

For a split second your heart skips a beat, but then you notice the glint in his eyes. He’s teasing. It’s the same playful look he always has when he’s messing with someone.

You swallow hard, trying to laugh it off “Ace, what are you—”

But before you can finish your sentence, Ace stands up quickly, his grin widening as he grabs your shoulder and laughs loudly “Haha, come on! I’m just kidding! You know me!”

The crew, still in fits of laughter, cheers him on, but your heart sinks. You feel embarrassed, and the sudden realization hits you hard. You knew it was just another one of his jokes but for some reason, this one stings more than the others. You’re left standing there, staring at him, feeling both foolish and hurt.

“Ace…” you start, your voice quiet and suddenly trembling with a mixture of anger and something deeper. You can’t put your finger on it, but it feels like your heart’s being pulled in two directions.

Ace notices the change in your tone and looks at you, the playful glint in his eyes dimming for a moment as if he’s unsure of what’s happening “Hey, come on. It was just for fun, right?” He chuckles, brushing it off, but there’s something in his voice now, a hint of unease that wasn’t there before.

You force a smile “Yeah, sure, just for fun” you say, but your voice cracks slightly. You quickly turn away from him, walking off toward the edge of the ship, away from the crew and the laughter. You don’t want to face anyone right now, not Ace, not anyone.

Ace calls after you, but you don’t look back. You can feel his gaze on your back, but you don’t know if you’re ready to face the playful tone that always comes with his jokes. You’re hurt, and you can’t tell if it’s because you really thought he was serious for a moment or because it felt like he didn’t take your feelings into account.

The sound of the crew’s laughter is still behind you, but it feels distant now. You rest your hands on the cold metal of the ship’s railing, staring out at the dark, endless sea, trying to breathe through the hurt.

“Hey,” Ace’s voice suddenly cuts through the night air. You hadn’t realized he was following you. His playful tone gone, replaced by something softer, maybe even regretful “I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to.”

You shake your head, not turning to face him “It’s fine, Ace. Just... just go back to the crew. I don’t want to make a scene.”

There’s a long silence, and you can feel him standing behind you, still close, but not daring to push further. You can hear the deep sigh he lets out.

“You know I mess around a lot, right?” Ace says quietly, after a beat “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Ace seems to sense your hesitation, and he steps a little closer.

“I was just having fun with the guys,” he continues, his voice low, almost apologetic now “I didn’t think it would upset you. I’m sorry. If you want to talk about it… I’m here.”

You take a deep breath, trying to push back the frustration that’s built up in you. You hate how vulnerable you feel, too exposed. But you can’t let him see that, not right now.

“I just need some space” you reply quietly.

There’s another long pause before you hear him step back and you finally allow yourself to breathe a little easier. Ace doesn’t push you any further. You hear his footsteps retreat, but you know he’s still watching you, waiting, just in case you need him.

You know Ace didn’t mean to hurt you. You know he’s always been like this reckless, playful, always laughing things off. But tonight, it felt different.

Why did it bother me so much?

You hear footsteps behind you again, slower this time, more hesitant. You sigh “Ace, I said I needed some space—”

“It’s not Ace.”

You turn and find Marco standing there, arms crossed.

“You okay?” he asks, but his sharp eyes tell you he already knows the answer.

You manage a small, tired smile “Do I look okay?”

Marco huffs a soft laugh “Not really.” He steps beside you, leaning against the railing. For a moment, the two of you just stand there in silence.

Finally, he speaks again “Ace is an idiot.”

You let out a surprised laugh, though it’s weaker than usual “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

Marco tilts his head slightly, watching you “But he’s not heartless” he continues “He cares about you more than he probably realizes. And right now, he’s sitting over there, looking like a kicked puppy because he knows he messed up.”

Your fingers tighten on the railing “I know he didn’t mean to hurt me, Marco. But…” You hesitate, feeling vulnerable “I guess it just stung more than I expected. He laughed it off like it was nothing.”

Marco hums in understanding “Because to him, it was just a joke. But to you… it wasn’t.”

You don’t reply, but you know he’s right. Even if you hadn’t admitted it to yourself before, a small part of you had wanted it to be real.

Marco pushes off the railing and pats your shoulder lightly “You don’t have to talk to him yet if you don’t want to. But if you do…” He glances toward the other side of the ship, where Ace is sitting on a barrel, staring down at his drink, barely touching it. His usual carefree energy is gone “He’s waiting.”

You hesitate. A part of you still wants to be mad. But another part, the part that cares too much, wants to hear what more he has to say.

With a deep breath, you push off the railing and make your way toward him.

Ace notices you immediately, his head snapping up, eyes widening slightly. He doesn’t grin this time, doesn’t make a joke. He just watches you cautiously, like he’s bracing himself.

You stop a few steps away “Hey.”

Ace exhales, setting his drink down “Hey...” He looks uncertain, which is rare for him “Can I...” He hesitates “Can I talk to you?”

You nod and sit down on the crate across from him. He looks relieved but still fidgety, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to figure out what to say.

After a long pause, he finally speaks “I didn’t think, okay?” His voice is quieter than usual, missing its usual cocky edge “I didn’t think about how it would feel for you. I was just messing around with the crew, and when they dared me, I just… went with it. I didn’t mean for it to be a joke at your expense.”

You cross your arms “Then why did you laugh it off like that?”

Ace winces slightly “Because… I panicked.”

That catches you off guard “Panicked?”

He lets out a slow breath and runs a hand through his messy black hair “Yeah. Because for a second, when I was kneeling there, looking at you, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore” He pauses, his voice dropping lower “And that scared the hell out of me.”

He looks at your confused face, and for once, there’s no teasing in his eyes. Just raw honesty.

“I mean…” He rubs his face, frustrated with himself “I mean that maybe it wasn’t just a joke to me, either.”

The world seems to tilt slightly. Your breath catches, and you stare at him, trying to process his words.

Ace sighs, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees “I don’t know how to say this the right way. I’ve never been good at this kind of thing. But you—” He exhales sharply “You matter to me. More than I probably let on. And when I saw how upset you were, I realized that I really, really don’t want to lose you.”

You swallow thickly, your emotions all tangled up “Ace…”

He leans back, giving you a small, hesitant smile “I won’t joke about something like that again. I swear. But…” He rubs the back of his neck “If—if I ever did propose… I’d want it to be real.”

For a long moment, you don’t speak. You’re still mad. Still hurt. But beneath all of that, there’s a warmth spreading through your chest, something dangerously close to hope.

Finally, you shake your head and stand up. Ace tenses, as if expecting you to walk away again.

Instead, you go closer. And before you can overthink it, you grab the front of his shirt and tug him down into a kiss.

Ace freezes for a second, caught completely off guard. But then he melts into it, his hands finding your waist, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. The kiss is slow, uncertain at first, but then it deepens, warm, real, full of everything you haven’t been able to put into words.

When you finally pull away, Ace blinks at you, completely dazed “...Whoa.”

You smirk, your heart still racing “No jokes this time?”

He grins, breathless “No jokes.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway “Good.”

Ace watches you for a moment, then his grin softens into something more genuine “So… does this mean you forgive me?”

You pretend to think about it “Hmm. I dunno. Maybe you should actually try proposing for real and see how I feel.”

His eyes widen, and you laugh at the way he suddenly looks flustered. But the warmth in his expression tells you that maybe, just maybe, that day isn’t as far off as you once thought.

── .✦ Trafalgar D. Law:

The ballroom is suffocating in its elegance, gold chandeliers, velvet curtains, and nobles dressed in the finest silks. Conversations flow with laughter, political gossip, and expensive wine. You navigate the crowd effortlessly, your arm looped around Law’s as the two of you blend in among the guests.

This is just another mission.

Your goal this time is to gather intel on the underground auction happening later tonight. And to do so, you have to pretend to be a wealthy couple and gain access to informations. Tonight you are Law’s fiancée.

“You’re tense” Law murmurs beside you, barely moving his lips.

You glare up at him, keeping a pleasant smile for the guests “Maybe because I’m still processing how I went from ‘crewmate’ to ‘fake fiancée.’”

He hums “Would you rather be my wife?”

You elbow him discreetly, and he chuckles under his breath.

“Ah, you're Torao, right?” a nobleman approaches with a warm smile and glass in hand, but Law suddently snorts at the name already planning on getting revenge to however was supposed to arrange a fake name for him... you try your best to not laugh “And who is this stunning young woman?”

Before you can even open your mouth, Law speaks smoothly.

“My fiancée”

You freeze for just a fraction of a second, but you recover quickly, forcing a demure smile as the nobleman’s eyes widen in delight.

“Oh, my! I had no idea you were engaged! Congratulations!”

More nobles turn their attention toward you both, excited murmurs rippling through the crowd. You barely resist the urge to shoot Law a look, because you figured he’d introduce you as a partner or companion, but fiancée? That just complicate things.

You manage to slip away after a few more introdutions, excusing yourself to get a drink and some air. Meanwhile, Law stays behind, sipping his wine in silence.

That’s when an older noblewoman leans in conspiratorially.

“You know,” she hums, swirling her drink, “I couldn’t help but notice something peculiar.”

Law barely reacts “Oh?”

She grins “She’s not wearing a ring.”

His fingers tighten subtly around his glass.

Another noble nods “Yes, rather unusual for an engagement, don’t you think?”

A dozen responses flash through Law’s mind, he could say something like it’s being resized, or that you don’t like wearing jewelry. But instead, for reasons even he doesn’t fully understand, the words that come out are, “I have a ring.”

The noblewoman’s eyes sparkle “Oh? Then why isn’t she wearing it?”

Law exhales through his nose “I was planning to propose soon.”

The group of nobles collectively gasps.

“Tonight?!”

Law immediately regrets his words.

“Oh, how romantic!” one woman gushes “You must do it here!”

Law resists the urge to teleport himself out of this conversation, but when he turns, he sees you making your way back, completely oblivious to the trap he just walked into. And something shifts inside him, because in his pocket, there is a ring. Your exact size.

He never planned to use it. He doesn’t even fully understand why he bought it in the first place. Maybe it was impulse, or maybe it was something deeper, something he refuses to acknowledge.

But now he stands. The room falls silent.

You slow your steps, eyes flicking to him in confusion “What...”

And then he kneels.

Your heart stops.

The nobles erupt into cheers.

Law looks up at you as he pulls out the ring.

Your breath catches.

Why is he doing this? Why does he have that?

Law exhales, his voice quieter now, just for you.

“y/n,” he says, his fingers brushing against yours, “marry me.”

There’s no teasing in his tone. No playfulness. Just Law, holding your hand, holding a ring he never intended to actually reveal, and looking at you like he means every single word.

The entire ballroom is silent, every noble watching with excitement. Somewhere in the distance, someone murmurs about how romantic this is, but all you can hear is the rushing in your ears, the unsteady rhythm of your breathing... because Law is holding a ring. Your exact size. And for he looks like he actually means it.

Your mouth opens, but no words come out.

Law exhales softly, gaze unreadable. His fingers ghost over yours as he holds the ring between them, and you swear you feel a slight tremor.

“Uhm... say yes” he murmurs, voice too low for anyone else to hear.

Your breath catches “What?”

His fingers tighten around your hand, almost imperceptibly “Say yes...” he repeats, softer this time.

You swallow hard. You know this is a performance. Something must have happened while you weren't there and he's doing all this to keep up the cover and complete the mission. But something in the way he’s looking at you, so calm, so sure, makes your throat tighten.

You force yourself to move, to push away the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume you.

“…Yes.”

The second the word leaves your lips, the room erupts. Cheers, applause, laughters, as the nobles celebrate.

Law stands smoothly, still holding your hand, and in one fluid motion, he slides the ring onto your finger.

A perfect fit.

Your chest tightens.

Why do you have this? you want to ask. Why do you have my size? Why does this feel real?

But instead, you let him pull you closer, his fingers resting lightly against your waist as someone shouts “The kiss! You have to seal it with a kiss!”

Your stomach flips violently. You glance up at Law, expecting him to show hesitation, annoyance... anything.

But his expression remains unreadable.

He exhales quietly, as if resigning himself to what comes next. Then, in one smooth movement, he cups your face, his calloused fingers brushing against your jaw.

His lips press against yours as the world blurs.

It’s soft at first, gentle, the perfect display for an adoring fiancé. But then his fingers slide into your hair, pulling you a fraction closer, and something shifts.

The air between you crackles, the warmth of his body pressing into yours. Your fingers clutch at his suit, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

It doesn’t feel fake, not even for a second, and that breaks you.

When he finally pulls away, the crowd is ecstatic, clapping and cheering. You barely register them.

Law leans in, his forehead nearly brushing yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice just for you.

You’re not. Not even close. But you have to force a smirk, masking the confusion, the longing, the ache in your chest.

“You’re a better actor than I thought” you whisper, trying to sound teasing, but it comes out unsteady.

His lips twitch slightly in almost a smirk.

And then, just as he turns to lead you away, his voice drops to a whisper.

“Am I acting?”

Your breath catches.

But before you can even process his words, he’s already pulling you through the crowd, his fingers brushing against yours.

“Come on,” he says “We still have a mission to finish.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

The ring on your finger feels heavier than it should, and now you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to take it off.

── .✦ Shanks:

The Red-Haired Pirates are celebrating their recent success, the air filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking mugs, and music. You and Shanks are at the center of it all, the crew’s favorite couple. You’ve been together for a while now, everyone around you knows how close you two are. The bond you share is evident, whether you’re laughing together, sharing a drink, or pulling off your signature “fake proposal” routine at taverns to get free food.

