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futurepastme · 2 days ago

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Unmatched

[Soulmate Au]

Fate had a weird sense of humor, Merlin thought as he traced the name scrawled across his left rib.

When he was a boy, Merlin couldn't wait to meet his soulmate. He would trace the words of his soulmark with care, imagining what his soulmate would look like, what their favorite game would be and if they would like Merlin.

Then he learned how to read, and the figure he'd imagined before got more detailed. He would picture a boy like him, that would climb trees and play in the forest. They would get in trouble together and be the closest friends ever, even closer than him and Will were.

And then Merlin got to an age where he could understand the importance of his soulmate's name. What it really meant to have that name on his skin, how dangerous it was. Merlin finally understood why his mother looked sad when he spoke of his soulmate, and why he wasn't allowed to tell anyone what name was engraved on his skin.

Now, Merlin sat at his new cot inside Gaius' chambers. Tracing the name that once upon a time was the source of joy and curiosity, and that now brought him confusion, sadness and disappointment.

Arthur Pendragon, the prince of Camelot, was nothing like what Merlin had imagined, and everything he feared he would be.

How could the Fates have matched him with someone so arrogant, so selfish. Someone that would pray on the weak the way the Prince was doing with his servant earlier.

That night Merlin mourned what he would never have; someone that would accept him as he was, someone that he could be himself with, no secrets and no lies. He mourned the love he would never have, all those dreams he’d had as a child, and the promised future that would never be his.

He tried to focus, instead, on the one good thing about his first day at Camelot.

Even though Arthur was Merlin's soulmate, Merlin clearly wasn't his. The lack of recognition of Merlin's name in the prince’s eyes was enough to know.

That was one less thing to deal with, and he tried to find comfort in the idea that he could dislike the prince at a distance and not be forced to be with someone like him.

Then the dragon happened, and the witch.

And Merlin saved Arthur's life. Again, and again, and again. And Arthur saved his.

He learned that Arthur was so much more than the idiot he was on Merlin's first day.

Eventually, Merlin started to mourn the fact they weren't a match.

Soon enough, Merlin realized how much he loved his prince and he tried to find comfort on the idea of being his friend. If that's all he could be, then he would take it.

Yet, deep down, his heart longed for what would never be.

Despite being his servant for a while, Merlin never learned the name of Arthur's soulmate.

Arthur insisted on bathing by himself and when Merlin got back, he had his trousers on.

One day, against his better judgment, Merlin found himself asking about it.

“Don't worry, it's not your name.”

Merlin winced. “I didn't think it was.” Of course he didn't, he knew it wasn't him. But to have the actual confirmation hurt him in a way he wasn't expecting.

Arthur continued, not noticing Merlin's reaction. “Besides, I'm sure your match will be more than happy to show you their mark once you find them.”

This time, Arthur was looking at him, and noticed how Merlin's posture grew tense.

Merlin tried to focus on the polishing he was doing, planning on dropping the subject. But he could feel the hint of tears threatening to flood his eyes, that longing he always shoved down trying to resurface.

“Merlin?” Arthur said softly, noticing Merlin's mood. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” He muttered, pushing away the sadness that had overcome him.

“You know we're friends, right? I mean, I know I don't acknowledge it often, but surely…”

Merlin risked a glance, and the concern he saw in Arthur's eyes warmed his heart. He couldn't help being honest for once. “I'm not a match with my soulmate.” He said quickly before turning his attention back to his task.

What the hell was he doing, telling Arthur this?

Arthur felt the shock of Merlin’s words hit him, and he froze in place. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

Non-matched soulmates were rare, usually one could rest assured that no matter what name they had on their skin, their owner would have your name on theirs. But there were those rare, unfortunate ones who would have the name of someone with a different match.

The idea that Merlin of all people would have a non-matched soulmark was unthinkable. The Fates couldn't be so cruel to make the sweetest, kindest, bravest, most loyal person Arthur has ever known, a non-matched. Unthinkable.

And yet, Arthur kept his gaze sharp on Merlin's body language as the boy fought back his sadness. Very cruel, indeed.

“For what it's worth, Merlin, I think anyone would be very lucky to have you as a partner.

Soulmate or not.”

Arthur saw an hesitant smile hinting to show on Merlin's lips before the boy glanced at him again, “Thanks, Arthur, it means a lot.”

Merlin thought this would be the end of it, that Arthur would let the subject go and they wouldn't talk about it again.

It took a while, but the subject did resurface.

One night, after Uther tried to marry Arthur off to some princess that wasn't his soulmate, Prince Arthur brought the subject up again. Softly, as he was tucked away in bed, with his back turned away from Merlin.

“What's your soulmate like?” The question was so quiet that Merlin almost didn't hear it.

He thought for a while if he should answer it – how much he could answer – but the way Arthur asked the question, like a curious child that was afraid of saying something wrong, made Merlin open up once again.

“Brave,” he started, and as Merlin stared from Arthur's back, back into the fire, the words started to spill out as easily as breathing. “Kind, strong, annoying,” he laughed, “smart, and very, very beautiful.”

He waited a second before continuing:

“I didn't like them at the beginning, you know?” Merlin smiled fondly at the fire as he recalled those first days in Camelot. “I thought the Fates had made a mistake by making them my soulmate.”

His smile faded slowly, until it turned into a frown. “I was actually glad that we weren't a match.”

Merlin turned his gaze back to Arthur and found the prince glancing back at him from over his shoulder. Merlin smiled as he continued, “that didn't last very long, by the end of the week I changed my opinion about them, and within the month there was nothing I wouldn't have done for them.”

“You're friends, then?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah. We're good friends, I think.” Merlin looked back to the fire and tried to keep his gaze there.

He heard the shoveling of the sheets as Arthur turned around. “What did they say when you told them?”

“Told them what?”

“That they were your soulmate.”

Merlin looked back to the prince with a frown of confusion. “I didn't tell them anything.”

This time Arthur was the confused one, “why not?”

Merlin stared at Arthur's eyes intensely, he took in Arthur's position – tucked in under the sheets, with only his head poking out – and his displeased stare. He looked cute, like an angry child upset with a grown up that denied him candy for dinner.

He felt his heart drown in that familiar longing that by now was almost an old friend.

“I can't do that to them, Arthur. I can't put them in that position.”

Arthur raised himself into one arm, “but, Merlin, they might choose to be with you regardless of what's on their skin.”

“No.”

“Yes, Merlin. I already told you once, anyone would be lucky to be with you.”

“You don't get it.” Merlin stood up from his place in front of the fireplace, and made his way to kneel on the floor beside Arthur.

Their heads were close enough to see every emotion displayed. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he should go that far, if it was worth the risk. But Arthur was always worth the risk, and he made a point to keep his eyes locked on his as he said: “I love my soulmate Arthur.”

Those words seemed to open tightly closed gates and Merlin was suddenly overwhelmed by his feelings. He felt the tears fill his eyes and a sad smile form on his lips. He never said it out loud before. The fact that Arthur was the first one to hear it, was just right.

Arthur saw the wave of emotions shown on Merlin's face, and waited in silence until he had a chance to recover.

Merlin was grateful for the prince's patience, and once he had his bearings again, he looked straight into Arthur's eyes as he continued;

“I could never make them choose.” Merlin felt his breath caught in his lungs as the tears threatened to show up again. “They have their own soulmate, they have the chance to find their match. I can't be the reason why they don't.”

Arthur opened his mouth to say something but Merlin didn't let him. Instead, he said in a soft voice still looking at Arthur's eyes: “I just want them to be happy, Arthur.”

Merlin paused. Arthur gave him a surprised look that made him look like a sad puppy.

“If I have to watch ‘em be happy from a distance then that's what I'm going to do, all it matters to me is that they are happy.”

“They should still have the option, Merlin.” Arthur said softly.

“There is no option, Arthur. You have no idea” he smiled sadly at his phrasing, “how important this whole soulmate thing is for them.”

“You know how it is,” he continued, “we spend our whole lives tracing the name on our skin, imagining the face that will go with it, what it will be like when we meet them.”

Arthur nodded and Merlin couldn't face him anymore. “I can't have them feeling like I felt, and I can't have them feeling like they have some type of obligation towards me, because they don't.”

He looked back at Arthur with a firm gaze. “My soulmate has no obligations towards me just because I have their name. I know them. They have a good heart, a noble one. They would do what they thought was right regardless of their own feelings, and I don't want them to do that. Not about this.”

He softened his gaze and managed to put up a sad smile. “I love them, they are my soulmate and they are my friend, and that's enough.”

“It doesn't look like it’s enough, Merlin.” Arthur whispered softly. He hadn't turned his gaze away from Merlin the whole time he had been talking and he’d watched the emotions dance around Merlin's face every time he dared to look up.

His heart ached for his friend’s fate and he had the sudden urge to either hug the sadness out of him, or raid the whole of Camelot after Merlin's soulmate and order them to give him a chance.

He did neither.

“I won't lie and say that that's the dream,” Merlin said with a heavy sigh. “You know what the soulmate dream is.”

Merlin threw all caution to the wind – if there was any left at this point – and raised a hand to Arthur's shoulder, landing it softly against the prince's nightshirt. He once again brought his eyes to meet the Prince's, and held it there, letting his barriers down and allowing his eyes to clearly show his feelings.

“It's not in my fate to live the soulmate dream, Arthur. I'm not gonna say it's fair, that I wouldn't wish it to be different,” he paused as he felt the tears coming back and his heart getting tight. “And I'm not going to say it doesn't hurt, because it does. It does and it did, and in a way it always will hurt.”

He felt thick tears running down his cheek, but somehow he kept his eyes soft and managed a kind smile that showed a little bit of his teeth. “My fate is not with them, but I'm glad I can still be in their life as a friend. And even if it hurts, I'll be happy when they find their match.”

The fire cracked loudly through the silence that had settled between them. Merlin took the chance to run his sleeve across his eyes, and settled down back into the ground, pulling his face and body away from Arthur. The longer the silence stretched, the faster Merlin's heart would beat, second-guessing his decision of opening up to his Prince.

Arthur took his time, his sharp gaze never left Merlin, but studied his every movement while repeating the whole conversation in his head.

After what it felt like an eternity to Merlin, Arthur finally broke the silence with a heavy sigh. “As your friend,” he said, eyes still firm on Merlin's. “I have to say you're an idiot for not giving yourself a chance with them. You should tell them, and give you both a chance to at least try this possibility.”

Merlin hunched down, he felt his breathing stutter when he took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tightly shut. He felt cold and breathless, and every heartbeat deafened him like they were warning bells resonating through his entire body.

“However,” Arthur continued, his hand itching to reach Merlin's chin and bring the boy’s blue eyes back to meet his own. “I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing.”

Merlin raised his gaze but let his head down, looking at Arthur through teared eyelashes.

“It's an impossible situation you find yourself in, Merlin. And while I don't believe you found the best outcome, I can see the nobility in it, and I can relate to it as well.”

Arthur gave a breathy hum, before continuing

“You know, I never really thought about you as the self-sacrificing idiot, but considering the amount of times you've made a stupid decision to try and save my life, I should've seen this coming.” He gave a side smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

Merlin huffed a laugh, it was half-hearted, but genuine enough, and Arthur felt satisfied when Merlin replied:

“I might be an idiot, but you'll always be a prat.”

“As long as that never changes.” He smiled, Merlin smiled back, and the thick atmosphere that had taken over Arthur's chambers dissipated just like that.

Merlin's eyes were still teared up, though they now shone with a small light that had dimmed down during their conversation before. This time, Arthur was the one to raise a hand to Merlin's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze that he hoped would comfort him somehow.

“Thank you, Merlin, for sharing so much with me. You didn't have to, and I appreciate your trust. Know that it has not been misplaced.”

“Prat.” Merlin's smile was genuine this time, and his eyes were soft again, though the usual light was still duller than normal, they shone brighter by the second.

Arthur nodded to himself and gave Merlin a last squeeze and a little shake, before pulling his hand away and dismissing him. “Go get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow.”

Merlin nodded and collected himself, getting up off the floor and running his sleeve through his face one last time. He watched as Arthur lay back down on his pillow and couldn't resist the urge to tuck him in, fixing his covers where they had slipped down to his waist.