Today was no different. You’d pulled off yet another hilarious fake proposal at a local tavern with Shanks dramatically getting down on one knee and you playing the blushing fiancée, and everyone else had completely fallen for it. The whole crew had watched from the sidelines, laughing at the reaction of other people around. You and Shanks had left the tavern with free drinks and a standing ovation, and now you’re back on the ship, basking in the afterglow of your latest successful scam.

The crew is still laughing, recalling the events from earlier.

“That was too good,” Yasopp says, slapping his knee as he chuckles “I swear, you two are getting better at this with every try.”

“Yeah, honestly, I almost thought it was real” Benn Beckman adds, leaning back in his chair.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile “You guys are terrible” you tease, nudging Shanks playfully.

Shanks simply grins casually leaning against the railing of the ship as the crew continues to tease the two of you about your newer “engagement”. His eyes are full of mischief, the same spark you’ve always loved. But there’s something different tonight, they seem a little more serious, almost like he’s thinking about something far beyond the joke.

“You know...” Shanks starts, his voice quieter than usual, drawing your attention. The rest of the crew falls into a hushed silence, sensing something is about to shift “Maybe one day, we should do it for real.”

You blink, staring at him “What?” you ask, not sure if he’s still joking or if something else is going on.

Shanks smirks, but there’s a certain vulnerability in his gaze now that makes your heart skip a beat “I mean it. What would you say if I asked you for real one day? Like, if I asked you to marry me, what would you say?”

For a moment, everything around you goes still. The sounds of the crew’s laughter fade, and it’s just you and Shanks, standing there. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, something deeper than the usual playful teasing.

You feel a flutter in your chest as you meet his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. It’s clear he’s not messing around anymore.

“You really want to know?” you ask softly, your voice a little unsteady.

Shanks doesn’t break eye contact, his expression soft but steady “Yeah, I do.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. For a heartbeat, everything feels heavier... your emotions swirling as you take in the meaning behind his words. Then you smile, a warm, genuine smile. You take a deep breath, knowing what this means “Then ask me, and find out.”

Shanks’ lips curl into a gentle, tender smile, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s going to kiss you right then and there. But instead, he leans in slightly, lowering his voice.

“I’ll make you notice right away when it’s for real,” he says, his words full of affection “You’ll be so surprised when I’ll do it, you won’t even know what hit you.”

You laugh softly, a mix of emotions rushing through you “I can’t wait...” you say, your voice light but with a hint of excitement.

Without another word, Shanks pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he presses his lips against yours in a slow, lingering kiss. You melt into it, the taste of his lips familiar and comforting, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away.

The crew is watching you two, stunned into silence at first, but then the cheers start.

“Get a room!” Lucky Roux shouts with a laugh, and the rest of the crew joins in, clapping.

You pull back slightly, your forehead resting against Shanks’ as you both smile at the crew’s reaction. He gives you a playful wink, and you can’t help but chuckle.

“I’ll take that as a yes” he says softly, his grin full of mischief again.

“Yeah,” you reply with a smile, still feeling the warmth of his kiss on your lips “I kinda spoilered you my answer.”

The crew continues to laugh and tease, but you and Shanks know this moment is real. It might not have been an official proposal yet, but you both understand that when the time is right, he’ll ask, and you’ll say yes. For now, though, you’ll just enjoy this moment with him, the love between you two shining brighter than anything else.

And as the crew celebrates, you and Shanks share another kiss, a promise of what’s to come.

Shanks barely pulls away from your lips before a familiar glint of mischief sparks in his eyes. The crew is still laughing and whistling, throwing jabs about how disgustingly in love the two of you are, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

You know that look.

Before you can react, Shanks suddenly drops to one knee again, right there on the deck, holding out his empty hand like he’s presenting a ring.

“Alright, alright! Since the moment is so perfect... Y/N, will you make me the happiest pirate alive and marry me? For real this time?” His voice is exaggerated, his expression overly dramatic as he bats his lashes up at you.

The crew erupts, laughing and cheering like this is the best show they’ve ever seen. Some of them start slamming their mugs, chanting, “SAY YES! SAY YES!” Lucky Roux even tosses a handful of peanuts in the air like they’re flower petals.

Shanks is still kneeling, hand outstretched “Well?” he asks, tilting his head with a teasing grin “Are you gonna break my heart in front of my beloved crew, Y/N?”

You let out a dramatic sigh and step closer, leaning down just enough to flick his forehead.

The exaggerated thunk makes the crew howl with laughter.

Shanks rocks back like you’ve physically struck him, clutching his chest as if mortally wounded “Rejected… just like that?” he gasps, looking up at you with the most pathetic pout you’ve ever seen “You didn’t even consider it? Not even for a second?”

You shake your head, grinning “Oh, shut up. If I say yes to every proposal of yours, we’d be married a hundred times over by now. I can’t accept two in just one day.”

The crew explodes into laughter again, slamming their mugs together, completely losing it over the ridiculousness of it all.

“I think this is the first time Shanks has ever been turned down,” Yasopp says, wiping tears from his eyes “Somebody write this down, it’s history in the making!”

Shanks, still on one knee, sighs dramatically before looking up at you with a lopsided grin “Guess I’ll just have to try again some other day”

There’s something in the way he says it, something in the way his gaze lingers on yours, that makes your chest tighten.

And then, without warning, he rises to his feet and takes your hand.

You raise an eyebrow, confused, but he just smiles as he pulls you in closer “What are you—?”

“Dancing” he answers simply.

There’s no music playing, just the sound of the crew’s laughter and the gentle crash of the waves against the ship. But that doesn’t stop him.

Shanks starts to sway, leading you effortlessly into a slow dance, like the two of you are at some grand ballroom instead of the deck of a pirate ship, surrounded by a bunch of rowdy, drunken idiots.

The crew quiets slightly, watching in amusement. But then you hear Yasopp groan “Oh, come on. Really?”

“Oi, we’re in the middle of a celebration, not a honeymoon!” someone else calls out.

“Get a room, this time for real!” Lucky Roux laughs.

But you barely hear them.

Because you’re looking at Shanks, and he’s looking at you.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter that there’s no music, or that your idiot pirate family is teasing you both in the background. It doesn’t matter that this started as a joke, or that moments ago, he was on one knee in the most ridiculous, over-the-top fake proposal.

Because right now, the way he’s holding you, one hand in yours, the other resting on your waist, feels so natural. So right.

You let yourself melt into him, following his lead as the two of you continue to sway in the middle of the chaos.

“You’re ridiculous” you murmur, but your voice is soft, affectionate.

Shanks smirks “And yet, you’re still here.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head “Yeah,” you whisper “I am.”

His grip on you tightens just slightly, and his expression softens “Perfect.”

Then, grinning, Shanks playfully lowers you backward while holding you, like in a dramatic dance move. Catching you completely off guard. You gasp, clutching at his coat, and the crew loses their minds.

“ALRIGHT, THAT’S ENOUGH!” Yasopp groans “I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! If you're not going into a room then I am!”

The crew bursts into laughter, some covering their eyes, others raising their drinks in amusement.

Shanks, still grinning like a fool, pulls you back up and presses a quick kiss to your forehead.

“You really are the love of my life, y’know that?” he murmurs.

Your heart skips a beat.

You smile, reaching up to brush a few strands of red hair away from his face “Yeah,” you whisper “I know.”

And as the crew continues their antics around you, you realize that this is the best moment of your life.

[innieirving]

like, okay, i'm sure this scene has been talked about and dissected to pieces already in this fandom but. BUT. i need to put my two cents in or i will explode.

so, your lord and best friend has just admitted to you that if you die, he will be so beside himself with grief that he might just die too.

the game then gives you THIS option in response.

and you, the player, know how video games work. you know this is the press x for romance button. you expect henry to admit his feelings—a culmination of all the hints he's dropped from the heart options we've chosen before—and kiss him as soon as the button's been pressed.

except henry doesn't kiss hans.

instead, henry places his hand on hans' hand. it's the first moment of physical contact between them in the whole scene...but it's not a kiss. it's gentle. it's intimate. it's tiptoeing the line between comforting a friend and something more...

...but henry leaves it at that. and he gets up and goes to leave.

and in that moment of panic. in that split second of 'this might be the last time i'll ever see you again, please don't go' — it's hans that kisses henry.

and it's henry who pushes hans away.

this is—for all intents and purposes—the opposite of what we, the player, chose.

and to add insult to injury, henry looks conflicted.

he looks SO conflicted that hans believes he's fucked up royally.

that he has completely tarnished their final moments together by acting on impulse—by giving into temptation and desperation and feelings he can't even put into his own words—and henry must be disgusted by him.

and hans believes this because he watches henry turn his back to him. refusing to look at him. and head for the door.

but henry stops before he opens it. and i keep thinking back to the heart option we chose.

the player is not making the choice for henry to kiss hans. we are not forcing his hand.

the player is reminding henry what he's been telling himself throughout the entire game.

don't run away, henry.

kiss him. kiss him back.

so henry does.

[failchild]

i can write so much more about why i think severance S2 isn't as strong or enjoyable as S1, but i could truly go on forever so i've organized my thoughts into three categories: lack of inter/departmental connection, dropped storylines, and how the world feels much smaller (1.2k words under the cut)

lack of inter/departmental connection

a significant theme of the S2 finale is the solidarity between different severed departments. MDR, mammalians nurturable, and the marching band department become impromptu allies against lumon management. innie mark is hesitant to save gemma not just because he might cease to exist, but so might the entire severed department. so why wasn't this a theme throughout the whole season?

episode 3 was building up to this: mark and "helly" made contact with mammalians nurturable, and irving visited O&D to share a nice moment with felicia. but that interdepartmental connection is completely dropped until the the finale, seven episodes later.

innie mark's concern for all severed workers rings a bit hollow when he doesn't seem to care about the three innies he got terminated in episode 1, and hasn't thought about irving at all. (i know ignoring grief is mark's whole thing, but he's known irving his whole life! there's not even a single moment of him acknowledging irving after his firing.) like, okay, mark said innie rights! does he really demonstrate that throughout the season, though?

EDIT: oh my god, miss casey—innie mark willingly killed miss casey. if he was truly so concerned about every innie, shouldn't he have been conflicted about leading her to her death? the person he said "we're people, not parts of people" to? the person he said "no one gets to just turn you off" to? (mark! you just turned her off!)

what stands out more is the lack of connection within MDR itself: once irving's gone, MDR just doesn't seem to care about each other. their tight-knit friendship and "we're in this together" dynamic is supplanted by romance. sure, mark and helly love each other now—why does that have to come at the cost of their friendship with dylan? do they just not care that he's been disappearing for half the work day? in the S2 finale, it's a great character moment for dylan when he comes to the rescue, but would helly and mark do the same for him? they didn't seem to notice or care that he was gone for mark's completion of cold harbor.

dropped storylines and dramatic twists that lead nowhere

(i know how television works, i know that plotlines that begin in one season can get resolved in another. okay. now that's out of the way)

remember how bold of a decision it was to have mark reintegrate in episode 3? the building of tension, reghabi asking an increasingly confused mark basic questions ("what season is it?" "you mean, what quarter?"), mark waking up on the severed floor table, and the triumphant soundtrack that follows? none of that seems to matter now: reghabi is out of the picture and mark doesn't get reintegration sickness or hallucinations anymore. reghabi kept warning mark to not move his head—then he fell to the ground and slammed his head, and was beaten in the head by drummond. is his brain okay? did the reintegration process even happen? did i dream this plotline? where am i?

what did the undercover helena plot accomplish? okay, so it was crazy when irving revealed that helena was impersonating helly. what exactly were the consequences of this? besides irving getting fired, there were barely any ripple effects for this seemingly momentous betrayal—mark was uncomfortable for two episodes, and helly was upset for, like, ten minutes tops. it's a fun plot twist for sure, but it doesn't seem to truly affect the character it should matter most to, and helly isn't given the time to wrestle with the fact that she's an eagan (royalty! a god!) and found out mere hours ago. we get to know helena a bit, i guess, but she was already compelling when she was just a face on a TV screen, telling helly that she wasn't a person.

speaking of irving's firing, this was the perfect setup for learning more about his outie, but we learn nothing. we have the same questions as we did in S1: who's he working with? what's his motivation to infiltrate lumon? why does he know about the elevator to the testing floor? irving is just as much of a mystery as he was in S1—and now we don't know if we'll ever see him again and get answers to those crucial character questions.

milchick has undoubtedly the best character arc this season. in episode 9 he finally snaps at upper management and can barely process what it means when outie mark tells him, "work's just work". i don't think milchick would turn his back on lumon entirely, that wouldn't be realistic, but all his character moments throughout the season seemed to be culminating to him realizing that, yeah, work is just work, it's not that serious. it makes sense that he would try his hardest to escape the bathroom, then get greeted by an innie uprising—but that would have also happened to a S1 milchick. after the kier animatronic microaggressions and all the shit he has to do to prepare for cold harbor's completion, would he really try to escape the bathroom that hard? or would he be having a midlife crisis, staring himself down in a mirror? i'm genuinely not sure.

i know i'm in the minority here but i loved ricken in S1—he and his strange followers bring an earnestness and sense of humor that made the show feel unique in how it juggled wildly different tones. ricken was also crucial to the innie story, and helped innie mark realize his potential as a human being. but besides appearing in a single flashback during the gemma episode, ricken's been completely absent since episode 3. what happened to his lumon sellout arc? what does he think his wife, who he has a newborn baby with, is doing? did he die in a private yacht explosion?

we still don't know what cold harbor is, right? we know that each file MDR completes is another room for gemma, but what's cold harbor specifically, and why would it kill her? she starts to disassemble a crib without feeling negative emotions—how is that any different from any other innie? is the point to sever away specific trauma? is that really it? and again, why would that kill her?

the world feels much smaller

the world outside of lumon is absent in S2. S1 had ricken and his weird friends, mark going on dates, back alley concerts, anti-severance protests, snippets of the news—there was life outside of lumon! S2 leaves that all behind to tighten focus on lumon and the people directly involved in the company, which makes the story very insular.

characters are so vitally important now: helly is an eagan, mark is the only one who can finish cold harbor and cold harbor is The Most Important Thing In The World We Have To Complete It Now, everything MDR does is because of gemma, and cobel invented severance. everyone else feels supplemental—people like irving and ricken can be easily discarded. the science fiction aspects, which were bizarre and unknowable in S1, are now directly personal to everyone. it's like milchick lying about the tallest waterfall in the world: it just makes everything seem smaller.

this also muddies S1's central themes and satire of the corporate world. mark isn't just another cog in the machine anymore, he's the most important guy (they fired and rehired a bunch of people, just for him!). the work isn't mysterious anymore, we know exactly what they're doing. mark being an ordinary guy who goes to an office job he doesn't really understand was the point of the corporate satire. severance just isn't interested in that anymore, which i guess is understandable; the show can grow into something different. but using a sci-fi concept to comment on office culture and the different personas we inhabit for work was so clever and special, and now they're just exploring well-trodden ground like identity and what it means to be human. sci-fi has already done that one, guys! many times!

again, i can say a lot more but i think this sums up my main thoughts. and i generally liked each episode individually, but when i look at the season as a whole it just doesn't cohere nearly as well as S1 did.

[mahalachives]

Part 5: Azriel, Please—There Are Easier Ways to Say You Like Me

Azriel x f!reader

Genre: fated mates, rom-com, crack humor, eventual angst, eventual smut

Summary: Azriel never expected to finally meet his mate and to be… this.

A walking disaster with a talent for tripping over air, an uncanny ability to charm even the grumpiest Illyrian, and a knack for throwing herself headfirst into situations that require his immediate intervention.

She is warmth where he is shadow, laughter where he is silence. And worst of all? She makes him smile without trying.

Azriel, Are you Okay? - Masterlist

You were not mated.

Not officially. Not even close.

And yet, somehow, everyone in Velaris had decided that you and Azriel were doomed soulmates bound by fate itself.

You had no idea how this happened.

One moment, you were living a perfectly normal existence.

The next, the entire city had turned into a gossip-infested hellscape in which your love life (or, more accurately, lack of a love life) had become Velaris’s newest favorite spectator sport.

And the first sign that things had spiraled violently out of control?

The bakery.

You had only gone in for a cup of tea and a pastry.

A normal day.

A normal errand.

Nothing suspicious.

No mating-related catastrophes.

And then the old fae woman behind the counter, the same sweet baker who had been selling you lemon tarts since you were a child, looked at you with The Look.

The kind of look only old women were capable of—the one that suggested they knew things.

You froze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She merely folded her hands, serene, all-knowing. “Oh, nothing, dear. Just wondering if you’ll be ordering extra today. You know—since you’re eating for two now.”

You nearly choked on air. “WHAT?!”

The baker sighed, as if you were being difficult. “Not like that, dear. I mean the bond. Surely you need extra sustenance now that you and Azriel are practically joined at the soul.”

Your eye twitched. “We are not joined at the soul.”

She patted your hand. As if you were a child throwing a tantrum. As if you hadn’t just narrowly escaped a full-body aneurysm.

“Of course not, dear.”

You stared at her. Open-mouthed.

And then, without another word, you turned and stormed out of the shop—without your lemon tart.

That’s how serious this was.

And then, It got worse.

Because when you walked into the market, people started smiling at you.

Not friendly smiles.

No, these were knowing smiles.

And then came the greetings.

“Oh, finally, my lady! Congratulations!”

“Velaris’s very own romance novel come to life!”

“When’s the ceremony? I need time to find a dress!”

You sputtered, heat rising so fast it practically burned. “I—what? What ceremony?!”

The shopkeeper just winked and handed you your change.

And then…

And then.

You saw it.

The massive chalkboard posted outside the café.

Your stomach dropped.

OFFICIAL MATING BOND POOL Mating ceremony is confirmed this month – 5:1 odds The Spymaster admits confesses first – 3:1 odds She runs for another month before giving up – 2:1 odds Cassian or Mor forces them to kiss – EVEN ODDS They somehow deny it for the next century – 100:1 odds (Please, Mother, no)

You made a small, strangled noise.

“Oh, for the love of the Cauldron—” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

And then—as if summoned by your sheer, agonizing suffering—Mor appeared.

“Oh, good,” she said, grinning ear to ear. “You saw the betting pool!”

You snapped your head up, pure betrayal in your eyes. “You did this, didn’t you?”

Mor batted her lashes. “Me? Oh no. This is entirely a community effort.”

Your jaw dropped. “A whole city-wide betting pool is a community effort?!”

She grinned. “You’d be surprised how invested people are in Az’s love life.”

Your face burned. “But there is no love life!”

Mor sighed. “Sweetheart. You blush every time he looks at you.”

You froze. “I do not!”

Mor gave you a look.

You crossed your arms. “I—okay, maybe sometimes, but that’s—irrelevant!”

Mor just smirked. “Uh-huh.”

You turned to flee.

But Mor—predictably evil—hooked her arm around your shoulders, dragging you toward the café.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” she purred, far too delighted. “You’re not escaping this.”

You were going to kill someone.

Preferably Mor.

Maybe Cassian.

Probably the High Lord.

The café was packed—because of course it was.

Because Velaris was full of nosy degenerates with nothing better to do than wager actual money on your nonexistent love life.

The betting pool had doubled in size since you last saw it.

Someone had even added flourishes.

And, Cauldron damn it, someone had drawn little hearts around your name and Azriel’s.

You didn’t know whether to scream or simply lay down and accept death.

“Oh, look,” Mor mused, guiding you toward a table like this wasn’t the worst moment of your life. “Cassian’s added a new bet.”

You should not have looked.

You absolutely should not have looked.

But Mor was a fiend and your curiosity was a disease, so your eyes flicked up to the newest entry on the board:

• Cassian makes an inappropriate joke that forces Azriel to confess—1:2 odds

You turned to Mor, seething. “I hate you.”

Mor only beamed. “Oh, sweetheart, no you don’t. You love me.”

Before you could respond—probably with a crime—Cassian himself came bounding in through the door, clearly pleased about something.

And then you saw him.

Azriel.

Standing in the doorway. Looking as composed as ever.

Your mate.

The subject of Velaris’s worst gossip fever dream.

The male who had somehow, inexplicably, remained completely unaware of the utter hellstorm surrounding him.

He still looked unaware.

Like he had no idea his love life was being scrutinized at a level usually reserved for Royal engagements.

It was maddening.

You stiffened. “Don’t say anything,” you hissed at Mor.

Mor, naturally, ignored you.

“Az!” she called, far too cheerful. “You’re just in time.”

Azriel—blessedly unaware, infuriatingly unreadable—tilted his head in silent question.

Mor gestured at the chalkboard.

Azriel followed her gaze.

You held your breath.

Waited.

And—

He blinked once.

Slowly.

Then turned back to Mor.

“I see Cassian’s gotten worse.”

That was it.

That was his only reaction.

Not horror.

Not confusion.

Just a mild acknowledgment that his best friend had lost what was left of his dignity.

You gawked at him.

“Azriel,” you started, feeling wild. “Did you see the board?”

He nodded. “I saw it.”

You waited.

Surely, surely, he was going to say something.

Surely, he was going to deny it.

To shut this entire thing down.

To put an end to this nightmare.

Instead, he just turned to Cassian and said, calm as ever, “What are my odds?”

You made an ungodly sound.

Cassian grinned. “Depends. You planning on making a move soon?”

Azriel didn’t even blink. “If I say yes, do my odds improve?”

You choked.

Cassian cackled. “Oh, this is my favorite day.”

Mor was in tears.

And you—

You needed to leave.

Immediately.

Before you combusted.

So you whirled on your heel and stormed out of the café.

Without looking back.

Without responding.

Because if you stayed one second longer, you were either going to murder someone or—

Or—

You didn’t know.

But one thing was certain.

Velaris was never going to let this go.

Azriel was known across Prythian for many things—stealth, murder, trauma, a voice like warm velvet sin, and the ability to make people confess state secrets with a single glare.

What he wasn’t known for?

Social skills.

And yet here he was, standing in the doorway of your apartment at eight in the evening, looking like someone had dared him to knock and then bet their wings he wouldn’t.

His shadows twitched like caffeinated bats. His expression was trying very hard to stay unreadable and failing.

“I brought you something,” he said, like this was normal and not the intro to a Hallmark holiday special with knives.

You blinked at him. “You… brought me something?”

He nodded. Slowly. Like he was afraid sudden movements would startle you or the gift. Then—like a magician doing a very underwhelming trick—he reached into his jacket.

And pulled out a bowl.

With water.

And a single, bobbing, totally unbothered goldfish.

"...Is that a fish?" you asked, because what the actual hell else do you say in this situation?

Azriel’s lips twitched. He was trying not to smile, and you hated how much you wanted him to fail.

“Gregory needed a home,” he said solemnly, like this was a wartime adoption and not the fallout of your completely fake emotional support fish lie from three weeks ago.

You stared.

Then stared at the fish.

Then stared at Azriel.

“You got me a fish.”

“You said your beloved fish needed you,” he replied, like he wasn’t casually weaponizing your own lie against you. “I thought you might appreciate having actual evidence to back up your story.”

Azriel—Mister I Have Seven Knives on Me at All Times—brought you a fish. Named Gregory.

Because you invented a fish to dodge a conversation.

And this man took it personally.

You gawked. “I—I don’t know whether to thank you or throttle you.”

His eyes gleamed like the bastard liked that answer. “I’m prepared for either.”

You let out a laugh—a full-blown snort-laugh—and immediately covered your face like the sound had summoned the Cauldron to smite you.

Azriel just smiled.

Not a twitch. Not a sarcastic smirk. An actual, full, tooth-baring, mortal-realm-illegal smile. Like he hadn’t just delivered a fish to your home like it was a bouquet of roses and a threat.

Your knees briefly forgot how to function.

“So,” he said, holding out the bowl. “Will you accept Gregory into your home?”

You took it, blinking down at the world’s most emotionally charged fish. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice. Can’t have him developing attachment issues.”

Azriel’s shadows twirled playfully across your ceiling, which felt rude, like they were silently judging you for not already naming your firstborn after him.

“A true tragedy,” he murmured.

You hesitated, trying not to sound like you were casually asking the Night Court’s deadliest male on a domestic date. “Would you… want to come in? For tea… ”

“I’d like that.”

Oh no. Oh no. He said it like he meant it.

You set Gregory (bless his tiny orange soul) gently on the counter, praying he wouldn't die in the next 24 hours because you were definitely not emotionally stable enough to lose a symbolic fish right now.

Azriel was watching you.

Quiet.

Focused.

Dangerous in the way hot people are when they make direct eye contact.

“What?” you asked, cheeks heating.

“Nothing,” he said. Then—the audacity—he added, “Just thinking Gregory is a lucky fish.”

You nearly combusted.

“Because I’m a devoted fish mom?”

His lips twitched again. “Because he gets to see you every day.”

DEAD. YOU WERE DEAD.

The man brought a fish and now he was flirting like this was the final scene in a fae rom-com. (Working title: “Something Fishy This Way Comes.”)

“Tea?” you squeaked, already boiling in your own emotions.

“Please.”

You busied yourself with the kettle, your back to him, panic-simmering like the water, while Azriel—the lethal, soft-spoken, emotionally unavailable HIMBO of the Night Court—sat at your kitchen counter like this was all normal.

And maybe it was.

Because Gregory was swimming contentedly.

Azriel’s shadows were doing suspiciously cutesy spirals.

And somehow, impossibly, this felt right.

Which meant you were in danger.

Of catching very real feelings.

And possibly, accidentally falling in love.

With a man who used a fish as a flirting strategy.

The bar? In hell.

You? Entirely, deeply doomed.

The next morning, you were awakened by a knock on your door.

Correction: you were violently yanked from your dreams of screaming jellybeans and sexy shadows by someone attempting to break your door down with enthusiasm.

You staggered to your feet, hair looking like you'd survived a hurricane, one sock on, and yanked the door open with the grace of a drunk squirrel.

Lira stood there like she’d just been summoned by the Cauldron itself. Bouncing. Sparkling. Dangerously caffeinated.

"So?" she demanded like a feral news reporter chasing scandal.

You blinked at her. "...So what?"

Her eyes gleamed with the kind of glee that should be illegal in all 7 Courts. "So how was your date with the Shadowsinger?"

You froze like you'd just been hit with another surprise mating bond. "It wasn’t a date."

“Mmm-hmm.” She shoved past you like a tiny tornado and flopped on your couch. “That’s not what I heard.”

Your stomach dropped to your knees. “What did you hear?”

She inspected her nails. “Oh nothing. Just that Azriel brought you a gift, stayed for hours, and left at sunrise with his shadows humming a lullaby. No big deal.”

"He brought me a fish!" you shrieked.

“A fish?” She blinked. “Wait. Like... the imaginary fish you told him about during that wine-fueled rant about emotional support pets?”

“Yes!” you wailed, collapsing next to her. “And he named it Gregory!”