Arthur had the lost puppy eyes again, watching Merlin as he tucked him in. His body gave small goosebumps where Merlin's hand pressed when fixing the bedspread around him.

With a last pat on the cover, Merlin turned around and headed to the door.

“Good night, Arthur,” he muttered before closing the door.

“Good night, Merlin,” Arthur whispered softly to the empty room.

That night, Merlin slept like a log. The emotional exhaustion he felt in the past hours knocked him dead the moment his body hit his bed. He would have to process his feelings properly at some point but not today, today he slept and let the night wash his worries away.

That night, Arthur couldn't sleep. He kept replaying this night's discoveries in his head. Tossing and turning around in bed, he couldn't seem to relax. His hand would reach down to his inner thigh and trace the name he knew was there, like it had millions of times before, but this time the feeling that came with it wasn't reassuring nor hopeful. Not when his mind was filled with Merlin's sad eyes and teary face.

And as the phantom touch of Merlin's hands still warmed him, for the first time, Arthur prayed. To the new gods and the old ones, to the universe itself and to the Fates that decided men's destinies. He prayed for his friend's happiness and future. And most of all, he prayed and wished with all his heart that he could somehow find a way to help Merlin's heartache.

He hoped that the morning would bless him with the answer.

End of Act.1

Gods, I miss writing. My new job is sucking out my soul and I barely have time for existing anymore, but I did have this lost in my drafts and since I miss posting I decided to muster up the strength to finish this one up. I did copy and paste without editing, though, so I'm sorry for any mistakes and weird formatting.

Sorry it ends up like that, teehee, but had I posted the draft you would be hanging mid-dialog so I consider this a win, for me, that is.

Thank you for landing me your time, I hope you enjoyed it 💜

The good news is I do know where I'm going with this and I'll try to write more this next week. The bad news is I have no idea when I'll finish it or if I'll be able to write at all next week, but we'll see.

Happy ending is a promise, but we'll have more angst first. And hurt Merlin.

Keep warm, drink water and remember to take your medicine if you have one.

Ps: (and this is me being hopeful) I really don't know if or when I'm posting more so if anybody wants to be tagged when I do, please lmk

#merlin ficlet #merthur #bbc merlin #soulmates #merlin #arthur pendragon #angst with a happy ending #eventual happy ending #not in this post and probably not in the next #I missed this

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delopsia · 2 days ago

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honey | bob floyd x reader

Word Count: 13,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, Succubus!Reader, Virgin!Bob. Shapeshifting, elements of magic, blood, parties, first-time blow jobs, cunnilingus, first-time sex, virginity loss, vague plot twists despite the severe lack of an actual plot. This was a crack warmup that just became...this Brief Summary: "Rich, hot, and a virgin. What's wrong with you?" Or, Bob's coworkers jokingly summon you, a succubus, to take his virginity, but everyone gets a lot more than they bargained for. You included.

Well...

This is new.

"It wasn't me! I promise!"

"Well, someone drew my symbol on the floor." Folding your arms in front of your chest, huffing. All that for this?

"It wasn't—" He freezes, teeth flashing through an awkwardly stretched smile. "I...my coworkers were playing a prank on me."

Lovely that you learn that after you've planted your ass in his lap. "So you don't want me here, pretty boy?"

Because he is cute. Floppy brown hair and the biggest blue eyes you've ever seen, hidden behind a pair of wireframes that perch on his freckled nose. His partner must be an incredibly happy person, having someone like this walking around their house.

"N-no!" He blurts. His face falls. "—wait! Well-well, I...uh, I...I don't wanna be rude, but I mean I-I..." Your index finger presses against his thin lips, silencing whatever he had left to say. If history is anything to go off of, you wouldn't have been able to understand what he's trying to tell you anyway.

But...well, you are stuck here, so you'd might as well ask. "What's your name?"

"Ro-Ro..." A short pink tongue darts out, wetting his lips. "Robert."

"Well, Bobby," you can't help but say it, a little too eager to watch the blush in his cheeks deepen. "It's a shame that you didn't. You're pretty cute."

Even in the dark, you can see how his face reddens, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows his words.

"But! I'll be on my way," lifting yourself from his lap before you can become too comfortable there. Something bumps into your ass; you think that may have been his cheek. "Do me a favor and tell your partner that they're a very lucky person, would ya?"

"Partner?" Squeaking.

Your feet freeze. There's no way he's... "Don't tell me you're single."

But Bob nods his head like it's the simplest confession he's ever made. "That's half of the reason why they went through the trouble of making you come here." He pauses, his left eye twitching as a thought visibly crosses his mind. Whatever it is, it's got him looking away from you entirely. "Said I'm...said I'm too old to be a—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Holding your hands up. Need a moment of silence to understand what the hell you're hearing. "Your coworkers summoned a succubus to take your virginity?"

His lips flatten into a line. "...yeah."

"Well, that's shitty!" That's a new one. Finally, something to top the time a sorority summoned you to party with them for...some reason. Bragging rights, you think. "Do they pay you enough to put up with those assholes?"

It's been a minute since you've run into someone so nonchalant about a demonic creature standing in the room with them, never mind hold a casual conversation with you.

But here Bob is, shrugging his shoulders like this happens to him every Tuesday. "You learn to deal with it when you're paid a hundred sixty-thousand a year."

"So you're a rich virgin." It shoots out of your mouth before you realize the thought crossed your mind.

Again, Bob is too calm about this. "I...guess?"

"Rich, hot, and a virgin." Modifying your statement. "What's wrong with you?"

Those blue eyes widen. Blinking rapidly. "Huh?"

"Well, there's gotta be a reason why you don't have a line of people out the door." You say, crouching back down in front of him. Sure wish he'd let you do something about that tent in his pajama pants. "If it's not the looks that reel the ladies in, it's the charm, and if it's not the charm, it's the money. And you've got all three, pretty boy."

It's not supposed to be a serious topic, not as if you're about to go and write an article about his non-existent sex life to publish in the weekly paper. But this guy is actually thinking about it. His brows furrowing as he mulls over his thoughts, mouth parting, only to fall closed once more.

"I think it has something to do with the nature of my job and my severe inability to start a conversation," he concludes, with a little nod of his head.

You wonder if you could put him in your pocket and take him home.

Now that you think about it, you're pretty sure you're standing on some a ship right now. Is he some kind of cruise captain? "That'll do it."

Bob doesn't have anything else to say about that, awkwardly closing his legs before you can get another look at what he might be packing under there. Whether or not he caught you staring or he's just become aware of his current state, you're not sure. It's such a shame that someone else summoned you on his behalf; he would have been a fun one to toy with.

Hm.

"Do you wanna fuck with your coworkers before I leave?"

He blinks at you. Not a thought behind those eyes. "Huh?"

"Well, you've already got me here," an excited lilt in your voice, maybe a bit too eager to present your totally thought-out idea. "Believe it or not, I double as a poltergeist on Tuesdays and Thursdays."

Or whenever you feel like, really.

"That would be mean," shaking his head. What is he, some kind of saint?

"They just summoned a demon to fuck you in a locked room," deadpan.

For a moment, it's quiet, and then.

"...that's a fair point."

As it turns out, Bob lives on the world's shittiest cruise ship. A ship without a pool, a dimly lit cafeteria without a single Michelin-trained chef in sight. Long, narrow, colorless hallways. There aren't even individual rooms, just even smaller hallways stacked high with bunk beds. On the thinnest mattress you've ever seen, might you add.

Worst of all, rather than allowing personal clothes, everyone is dressed in clothing provided by the ship. Whoever picked the color schemes needs to be introduced to a fucking color wheel.

How do you trick the head of the United States Navy into summoning you? You have a few choice words about this place.

You appear in the mirror first. A little flash of your face, and then you're gone, nothing but a figment of the imagination. Again, later in the night, those two coworkers of Bobs have convinced themselves that they had made it up.

The plan was to end it there and to come back in the morning to turn it up a notch, but there's a chair sitting in the bunk room that's just so comfortable. So what if you lounge there all night, poking through a book Bob had on the foot of his bed? The room just dark enough to allow them to see your vague silhouette, air so quiet that every turn of the page seems to echo.

Not one of them sleeps, but Bob does, snoring away in his bottom bunk. He sounds like a little cat, tiny little noises that sound closer to grumbles than snores.

When morning comes, you show up in their showers right as they turn around. You appear on opposite ends of crowded rooms and in high-stakes meetings with fancy-dressed higher-ups just to get a reaction. Tapping on their shoulders when they think they're alone. Somehow, you managed to get away with swapping the labels on the mustard and hot mustard. Effectively ruined several breakfasts in one fell swoop.

One, this loud-mouthed blonde you forgot the name of, wakes up to you sitting on his chest. Who would have thought that he had such a shrill scream?

But you might take it too far when you chase them down the narrow hallway—five grown adults shrieking like they're in a haunted scream park and not a Navy ship.

Or at least, you thought you did.

"I can't-I can't believe you just��!" Bob's laughing into his palms, keeling over with it. His mouth is moving, but he can't get anything out. Bubbly, loud giggles that travel around the tiny little fan room, bouncing off every corner.

"And here you said it would be too mean," gently mocking, unable to fight off the smile that works its way across your face. So big you can hardly speak through it.

That should technically be the last of your encounters.

You should be heading back through your portal and off on another job, but Bob doesn't utter the proper incantations to make that happen. He starts to, but then you ask about his book, and he squeaks at you for spoiling the ending, and then you begin to second guess if you're recalling it correctly.

Then the conversation starts, and suddenly, you've been bound to him for three weeks.

If it were anyone else, you'd complain and force the portal to open by yourself. There's more than one way to break the spell and go back to where you came from, but there's something about Bob Floyd that keeps you lingering. Maybe it's the way he blushes when you get too close. Maybe it's because you can't remember a time when someone kept you around solely because they liked talking to you.

Maybe it's because he has a fantastic taste in literature. Anything he's reading somehow becomes glued to your hands, unable to be put down until you've reached the final page.

"I can't believe nobody has gotten bold enough to comment on the strange figure reading a book in the corner every night," you giggle, nothing but a misty haze hovering over his head.

His lips curl into a smile, toothpaste spilling over as he fights not to bite his toothbrush. "I think they're afraid of another hallway incident."

"Are you afraid of another hallway incident?" Appearing in the mirror, if only to get your message across.

"Nah."

If you had known that the Admiral would be the final person you would get to scare before Bob left the ship, then you probably would have gone all out on it. But at the moment, all you're thinking about is how unfair and rude it was to pin Bob for the mistakes that his pilot made up in the air. The guy can't even fly a jet. How is it his fault that the pilot confused their lefts and rights?

So you show up in the mirror, jump on him, and spiral about the room in a foggy haze before rustling down the hallway in such a storm that it creates a draft. There seems to be a growing trend with men having high-pitched screams on this boat.

If Bob ever catches wind of the incident, he never brings it up.

Hell, maybe he thinks he's left you behind because he sure is surprised to turn around and find you sitting on his kitchen counter one morning.

"Did ya forget about me?"

"Please." Clenching at his heart. "Knock first."

Wordless, you tap your knuckles against the cool marble.

Knock.

Those pretty blue eyes roll, their color a little more vivid now that he's wearing that deep blue button-down, the sleeves pulled back just enough to reveal the thick muscle of his forearms. They're still swollen from his workout; you wonder if he knows you were watching.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Kicking your foot at him, brushing against his slacks. The last thing you're expecting is for his hand to wrap around your ankle, lightly squeezing, as if to test out the feeling.

"I got invited to a party and can't get out of it," he hums, letting your leg slip free of his grasp. Then, after a moment. "Wanna come?"

"You're inviting a demon to a party?" Slipping off the counter, batting your eyes at him.

All it takes is one step forward for him to stumble back, wide-eyed and stuttering. "Is that... am I not supposed to do that? I'm sorry."

"Hey, I never said no," your hands find their way to his chest, gently pushing—his back thumps against the fridge. "What color do you like?"

"R-red?" That cute mouth of his wobbles, the slightest hint of facial hair coloring his upper lip. It'll be gone by five, but it's nice to see it for once.

Red it is.

You think this party was thrown by the same sorority who invited you up to party with them because this is...not what you were anticipating. Shot glasses, shitty beer, and flashing lights, the thump of the music so heavy that your bones really with it. You don't even know where the speakers are, lost to the swarm of people crammed into this tiny bar.