Lira clutched her chest like she’d been shot. “Mother above. That’s—that’s actually adorable.”

“It’s a threat to my dignity.”

“It’s romantic,” she corrected. Then her eyes found the bowl on your counter. “Oh my gods. There it is. That’s Gregory.”

She sprinted to the bowl like it was the Holy Grail. “Hello, Gregory! Welcome to the family, you precious aquatic warlock!”

“He’s not family,” you muttered. “He’s a trap.”

“A trap would be a dead fish. This is courtship,” Lira replied like a fae Jane Austen.

You chucked a pillow at her.

She caught it midair, yeeted it back at you without looking. “How long did he stay?”

You hesitated. “...A while.”

“Define ‘a while.’”

You mumbled, “...Three hours?”

Lira’s eyebrows ascended to the Moon. “Three hours? That’s not a chat. That’s a romantic epic. What did you do, exchange life stories and share trauma-flavored tea?”

“We just talked,” you groaned.

She gasped. “Talked? The spymaster? The male who communicates exclusively in shrugs and shadow vibes? You must’ve unlocked a secret dialogue tree.”

Before you could retaliate with a muffin-based assault, another knock came at your door.

You opened it with a sense of doom.

It was Mor, glowing like a goddess of gossip, holding a basket of muffins and unfiltered chaos.

“Good morning!” she sang, sailing in. “Ooooh, Lira’s already here. Perfect.”

“Why are you both here?” you asked, already done with this timeline.

“For the debrief, obviously,” Mor said. “We brought snacks. Also, I may or may not have enchanted the muffins with mood-detection spells.”

“The what?”

“The debrief,” Lira nodded solemnly. “We need details.”

“It wasn’t a DATE!” you shouted to the heavens.

Mor pulled a tiny piece of paper from her cleavage. “Ahem. ‘Spending private time, giving gifts, emotionally bonding, and speaking in full sentences counts as a date.’ –Cassian’s Official Dating Protocol for Azriel, 2nd Edition.”

You blinked. “Did you just quote a glossary entry?”

“He wrote it for Az,” Mor said cheerfully. “After the last time Az tried to claim holding hands for fifteen minutes was ‘a strategic alliance.’”

You looked between them in horror. “You interrogated him?!”

“Cassian did,” Lira chirped. “Wouldn’t stop following him around making kissy noises until Az threatened to hang him upside down from the House of Wind by his toenails.”

You sank to the floor. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh, it’s so happening,” Mor cooed. “There’s a betting pool. It’s going great. Rhys had to update the odds after the fish incident.”

“Rhys? THE HIGH LORD?!”

“Well, someone has to manage the board,” Mor said reasonably. “And he does have nice hand writing.”

You curled up in fetal position. “This can’t be happening.”

Mor bit her lip. “Az… may have placed a bet.”

You stared in open-mouthed betrayal. “He what?”

“Cassian fainted,” Lira confirmed. “He bet that you’d be the one to make the first move.”

You made a noise that was half shriek, half goat. “Why would he bet on me!?”

“Because you’ve been gazing at him like he’s the last slice of cake at the Starfall Ball for months,” Lira deadpanned.

You spluttered. “That’s—HE’S—THIS IS TREASON.”

“It’s romance,” Mor said smugly.

You stared at them. “This is a conspiracy.”

“Not against you,” Lira said. “For you. Also, Gregory needs a father figure.”

You threw a muffin at her face.

Mor dodged a flying crumb with fae reflexes, plucking it from the air and popping it in her mouth. "Oh! Before I forget why I actually came here—"

"You mean beyond tormenting me?" you grumbled, still sprawled on the floor in defeat.

"Beyond the primary objective, yes," Mor grinned. She twirled a golden curl around her finger, the gleam in her eyes somehow intensifying. "Rhys is throwing a little get-together tonight at the river house."

"Little?" Lira snorted. "The last 'little' gathering he threw required three days of cleanup and Amren threatened to bottle someone's soul."

"That was only because Cassian tried to prove he could throw knives blindfolded after eight glasses of faerie wine," Mor waved dismissively. "This will be much more... intimate."

Your stomach twisted. "How intimate?"

"Oh, you know," Mor examined her nails with deliberate casualness. "Just the Inner Circle. A few close friends. Nothing special."

"The entire Inner Circle?" you choked out, knowing exactly who that included.

"Yes, of course," Mor said, her smile turning absolutely predatory. "Rhys and Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Amren..." She paused for dramatic effect. "And Azriel."

Lira let out a delighted squeal that could have shattered crystal. "Perfect! This is the perfect opportunity for our little fish mom to advance the subplot!"

"It's not a subplot," you protested weakly. "And I can't go. I'm busy. With... fish things."

"Fish things?" Mor raised an eyebrow.

"Gregory has... an appointment. For scales. Scale... polishing."

Lira burst into uncontrollable cackles. "Scale polishing? That's the best you could come up with?"

"You're coming," Mor declared, the cheerful tone containing steel beneath it. "Or we'll tell Az you backed out because you were too nervous to see him again."

Your jaw dropped. "You wouldn't."

"Oh, we absolutely would," Lira nodded enthusiastically. "We'd make it sound tragically romantic too. Maybe add in that you've been writing his name surrounded by little hearts."

"I hate both of you," you groaned, dropping your head into your hands.

"No you don't," Mor said cheerfully. "Be ready by seven. Wear something that makes Az's shadows get flustered. Which reminds me—" She reached into her basket, pulling out a bottle of shimmering liquid. "Special bath oils. They react to emotion. The more flustered you get, the more you'll sparkle."

"I don't want to sparkle!" you protested.

"Everyone wants to sparkle," Lira countered. "Even Gregory wants to sparkle. Don't you, Gregory?" She cooed at the fish.

You were fairly certain the fish gave you a look of betrayal.

"Seven o'clock," Mor reminded, heading for the door. "And don't worry about bringing anything except yourself and all that tension you and Az have been cultivating."

"Like fine wine," Lira added with a chef's kiss.

You slumped further into the floor, wondering if it was too late to fake your own death and move to the mortal lands.

"Oh, and wear sexy heels," Mor called over her shoulder.

As the door closed behind her, you looked hopelessly at Gregory.

"Do you see what I'm dealing with?" you asked the fish.

Gregory bubbled back, somehow looking smug.

The River House was always impressive, but at night, lit by floating magic lights, enchanted candles, and someone’s tragically tasteful faelight disco ball, it was extra. Like "High-Lord-has-too-much-time-on-his-hands" levels of extra.

Rhys was throwing a party.

Officially? To celebrate a new trade deal with the Summer Court.

Unofficially? Because it was Tuesday and he gets twitchy if he hasn’t hosted a soirée in 48 hours.

You hadn’t wanted to come.

Not with the entire Inner Circle there.

Not with him there.

But Lira had shown up at your door like the unholy blend of a personal stylist, therapist, and war general.

"It's just a party," she'd said, holding up a midnight-blue dress like it was a battle standard. "You're allowed to have fun. And by fun, I mean aggressively flirting with Azriel until he melts into a puddle of shadows and repressed feelings."

So now here you were. Clutching your wine glass like a lifeline. Trying to look casual.

Trying not to scan the room for one specific brooding spymaster.

Which meant, of course, you were scanning for him like a bat signal had gone up.

"He's not here yet."

You yelped—yelped—as Rhys appeared beside you, looking like he'd just walked off the cover of Fae GQ: High Lord Edition.

"Who?" you said, voice going an octave too high. Smooth.

Rhys’s violet eyes sparkled. That smug bastard. "My Spymaster. The one you've been staring around the room for like you're trying to summon him with sheer willpower."

You sighed. “Am I that obvious?”

Rhys took a sip of his wine like a man who enjoyed meddling far too much. "Only to the people who’ve been watching the two of you circle each other like emotionally stunted hawks for weeks.”

You groaned. “Not you too.”

"I'm the High Lord," he said, all casual amusement. “It’s literally my job to know everything that happens in my court. Including your highly entertaining romantic crises."

“Including my personal life?”

“Especially when it involves one of my brothers,” he said with all the gravity of someone who once casually told Tamlin to choke.

You tensed. “Is this the part where you warn me not to hurt him?”

“Actually,” he continued, brightening in the way people do when they’re about to say something terrible, “I was going to ask if you’d like to place a bet.”

You blinked. “A bet?”

He gestured vaguely toward a corner where Cassian and Mor were hunched over what could only be described as a tactical map of your situationship.

Strings. Charts. Tiny figurines.

Was that Gregory in mini form?

“The pot’s gotten quite substantial,” Rhys added with a grin. “You could win a week’s worth of pastries, three bottles of wine, and the title of Velaris’s Most Anticipated Mating Bond.”

You choked on your drink. “You’re a menace.”

“I’ve been called worse,” he said, clearly proud of it.

But then something... shifted.

But as those violet eyes settled on you, something strange happened.

His smile faltered, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a sudden intensity that made you uncomfortable.

"Is something wrong?" you asked.

The question seemed to pull him from whatever thought had captured him.

"No," he said, his easy smile returning. "Just had the oddest sense of déjà vu."

You laughed nervously. "I have one of those faces. Very forgettable."

"I wouldn't say that," he replied, his tone light once more, but there was something in his eyes—a shadow of memory, perhaps—that hadn't been there before.

You felt a gentle brush against your mind—the lightest touch, almost unconscious on his part.

Your mental shields slammed into place instinctively, hard and fast.

If Rhys noticed your response, he gave no indication.

His attention had already shifted to something over your shoulder, his expression returning to its usual mask of lazy amusement.

Behind his eyes, however, something entirely different was happening.

In the fortress under the mountain, centuries earlier, a young Rhysand walked the shadowed corridors, seeking escape from his father's latest cruel display of power. The visiting dignitaries had looked sickened, but none had dared speak against the High Lord of the Night Court.

None but one woman—tall and proud, with features so similar to your own.

"You go too far," she had said, her voice low but steady. "This is not what we agreed upon."

His father's laugh had been cold. "Plans change. Priorities shift."

"Not like this. Never like this."

The argument had escalated, voices rising, power crackling in the air. Rhysand had slipped away, unwilling to witness yet another example of his father's brutality.

In the quiet of a small courtyard, he'd found her—a little girl, perhaps five or six, sitting on a stone bench beneath a twisted tree that somehow managed to bloom even in the constant darkness.

She was tiny, even for her age, with round cheeks and wide, curious eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Her hair had been pulled into two uneven braids, with wisps escaping in every direction as if she'd been running through the wind. A smudge of something that might have been chocolate decorated one cheek, and her small feet, dangling well above the ground, swung back and forth in an endless rhythm.

She'd looked up as he approached, unafraid.

"Hello," he'd said cautiously, unsure why a child would be here, in this place of darkness and cruelty.

She'd studied him with bright, intelligent eyes. Then, to his surprise, she'd smiled—a gap-toothed grin that transformed her solemn little face. "Hello, brother."

He'd blinked, startled by the term. "I'm not your brother. I already have a sister, and she's taller than you."

The little girl hadn't been deterred in the slightest. She'd bounced slightly on the bench, her small hands clasped together in excitement. "I'll be the baby sister then!" she'd declared with absolute conviction, as if the matter were perfectly settled.

Something in his chest had eased at her words—a tightness he hadn't realized was there. This strange, fearless child with her matter-of-fact way of claiming him as family.

"Would you like to see the stars?" he'd asked impulsively.

Her face had lit up with such pure wonder that it had made his heart ache. "Can we? Really-really? Mother says they're hidden here."

"They are," he'd confirmed, unable to stop his own smile. "But I know a place."

He'd led her to a high balcony, one of the few spots where the mountain's perpetual darkness gave way to open sky. There, together, they'd watched the stars emerge, one by one.

"They're dancing," she'd whispered, wonder in her voice as she clutched at his hand with tiny fingers. "Dancing just for us!"

And for a moment—a brief, precious moment—he'd seen them through her eyes. Not as cold, distant points of light, but as living things, joyful and free.

The moment had been shattered by her mother's arrival. She had swept onto the balcony, her face streaked with tears, her eyes wild with some emotion he couldn't name. Without a word, she'd grabbed the child's arm, jerking her away from Rhysand with such force that the little girl had cried out.

"Owie!" The child's face had crumpled in confusion and pain as she was dragged from the balcony. Her other hand had reached back toward Rhysand, as if seeking his protection or perhaps just wanting to hold on to their moment together.

"Stay away from her," the woman had hissed, though the fear in her eyes suggested the words weren't meant as an insult, but as a warning—for him or for them, he couldn't tell.

The little girl had looked back over her mother's shoulder, confusion and hurt written across her small face. Something in her eyes—a wisdom beyond her years—had seemed to understand more than a child should.

He never saw them again after that night. They left suddenly, without farewell. When he'd asked about them, his father's rage had been terrible to behold.

"They are no longer your concern," his father had snarled. "That woman and her bastard child are nothing to us. Forget them."

And over the centuries, he had. Until now.

Author’s Note:

Look. I don’t know how this turned into a romantic espionage comedy where Azriel weaponizes a goldfish, Rhys runs an underground gossip syndicate, and Gregory the fish is Velaris’s emotional support mascot, but here we are. I don’t make the rules. I just write the chaos.