All of a sudden, your long, sultry dress has shed into a short little number that blends in with the rest of the crowd. You can't see him, but you can feel Bob's eyes jump onto your frame.

"How did you do that?" Tilting his head to the side like that will somehow help him find an answer to his question.

"Magic, I suppose," there's an actual explanation for it, but you've long since forgotten it. Something about manifestation and energy and a word too big for your tongue to pronounce. "I actually have zero idea how it works."

There's so much going on that you find yourself vanishing for a few minutes. Nothing but a misty haze lingering over Bob's head as one of his buddies shoves a drink into his hand and pushes him down into a cushioned chair. You haven't the slightest clue what kind of golden liquid is swishing around in that cup, but it's got a flavor that has Bob's nose wrinkling.

"Someone's not a drinker," observing aloud, a sudden presence in his lap, your knees caging his hips.

"Was it that obvious?" Sheepish, with that little sideways smile of his. Whether that's from admitting to his inability to drink alcohol or from where you've chosen to sit, you're not sure.

"Your little nose wrinkle gives you away," your little tap on his nose makes him blink. "You're almost a little too clean-cut for this place."

There's nothing special or different that he's done about his appearance, but the aesthetics of the crowd make it look like he's walked into the wrong party. A little bit too put together when you compare his ironed button-down and perfectly gelled hair to the half-drunk faces, trendy, cheap outfits, and that group of shirtless men over in the corner.

At least you have the luxury of changing clothing at the drop of a hat. Otherwise, you would be in the same boat.

"He said it was only gonna be a dozen of us," Bob lifts the glass to his lips once more, his nose twitching at the bitter flavor that greets his tongue. He's trying to hide his reaction, but you can still see the disgust in his eye.

"More like twelve dozen," plucking the glass from his hand, setting it on the little table next to the chair. "You could've convinced me this was a high-end frat party."

Looking around is enough to make you question if 'high-end' was just you being generous because this is looking more like an average party by the second. A myriad of nameless faces lost to the flash of the lights: red, blue, green, purple, yellow, a cycle that never loses its pattern. But even the strain it puts on your eyes isn't enough to distract from the sloppy grinding of bodies against each other, hands in the air, writhing to a beat that definitely does not match the music.

Something is starting to press against your inner thigh. An insistent pressure that almost feels—

Damn, how long have Bob's cheeks been bright red like that?

"Are you good?" Pressing the back of your hand against his forehead, clammy to the touch. "You're red as a balloon."

"Yep," his voice strained, so tight it may snap at the slightest hint of pressure. And he's looking over at the painting on the wall, one of those uninteresting things with only a few paint splatters to stain the pure white canvas. Not the kind of thing worth staring at so intently.

You shift forward, thumb swiping at the sweat beading at his temple—

"You sure get hard easily." Teasing. You hadn't even been trying, but that's definitely a heavy bulge pressing into you, straining against the thin fabric of his slacks.

A muscle in his jaw flexes, swallowing hard. "Please don't say it out loud."

"I can fix that, you know." Perhaps curling your hand around his jaw is a little bit too bold, but he isn't making any moves to push you away or tell you to stop. "Some say I'm pretty good at that."

"No, no, that's okay," Bob shakes his head, gently dislodging your hand from his face. "I don't wanna make you do that."

"You're not making me do anything," leaning the slightest bit closer, tapping him on the chest with an index finger. "I'm volunteering. There's a difference."

He swallows again.

Someone calls out his name, waving a hand in the air as if to guide attention to himself as he emerges from the crowd, drink in hand, smile so big that it ought to blind someone. You vaguely recall seeing him back on the ship; name starts with an 'f'.

...shame that you don't remember anything more than that.

But Bob is uttering some Navy jargon that you don't have the capacity to keep up with, and your knees are starting to hurt, skin stuck to the cheap leather cushion. It's much easier to turn yourself around, back leaning against his chest, now free to scan over and watch the part of the room you couldn't see before.

It's not that you don't feel him pressing into the curve of your ass; you just...well, you kind of forget about it. The moment you lay eyes on the game of beer pong happening behind the pool table, you're invested. Straining your neck to try and get a better look at who is winning, crossing two fingers as a lady in a little white skirt goes up against a guy who looks two beers away from a total blackout.

Neither of them are good at it. Far from it, actually, but the girl's friends are cheering her on, and the man has missed the cup thrice now, stumbling over his own two feet. He misses. She scores two. He gets another point while she's trying to catch a ball that has rolled off into her crowd of friends.

You don't realize you've been squirming until Bob's forehead thunks against your back, shoulders rising with his inhale.

"Where did your buddy go?" Chirping in the lightest tone you can muster. As if you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

"Maybe we should get up," entirely evading your question.

It's a worthy idea that goes down the drain within the same minute it's suggested. What you couldn't see from the couch was how big the crowd actually is. It's a swarm that swallows you whole, someone's shoving into your back, and Bob's stumbling into you, and it's all you can do not to explode into a plume of mist.

You're only distantly aware of his arm curling around you, cinching you to him as if to anchor you in before the storm can wash you away. Your leg slotting between his is far from intentional. But it happens, and you're nose to nose with him, and the corner of his eye is twitching, and you swear you can hear a dam breaking.

You don't entirely know how you wind up here. Squeezing into this sorry excuse of a bathroom stall, your hands greedily dipping beneath his shirt, chest to chest. Every little meet of your lips has him gasping against you. His tongue tastes like the honey biscuit he was nibbling on earlier, the one that dripped on his shirt and left little white crumbs all over his lap.

You could eat him.

"We shouldn't..." He's whispering. A secret meant for your ears only.

Everything screeches to a halt. "Do you wanna stop?"

Shaking his head. "No."

He makes it so damn easy. Legs parted just enough to allow your thigh to slot between them, immediately squeezes down around it the moment he recognizes it's there, drawing you right up into—

A shiver wracks through him. So intense that you can feel it.

You don't need to worry about taunting him. He's reacting as if you've already made a remark. Nose scrunching as he tries to steel his face, warding off the softness that once lingered there, taken aback by the sudden pressure between his legs. Such a strong front. Shame that it folds the moment your hand curls against the bulge in his slacks.

"You're bad at this," a teasing lilt in your tone, lazily working your hand against him. No real rhythm or method to it, simply a shifting pressure that you can already feel his hips beginning to follow.

"It's been a while," muttered like a confession—a sin of the past.

Now that has your attention. "You've done this before?"

The bathroom door squeals open, the handle cracking against the tile so hard that some of it tears off the wall entirely, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. A chunk of it rolls under the stall on a one-way track to strike the side of your shoe. You don't recognize the too-loud voices that enter the room, but Bob seems to, eyes rolling for a fraction of a moment.

"Something similar...once," hardly audible over whatever the hell is being discussed by the sinks.

You'll have to get the full story out of him when there aren't extra ears lurking mere feet away. Right now, though, you're tugging at his zipper, yanking it down as far as it will go, your hand darting through the gap.

Good lord.

It's always the quiet ones.

"I'm surprised you can get through security with this thing," there's so much of him that you've got to use your other hand, fumbling to pop open his button.

"With what?" Bob's brow furrows. You lightly squeeze the base of him. "...oh."

One of the men shouts. Two laughs chime after it in hot pursuit.

There's a considerable weight to him that you hadn't anticipated until just now, his pretty, flushed cock throbbing in your hand. Muscle memory kicks into gear without much thought, gradually gliding up from his base to his tip—ruby red, almost angry in appearance, such a sharp contrast to your fingers.

His hips follow your motions, subtle little backs and forths that you nearly miss at first, keen on chasing your touch but too shy to allow himself to do it. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, pressing so hard that they leave an indent behind. Breathing hard through his nose, eyes screwing shut like he's fighting something back.

You know what he's doing. Can't let a single noise escape for fear of it reaching the other ears in the room, but there's no way they can. Not with all that racket they're making.

It's fifty-fifty if you still remember how to interrupt electricity, your one sure-fire method of making sure nobody can see what you're doing, but there's only one way to find out.

Getting on your knees in a bathroom stall might be a new one for you, but here you are, blindly sinking lower and lower. Can't quite see what you're doing, your eyes hopelessly locked on Bob Floyd and his pink cheeks. Hasn't even realized what you're doing yet.

There's probably a good minute or two where you just hover there, waiting for the moment he realizes that you've moved. Eye-level with his cock, lazily thumbing each and every bead of precum across his plush head, a little routine to decorate the loose up-and-down of your hand. But his eyelids remain closed, and you're just so damn impatient.

The greet of your tongue has him jumping up onto his tiptoes. His head smacking into the flimsy stall wall.

"What was that?"

It's as if the room has morphed into a library. Complete, utter silence. Nothing but the faint breaths of the men gathered outside of the stall, Bob's, and your own. From the gap, you can see a black and yellow shoe taking a step forward. Silently inching closer.

The whites of Bob's eyes are so big that you can hardly see the color that decorates them. Drowned out and lost to a wave of fear that you can feel prickling through his body. If only those stupid yellow shoes would turn around and walk away; you wanted to play this card a little bit longer.

The bathroom plunges into darkness.

So you do still remember how to do that.

Someone screams. You're not sure who, but it was far too high-pitched to be the man right in front of you. Maybe it was the loser with the yellow shoes. Audibly stomping across the tile floor, shouting at each other as they fight for the door. The hinge squeals. Someone accidentally kicks the corner of it on their way out.

And then it swings closed. The room falling quiet as the sliver of light peeking through the gap disappears entirely.

Your mouth opens, gently drawing Bob into your mouth. Thicker than what you anticipated, uncomfortably stretching your lips around his head, but it's only a slight inconvenience. You can hardly think about it. Especially not when flicking the tip of your tongue across his slit elicits that sort of noise. Pitchy and drawn out, slipping out of him before he can stop it.

"That's—" his palm finds its way to your forehead. Pushes lightly. Jerks away. Lands on the side of your cheek instead. "A lot."

You have very different definitions of 'a lot'.

You're actually moving rather slowly, gradually working your way down his length. He's only just beginning to touch the back of your throat, but Bob sucks in a sharp gasp of air as if you've just sprung this on him. You'd complain if he didn't taste so sweet. Just can't help but take him as far as he'll go, the tip of your nose kissing the cold metal of his zipper, throat so full of him that your head spins.

He's trying to say something. Little fragments of words that might or might not be your name. Breaking apart the moment they fall into his mouth, shattered pieces raining down upon you and your eager ears.

Maybe you're too quick about this. A fraction too eager to draw all the way back, only to fall upon him once more, lazily letting yourself gag around him if only to hear him groan low in his throat and to feel his thighs shudder beneath your palms.

"I'm—I'm already, I..." Bobby's panting. Pawing at the side of your face. Doesn't know if he wants to pry you off or push your head back down.

You expected this. You knew he would be a little bit quick, but all of a sudden, he's twitching in your mouth, a rope of cum decorating your tongue and...

Honey.

Why does he taste like honey?

It feels like a fluke at first. Has you drawing all the way back, sucking gently on his spasming tip, but it doesn't change. Overwhelmingly sweet and thick on your tongue. It doesn't...since when did human men taste like this? Good lord, what took you so long to find one like this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Bob's abruptly pulling out of your mouth with a sharp 'pop,' the toilet paper roll audibly spinning as he grabs at it.

The overhead light flickers back on. Damn near blinding. You nearly miss the shade of cherry decorating his cheeks.

"Has anyone ever told you that you taste like honey?"

"You can't be serious."

"No, something's gotta be wrong. I've picked something up somewhere," Bob doesn't seem to realize that he's started pacing again, striding back and forth across the room. "That doesn't...it shouldn't taste like honey!"

Your leg kicks off the edge of the exam table, taping him on the hip as he drifts past. "And what? You think a mystery STD will?"

"Maybe there's one I'm not considering," he stops dead in his tracks, looking you dead in the eye. "You should get tested too."

"Hard to catch a human virus if you aren't human," dragging your foot up the side of his thigh, "maybe it's just a succubus thing."

Bob's hand curls around your ankle, bringing it to rest comfortably against the side of his hip. "Huh?"

"I mean, like...maybe I taste it differently based on how much I like the person?" You're already grasping at straws as it is, but it's so hard to think when Bob is rubbing the back of your ankle like that. Diligent fingers pressing into strained muscle, drawing the tension away with every loose spiral.

"No," shaking his head as if to add emphasis to an already firm word. "I don't...no, that wouldn't make sense."

That was your one and only theory, but, well, if he insists. "Alright, honey cum."

"Please, don't."

You're gone by the time the doctor decides to come back. Doesn't have a whole lot to say, but a few weeks later, there's a neatly folded paper on the counter with a whole bunch of negatives on it.

Bob catches you looking at them, but he doesn't have anything to say about it. He's more intrigued by your appearance than anything else, brushing the pads of his fingers against one of your horns as he drifts past.

"Have you always had these?" He chirps, on a one-way track back to his coffee maker. His poor heart might stop if he pours himself anymore, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him.

"Technically, yes," it's a lazy reply, but you're not sure what else to say. "I didn't think to hide them today. What is that, your third cup of coffee today?"

"Fifth," he corrects, unashamed about finishing off the pot. There's just enough left to fill his mug to the rim and then some. How he doesn't spill it, you'll never know. "Do all demons have horns?"

"Depends on the race, really," shrugging. "Succubi have short, narrow horns with vibrant colors, crossroad demons have horns similar to a Texas Longhorn, fallen angels don't have any at all..." You could keep going, but you would be talking for a long, long time.

You probably shouldn't be lingering around Bob's apartment, invisible to the naked eye as you lounge in the soft red couch and gaze out the window at every rise and fall of the sun. He seems to know that you're still here; hums something that sounds like your name when the cushion sinks beneath your weight.

It's a cute apartment, really. A thrifted coffee table and an oversized bookcase that has already run out of room, excess books spilling over onto the shelves that were once reserved for figurines, and clever callbacks to movies.

There's a stash of DVDs lurking inside of the TV stand, and in the ottoman, a pair of signed and framed Star Wars posters decorating the hallway. He thinks that he's spread out the anime enough to pass undetected, but you can clearly see the manga lurking in the smaller bookcase in his bedroom. There's a Naruto sticker hiding on the side of the fridge, a Pokemon in the bathroom cabinet, and so far, you have counted four Trigun figurines.

Five, if you include the one you just watched him unwrap and place next to his model jet. This one kind of looks like him...

"Are you still in here?" Bob calls out from somewhere on the other side of the apartment. It might be the first time you've heard his voice rise above a mutter since he left the doctor's office.

You're not entirely sure where he is. Haven't exactly moved from the couch now that the sun has fallen again, blankly gazing at the distant ocean as if it's a home you once knew like the back of your hand.

He appears in the hallway. Fiddling with the edge of his t-shirt, his eyes squinting as he tries to scan the room without his glasses. You're still waiting for him to realize that he left them next to the stove again.

"Come out?" He tries again, ambling forward. "Please?"

"Looking to terrorize your boss again?" Dissolving into solidity, the chilly air nipping unpleasantly at your skin. Invisible was better. You couldn't feel the temperature when you didn't have a body.

Or...maybe you're feeling the temperature incorrectly because Bob looks like a shrimp mid-boil. Red in the cheeks, so flushed that it crawls down into his neck, and the sliver of chest showing through the collar of his shirt.

"Bob?" Tilting your head to the side.

"I wanna return the favor." Deadpan.

Blink.

Blink again.

Blink one more time.

You don't follow. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I..." his eyes skip around the room. Bouncing off of the coffee table to the poster behind your head, the miscellaneous figurine shelf, and the refrigerator. "You did something for me, and I...don't...like the idea of it being so one-sided?"

"Bob, I'm a succubus," there's supposed to be an underlying hint there because this is kind of the very reason for your existence, but Bob doesn't seem to pick up on that. Or maybe he does and just doesn't react. "Do you even know how?"

A beat passes.

His head shakes. No.

"I'm a quick learner?" Offering it up like he's bartering. You wonder if you can get him to start offering crops and livestock. "Is that...okay?"

You're not sure if it's the novelty of the idea or if it's because of that soft, doe-eyed expression he nails you with, but something has you agreeing to it. But just because you're on the same page together doesn't mean you'll be the very next sentence that he reads.

You're gone the moment he's in front of you.

"Where did you—"

"But you'll have to catch me first." Reappearing behind him. Walking your fingers up his spine.

He turns.

You're gone. Drifting behind his back again. Blowing at his nape.

"Hey!" He squeals. So shrill and pitchy that it nearly throws you off. Only manage to dissolve into a plume of mist when he reaches for you.

Bob is already spinning around. Blocks you from getting to his back again. And there must be some kind of 'tell' of where you are because his eyes follow you every which way. You'd might as well be fully human because this isn't working.

You don't know how you get into the kitchen. But you're on one side, and Bob is on the other before you've even become solid. You stumble three steps to the right; he's already there. You go left. But then he goes left. You dart right—corner to corner to corner. Shit, you've put yourself in a corner. Either way you have to get past him.

"Why are you so damn quick?" Giggling. Your feet slide against the hardwood. Not as fast as him. This will only last so long.

"Did you forget." He jumps left. "I'm in." Right. "The Navy?" Left again.

"I thought that meant you would be good at swimming!" You're slipping. Grabbing at the countertop before you can hit the floor. "Not—this!"

He breaks the pattern first. Shoots around the corner so quickly that you nearly don't have time to spin back around. His fingertips graze your back as you turn. You're tearing off around the corner. Dissolving bit-by-bit and—

There's a pressure around your waist, and the room is spinning, and you don't remember when or how your feet left the ground.

"Bobby!" You're squealing, throwing your arms around his shoulders before you can slip.

It's hard telling when or how things escalate the way that they do. All you remember is the coldness of the floor as he sets you back down, the heat of his arms around you, and the bump of his nose against your cheek. And melting. Fuck, you remember melting into him like snowflakes in July, meeting him halfway, his soft lips melding with yours so easily.

You do remember when you fall against the couch. Nothing but ruby red cushions and the lingering pink in Bobby's cheeks, settling between your legs with such ease that you almost wonder if you've done this with him before.

Christ, he could probably convince you that you've already had a few nights together.

There's no reason why or how he should know that you're sensitive beneath your ear, mouthing at the skin there but never making a move to mottle it with bruises. Respectful. Irritatingly so. Never leaving behind a mark, not even when he bites at the collar of your shirt and grazes the skin that lurks beneath.

He wasn't lying when he said he was a quick learner. Is he sure that he's never done this before? Because he gets your lounge shorts off surprisingly easily. His waist dipping between your thighs, swollen lips finding your lower belly once more, working down, down, down...

"Shit," his tongue has you jolting, entirely caught off guard. "A little sudden there."

It's hard to feel any sort of annoyance when he peeks up at you from beneath his lashes, tongue hanging out of his mouth like a dog. "'m sorry."

Your hand curls into the back of his hair, a fraction longer than it was when his so-called friends summoned you right into his lap. Only takes the slightest pressure for him to dip his head back down, licking a slow stripe against you. He misses your clit on the first try, pulls away a little too soon. But he finds it on the second, visibly perks at your sharp inhale, and retraces his steps until you do it again.

Learning should imply that he doesn't know what he's doing beforehand. You're gonna need to steal his dictionary off the shelf and look up the proper definition because you're pretty sure he was lying.

There's no damn reason why he should know how to point his tongue and trace it around your clit, teasing until your hips lift off the mattress. Temporary relief comes in the form of the hum that rumbles out of him, vibrating through your nerves like electricity. He's settling into it now, laying flat on his belly, arms curled around your thighs as ifhe belongs there.

Fuck, and he's working his way down. Pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses into your dripping pussy, stopping to lap at your entrance before pressing inside. His tongue isn't even all that long, but the wet heat and the tip of his nose pressing against your clit yanks a gasp out of your throat, eyes snapping shut.

Your thigh squishes against his cheek, leg looping lazily over his shoulder as if that could somehow possibly bring him closer. Fingers twist in his hair, nails scraping across his scalp—

"What the hell?" Your own voice sounds foreign. Detached from your body.

Bob lifts his head, and good lord, his lips are glistening. "Hm?"

"What is this little bump on your head?" Tapping your nail against it, uniquely bony compared to the rest of his scalp. Feels like a perfect circle.

"I don't know what they are," nonchalant, already dipping back between your legs, "'ve had 'em since I was born."

You can see them when you push his hair out of the way, little indentations beneath the skin, solid as can be. One on each side, a few inches above his ears. These kind of look like...

No, that's not right.

That sweet tongue of his finds you again. Drawing lazy shapes that transform into shock waves on impact, rumbling up your spine and down into your fluttering thighs. Letters. He's drawing letters, and you can hardly decipher what they are, but the voice in the back of your head whispers that he's writing is name into your cunt. Over and over until he's certain that you'll never find pleasure in a name that isn't his.

"Bobby, I..."

He hums, hands curling around your hips, pulling you in. Doesn't let go of that same lazy pace that he just set for himself, curling through an 'R' and into an 'O' so intoxicating that you find your own mouth mimicking it, too. You don't mean to cum so soon. You really don't, but your eyes unintentionally lock with his, that tiny smile curling the corners of them, and shit—

Your back twitches up off the bed. Crying out so sharply that it rips right out of your throat. Your head might just tumble off your shoulders. Floating up into the clouds, heaven-bound. Weightless.

The hands on your hips tighten. Anchoring you back down. Bob's burning tongue working you through it like he's done it a hundred times until your body is tensing and jerking away from every little lick.

"Jesus," sucking in a breath, "Christ."

Bob lifts his head, swollen lips twisting into a cheesy grin. "Wrong name."

"Nerd," tapping him on the nose.

"Demon," biting the inside of your thigh.

It's hard telling who sputters into a laugh first. Giggling like school kids as he climbs up the bed, his mouth clumsily finding its way to yours. It's so much easier to hold his face when his glasses aren't in the way; don't have to worry about smudging a lense or accidentally knocking them off his face entirely.

If you thought that you were bad, then Bob Floyd is another monster entirely because once he's gotten a taste of you, he can't get enough.

Because he's on you again in the morning, kissing at your shoulder and working his way down your naked belly before his final alarm goes off and forces him to start getting ready for work. His sweet tongue working over your clit, chasing down a vastly different zig-zag pattern as he eases a thick, curious finger into you. Lazily searches for a little spot that steals your breath away and has you babbling for another.

In the evening, he's nibbling and kissing at your thighs while you wait for the pizza delivery guy is on his way. Leaves behind sporadic little marks that gradually acquire a delicious tenderness that makes you gasp when you try to cross your legs later.

You answer to the sound of your name on an average Tuesday afternoon. An unapproved presence in a top-security Naval building, perched up on the edge of a locker room bench like you belong there. Like you, too, are a pilot with a willingness to perform and just the right amount of crazy flowing through your veins.

Bob doesn't utter a word about it, but you know that one of his superiors has chewed him out again because his cheeks are pale as can be, eyes only softening at the sight of you appearing before him. And maybe he's a little bit too eager to fall to his knees, peppering your skin with kisses that make their way to where you crave them the most.

Again and again. An addict who seems to need his fix every time he's overwhelmed. It's your purpose, the very thing you were built for, but the invisible string that draws you into him is unlike any other you've been wrapped up in before. An undescribable something-else lurking behind the charm of those wireframes and his warm, dizzying voice. Never asks for anything in return, all too content with eating you alive.

Your favorite might be the night that he pulls a muscle in his shoulder blade. One little misstep in the gym is all it takes for a night and a half of overwhelming soreness, binding him flat on his back, minding his left side. But even the mix of ibuprofen, Tylenol, and a dash of pain isn't enough to keep him grounded.

"I have an idea." It's been forever since you last heard him speak. The last time you recall hearing his voice was last night when he asked you to pass him his toothbrush.

"Uh oh," not in any particular hurry to lift your head from his chest, naked and oh so warm to the touch.

"What?" He's trying to act offended, but the attempt dies mid-air. Won't be making a living in acting any time soon, that's for sure.

Tapping your finger on his collarbone, overtop a thin white scar you've yet to learn the story of. "Don't 'what' me."

His laugh sounds like thunder. Deep and rumbling into your ears, a tune you didn't know you craved until just now.