Thanks for reading. Please hug your fish. Or your emotionally constipated Illyrian. Preferably both. 🐟

Tag List: @songbirdpond @tothestarsandwhateverend @lovely-susie @kksbookstuff @ladycaramelswirl @gamarancianne @writtenbypavani @bubybubsters @moonlitscrolls @valyas-corner @iris-lavender @lreadsstuff @nebarious @azrielssgirl @lamimamiii @fantasydreamwalker @dallynjennasgirl @tenshis-cake @lilah-asteria @sweetsugarcoffee @fall-winter-heart97 @lovely-susie @lreadsstuff @sofi03 @songbirdpond @nico707 @justtryingtosurvive02 @yourlocalcancer @saltedcoffeescotch @thatacotargirl @happypeanutstrawberry @theverseoftheblackpearl @tele86 @highladyofhogwarts @fuckingsimp4azriel @thegoddessofnothingness @lovelyflower7777 @stressed-reader @karespocketboyfriends @lreadsstuff @yourdarkroses-blog @plants-w0rld @oldernotwiser26 @ashduv @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @adventure-awaits13 @thegoddessofnothingness @fuckingsimp4azriel @highladyofhogwarts

[verdancy-hime]

The gun doesn't scare me like this but the first time I saw one of those cop tanks I was really... I don't know the name for the feeling.

My entire town at the time was like 20k people or something. We didn't even have an Olive Garden. I live in the next town over now but they still have a shopping mall there and people go to the mall. I would walk around late at night for hours. There was only one murder the whole time I was there and when I was in high school some guy was burning down people's garages for like a year. People did meth but in like a redneck way where if you don't do meth it's just a weird guy at taco bell sometimes. The town I live in now has homeless people. I hate it. I hate how it feels like a test I can't pass. But it's maybe 3 people. There are a lot of DUIs and way more methed out people at taco bell and a lot of the guys who hunt deer and stuff have guns but like

If you gathered every deer rifle in the county

That's still a damn tank.

Like

What do they think they need the tank for?

Normal cop cars have bullet proof doors and a roll cage and stuff.

I can't even think of what they think I have that they need a tank.

I guess maybe if you had some guys with blowtorches? But you would need a lot of suppressing fire or whatever they call it.

I'm not any good at warfare stuff. I don't even play video games about it.

But like

The tank wheels are really big

What I can imagine is somebody under the wheels. How their bones would crack. How they would be in a wheelchair if they lived.

I can't imagine a situation where you would need to do that like tactically.

There's a cop just walking around the store, are they allowed to do that? I think they shouldn't be allowed indoors with people who could get hurt. It's fine if they want to be cops in private, but children shouldn't be exposed to their lifestyle choices.

[anhesacardia]

Forbidden Promises

Chapter 6 (Series Masterlist)

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: Misunderstandings!! So many of them!! Sukuna curses like twice. Sukuna slams a door in your face. Hana calls you mumma. Domestic life!!!

Wc: 2.7k

The room was enveloped in silence as you finally stopped talking, Hana fast asleep in your arms by the time it was an hour to midnight. Sukuna was quiet throughout the entire ordeal, sometimes he looked like he wanted to interject and would open his mouth, only for you to shake your head and he would sit back down.

He had run his fingers through his gelled hair, a few strands falling out of place and you were itching to fix it up for him, old habits die hard. Some way through the recollection Sukuna had shrugged off his suit jacket and the two fist shaped sugar marks stared at you mockingly. 

“Why didn’t- fuck I don’t even-,”

You jerked your head towards Sukuna who was opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, guilt enveloping you as you watched him avert his gaze to the child snuggled against you.

“Do… Do you want to hold her?”

The words came out of your mouth before you realized it, shocking yourself as you watched Sukuna’s reaction. 

His huge arms reached out, hand almost trembling as he placed his hand on top of Hana’s head, the child shifting in her sleep as she tried to move closer to the source of warmth. 

The man jerked his hand back, shoving it in his pocket as he stood up from the chair, looking over your figure,

“You’re exhausted. You should get some sleep. Where’s your husband,”

For a minute there you thought the great Ryoumen Sukuna had a slip of tongue, confusion painting your features,

“My… what?”

Sukuna looked like you had personally insulted him, cocking a brow up as he stared down at you,

“Don’t act stupid with me. Where the fuck is he?,”

You could feel the incoming headache staring at the six foot man who was now looking around, like he’d suddenly find your aforementioned husband hidden in the bakery. His gazed a bit longer at the pictures decorating the pastel walls, lingering on a picture of when you had just opened the bakery up with a one year old Hana sleeping in your arms, a carefree look on your face,

Hana stirred in her sleep, restless and almost waking up from the ruckus her parents were creating. You shushed her, smoothing a hand over her hair, cooing at her as you hummed a lullaby.

Sukuna stood still, affection blooming in his chest, the feeling so foreign he thought he was sick.

“We’ll talk in the morning, I need to put Hana to sleep. See you later Sukuna.”

You stood up from the chair and Sukuna took a step forward, wrapping a hand around your upper arm,

“No the fuck not. I’m not letting you get away from me again,”

Your skin burned under his touch, turning your head around to glare at him,

“What’s that supposed to mean,”

Sukuna let go of your arm, invading your personal bubble as he moved closer, an inch away from touching you,

“I’m staying over.”

Your mouth opened in shock, whole body going stiff as you tried to process the man’s words,

“You’re going to… what?”

You asked exasperated, taking a step back though Sukuna just followed you, cutting the distance in another step,

“I’m sure your husband will understand,”

Sukuna smirks, shrugging as if this was a daily occurrence. You paused for a second, running through your choices. It was a little past midnight now, the small town barely had any hotels and you don't know if you had it in you to shun Sukuna away

You bit your lip in thought, turning your body around as you grabbed the purse off the table, casting one last backward glance at the smug man who knew he had won. 

“Just follow me,” 

Balancing Hana on one hip you started to fiddle with the purse, using the hand not supporting Hana to pry open the clasp, eyebrows furrowed as you struggled to get the purse open. Suddenly your arm didn't feel so heavy anymore, a weight lifted off your hip as you looked at Sukuna cradling Hana.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. When you had first moved to the small town, still a fresh student out of college and struggling both with Hana and the bakery, your mind often conjured up what life would be like if Sukuna was with you. The photo album dedicated to Sukuna was one you visited frequently after putting Hana to sleep, imagining him holding his baby, or laying next to you on those gruelling nights comforting you.

When Hana turned two, you had given up hope of him finding you. Sukuna was rich and powerful, you knew he just had to snap his fingers and he could’ve found you in less than a day. So the mere fact he didn’t try to after almost a full three years- well that was enough to stop your silly fantasies and delete the photo album that once used to comfort you.

Sukuna had one arm wrapped securely around Hana, the other patting her back as she got used to the change in position, her small body curled up against his broad chest. The size difference was comical- almost even sweet to look at. It made you wonder how married life with Sukuna could have been- a notion you gave up long ago. You shook your head, cringing internally at how quick your mind went to those fantasies, willing yourself back to reality as you finally got the backroom keys out of your bag. 

The door opened to a short lawn, a pebbled pathway leading to the steps of the small two story house. Sukuna followed behind you, dress shirt stained with Hana’s drool, a wet patch forming just below his collarbones. 

After you entered the house you took Hana from his arms, wordlessly changing her into her pajamas as she blearily sat down on her bed, letting you pull the Hello Kitty patterned shirt over her head while Sukuna stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed as his gaze burned holes in your back. 

You kneeled on Hana’s nursery room floor, tucking her in as you kissed her forehead, pushing back some of the stray pink hairs that stuck to her forehead, placing her beloved soft tiger plush into her arms as she drifted off.

On the other hand Sukuna was going absolutely crazy, what kind of fuck ass husband doesn’t even look after his wife? Let alone allow her to invite another man into their house in the dead of the night. If Sukuna was your husband he knew he’d cut the arm off of any man who dared to so much as look in your general direction. 

He clenched his jaw, shaking himself out of the thoughts that muddled his head. He hadn't seen any photos when he passed through the corridors of the house, drinking in every small decoration and photo with greedy eyes. He couldn’t find a photo of the man he saw five years ago yet, were you hiding him? Sukuna felt smug, you never hid him when you were together. 

In fact if he dug up the old box that contained the things you left behind he would find the thousands of framed photos where you stood so sweetly next to him, body flush against him with his favorite smile on your face- fuck he really had to stop thinking about the past. You’re not his, well not anymore. 

“The guest room is downstairs,”

Your voice shook Sukuna out of his thoughts, he stared down at you standing in front of the doorway, eyes trailing down to the expanse of your unmarked neck, then down to the dip in your shirt before he snapped his gaze back upwards.

He finally moved from the doorway, ears tinged red as he turned his head away from you. Still watching you as you descended down the stairs, opening the door to your guest room. You were patting down the pillows, trying to make the room look a bit more presentable when you felt Sukuna behind you, hand on your hip as he pulled you back upright, glaring at you again, 

“Just go sleep, it’s not like I haven’t seen worse” 

You opened your mouth to argue back but Sukuna merely pushed you out of the room, slamming the door in your face as you heard him fall into the bed with a grunt. 

“Good to know you haven't changed jerk,”

You mumbled under your breath, going to the master bedroom, changing out of your clothes and doing your nightly routine before falling asleep a little before one in the morning. 

The blaring alarm woke you up from your deep sleep, forcing you to pull the covers off your body and make your way to the nursery. Hana was still fast asleep by the time you opened her room, gently coaxing her awake so she wouldn’t be in a foul mood first thing in the morning. She followed you into the washroom, brushing her teeth while still half asleep. You left her there after finishing your own morning routine, letting her take her time through everything  

Sukuna was surprisingly awake, manspreading on the way too small dining table as his knees hit the underside every time he shifted in an effort to get more comfortable. A computer sat in front of him, blue light dancing on his face as he typed away in the dark living room. 

“Unusual for you to be up so early,”

He almost snapped his head from moving so fast to glare at you, stopping the incessant typing that was quite frankly starting to get on your nerves if you were being honest, 

“Your husband didn’t come home all night, he cheating on you?” 

You stopped yourself from mixing in the pancake batter, turning around to look at Sukuna who had completely leaned back on the chair, legs spread in front of him like he owned the house you were paying for. 

“Listen I think we should clear something up-”

Hana chose that exact moment to come barging into the living room, her outfit making her red eyes stand out. You smiled at her, turning to face her as she ran up into your arms, 

“Hi baby, did you sleep well?” 

She nodded enthusiastically, her pink hair ticking your face as she wrapped her arms around your neck and glared at Sukuna,

“Mumma, why's the mean man still here?”

She tried to whisper into your ear, holding a hand next to her mouth as if that would make her voice any lower, 

‘The fuck you call me kid?”

Sukuna cursed and you glared at him while Hana stuck her tongue out. You set her down on the counter, mixing the batter with a whisk as Hana took a piece of toast, kicking her legs back and forth as she chewed on it quietly, Oh she could be such an angel when she wanted.

‘Mumma you’re getting dirty,” 

Hana scowled at the patches of white flour on the fabric of your clothes, pointing it out with her index finger, 

“Hana! Don’t point at people, that's very rude baby,” 

You scolded, moving closer to her and taking the piece of bread from her hands. Your back was turned to Sukuna so you didn't notice when he had moved behind you, grabbing an apron and looping it over your head. His fingers brushed past your back as he tied the bow securely, 

“Still as clumsy as ever woman.” 

His warm breath tickled the skin of your neck, heat rising up your cheeks as you stared at Hana who was pulling you closer, still glaring at Sukuna. He took a step back once he was done, the loss of heat almost made you whine. You hadn’t felt another man’s touch in a long while and Sukuna’s presence was doing much more damage than it should be doing.

“You should stay- for breakfast I mean,”

You turned around to look at Sukuna who was leaning against the kitchen marble, gazing at you fondly. That look only spurred your mind to rush back to how you felt when you were his, butterflies swarming in your stomach at the mere thought. 

“I have to drop Hana off and I’ll get your jacket cleaned too, we haven’t finished talking have we?’

Sukuna looked confused, looking at the jacket that was folded over one of the dining table chairs, finally noticing the fist shaped marks of powdered sugar, scowling at the sight. You were sure if you took a picture of Sukuna and Hana scowling side by side they could be mistakened for siblings,

The pancakes were finished and placed in front of Hana who sat on her tiny table, you pulled a chair next to her as she babbled on, gently combing through her hair, doing two twin ponytails while Sukuna went back to his work, sneaking glances at you every now and then. 

A sick, twisted part of you secretly enjoyed this, the familiarity of it all, the comfortable silence that you missed with Sukuna. The domesticity that you craved for so long ago was finally being granted to you. 

As Hana put her bag on, Sukuna interjected, shutting his computer off as he got up from the dining table for a second time, suit jacket folded over his arm and hands tucked into his pocket. His hair had fallen into his forehead, the lack of gel was driving him crazy as he constantly pushed the hair backwards, 

“I’ll come with you and the kid, don’t want you to run away while I’m not there,” 

He mumbled, pressing close to you as he grabbed the kid in his arms. Hana made a noise of protest but after she looked at you she kept quiet. You wondered how you looked to her right now, so many mornings you wished for a bit more time to yourself, for someone else to carry Hana on the twenty minute walk to the kindergarten. She was always so perceptive it made you feel guilty,

“Okay,”

You replied before changing into more appropriate clothes, meeting Sukuna at the doorstep where he held Hana up with one arm, biceps bulging around the fabric of his dress shirt as he folded his sleeves up to his elbow. The other hand held Hana’s bag, the pink bag standing out against the black suit Sukuna had on. 

Hana was babbling to Sukuna, a mischievous glint in her eye as she pulled at the strands of his pink hair, pointing to her own and giggling, Sukuna was grunting in response, amusing her even when he didn’t have to. 