A familiar warmth settles against your cheek, diligent fingers tracing the edge of your jaw. "What if I told you I had another idea?"

One of these days, you'll learn to quit being surprised.

Today, you're shocked that he asked you to ride his face.

Shit, but here you are. Knees precariously resting above his head. Trying your best not to let your thighs clamp down around his face as he dips his tongue between your folds, half-lidded gaze fixated on your expression. You've long since lost count of how many times you've felt this. The soft whisps of his short hair tickling your skin, the way he hums when he hears you gasp.

"You've got," raking your fingers against his scalp, anything to distract from the calculated zig-zag across your clit, "a problem."

"Maybe that's what's wrong with me," muffled. His every word rumbling through your core and reaching up into your chest.

"Yeah, well..." drinking in a shuddered breath, "you being addicted to eating me out was not on that list."

It's his fault for laughing again. Should have known that the vibration would have twisted into your nerves and sent them firing, thighs impulsively clamping down around his head with no regard for him or breathing.

Fuck, it takes a moment to remember how to move them again.

"I'm sorry," and you're about to lift yourself up, let him get a full breath of air, but his hands find your hips, anchoring you into place.

"'s okay," pausing to lap at your clit, wet and messy, and god, the sound. "I don't mind."

He'd say that if you accidentally suffocated him to death, too.

Your nails drift across his scalp. Dragging just enough to feel the shift of hair beneath your fingertips, disturbing the hardened bump lurking just a few inches above his ear. You know that it's probably because of the swelling, but you swear it feels bigger than it did a few days ago. And maybe it's sensitive too because, for the briefest moment, you catch the whisp of a gasp. A sharp little intake of air punctuating the way he drifts down to toy with your entrance.

They're worse the following morning.

He's only just beginning to settle between your legs, diligently kissing down the inside of your thigh, when the brush of your knee sends him reeling. Pawing at the sides of his head. Wincing. Yelping at his own touch.

"Did I—"

"No!" He blurts. Pitchy. "I'm sorry, it's, I—it hurts."

Even the delicate pressure of an ice pack is too much for him to tolerate, hissing like a cat the moment the material touches his skin. You're not entirely sure what to make of them. Dissolving into the air around him for a better view, drifting around his head, twisting every which way as if discovering the perfect angle will reveal the secret.

It doesn't...look infected. Strained is the best descriptor you can come up with. As if something is trying to claw its way out from beneath the skin.

"And you said you've had these since you were born?" Musing aloud, resisting the urge to reach out and touch them.

Hands find your waist as you settle into your human shape once more. "That's what I'm told." Then, tilting his head to look up at you, not making any move to get out of his chair. "Why, what did you see?"

"The same thing you're seeing," you can't help but push his hair back, watching the short strands gradually slip free from your fingers. "Must be a really odd birth defect."

He hums, blinking up at you without a word, perhaps not as concerned about his situation as he should be. Not a trace of worry clouding his features, though the corner of his eye twitches when you unintentionally drift over one of the bumps.

It's the same kind of gaze that gets you into trouble three nights later.

He doesn't seem to realize that he's doing it, drowning you in pools of ocean blue every time he looks your way. You don't understand how you make it through the night. He's just so damn distracting. Tapping his foot against yours beneath the table, legs tangling as a nameless mid-forties man in a fancy suit rambles on about the honor of working in the Navy and things you don't care to follow.

You don't know how you get to the hotel bed. Only vaguely aware of the sensation of your feet leaving the ground, thighs clinging to the sharp bone of his hips. One of his hands is on your ass, and the other is smoothing up your back. Presses just hard enough to have you arching, chests bumping together hard enough to break your kiss.

"Bobby—"

"I know."

The room collapses into a world of pristine white clouds—or maybe you've just fallen onto the bed. You can't tell for sure. Can't be bothered to. Not when a familiar pressure appears against your lips, his firm body settling between your legs with a weight you can't possibly ignore.

He tastes like the hot chocolate they poured into his cup when he turned down the champagne. Sweet and so warm that you can feel yourself melting, and you must be made of chocolate, too, because he moves as if he's going to eat you alive. Hands rising to cradle your face, settling into a lingering liplock that has you gasping for air.

Your head is spinning. One hand curling around his bicep. The other smoothing up the side of his burning neck. Hardly aware of how your hips lift up from the mattress, but all too aware of him meeting you in the middle. A new pressure forms between your legs. The not-so-subtle bump of a growing bulge against your cunt.

Curse the layers of fabric separating you from each other. Can't do anything but meet him halfway. Mewling into his mouth like a cat in heat. Legs curling around his hips. The heels of your ankles digging into his ass, urging him closer, closer, closer.

Something trickles across your fingers. Smearing across his neck.

"What is that?" It's sliding down your palm, scurrying past your wrist and beyond. Water? No, where would it have come from...

Bob draws away, an unusual chill filling the space he once occupied. "What is what?"

Your hand is crimson.

Why is your hand...?

"Oh my god." Reeling back. Hands held high as if that can possibly stop the blood that drips from your fingertips, so fresh that you can still feel the warmth of it.

It's everywhere. Staining the fresh sheets, smeared across the back of Bob's neck, pooling at the shoulders of a brand new uniform that will never be the same again. It's on the shell of his ear and in his hair and—

"Oh my god," you sound like a broken record, but it's all you can say. "Bobby, your head."

Looking back on it, you're thankful Bob booked a room with two beds instead of one.

There's no salvaging or rectifying the utter disaster going on in the bed that he claimed as his when you first got here. The sheets and comforter torn clean off, lying in a messy pile, waiting for the front desk to call back and tell you what to do with them. From here, they look perfectly fine, still the same shade of pure white, as if nothing has ever happened.

Your attention meanders across the floor, tracing the lines of geometric shapes, following them on their journey between the beds until they disappear beneath the mattress. Bob's foot still hangs off the edge, a smidge too lazy to try and readjust himself now that he's found home here on your chest.

It's almost strange being here. Snuggling on a hotel bed with a man who didn't even summon you wasn't on the job description. Hell, the last time you even set foot in a place like this was probably years before you realized what you were and fully committed to the whole demonic entity thing.

"Why don't you ever leave?" Bob's voice rumbles into your collar, a smidge deeper than it was the last time you heard it.

"You never said you were satisfied with me," darting from your mouth before you can realize what you're about to say. A script so rehearsed that your tongue needs no instruction to utter it.

The room is quieter than it was before.

Which...is odd because nothing about it has changed. The cheap air conditioner still rattles to its own mechanic tune. You can still hear the girl talking on the phone in the hallway. Through the wall behind your head, the neighbor's television still plays the rerun of what sounds like a football game.

Bob's eyes are open. Can feel the flutter of his lashes against the side of your neck. If you didn't know any better, you would mistake it for the dustings of tiny butterfly wings.

But he doesn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, I...that may have come out the wrong way."

"'s okay." Says it so quickly that you wonder if he's listened to your apology at all.

Antsy, you reach for his hair, fingers coming through the still-damp locks. A little bit fried after two full washes, but it was the necessary sacrifice to get all of that blood out.

You've got to crane your neck to see the culprit, but it's still there, in the same state it was the last time you laid eyes on it. Scabbed over. No longer as swollen as it once was, but there's still something solid lurking beneath the surface. You could have sworn you saw a flash of white in there before it had closed up again, but looking at it now, there's nothing.

"I think I just like being around you," concluding, after a long moment.

'Like' may be an understatement, but...

The corner of his mouth is turning upward. You know it is because you can feel it against your chest. "I like being around you, too."

And here you thought you'd figured out what Robert Floyd defines as a party.

Bubbling glasses of golden champagne, the same shade of the delicate chandelier sparkling overhead, crystals cascading down like a spiral staircase. Enchanting. Beginning three stories up and only ending mere feet away from where you stand, you could probably touch it if you tried.

Such a stark contrast to the midnight peeking through the windows, twinkling city lights of every color in the rainbow drowned out by the blinding white and gold palette you've found yourself in. Unfamiliar faces and dresses worth more than a car fresh off the lot, wrapped up in the whimsical tune of a live orchestra off to your left.

So many things to look at. Luxury desserts and vivid red couches cozied up beside the fire. There's more to be discovered, entire rooms you have yet to venture into, a custom theater, a cocktail bar...yet, your eyes continue to drift to the only familiar thing here.

And his appear to do the same.

Locking from opposite sides of the room, the buzz of the crowd melting into a distant hum, as if you've just plunged into the very crystal oceans that color his irises. The heat of his gaze is the only thing keeping your head above water, burning across every inch of your skin. It's a wonder you don't go up in flames right here and now.

Glass shatters somewhere to your left. A lady yelps. Someone swears. But you can't bring yourself to look to see what just happened. Captured in a never-ending trance as you move about the room, only able to look away for milliseconds at a time.

One of Bob's friends are talking to him, mouth moving a mile a minute, but Bob doesn't seem to be listening—Fireball or...something. The name should come to you easier than it does. Bob's told you so many stories of them together, but you fear you've spent too much time lingering on the sound of his voice to actually store and remember the fine details.

The music swells.

Heads turn toward the melody, and with it, feet begin to move. It's as if one-half of the party has vanished, opening up the floor enough for you to walk without worry of bumping into anyone. You wouldn't even be in this position if filtering through different forms was socially acceptable and not the quickest way to give someone a heart attack.

It's like drawing too close to a fire, the flames so bright that you can hardly look at them without being blinded. Except the flames are the open buttons at the very top of his long sleeve, milky white skin peeking through the gap. He's grown a bit since this was fitted, the fabric hugging a little too tightly around his chest, straining already weakened seams. Two of the buttons have already snapped off, unveiling more than he would ever willingly show off.

He would catch your staring if he weren't already doing the same damn thing. Knows he's been caught, too, cheeks dusting a cherry red the moment he tears his attention away from the slit in your dress, showing off your upper thigh.

But Fanbase is still talking, rambling on about the subplot of a movie that you've yet to see, and you're simply not interested enough to linger any longer than you have to. Gliding past Bobby as if you hadn't just made eye contact with him, your hand trailing up the side of his arm on your way past.

The door couldn't come quickly enough, and you disappear through it with nothing more than a wayward glance over your shoulder.

He's still looking at you.

It's so much quieter in the hallway, all that noise and music vanishing the moment the door swings shut behind you. You're not sure where you're going; didn't plan this far ahead, but you can already see a floor-to-ceiling window that looks interesting enough. A decorative fountain rests in front of it, the water sparkling with the city lights.

The view is better at night. Still breathtaking during the day, but...god, something about the velvet black and twinkling shades of neon really bring out the charm of a city like this. Though you've still yet to figure out why a Navy event is all the way up here, in the tallest building they could find. One of their own venues would have sufficed; then they wouldn't have had to rent all these hotel rooms.

"Your dress looks awful familiar." Maybe Bob is hiding magic powers of his own because there's no way he could have snuck up on you without floating here.

But there he is. Shoulder resting against the wall, arms folded over his chest. The rolled sleeves are struggling with his forearms, fabric so tight that the threads silently scream.

"Does it?" Coy. You entirely stole this idea from the front cover of the magazine he had sitting on the kitchen counter.

You don't mean to step forward at the same time he does, but you do. Nose to nose in the blink of an eye, so close that your vision goes a little blurry and out of focus.

A door slams down the hall.

The invisible string snaps.

Your hands are in his hair, and his are on your waist, and mouths are clattering with all the grace and elegance of a car crash. The back of your leg hits the fountain. Sends the thing jumping as you all but slam into the window. It's a wonder you don't go crashing through it, plummeting through miles upon miles of midnight neons.

Because it certainly feels like you did.

Head spinning as if you're in a free fall. Fingers twisting in his hair before unspoken forces can peel you away, sloppily falling into tune with the bold dance of his lips. Fuck, it's so much more than what you've spent the past fifteen minutes picturing in your head. He tastes like cola and honey, so dizzyingly sweet that a sugar rush buzzes through your veins.

What is it with you and this human?

It's as if you're one half of a magnet, hopelessly bound to him by forces that you can't quite identify. Yielding to the subtle pressure of his hands, allowing him to gather you into his chest as if you aren't close enough as it is. Heaven, Hell, and Earth could collapse right here and now, and it still wouldn't be enough to drive a wedge between you.

"And here I thought you weren't the PDA type," that thought was supposed to stay in your head, but it's far too late to do anything about it.