The sight brought a warm feeling to your chest, wondering if hiding your child from him all those years ago was really the correct choice when they got along so well.

“Let’s go,”

You patted Hana’s back and Sukuna nodded at you, leaving the house and the bakery, letting you lead the way to the kindergarten. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander over him every now and then- it wasn't a crime to enjoy good eye candy.

Hana was finally put down five minutes away from the kindergarten, she insisted on holding Sukunas hand who looked at you smugly as if he won some secret kind of competition that you were unaware you were even participating in. 

You had made a few friends with the other parents, waving to the mothers as their expressions morphed to disbelief at the six foot man who was saying his goodbyes to Hana. The five year old pressed a kiss to your cheek before running to Ren. Aoi’s son. 

Sukuna was standing right behind you, breathing into you neck as Aoi walked up to you with a suspicious expression,

“This is?” 

She started, giving one look over to Sukuna who had crossed his arms, stepping closer to you till his chest was flush against your back, giving a lazy look over to Aoi. You wanted to bury yourself in a ditch- truly why was the universe so against you trying to live your life, 

“This is Sukuna he’s-” 

Aoi clapped her hands in front of her face, a grin over taking her features as she put the pieces together, you had never bothered telling other people about your situation. You gave the same generative answer to anyone who asked about Hanai’s father- 

“Ah! He must be your husband! Hana looks just like him!” 

And there it was. 

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A/n: posting without my usual proof reader reading it because I need to get this chapter out of my system heh I feel so evil for doing this my apologies in advance!

[zaynesparadise]

∯ COCKOLOGY 101: ZAYNE & CALEB !

🫧✱ ݁ ˖ | a simple analysis about papi 1 & papi 2’s schlongs ♡ (i’m giving u full hex colours & measurements.)

pairing. — MDNI (17+) fem!reader x 𝐜 & 𝐳 (separate) warnings. dick measurements, overstimulation, mentions of shaving, mentions of porn, big cock caleb & big cock zayne, omg idk how to put the warnings for this one wc. 1.3k a,n. this is just for fun & obv on the unrealistic side don’t take this seriously. cuz i was laughing the whole time making this anywho enjoy !!!! <3

Ꮺ ZAYNE. firm believer that dr.zayne is on the longer side than the thicker one, don’t get me wrong i am no way calling this man’s dick skinny. it’s very thick but it is for sure hitting ur cervix no matter how unrealistic this sounds. his tip is a solid #e3b1b8 more on the pinkish side cuz have u seen this man’s nipples. they’re so PINK & he’s so paleish pink overall, rest of his cock is #edb8a8 still on the very pale side, transition colour from tip - rest of his inches is #e6a1a1 :3 his mouth-watering 8.2 inches (6 inches soft cuz i said so) (3.2 inches delicious girth wise) has the slightest, almost unnoticeable tilt to the right side that makes ur eyes cross

while we’re on the topic, zayne def shaves. we’ve seen his razor bumps, some days when his skin is a bit more sensitive he just does a simple trim in the shower and calls it a day, one of my hcs is that this man smells good. like you’ll never catch this man smelling off or even bad in your entire life, he takes his hygiene so seriously so i know he smells good everywhere. good quality cotton boxers, ball deodorant when he has longer shifts in the hospital, glycolic acid in every crack and crevice, really musky & light on the nose cologne paired with a nicely scented lotion, over all incredible hygiene.

daily cups of pineapple juice. firm believer that zayne has a lil morning routine ritual where he probably eats a spoonful of sea moss, takes his needed supplements & green juice so why not throw in a cup of fresh & organic pineapple juice to his routine? this man smells and tastes divine. and he knows it, he’s very proud of it and takes his sacred routine very seriously.

side notes: the way that he cums is sometimes sudden to him, zayne is very sensitive so when he’s wrapped around your walls that are continuously milking him he instantly gets lost in euphoria and doesn’t even realise how quick his climax is building up, sometimes he does have the focus to warn you but most times his head is in the clouds and he’s practically just babbling and rutting his hips unconsciously.

cums in warm, filling ropes of milky, almost watery cum. like i said, he takes great care of himself that paired with his obsession with your sweet cunt devouring his cock he cums so for so long, his orgasms are long lasting and intense. by the time the aftershocks of his high wash down his body he’s all over you again, kissing nibbling and licking every part of you that he can :(

not a big fan of overstimulation, but since you are he can’t deny you the fun at all. thing is, like i mentioned before he’s very sensitive, it’s ridiculously easy to make him overstimulated. a simple “you can give me one more, can’t you?” with a wink when you’re riding him is really all it takes. he turns into literal putty in your hands. thigh muscles flexing and sweat shimmering on his abs when he fills you up over and over again just because his pretty girl asked him to <3

his cock when overstimulated turns so red, his natural shade being a slight off pink colour that gets darker when he’s hard and fully crimson when you’re overstimulating him. a few slight, faint veins begin appearing around his base that you love to run your tongue all over just to feel him shiver under your touch, he loves it just as much as you love it.

in conclusion: pretty shaved & regularly trimmed balls, paleish pink 8.2 inches, lemon juice mixed with olive oil shots king and a sucker for pleasing his pretty gf <3

𖧷 CALEB. this man right here should be awarded for not having back pain bcs of the way he’s packing. i am a caleb horse cock truther ✋ 7.2 inches length wise but 4.5 inches girth wise this man is MASSIVE humongous gigantic BIG. he’s really big. (BIG CALEB!) thing is .. i’m also a believer in somewhat inexperienced caleb. he might’ve had a lil thing here and there but it never got serious or anything so he really doesn’t know how fucking huge he is.

(probably found out when he and gideon saw each other naked for the first time and he noticed the way gideon’s eyes were practically about to fall out of their sockets) now don’t get him wrong he’s watched porn and whenever he’s clicked on the “massive cock destroys—“ u get the gist, the dick in question always looked.. average in his eyes? it looked closer in length to his, he might’ve been longer even but that was considered to be massive? #BlessedButDoesntKnowIt #HeHasAWeaponOfMassDestructionAndIsntAware

he never really stressed himself about it, so quick side notes: tip colour #d9a593 more on the tanned side in comparison to zayne but it’s still so pretty rest of his cock is #ba8270 with a slight transition shade of #d99b82, regularly keeps himself trimmed but isn’t too serious or anxious about it, def believe that it’s very, very like extremely veiny. you’ve seen the veins around this man’s abdomen. has so many faint veins decorating his underside, and when i tell u that this man’s cock literally cannot stand upwards fully when he’s erect because it’s so fucking heavy i mean it.

i see caleb to be blessed with incredible genetics, good & decent hygiene but he’s not the type to really eat a spoonful of sea moss or coconut cult in the morning, he’s more like the kind of guy that makes himself green tea while blasting bruno mars at six am in his kitchen tbh. that being said he definitely tries his hardest to take care of himself by going to the gym and drinking water often so he tastes nice wouldn’t say that he’s not on the salty side bcs he for sure is, but it’s still very delicious.

going back to the good genetics & gym rat side; he has his cheat days (that sometimes might extend longer than intended, let a man be lazy for once he deserves it) but even when he stuffs his (godly) body with junk food or stuff that don’t really align with what he usually nourishes his body, it’s still literally perfect. his genetics come into play and it’s like he just had a green goddess salad with a side of cranberry juice, you’re definitely envious of his metabolism.

side notes: the way he cums depends on how he’s been fucking you, if it’s a quickie then it’s going to be an eye rolling orgasm for him. cums frequently one second he’s filling you up with long, thick like heavy ropes of glistening cum the next he’s still hard and fucking his cum deeper into you, on the contrary if he’s taking his time with pounding you against the bed, then he’s going to have a literal toe curling and back arching orgasm. he loves to cum deep inside of your fluttering walls, warm breaths fanning your ear as he keeps filling you up from behind, he cums for so so long if you pressed on your lower stomach you’d feel the way he’s stuffing you full.

is he ready for overstimulation? real question is, is overstimulation ready for him? a literal beast. this man fears nothing and is a freak. overstimulation should actually fear him. his gym obsession always comes in handy when it comes for inhumane stamina, he doesn’t mind fucking both of you dumb till he’s shooting blanks. whimpering, babbling, drooling till he can’t even speak coherent sentences and just mouths at whatever part of you he can reach. doesn’t care if his dick practically looks purple and feels like it’s about to fall off— if he’s overstimulating you both, he’s going to do it till you’re both passed out on his messy mattress.

in conclusion: caleb’s packing in the front and the back (papa packing never lacking), average monster cock, decent hygiene, salty addictive cum 🙂‍↕️

♥︎ : litr wrote this while listening to kitty kat by meg & thatpower by will.i.am so idek + this unserious drabble is dedicated to my caleb big cock believer & the reason why this acc opened in the first place: nia bunny :3 ♡

[gentlemean]

I've got a similar-but-opposite story. When I was a teen, I caught a case of mystery illness™ and was hospitalised for a few days. Now, the initial suspicion was that my gall bladder had somehow fucked up.

To get some clarity, they wanted to do an ultrasound. I was, for unclear reasons, led into a dimly lit room in the basement of the hospital, and told to lie down, the doctor would be with me soon.

After lying - topless - in that dark cellar for what felt like hours (probably more like 10 minutes), I was joined by two medical students who had been sent to perform the ultrasound.

Now, the gall bladder is pretty far right on the torso. I was however significantly underweight at the time, which apparently meant that I was the perfect example to perform ultrasound scans on, as they could just perfectly see everything since there wasn't a healthy layer of fat to obstruct anything. Which meant that the two students had a jolly old time examining my entire fucking torso in detail, throwing exclamations of glee and excitement back and forth.

'you can even see the spine here!', 'wow look, that intestine!', 'oh wow you've got a really weird spleen!'

My spleen - which sits about as far away from the gall bladder as possible, on my left side - was, apparently, weird enough that they got up and left to get their supervisor from a few rooms over to take a look.

After another five minutes of waiting in chilly darkness, they returned with the supervisor who did the whole tour through my body again, marveling at it and pointing out further details to the students.

In the end, they told me that I had a really cool but non-threatening spleen, and that my gall bladder was probably fine or whatever, they didn't really seem to care.

Doctor: What do you see in this X-ray?

Students: *collective gasp*

Doctor: Please don’t do that in front of patients.

[thewitchblue]

"Mooooooom!"

You heard across the house. Little Jason came running to you with an overbearing Dick trailing behind him, doing cartwheels.

"Mama, he won't leave me alone!"

Jason clutched onto a book he was trying to read and hid behind your legs. You wanted to laugh but managed to hold it back.

He peaked at Dick from his poor hiding spot. Now he was doing backflips. Dick wanted his attention, but he tried everything, and he couldn't find any other way to ask for his attention besides doing circus tricks. You asked,

"Dick, what do you want from Jason?"

Jason wrapped one of his arms around your leg. He only wanted to read in peace. He thought he finally found a corner in the library Dick hadn't found yet.

"I wanted to play a game with him, but he was busy reading, and I needed his attention to ask."

You kissed the top of Jason's head. Your sweet little boy, Jason, looked at Dick as if he were an alien. Surely, there are much easier ways to get his attention. He couldn't have been that engrossed, right? He looked at you with guilt-filled eyes.

"Ma? I didn't mean to ignore him, I promise."

You believe him. He would never intentionally ignore anybody, let alone his friendly big brother. Your heart melted at the teary look he gave you. He doesn't want to be thrown out back onto the streets. He knows you'd never do that, but it's an anxiety that won't go away.

"I believe you, sugar bear. You can listen to him now."

Jason bravely stepped out from his hiding place and walked towards Dick with a nervous smile. He still wanted to stay with you, but he listened to the game Dick proposed.

Your two boys ran off to cause their mischief after Dick explained the game he wanted to play. It was one of his favourite circus games that he knew Jason would love. He couldn't believe it took him months to remember the game.

You casually picked up the book that Jason accidentally dropped in his haste to play. Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief. You read the first page and smiled. He was halfway through the book already and likely has the whole series stacked in a pile in the library.

You decided to put the book on his nightstand in his room. His room was covered in books with an entire wall dedicated only to books, but what's one more?

You smiled fondly as you looked around. Little Jason was so passionate. When he loves something, it's part of his heart forever.

Dick's room is full of circus decorations, and you even made a net on the ceiling to catch him when he inevitably falls from the ceiling after a circus trick.

You smiled as the two ran past you, both giggling like they were having the time of their lives. Until Dick backflipped over the guard rail on the third floor. You screamed,

"RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON!"

You ran to the railing and watched Dick ride the chandelier for five seconds before landing onto the couch like he's done it millions of times.

Horrified, you ran down the staircase. You had to check him for injuries immediately while he laughed. Jason was also terrified.

Dick wasn't even bruised to your relief, but the anger came after the relief. You physically relaxed but still looked at him with anger.

"Little wing, never do that again."

You pulled him into a tight hug and kissed his forehead. You will have to tell Bruce and figure out some way to prevent this from happening again. Maybe put up a mesh wall to stop it.

"You can't take the circus out of the kid, mom."

He winked with a grin. You shook your head with a small smile. He's right, of course, and that's why you have to safeguard the entire manor.

"You are so lucky that chandelier didn't fall. It's the oldest in the house."

He didn't seem too bothered by the idea of falling from the ceiling. You suppose he lost his fear of heights a long time ago.

"I tried to stop him, ma!"

You heard from the staircase. Jason was peaking behind the corner. You chuckled.

"I know, sugar bear. You can't control other people."

Alfred, who had been watching this whole time, said in an exasperated tone,

"I'll put a net up tomorrow, Mrs. Wayne."

You smiled gratefully at the butler, but Dick complained that nets take the fun out of his tricks. You chose to ignore his desire to be without a net and instead turned to Alfred,

"Thank you, Alfred. Dick, I'm putting up nets regardless. You shouldn't be doing dangerous tricks. I'll get you a jungle gym and a trampoline room for your tricks, but please stop doing circus tricks off of railings."

Dick was excited about the compromise and ran off again. To do what? Nobody knows. Jason hugged you. He asked shyly,

"Ma? Where is my book?"

You kissed the top of his head before telling him,

"In your room, sugar bear."

Jason, too, ran off after being told where his book is, almost running into Bruce in the process. He mumbled a quick apology as he scampered away.

Bruce watched on with amusement. Jason was a joy to have as a kid. You kissed Bruce's cheek when he approached you.

"How are you, my queen?"

You laughed at the nickname. He's always coming up with a new nickname, but he's really been enjoying calling you his queen lately.

"I'm recovering from a heart attack. We need another net, my liege."

Bruce groaned. Dick found a new spot to jump off of? He thought he had found all the spots. You said worriedly,

"He's only getting more and more creative, Bruce. I promised to build him a jungle gym and a trampoline room to get him to stop. He rode the chandelier!"

Bruce sighed softly. He can make those changes in the rooms next to the game room. His voice rumbled as he said,

"I'll get it taken care of, my love."

Alfred chimed in with raised eyebrows,

"How many more nets would you like, master Bruce?"

Bruce seemed to do a mental count of all the rooms in the manor and the ones he's blocked off. You have blocked out a good amount of the rooms and railings, but he worries Dick will simply jump off the balconies at this rate.

"At least 10 more. Thank you, Alfred."

You mirrored Bruce's thank you with a grateful smile. Alfred bowed before walking off.

You gave Bruce another kiss as he tucked you into his side. Bruce murmurs to you,

"I went to the orphanage today."

Bruce's baby fever knows no end. You rolled your eyes and said with a laugh,

"Are you collecting children like Pokemon cards?

He promised he hadn't taken in any more this time. He said while wrapping an arm around you,

"Two is plenty."

Well, jokes on you both because you ended up with twelve children, and Bruce has yet to stop. Where did he find them all? You had asked jokingly. At this rate, you are going to have a full house. He didn't have a better answer than "I'm Batman."

[iamthatonefangirl]

miss possessive - congressman bucky barnes

okay not my best work, i swear i have like nine drafts i've come up with in a week, none of them good enough to post.

this is inspired by miss possessive by tate mcrae even though i completely lost sight of the song really quickly

part 2

~~~

you really had no right to be so jealous.

you watched him from across the floor, sipping on your flute of champagne. you'd grabbed it off of one of those waiters' trays as they were walking about the room.

it tasted like shit. you didn't like the taste of wine, and it wasn't even enough to get you drunk.

you knew this kind of event was difficult for him to sit through, but hey, he made his choice going into politics.

you watched as he made his rounds, speaking to various donors and attempting to charm them. you watched as all their wives fawned over your-

no.

you watched as all their wives fawned over him, bringing him in for a hug instead of a handshake. of course they were interested; he was the best looking man here. yes, he was the oldest man in the room, but appeared to be the youngest and was, regardless, easily the most attractive. and all the thirty-some wives of the cranky old rich white men wanted him.

it pissed you off. not that you had the right to be pissed, but. oh well. you're just a girl.

after two flutes of champagne, you watch as one of the donors receives a phone call, leaving his wife with Bucky. ever the gentleman, he would never leave a woman all by herself in a room full of sharks who might try to snatch her up. 

Bucky was very much a different man than he was in the forties, of course. doesn't mean he lost the ability to attract every woman in the room.

you can't stand idly by as she puts his hands all over him, and he can't take his eyes off of her. no, of course he would never go for a married woman. what he did know, though, was that if he pissed her off, her husband wouldn't donate to his campaign.

you roll your eyes and decide it's time for some hard liquor.

you hide in the corner of the room, drinking your much stronger beverage as fast as possible. no, getting drunk at a professional event isn't the best idea, but what do you care. you're not the star of the show.

he is.

he's the brilliant ex-POW who's turned his entire life around in a whole new century. he's the gorgeous soldier who not only survived, but is also electing to do something meaningful with his life. 

he's the star tonight.

he's the star of every thought you have of your future, but that can't possibly come to surface now. it's not the time or place. 

watching him entertain this woman truly boils your blood, but at least you have some actual alcohol in your system now. you no longer feel the need to justify why her hands on his pristine suit makes you want to grab her by the diamonds around her neck and yank her off of him. you can justify your desire to grab him by the tie to pull him away from her and yell at him for not focusing on what's important. 

you bite your tongue. you knew it was all a ploy.

doesn't mean you had to like it. 

~~~

while you stand at the bar waiting for your second beverage of the evening, a man comes up next to you, and the bartender takes his drink order. 

you give him a small, awkward smile as you briefly make eye contact. you're kind of shocked: he's definitely the only man in this room who appears to be younger than 60, Bucky excluded.

you almost startle when he speaks up, introducing himself. Michael, he says his name is.

you turn to actually face him this time. roughly 40, plenty taller than you, and brown hair sprinkled with some greys in there. your perfect type. you quietly tell yourself you're done drinking–no way you're gonna fuck this up. if you weren't so mad about Bucky's new admirer, you might be a tad less inclined to speak to him, but… 

you step closer as you give him a real smile and introduce yourself.

"so, correct me if I'm wrong, but something tells me you're here alone tonight," he begins, indicating to your left hand. no ring. 

you laugh a little. 

"you would be correct," you tell him. "I could say the same about you."

he smiles back at you. it's so beautiful you forget all about your boss and the woman he's now got on his arm as he continues to walk around–

well. you almost forget. good enough.

"you would also be correct."

you explain why you're here, you work for one of the candidates. although, you don't tell him who, exactly. he explains why he's here, one of the patrons. you have to pry the information out of him, but you appreciate it: he's trying to talk to you without flashing his money in your face. it's noble, you think.

you eventually learn he's interested in actually getting to know the candidates' campaigns, not just what they think they can offer him in return for his money.

"you know, I would be happy to learn more about your boss' campaign. from one of the people who probably understands it best," he tells you. you're slightly taken aback for a moment, not aware this was a business interaction. you never even told him who your boss was, so it was confusing, to say the least.

you felt stupid for thinking he was actually interested, for thinking that he was flirting with you.

"oh, of course-" you begin to tell him, but he interjects, "after I take you out, perhaps?"

your smile perks back up subconsciously. so you didn't have it wrong.

"I would love that," you tell him, carefully taking the lapels of his jacket into your hands. you feel his hands come to your waist, and it's like a jolt of energy runs up your spine.

you look closer and almost flip your shit as you see his eyes up close. they're Bucky's eyes. he's not Bucky, sadly, but. 

you're fucked.

"maybe dinner can happen... another time?" you offer, hoping he gets the hint. you realize you probably look like a whore throwing yourself at him like this.

he chuckles. "I've got a room upstairs, if you'd like to come have drinks instead of dinner."

hell yes. you're gonna score tonight, even if it's not with the man you dream about with your hands between your legs every night-

"I would," you say, and bite your tongue. "I just... have to stick around until this thing is over. yeah?"

he nods and steps back. "I suppose I should also do what I came here for," he chuckles. "I'll come find you later?"

you smile and you feel your face go pink. "sounds good."

you can't help the fact that your gaze reverts immediately back to your boss the second the man walks off. Bucky hasn't spared you a single glance all evening, but the second you look back at him this time, you're suddenly staring into his beautiful eyes. 

he holds eye contact with you for what feels like an eternity. his expression is muted, no real emotion showing. maybe... curiosity?

of course he's not going to look mad, or upset, or jealous. you have to stop thinking he'd ever look at you with anything other than pure professionalism.

because he's everything. and you're just a kid, lost in the world, desperately in love with your boss, and everything is fucking falling apart around you.

at least you've got a rich, hot, older man ready to fuck you tonight.

~~~

you kept to your word to yourself and didn't drink for the rest of the night, although you continued hovering at the bar for the semblance of safety it provided.

you continued staring at Bucky for the next two hours. the clingy woman's husband had, in fact, returned and took her away from Bucky. clearly, she was pissed, but tried to hide it. you had to bite back a smirk.

he didn't look back at you once for the rest of the evening.

eventually, the crowd dies down. you realize that now, you have to explain to your boss that you won't be riding back to the office with him, effectively telling him your exact plans for the rest of the night. embarrassing!

you're almost ready to bite the bullet and bid Bucky a good night, scanning the room for him, when you hear a voice from behind you. 

"we still on for drinks?"

you plaster a smile on your face as you turn around to the man standing behind you.

"absolutely," you say, taking his hands. "lead the way."

you begin to follow the man, telling yourself to try and remember to shoot your boss a text to 'not worry about you' before getting your clothes torn off by this man who's currently whisking you away.

you get into the elevator with him, what's his name, you think? oh, Michael, and yank him in hard, crashing your mouths together, putting all of your energy into how badly you need this.

you're startled by the sound of a clanging of metal, ripping your mouth away from the man's and turning to face the noise.

well, apparently, you were too eager and stupid enough to not wait for the elevator doors to entirely shut, because you see now that the noise was a result of Bucky's vibranium arm grabbing the elevator door. he pushes it open and steps inside, eyes piercing daggers through you the whole time.

you stand there, appalled. the man gently pulls away from you, reaching out a hand to attempt to shake Bucky's hand.

"Mr. Barnes, it's a pleasure," he begins. "my apologies for this... less than ideal meeting."

Bucky doesn't even look at the man, eyeing you up and down, taking in your smudged lipstick and the way your dress is slightly out of place.

the man attempts once more to interject. "Mr. Barnes, please, don't worry about her. why don't us men go back downstairs and have a real discussion? I'd love to hear more about your campaign."

wait. why do his words sound like they're throwing you under the bus, almost?

Bucky notices it, too, you realize. he tilts his head in the man's direction before actually averting his gaze to look at him.

"and leave the lady all by herself?" he asks.

"don't worry about that. she's... inconsequential. if you and I can just go back downstairs and–"

"what did you just say?" Bucky asks. you swear he doesn't look like your boss anymore, but someone... else.

the man is taken aback by Bucky's demeanor. his mouth gapes like an idiot.

"you do know this is my assistant, right?" Bucky asks him. the man's face goes pale as the pieces slot together in his head.

"Mr. Barnes, my apologies, truly," he says.

you just stand there feeling more stupid than ever. inconsequential? wow, okay. you almost don't even care that he's dismissing your entire existence, but you can't stand the fact that he's doing it in front of Bucky. you care more about what Bucky thinks of you than literally anyone else, and now? now he's going to see you as a fucking slut who isn't even good enough for a man to commit to for one night.

god, you're pathetic.

"shouldn't you be apologizing to her?" Bucky grits.

the elevator doors open to the man's floor, and he mumbles a sorry under his breath as he runs out.

great. not only do you look pathetic in front of your boss, but you're not getting fucked tonight, either. just great.

the doors shut behind Bucky, who has now returned his gaze to you. you wonder if he's going to press the button to go back to the lobby.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Barnes," you say, swallowing your embarrassment as you stand up straight and adjust your dress.

he just stares at you.

"what?" you ask.

"are you okay?" he asks, and he looks genuinely concerned.

you know he cares about you, you're his assistant, after all. but that's it.

"fine," you assure him, and begin to reach behind him to press the button to take you back down to the lobby.

he gently grabs your wrist before you can.

you look at him, confused. you know your face says it all.

"Mr.–" you begin.

"Bucky," he corrects.

"can I press the button, Mr. Barnes?"

he still hasn't let go of your wrist. you feel stupid for enjoying the feel of his metal hand against your skin, for getting to feel a part of him that's real.

"you know, you clearly picked out the worst of the men here tonight," he observes.

you roll your eyes and pull your wrist away from him before you do something stupid.

"are you kidding? this place was riddled with capitalist billionaires and politicians. like you," you say, smirking.

he chuckles a little.

you can't help yourself, though. can't let it go unsaid.

"clearly you had some interested parties of your own tonight."

he rolls his eyes and finally turns away from you, pressing the button for the lobby. you let out a quiet sigh of relief. being in this elevator any longer, with him? that would just about kill you.

"you noticed that, huh?" he asks.

"who didn't?" you mumble. but of course, he's not just a politician, he's an enhanced, so he hears it.

"look, I knew she was married, I was never going to-" he begins to explain, but you cut him off.

"oh, I don't care what she does in her own fucked-up marriage."

oh my god. what did you just say? did you just admit to the fact that the only reason you did care was because she was fawning over Bucky?

fuck.

the elevator doors open, and you rush out.

you can hear the smirk on his face as he trails after you.

"so, you were really going to sleep with that guy, huh?" he teases.

you stop in your tracks. most everyone has left by now, leaving only you and Bucky in the room aside from the clean-up crew. you turn back to face him.

"can we just go?"

he nods and calls for the car to come around.

~~~

twenty minutes, you remind yourself.

in twenty minutes, you'll have made it back to the office, and you can go get in your own car and take yourself back to your own place and you won't have to be sitting thigh to thigh with your boss in the back of a limo that would totally be hot to fuck in-

he clears his throat, and you turn your head to face him.

"what that guy said..." he begins. you roll your eyes in anger at the reminder. you didn't even care he said it, you just wish he hadn't said it in front of Bucky.

you wave your hand as though waving off the thought, and waving off Bucky's concern. but it doesn't quite work like that.