"I think this is a little beyond PDA," Bob's mouth twists into a smile too soon. Teeth smash together with a sound that makes you wince.

There are voices down the hallway, familiar, but you don't care to try and identify them. Whoever they are, they don't get a chance to see you here because Bob's taking hold of your wrist, and you're falling into the clumsiest run imaginable. Arms awkwardly tangling together. His boots too new to grip the floor. Giggling to yourselves as you slide to the right, fighting to get around the corner before he can be recognized.

You're already crashing into each other again. And again. And again. Stealing kisses as if you need one for every few steps taken. Can't function otherwise. Winding through the hall, no regard for where you're going or if it's even the right direction, barging through a door and racing up the stairs. You trip on one. Bob falls on his ass on another.

It's a damn wonder how you find the correct door.

At least, you assume it's the right one because your back all but slams into it; don't even hear the noise that rattles down the empty hall. How are you meant to pay attention to such meaningless things, when a soft pressure appears at your lips? Greedily leaning into it as you all but melt into one another, his breath running ragged.

The key. You need the key.

It's somewhere on him, your hands blindly smoothing over his chest, searching for the outline of that thin plastic key card. And so what if you momentarily hook your fingers into the top of his shirt? It could have been hiding there, for all you know.

Bob finds it just before you do. Plucking the hunk of plastic from his front pocket, and you can feel the heat of his arm as he reaches past.

Beep.

Gravity tilts on its head. Falling backward.

Toned arms loop around your waist. Force you to remain upright. Pulling you close like there's a risk of you blowing away. Stumbling backward. Through the door. You don't know how your arms got around his neck, but you're not making any move to let go. Clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do. Nose bumping into his cheek as you find your way to his mouth once more.

One fleeting, accidental brush of his teeth against your lip has electricity bolting up your spine. Shades of gold explode in the depths of your frenzied mind. Fireworks. Tongues tangle for the briefest of seconds. But then he's licking at your bottom lip, and it's parting with a gasp, a little too eager to let him in. Twisting together in a fashion entirely unfamiliar to you, an exquisite dance that has you melting like snow on a summer day.

The mattress greets the backs of your knees, a gentle nudge that has you falling backward without ceremony. He's on top of you within a second, forearms bracing his weight on either side of your head, chests pressing together, and—

"Mmh." His legs spasm around your thigh, only to push it up into him again, pressing against the growing tent in his slacks. Heavy.

"What was that?" In the lightest tone you can conjure up, rubbing your thigh against him once more.

His face flushes red. Eyes darting away like he'll catch on fire if he keeps looking at you, but there's no hiding the way he twitches at your touch. And he knows you've felt it because, somehow, his cheeks get even redder.

"What, don't like being teased?"

"I might die if you keep talking."

You'd like to see how true that statement can be. But that's an experiment for another night; you can only take your mind off of the throbbing heat resting against your thigh for so long.

Fuck, and it seems he's on the same page. Spit-slicked lips find the corner of your jaw, one of his hands smoothing down your side as he works his way beneath your ear. One kiss after the other, only lingering long enough to lightly suck on the skin there. Teeth scrape against you, and you absolutely shouldn't shudder at such a simple feeling, but it happens anyway.

Just like how you wander to his shirt, perhaps a bit too eager to start fumbling with the buttons. They're just as stubborn as you thought they would be, angrily wedging themselves in the gaps designed for them to fit through. Stupid things. Who ever thought these were a good idea?

Bob reaches past you, his wrist bumping your hand away—

Buttons scatter. Rolling across the floor. Bouncing across the bed. One strikes your chin. Another thunks against the headboard.

"I didn't know you had it in you," giggling. Only have a handful of seconds to admire the broad expanse of his pale chest before he's on you again. Picking up right where he left off, somewhere beneath your ear, where you're most sensitive.

His hum sounds like it's wrapped around the shape of your name, vibrating up your neck, rattling around in your skull like an earthquake. It's a wonder you don't fall apart. Fingertips biting into his shoulders, squeezing them as tightly as you can. And he just keeps kissing on you. Working down, down, down to your collar, only stopped by the fabric of your dress.

You can make it disappear.

He knows you can make it disappear.

And yet his hands slip behind your back, tugging down the tiny zipper that runs parallel to your spine.

Takes the time to ease the soft material off your body, impossibly slow, as if he's afraid of ripping it. Past your hips and over your knees. Folds it in half and sets it off to the side. And for a moment, he pauses. Lips shining with the same light that reflects off his glasses, hardly distracting from the sparkle of his eye.

Kisses find the inside of your knee. Working across the joint and delving into the delicate territory of your thigh. It's a tune he's played so many times that you already know where he's going and what thoughts are lurking in the back of his quiet mind. Tempting, but...

The dog tags hanging from his neck are too perfect not to grab. Why he's wearing them, you're not sure, but they reel him back in so damn easily.

But Bob freezes the moment you're eye to eye with him, not entirely sure how to tread this newfangled path he's found himself on. And that must be what makes it so easy to push him around. Flipping your positions with a skill you forgot you had, your ass snug in his lap, knees straddling his hips.

The back of his head thunks against the headboard, unnamed shades of red rising to tint his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"You're sure?" He croaks; for a split second, you're on the ship again, meeting for the very first time.

"Are you sure?" Countering. The bridge of your nose bumps into his.

You don't necessarily remember what happens after that.

It all melts into a blur. Starts with you bouncing a button off his bare chest and ends with the sound of his pants hitting the floor next to you. You don't know who got the lube out. It must have been him because you still don't know where it even came from, but it's the sensation of his slick fingers pressing into you that catapults you back into reality.

"You remember that I'm a succubus, right?" The intended sarcasm doesn't so much as reach your vocal chords, nothing but a breathy whisper of the obvious.

A smile is all that he gives in return. "I know."

It's been too long since the last time you felt this. The pressure of thick fingers slipping into your already drooling cunt, knuckles catching on your entrance as they drag past. Coarse fingertips drag against your walls, crooked, running across a bundle of nerves that he has no business knowing about. Knows he's found it too, the corner of his mouth twitching upward at the sound of your whine.

Yeah.

It's been too long.

That's why you're so sensitive all of a sudden.

It's certainly not because of the heavy cock resting against the swell of your ass. Has nothing to do with the pools of blue that lurk in his eye; you reckon you'd drown in them if you were to fall forward. No, you only feel like that because of the never-ending city view that sits just past his head. Broad and expansive, just like...just like his shoulders...

You don't realize what your hand is doing until you overhear his sharp inhale. His body jerks, shocked by the sudden trace of your fingers running up the underside of his cock.

Impatience will be the undoing of both of you. In such a sudden hurry that lube spills onto the bed in your rush to slick him up, and it's only after that he realizes he's forgotten about the condom. Doesn't matter. The damn thing flies out of his hand when he tries ripping it open with his teeth, landing somewhere on the floor.

"Again," lifting your hips, lazily smacking his blunt tip against your cunt, "succubus."

"I'm sorry," he's yet to realize you're merely messing with him. Condom, no condom, you don't care either way. "I don't wanna make a mess of you."

"Maybe I want you to make a mess of me," countering. And it's the last thing you can say before the pressure of his cock shuts you up.

If you asked, you're certain he would humbly refer to himself as average, but this is...this is so much better than average. Thicker than usual and wonderfully curved, fitting that a man so intent on pleasing you would also have the perfect cock, too. Stretches you just enough to make your jaw go slack, his fat tip dragging against every little nerve it can find.

Bob tilts his head back, his chest rising with a heavy inhale, and that may be a whine that you hear. His lashes flutter, visibly fighting to keep them open as you sink down on him. Inch after inch, and it's been so long since you last felt this full.

And maybe they've sucked all of the oxygen from the room because neither of you can seem to catch your breath.

"That's..." his eyes drop down, fixating on the sight of him disappearing into you, "shit, that's..."

He doesn't get to finish that thought, and you don't get the chance to bother him about it, entirely distracted by the overwhelming sensation of him bottoming out. Your ass flush with his thighs, so damn full of him that your heart has risen into your throat.

You've already found the strength to lift your body again. Bracing your hands on his shoulders, using him for leverage as your hips lift, the city lights seeming to twinkle when he rubs into those soft nerves. Can only manage to raise yourself by an inch or two before collapsing down into him once more.

The warmth of Bobby's gaze crawls up your naked body, slow, like he's trying to take his time before he meets your eye. And when he does...

"You still in there?" Winding your arms around his neck. Can't seem to get him close enough.

His tongue darts out to wet his swollen lips, dry from panting, "uhuh."

You suppose he's telling the truth because he's present enough to remember how to tilt his head up and catch you with a kiss—breathing hard through your noses. His hands squeezing your hips. Holding them through every rise and fall.

Lube squelches between your legs. His cock head driving directly into that bundle of nerves again, your pussy helplessly spasming around him. You fear you're going to shatter into a million pieces if he does that again, but there's no attempt to shift your angle. Chasing that sensation again, crying out as a shock bolts up your spine.

"Bobby," it slips out so easily. Riding on the coattails of a gasp.

Foreheads knock together. So close that the sight of him goes a little bit fuzzy. Noses bumping when his hips twitch up, snapping into yours so swiftly that it knocks a whimper out of you. Just makes him do it again, and you are not living up to the whole succubus thing by collapsing into his shoulder.

"Fuck, I can—" he grunts, punctuated by the lewd slap of skin against skin, "can feel you clenchin' around me."

And you can feel him twitch inside of you. Such a simple feeling that has you getting wetter around him, can only imagine what kind of mess is forming between your bodies right now. You'd look, but it's hard enough pulling yourself back, thighs burning, desperate to work back into the rhythm you just...built up...

Is...that...?

"What's wrong?" Bob has stopped moving at...some point. You don't know when that was. The concept of time passing is a little bit irrelevant right now.

Words don't necessarily come to you. Fleeting chunks of vaguely related sentences that you can't quite stitch together. You don't...that's not...when did...?

The only thing you can think of is to touch one of them.

His back jerks off the headboard. Sucking in a gasp. Eyes going wide. But then, twitching at the corners, pretty blue irises rolling back, his cock spasming despite your lack of movement. For a moment, not a sound seems to escape him, but then it's all shattered by a barely muffled whimper.

"So that's what's wrong with you." Deadpan.

Touching them made him cum. That's... somewhat familiar, actually.

Bobby's eyes can barely tear themselves open, fighting against them as he blinks up at you. "What?"

You're almost hesitant to touch them again. Two tiny horns, no more than an inch tall, poking out from where those pesky bumps once resided.

Horns. Of course. Why did you think you were wrong when you considered that earlier? They're identical to yours! A few inches above the ear, wide at the base and growing narrow as it nears the tip. Jet black for the time being, but they'll develop their color with time.

The one upside to being a succubus. Uniquely colored horns.

"Not to bring up family while all seven and a half inches of you are inside of me," because you're not sure about how to start this conversation, jumping on the first half-baked plan that comes to mind. "But are you entirely sure your folks are human?"

His head tilts. "Why?"

The only thing you can think of is to take a picture. Those two tiny horns poking out like they're part of a cute headband, so ridiculously small in person and even smaller on his phone. As you pass it off to him, you catch yourself wondering if he'll see them at all.

"...huh." Is all that he can say.

They're far too sensitive for him to touch, not after what mess you just caused, but he tries. Winces the moment his fingertips make contact with the fresh new bone; you can only imagine this is how you reacted the first time your horns made their appearance, too.

You wonder if there's anything behind them. You've seen a few variations where a second pair sprouted behind the first, but you can't see anything from this angle. If you just lean a little further to the right—

A whimper twists through the air. Pretty blue eyes squeeze shut.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no, no, don't," his hands are back on your hips, pulling you back down into his lap before you've even moved an inch, and oh, you can feel his cum beginning to spill out of you. Fuck, there's so...there's so much of it. It'll make a mess of the bed if you're not careful, but you can't move. Not with those big hands anchoring you down.

But he's not done talking.

"Keep going," he blurts, his chest shuddering with a breath. Horns be damned, those aren't on his mind right now. "Please, I just, I want, I want you to—"

A swivel of your hips shuts him up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, already too late to stifle the pitchy little noise that sails out of his throat. God, that's a hell of a sound. Combined with the way his half-hard cock twitches in you, it's almost too much to bear. He can hardly handle it himself, squirming, not sure if he wants to push into you or away from you.

"There!" Stardust twinkles behind your eyes. "Right there. Don't move."

It's as if the room has exploded into a galaxy. Midnight black and the deepest shades of navy, decorated in a rainbow of distant, twinkling stars. You and him and this big, oversized hotel bed. Weightless. Floating round and round, further and further away, until you're lost to the Milky Way itself.

The fat tip of his cock drives up into those nerves again. Space nearly swallows you up once more. "Bobby..."

Your eyes must have been closed because you don't remember his head tipping back. Dazed, flushed cheeks, so entirely focused on you that the rest of the world ceases to exist at all. Pitchy whimpers, stumbling off his drooling tongue, overstimulated but making no move to push you off of him.

His lips seal. Hardly manages to muffle his noises, but it's already too quiet for your liking.

One of your hands curls around his cheek. Thumb pressing against his bottom lip, hardly takes any pressure for him to give way, allowing you in. And his poor tongue is right there, practically begging you to pin it down, and who are you to deny such a request?

Heat twists in your belly. Pussy clenching tighter around him. Your motions growing jerky. Sporadic. Sparks of color flash behind your eyelids, growing heavier by the second. And it's so fucking loud in this room. Whimpers. Cries. Blending together so seamlessly that you can't tell who makes what noise. Every motion punctuated by an all-too-loud squelch of cum and lube, fuck, this bed is going to be ruined after this.

"I-I'm—" Bob whines, tongue flexing beneath your thumb. Eyes glassy, one blink away from tears spilling over the brim.

"Close." Don't know if you're finishing his sentence or speaking for yourself.

It washes over you with all the strength and violence of a tidal wave. Hips stalling. Head falling back. Cumming on his cock with an unexpected cry, heat racing through your veins, skin prickling, breath hung up in your throat. You think your eyes cross. Can't really figure out how true that is, too busy floating through the cracks in the universe to think about anything but the spasm of his length inside of you.

And you're vaguely aware that he's cumming, too, his cries vibrating through your thumb and deep into your bones.

"Still in there?" You find yourself asking after a moment.

Bob hums and you're only now realizing that his glasses are gone, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. Where they've gone, you don't know; don't think you could get up and look for them if you tried.

All of the strength has left your legs. Thighs trembling as you lift yourself from his lap. And they can only hold you up for so long before you find yourself collapsing next to him, greeted by the significantly cooler sheets.

Those horns are still there. All too present as he tries to snuggle down onto a pillow, inconveniently brushing against the fabric. You're both a damn mess. His lower belly glistens in the light, and you can already feel his cum beginning to spill out of you onto the sheets.

Sheets that you don't want to change for a cleaner set.

But the shower is so far away...and Bob is curling his arm around you. Pulling you closer to him as if the six inches of space between your bodies is too much for him to handle. Your nose bumps into his chin, the slightest hint of stubble growing there.

You should hide his razor and see what happens.

"How do I make them disappear?" Bob's voice cracks in the middle, sporadically skyrocketing in pitch. Water might do him good, but...damn, the fridge is by the bathroom.

"I'll teach you, eventually," your voice isn't doing much better; you can hardly get it above a whisper. "I wanna see them on you for a little longer first."

His eyes roll, shaking his head all the while. Almost like he expected you to say that. But he doesn't call you out on it, content to tilt his head down and shut you up instead. Swollen lips crashing together, lazily tangling. A small explosion would be less messy, tongues licking into each other's mouths and teeth clacking so hard that your even bones recoil at the sensation.

...but there's pressure on your shoulder, and you're rolling onto your back, his comfortable weight settling on top of you. Half hard against your thigh.

"Satisfied?" You murmur, though you suppose you already know the answer to that.

His lips curl into a smile. Devilish, even. "No."

You're beginning to think you've swapped roles in this relationship.

#robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #oneshot #bob floyd

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dalliancekay · 1 day ago

Text

And it is All. Aziraphale's. Fault.

NO IT FUCKING ISN'T HIS FAULT

First of all: I'm pretty sure every time we see Az and Crowley in the past, Crowley is wearing whatever is the height of fashion while Aziraphale wears things that are well made but several decades out. Meaning he is wearing them for a good while. Swapping his clothes around when they become maybe too worn, maybe too conspicuous.

Walking the clean, gas-lit avenues with Crowley and Elspeth, Aziraphale is oblivious to the privilege he has in this world.

Really? Was he born yesterday? He has no idea how the world works?

the angel spouts trite pontifications created by the rich to justify poverty. He genuinely believes Elspeth has more opportunities for goodness. After all, look at Wee Morag.

It wasn't invented by the rich. It was 'invented' or used rather by the church that got used by the rich to keep the poor in place. There is no way you can blame Aziraphale for this. All he wanted is for Elspeth not to end up in Hell. Which Crowley wanted too, after he saw how upset it made Aziraphale. That's not fucking wrong. And you can't tell me either that rich have more opportunities to do good. Or that they do so. Or that more of them go to Heaven.

The inequality in humanity? Well, Adam and Eve had nothing. We have caused all this bullshit to ourselves. Nothing to do with Aziraphale. Or Crowley.

He respects her goodness tremendously. It proves to him his “rightness.”

Did you mean to say, he's glad she's not heading for Hell.

And so he sabotages Elspeth’s attempt to sell the body she dug up in her attempt to support Wee Morag. Dalrymple gets no body, Elspeth gets no money, and Aziraphale believes he’s saving her soul.

He WAS saving her soul. Remember? Heaven and Hell being real places you go to when you die in GO?

Selling stolen bodies puts good in the world. He’s all for it now, and goes back to encourage Elspeth. Good heavens, he’s even willing to help this time!

Maybe next time try to be a bit more condescending to someone who just learned something new. And IMMEDIATELY changed his mind about it. Plus, Crowley had no idea digging up bodies could be spun to be a good thing either. He was learning just as much as Aziraphale. But I haven't seen one single FUCKING META about how Crowley was completely disinterested in Elspeth and her life. Only in having his usual argument with Aziraphale. Until he didn't. (And as I pointed out, he wasn't right about - you have start people off equal, people did start off equal, we are just assholes)

But, as we know, it all goes wrong. Wee Morag is shot by a grave gun, and dies of her injuries. Elspeth steals laudanum, and plans suicide.

In other words, everyone makes their own choices, things go badly for Wee Morag. Maybe re-watch the ep and see how Elspeth doesn't blame Aziraphale (or Crowley) for what happened. So why do you?

Crowley drinks the laudanum, saves her in a compassionate Scottish frenzy, and is stolen away by hell because of his kindness.

Is he? Or is he taken cos he sent two guards directly down to Hell, alerting them?

And it is All. Aziraphale's. Fault.

(I deleted what I wrote here)

He considers all of the money he casually spends on fine clothing and expensive tailoring. He wonders how many lives could change if that money was better spent on helping to relieve the poverty that surrounds him.

There's absolutely NOTHING in canon to support this. We can HC whatever we want sure, I for example think that Az wears things, as I said above, that are stylish but always out of fashion because it takes him time to find the right things and then he wears them for decades and decades. Because that's what is suggested by the canon, by the care he puts into his clothes and how well loved they are. The fact that 'male' fashion got less flamboyant down the centuries was not Aziraphale's decision. I for example HC too that Azi, when building his bookshop, and using his own, earned money as you rightly say, was spending miracles on making sure his workers didn't injure themselves, that he spent miracles looking after the street urchins in the very poor neighbourhood he has chosen to settle in (as opposite to say Mayfair). And that when Gabriel told him off for using too many 'frivolous miracles' in 1792 he got mad and decided to go to Paris like the stupid angel he apparently is and get, say, ravished by his enemy who would surely find him helpless and not able to save himself in a prison.

What would Crowley do, if he were free to be kind? And so Aziraphale changes.

Yes, because Aziraphale is an asshole who cares about nobody, and nothing, right?

the angel who took too long justifying a life-saving miracle for Wee Morag

Because he's NOT ALLOWED TO INTERVENE.

who hesitated to give Elspeth his 90 Guineas

Do you think he should have just worked and worked and give all his money to poor people? Is that the answer to all the world's problems? Making Aziraphale poor?

willingly and freely gave Maggie forgiveness for thousands of pounds of debt

Why wouldn't he. It's his property and I am sure he lends it to Maggie for significantly less than anyone else would have. Definitely less than those 'gentlemen' in the book who come and try to persuade the angel from time to time to sell his bookshop.

I'd love to know what else he's done over the last 180+ years!

He's been the kind, big hearted angel he always was. Looking after his shop, his tenants and anyone else who he could. Saving babies in prams and making sure shady men never came back. Looking out for Crowley, trying to keep him out of trouble, worrying about him, keeping an eye out to see if he's not doing something reckless. Finding out the demon wants to rob a church, handing him the one thing that could take him away forever with the heaviest of hearts. While of course, Crowley was doing the same thing. Not giving in to Aziraphale's princess act in the Bastille because he knew it would not ultimately end well for them. Understanding when Aziraphale said no to a date in 1967, not surprised since he remembered well what happened in 1941 when they were seen together.

*** YES if Aziraphale did absolutely nothing on the graveyard, Wee Morag would have probably lived a bit longer. How much longer though... and they would very likely end up in Hell, because they would have had to do much more crime down the road. Maybe even get hanged for graverobbing. Also see: Aziraphale just wanted to help. Did you never make a mistake??? He didn't mean to hurt anyone. If he did nothing, he'd never have learned yet another way the world is complicated and not black and white. Crowley was going to do nothing at all, just have a laugh at someone robbing a grave. No one cares. He's a demon. He stopped Elspeth from killing herself and everyone applauds, yes, it is super kind of him, and dangerous for him too, but it is the right thing to do. He didn't want her to go to Hell either.

The people who think they would have figured everything out before any events happened at all...well, good luck in your life.

And people who think Az should have done nothing - okay then. Let's just all do nothing at all, hoping we avoid all the bad things. Also: Changing the world is not done via charity but via changing the society, creating better welfare systems, housing, medical care, education. Those are things one lone angel (and his husband) can't do. And it's not their place anyway. I have like 5 pounds in my bank account (I hope) and yet I am not blaming someone well-off for that. It's the systems that are failing us. Much like the systems failed Aziraphale and Crowley. Putting two wonderful beings through so much pain because - that's how it is done.

And as I have said a million times before, Aziraphale is not learning some morality lesson in GO (HE IS A WONDERFUL, GOOD, KIND, GENEROUS, BRAVE BEING ALREADY), he doesn't need to get off his high horse, he doesn't need to finally 'see things clearly'. He knows how fucked the system he lives in is. He's just trying to help. Even Crowley says (in the book) that Heaven is the better option over Hell. However fucked it is.

Aziraphale learns from Crowley that he can question things, yes. But not in some, oh he's so blind and stuck and deep in some dogma bullshit. NO. He was always told things will happen a certain way. That Earth gets 6000 years tops. That God Herself made a Plan. It may be Ineffable, but it is a Plan.

I'm sorry, if you think you are far smarter than this and you would have figured out that God is telling porkies, good for you, I'm glad such intellects exists.

Because Crowley also didn't know the Plan could be changed until the end of S1. Yes he asked Az to try stop Armageddon but I don't think he really believed they could. He just wanted to give it a go. Cos - well what did he have to lose?

And they did change it. They held Adam's hands and they told him to be himself and when Gabe and Beez wanted to go ahead anyway Az confused them by asking about which Plan said what. So yes, he learns to question things. And he learned that from Crowley. And Crowley? Who was abandoned by the one Being who was always supposed to love him? Well. Crowley looks into those blue eyes and trusts.

The Night That Changed an Angel (or, why does Aziraphale still wear that shabby vest?)

Mini-Meta Musing (#4)

I've been brooding for a long time about, of all things, Aziraphale's worn velvet vest and the long cream jacket he's kept in "tip top condition for over 180 years now." I love the sweet familiarity, but this is the same angel who popped across the Channel and almost lost his fluffy-topped head in 1793 for dressing like an aristocrat.

"I have standards!"