"you're not inconsequential."

he says it with such a conviction you feel it deep in your bones, in the very core of your being. he sounds so authentic that it almost hurts.

a million thoughts swirl in your head. you could say i know, you could get defensive, you could say thanks, Bucky...

a better one pops in your head.

"how did you know where I was? you didn't see me all evening."

the limo stops moving. the driver rolls down the divider to grumble something about traffic at this hour? before rolling it back up again.

great. now it's going to take even longer to get home to your vibrator.

Bucky sees the interruption as a way to drop the matter. you press it.

"Mr. Barnes?"

"god, would you stop calling me that?"

you see him turn away from you to look out the window, biting his lip and rubbing his forehead. you've now frustrated him, and he's mad at you. this is good. it's easier for you to deal with him being angry at you than him being nice to you.

you know he just wants you to call him Bucky, but you're a smartass.

"yeah, okay, sorry. Sergeant Barnes," you mumble, smirking to yourself.

he about flips his shit. why is he getting so worked up?

"seriously?" he asks, turning back to you. his eyes are blown back, in anger, probably. not lust, like you wish they were. because you're just a stupid kid, and he's just your boss with a lifetime of trauma. you could never understand him the way you wanted to.

"what?" you say, biting your lip as you smile, continuing to tease him.

you swear that for a second, he glances down to your lips.

SHIT!

in that embarrassing moment, you realize your lipstick is still smudged across your face from the moment in the elevator. your heart rate shoots up as you bury your head in your chest, bringing your hand to wipe away the mess of your face, before turning to face the opposite way from him.

you are, well and truly, stuck in traffic. some concert, or sports game, or whatever...

which means you're stuck, pressed up against your boss, in the back of this tiny limo right now, for only god knows how much longer.

you're pulling your phone out of your clutch when he says your name.

you want to lean into the feeling, how smooth it is. how crisp his voice is, how pretty it sounds saying your name, as though he's genuinely paying you any attention whatsoever.

"you're not inconsequential."

it flares your anger, all of it coming up from your gut and into your throat, as you respond.

"god, would you forget it already?" you snap.

shit, shit, shit. you fucked up. you just snapped at your boss, of all people. you try to backtrack, throw out a million comments of "sorry," but that's it, you're getting fired.

you finally look back at him, and he's actually looking at you. like, it feels like he's staring into your soul, seeing all the pieces of you that you're trying to keep hidden from him.

the car begins moving again.

~~~

he watches you, trying to figure you out, as always.

he can't think of a better word for it than the fact that you genuinely amuse him.

he sees the look in your eyes, the way you're desperately trying to cover up the shame you feel over what happened in the elevator. he's trying to be gentle about it, trying to assure you that what the man said was utter bullshit, but you keep shutting him down.

god, and you look so...

no. you're, like, 80-plus years younger than him (he rubs his temples every time he remembers his age) and employed by him. any interest on his part would be purely inappropriate, a gross misuse of his position of power.

and god, his fucking age, man. he shouldn't even be around anymore-

anyways.

you look at him with those fucking doe eyes, going back and forth between anger, and shame, and something else he can't quite pinpoint.

this is probably the worst part of what happened. you're always so unapologetically yourself, but he can tell this man has gotten under your skin.

even if it's not his job to comfort you, he doesn't want you to feel like that. because who you are is perfect. 

~~~

one minute, you're staring into his eyes, trying to read the look on his face. 

the next, you're bracing yourself as the car spins out of control, feeling hit after hit of various cars all crashing into you sequentially.

you don't register it until after it's all over. the way he's wrapped himself around you as though to protect you. his flesh arm cradles your head to his chest and his vibranium hand wraps itself around the back of your neck.

you take a few deep breaths and begin to pull away from him, looking up to his face as you do. his eyes widen in shock as he looks at you. what? what is it?

"fuck, we gotta get you to a hospital." 

~~~

part 2 out NOW 3/23/25

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tagged: @clavedelune

[alchemistc]

kiss me on the mouth, love me like a sailor

"Can we talk?"

He feels like every fucking part of his body is on fire. Like if he takes a deep breath and blows it out his bones will shake themselves loose and disintegrate, leave him a pile of skin and muscle oozing on the porch and just over the threshold where he currently has an arm banded across the frame. His elbow digs in and he wonders if the last thing he'll ever do is leave a Tommy sized imprint when the lightning strike turns him to ash on the doorstep.

Evan takes a deep breath.

Waves him in.

This is nothing like the last time he was here.

He's not sure what he'd expected before - for sex to fix things, for them to go back to the flirty innocence of fresh-blush romance even though six months is long enough to start nailing down what the hell you want out of a relationship. He's loved before. Lost, before, plenty of times. Sometimes his own fault, sometimes theirs.

Tommy has a bad habit of playing fast and loose with the people he orbits, a satellite that flies too close and then gets flung away for the trouble. Flinging himself away, usually. And what a hell of a job he's done at it.

"Uh, what - what are you doing here?" Evan asks, and Tommy shoots him a wry smile. Shakes his head, because there's a quip on the tip of his tongue that could completely derail his entire purpose in showing up here.

The purpose being to crack open his chest and see if Evan's interested in pressing his fingers to the steady, if currently overworked beat of his heart.

"Saw you on the news," he tells Evan, and takes a deep breath. He's unpacked, decorated. It's weird to see this place in the daylight, laid out with furniture, pictures on the walls, soft touches of decorative charm making themselves known. Lighter than Eddie's touch, more whimsical. Gayer, his brain supplies, and he shuts down the stereotype in his own mind and tries not to judge himself too harshly for it. "I wanted to..." He'd practiced this shit. In a mirror, harsh overhead light showing him all his flaws, trying desperately to figure out how to avoid that crook in his jaw, the pained dimple, before remembering that the whole point was to lay himself bare and let the chips fall where they may.

"I... I was gonna call," Evan says, and Tommy's eyes shift up to him from their perusal of the filmy curtains.

"Why didn't you?"

It's Evan's turn to purse his lips, and he's never been as good at hiding shit as Tommy, or maybe he's just never bothered to try. Hiding isn't his default setting.

"I don't know," he says, and he does this thing - this adorable, frustrating thing - shoulder tipped inwards, neck bent and bright eyes looking up through his lashes, and Tommy wants. Wants this all to be done, and over with, wants to just know whether or not this is going to mean anything in five minutes, an hour, a day. The last time he'd pictured a life with someone he'd been so far underground that radar wouldn't have recovered him. Six months is barely anything to go on, he'd had years with Abby before he'd even asked and -

He reminds himself this isn't all or nothing. He just has to - to talk about it, and not make any stupid fucking jokes or deflect how he's actually feeling. Lay it all out there and brace for impact.

He wishes he was drunk. Drunk drivers make it work - loose limbed and malleable, nine times out of ten they walk away from deadly accidents, and maybe with looser lips he wouldn't have to brace as much.

"I just... Didn't."

Which is fair. Tommy'd implied essentially the same thing the last time they'd managed five minutes of conversation without trying to maul each other's faces off. Or hurt each other in new and horrible ways.

That part was always easier. God, they'd fallen into bed so often and in so many fun new ways that Tommy had spent the first month with a semi any time he even thought about Evan. Even that first time there hadn't been a hesitant bone in his body.

But the other parts - they'd been sweet, with each other. Half a dozen inside jokes before Tommy took him on an actual third date, a constant stream of texts that Tommy had participated in just as readily as Evan. He was a brat, unruly and half-insane and Tommy had eaten it up, played into it, encouraged just as much as he tried to temper it. And it'd been nice, to have someone who let him take care of them.

Those parts had been good too. Evan, who always knew when not to push, Evan who grinned up at him around a mouthful of cock, Evan who was greedy with Tommy's time and didn't apologize for it.

"How are you?" Tommy asks, after a beat too long, because he'd heard enough to know that Evan had been without the rest of his team through that whole ordeal and he knows, he knows how much that has to have fucked with his head.

"Is that why you're here? You wanna know how I'm doing?"

"I always want to know that," Tommy admits, and swallows around the panic of honesty. "Not why I'm here, though. Not really."

Evan's eyes narrow. "Do you have a shift, later?" The tone is all brat, pointed, maybe a little annoyed. Not veering into pissed, yet, but maybe they'll get there.

Tommy breathes, and it hitches in his chest. Fuck. Jesus. He can do this. "No," he admits, and Evan nods. Points to the couch.

"Sit. I'm - I want a beer, do you...?" The vague gesture towards his kitchen is the end of that question.

"Just the one."

Evan disappears around a corner. Tommy's not a lightweight, by any means, but he is the kind of person who follows all the outdated recommendations regarding drinking and driving - a single beer leaves him stuck here for a good forty-five minutes.

Shit.

Fuck.

Evan knows this about him. Has teased him about it a few times, laughing because he'd only ever served people in resorts and they'd always been a little more lax about what constituted an over-serve, but he'd still memorized the card that gave BMI + time allowed for a given amount of alcohol.

At least they're both aware this is gonna be a rough conversation.

He hopes it'll be a good one, eventually.

Evan startles him by leaping the couch and nearly crash-landing into Tommy's side, two bottles clutched between beefy fingers that clink against each other as Evan readjusts. Close. Closer than Tommy had expected when there's a perfectly good chair right there.

The starter boyfriend thing had always come with Evan's knowledge that he could be a little less careful, do a little more roughhousing than he was likely used to from a partner. Tommy had leaned into it because most of the men in his orbit trended smaller, slighter, and it'd been a novelty to get shoved around just the way he liked by someone who could possibly overpower him, if it came down to it.

That night, Evan had been desperate, needy, and not afraid to use his body to get exactly what he wanted.

And Tommy had let him, like always, without ever telling him why.

When Evan hands him one of the bottles he shifts his weight just enough to wedge his knee into the side of Tommy's thigh, persistent pressure and an unnerving amount of eye contact and a curious tilt to his head.

Tommy isn't fucking ready.

"So. Talk," Evan says, and tips the bottle against his lips, neck stretching, eyes careful, his body language so at odds with the clipped tone of his voice that Tommy immediately has to fight the urge to bolt.

His thigh twitches under Evan's knee and Evan looks at Tommy like he knows exactly what's on his mind.

Tommy swallows back a mouthful of spit, takes a swig.

And he starts talking.

[carmelves]

Okay but soft, tired, needy Sylus...

He comes home hours later than normal. The sun is already high in the sky when he stumbles through the door, weariness etched in every line of his body. You’re by his side in an instant, wrapping your arms around his waist as he melts against you, stooping to lean his head on your shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” your hands are already roaming over as much of him as you can reach, searching for blood, for injury, for any sign of pain. He smells of blood and smoke.

“I’m fine.” His words are muffled against your neck. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his nose brushing your skin. His arms tighten around your waist, molding your body against his. “I just need you.”

Something inside you melts at his words, the vulnerability he only shows around you. You run your hand through the soft hair at the base of his skull. “I’m here, you have me.”

He follows you to the bedroom, almost docile in his exhaustion, allows you to undress him, stripping away the clothing that reeks of violence until it’s just him, just the body you’ve memorized, the skin you’ve kissed a thousand times over. His eyes remain on you the whole time: heavy lidded with exhaustion. When he’s bare in front of you he pulls you into his arms again. His mouth finds your neck, your jaw, hot and languid as his hands roam over your hips.

“Need you.” His voice is husky. “Need to taste you.”

“Sylus…” you take his face in your hands, running your thumbs across his cheekbones. “You’re exhausted. You need to sleep.”

He turns his head, kissing your palm before nipping at the base of your thumb. “Please.”

That one word, the pure need in his voice, is enough to crumble your resistance. “Alright.” You undress quickly and climb into bed, leaning against the pillows. He follows like he’s drawn by a gravitational force, laying on his stomach between your open thighs. He rubs his cheek against your inner thigh, inhaling deeply, eyes fluttering closed. And then his mouth is on you. 

He eats you out with a slow, burning intensity, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted and he wants to savor every moment. He’s practically making out with your cunt, lips soft but insistent, tongue swiping along the length of your slit, laving at your clit, delving inside you. Despite his weariness, his hands are firm on your hips, holding you against his mouth even as you instinctively buck against him. He’s quiet, none of the praise or teasing you’ve come to expect from him, but his eyes lock on yours, soft and hazy, expressing all the emotions he can’t verbally.

Your orgasm washes over you, slow and rippling, and you fall back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. He works you through it with slow licks, soft kisses. As your tremors subside he moves to the crease of your thigh, the crest of your hip bone. Lazy, open mouthed kisses, as if he’s trying to get as much of your taste as possible. You run your fingers through his hair, petting him almost like you would a cat as he mouths across your skin. Soon his motions grow sluggish, then stop entirely. You open your eyes, propping your head up to see that his eyes are closed, cheek pillowed on your hip, face gone lax and peaceful in sleep. His breath gusts warm across your skin with each exhale. He always looks younger like this, the near-perpetual furrow between his brows smoothed out, the tension around his eyes relaxed.

You run a feather-light finger across his eyebrow, down the bridge of his nose, along his cupid’s bow. He twitches briefly but doesn’t wake. Moving slowly, you extricate yourself from his hold, sliding a pillow under his head in place of your body. He’d been such a light sleeper when you first met, jolting awake at the slightest noise, the softest touch. Now he remains soundly asleep, shoulders rising and falling with each deep, slow breath as you curl up beside him, pulling a blanket over the both of you. You rest your cheek on his shoulderblade, arm around his waist, and let your eyes drift shut.

Your dragon is home, he’s safe, and he’s in your arms. At last, you’re able to sleep.