He's the height of elegance, extravagance even. A dandy. We've seen the same at the Globe Theater 1601, Edinburgh 1827, and even as a Knight of the Round Table in 527 Essex, where he's wearing a glorious pelt across his shoulders! However, sometime after Edinburgh 1827, Aziraphale's stylish extravagance ends. He adopts the dress of distinguished but modest gentility. No seamstresses strain their eyes for days hand stitching ruffles and trims for him any longer. When we next see him in 1862, his clothing is refined, simple, and serviceable. It becomes his uniform, with only minor replacements. Why? What happened to change him?

Edinburgh 1827 happened. And his encounter with tragedy ran over his sensibilities like a locomotive.

Aziraphale had, we were told, saved his earnings over time and had bought land, invested wisely, and became quite well off. He used real money, not miracles, to build the bookshop, paying the builders well and taking care of bills honestly. He built himself up to a more than comfortable lifestyle, from nearly nothing. And his clothes are real, not miracled from nothingness like Crowley's. (source: original showrunner)

Aziraphale's wealth allows him to afford luxurious tailoring and fancy shoes and ruffles and trims. He'll certainly pay the cobblers and tailors and seamstresses well for their labors. It will be a substantial expense for the era. (The linked post gives a wonderful perspective on 1793 lifestyles and costs.)

https://agoodflyting.tumblr.com/post/753227014283083776/why-aziraphales-white-satin-pumps-are-ridiculous

The angel's Edinburgh multilayered and trimmed top coat, soft leather gloves, matching scarf, jacquard vest, silk cravat, etc., look entirely out of place in the back alleys where the poor huddle. Walking the clean, gas-lit avenues with Crowley and Elspeth, Aziraphale is oblivious to the privilege he has in this world.

As he strolls along in philosophical banter with Crowley about the "blessing" of poverty, the angel spouts trite pontifications created by the rich to justify poverty. He genuinely believes Elspeth has more opportunities for goodness. After all, look at Wee Morag. He respects her goodness tremendously. It proves to him his “rightness.” And so he sabotages Elspeth’s attempt to sell the body she dug up in her attempt to support Wee Morag. Dalrymple gets no body, Elspeth gets no money, and Aziraphale believes he’s saving her soul.

It’s a poignant moment, though, when Aziraphale cradles the jar containing a tumor from a seven year old child who died because there wasn’t enough medical knowledge to save him. Turning point number one. It becomes Real, not a philosophical debate. Selling stolen bodies puts good in the world. He’s all for it now, and goes back to encourage Elspeth. Good heavens, he’s even willing to help this time!

But, as we know, it all goes wrong. Wee Morag is shot by a grave gun, and dies of her injuries. Elspeth steals laudanum, and plans suicide. Crowley drinks the laudanum, saves her in a compassionate Scottish frenzy, and is stolen away by hell because of his kindness. And it is All. Aziriphale’s. Fault.

Turning point number two. Another watershed moment where Aziraphale’s world changes again.

One of Crowley’s last earthly acts, before getting plunged into hell, is to have Aziraphale give Elspeth all of his pocket money. What is pocket money to the angel is a fortune to her, one that can set her up for a better life. I have no doubt that in the aftermath of the traumas of that night, missing and worrying about Crowley, Aziraphale thinks about all of this. He considers all of the money he casually spends on fine clothing and expensive tailoring. He wonders how many lives could change if that money was better spent on helping to relieve the poverty that surrounds him. He wants to help, and to try to make amends for the harm he caused. What would Crowley do, if he were free to be kind? And so Aziraphale changes.

I’d love to know the story of how it all played out. Did he sell his fine clothing and donate the proceeds? Did he become involved in charitable foundations? Did he buy the clothing of a simple gentleman and decide to preserve it, however worn it became, as a reminder to himself of his past blindness and vanity? We see in Season 1 how important it is to him to preserve that coat. (Sure, it's also a fantastic opportunity to flirt and flutter those angelic eyelashes... But, nonetheless!)

By Season 2, the angel who took too long justifying a life-saving miracle for Wee Morag, and who hesitated to give Elspeth his 90 Guineas, willingly and freely gave Maggie forgiveness for thousands of pounds of debt. I'd love to know what else he's done over the last 180+ years!

Whatever happened, it began that night in a graveyard.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #edinburgh minisode #edinburgh #aziraphale defence squad #aziraphale my beloved #good omens 2 #good omens thoughts #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #kaypost

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second-star-to-motunui · 3 days ago

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It’s Going To Be Ok

✨feat. Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia✨

Summary: They found you trying to hurt yourself and stopped you. Now they’re doing their best to remind you that you aren’t alone.

reader is referred to as Yuu (they/them)

tw// self harm, eating disorders, suicide attempts

note: life hasn’t been easy lately. most of what’s written is based on personal experiences. I wrote this to comfort myself, and I hope it can bring you comfort too.

“Yuu? Are you crying? What happened—hey, hey stop that, stop doing that!”

Riddle stopped Yuu from scratching, their arms red and bleeding from their nails. He rushed them to the infirmary and it was there that they broke down and spilled everything.

Riddle didn’t know what to say in the moment, but he hugged Yuu and let them cry into his shoulder. He apologized for all the horrible things they were dealing with and swore to them that they could come to him if they needed.

He makes it a part of his routine to check on Yuu after that and provide anything they need, from assistance with studying to even just a hug.

“How has your day been? Good? I see… I bought these gloves for you. Anytime you feel like scratching just put them on, then you can’t hurt yourself. Please come to me if you feel like hurting yourself again. We can have tea and talk instead.”

“The hell? What the hell are you doing?! PUT THAT DOWN!”

Leona had come to the botanical garden for an afternoon nap when he smelled blood. He found Yuu hiding behind a tree with a switchblade. They had scars on their arms and they were about to slit their wrist before Leona caught them.

Yuu dropped the blade and burst into tears. Leona took them to his dorm room and took care of them. He was scolding them for doing something so dangerous, but it was clear that he cared and was genuinely concerned for them.

If he wasn’t already around Yuu often, he’s glued to their hip now. He’ll eat lunch with them, nap around them and wait for them outside of their classroom so he can walk with them.

“Look at me. Look at me. You are not worthless, ok? Whoever put that idea in your head, ignore them. And if there’s somebody bothering you, you better tell me and I’ll deal with it, ok? I’m here for you.”

“Yuu, I’ve been looking for… Are you alright? You’re not fine, you’re barely standing! YUU!”

Azul caught Yuu before they could collapse. He asked when they had eaten last only to learn that Yuu had been deliberately starving themself from stress.

Azul gently escorted them to Monstro Lounge to get them something to eat. He was reminded of his own struggles with eating when he was young, and he couldn’t bear to see it on Yuu now.

He sends messages to Yuu throughout the day to remind them to take care of themself. Jade and Floyd keep a close eye on Yuu too. If they get even a whiff that Yuu is falling into bad habits, then it’s off to Octavinelle for lunch.

“Angelfish, may I speak with you? Listen… I know what it’s like to hate who you see in the mirror, but trust me when I say that hurting yourself won’t make it better. If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. We can even do it over lunch if that helps.”

“Why are you crying? Was it something I said? Wait, wait, please don’t do that, please stop! I can fix this!”

Kalim doesn’t understand why, but one second he was talking to Yuu and the next they had burst into tears and started hitting themself in the head.

He stopped Yuu and hugged them tight, offering to do something fun to cheer them up. He tried dancing with them, playing a game, but nothing seemed to help. Jamil ended up having to step in.

In the end, (after a difficult conversation with Jamil) Kalim learned that the best thing he could do was let Yuu feel their feelings rather than ignore them with positivity. He doesn’t like seeing Yuu cry, but he’s more than happy to hold their hand through it.

“Hey so… Jamil said there’s something wrong in your brain that makes you sad all the time? No, no, not wrong! Uh… different? … A disorder? I see… well, if you want to talk about it I’m here to listen. Just… please don’t hit yourself like that again ok? Hit me instead! No? If you change your mind you can do it, I can take it!”

“What do you have there? Don’t try to hide it, give it here! Are you an idiot?! Don’t you realize what this is?!”

When Vil snatched the potion bottle from Yuu’s hand, he really hoped they genuinely didn’t know they were about to drink a deadly poison. Yuu began to cry and Vil’s heart broke because he realized they knew exactly what they were doing.

Vil has a long talk with Yuu about their troubles. They hated their hair, they hated their body, they hated themself. Vil takes their hands and swears to them that he’ll do whatever he can to help them. But first he has to know where they got the poison so he can assure they’ll never get their hands on another one.

Self care days become a weekly event. Light exercises, home spa days, clothes shopping, Vil will even allow himself a cheat day for desserts if it means bringing Yuu comfort.

“Oh no, have you been pulling your hair out again? It’s ok, no tears, let me see… Ah, it’s not as bad as it was last time. Don’t apologize, darling. Hair grows back. Come, let’s see how we can take care of it now and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Yuu? Are you here I brought… Yuu? Oh no—hey! Wake up! Wake up! Ortho, I need help!”

Idia found Yuu unconscious on their bedroom floor, having swallowed half a bottle of pills. Together, him and Ortho get Yuu to a hospital and don’t leave their side until they awake.

Idia beats himself up so much after that because he knew Yuu was in a bad place mentally, he just never thought they’d do something so drastic. He wraps them in the biggest hug when they wake up, sobbing and apologizing and promising to be a better friend.

Yuu spends a few weeks in Ignihyde once they’re discharged from the hospital. Idia doesn’t say much, but he does watch their favorite shows and plays their favorite games with them.

“… You’re moving back to your dorm today, right? Ok… um—t-this is for you! It’s a new phone, I know the one Crowley got you sucks ass. Just… call me if something happens again. Or Ortho! We’ll be there for you ok? W-We care about you…”

“The view from here is lovely, isn’t it? You should watch your step, the fall would be quiet devastating.”

Malleus appeared at Yuu’s side before they could take another step towards the cliffs edge, holding their shoulder firmly and keeping them in place.

He talks about meaningless things for a little while before he gently holds Yuu’s hand and invites them to join him on a walk and get some ice cream. They leave together, right after Yuu has short cry in Malleus’s arms.

Malleus drops by Ramshackle every single day after that. Sometimes it’s for ice cream dates, sometimes it’s to invite them to Gargoyle Studies Club activities. Often he’ll just be there while Yuu does whatever. Yuu doesn’t know it, but Malleus waits until he knows they’re safely in bed at the end of each day before he leaves them.

“Thank you for spending time with me today. I do enjoy your company… I know human lives are rather short compared to that of a fae’s, but please don’t try to shorten it. You aren’t a burden. You’re wonderful. I’ll remind you that you’re wonderful every day if I have to. You’re very precious to me.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #riddle rosehearts #leona kingscholar #azul ashengrotto #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #malleus draconia #twst housewardens #tw ed disorder #tw self harm #tw suicide attempts #ren writes

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star2fishmeg · 11 hours ago

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ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴘᴇʀғᴇᴄᴛʟʏ | sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅs

Pairing | Quinn Hughes x afab!reader Summary | six years later Quinn and y/n find themselves back in the place it started and old memories truly are precious...but so are new ones Authors Note | enjoy the (long) blurb @thehugheslover, sorry it took so long! This is only going to make sense if you read Feel This Way!!

The familiar clink of pool balls hitting each other, music at a moderate volume but mainly muffled by laughter and chatting and the back doors wide, opening the basement onto the patio where meat roasted on the barbeque under the balmy sun. Everything had stayed. The world was almost the same as they were back as teenagers but this time, they weren’t as naive, and everyone had grown up. Really grown up, into adults with jobs and lives, new ambitions and what happened six years ago were nothing but fond memories protected by the walls of the lake house.

Y/n and Quinn sat on the sofa, turned slightly to face each other so they could look out into the rest of the room, her finger gently brushing over the stain between them. The second her skin touched the fabric, it all came flooding back like film tapes, the night Brady stayed over in particular.

“We were so stupid, but it was a lot of fun,” she began with a chuckle, Quinn turning his head in interest, watching her trace around the splotch, “The Vodka Incident, when Brady brought that vodka, and we all thought it was fucking amazing.”

Cole’s voice groaned out from the distance, followed by Trevor and Jack’s obnoxious laughing, clearly relishing in Cole losing their game of pool. The couple giggled, glancing over at the group, their memories fading in and suddenly they were bought back to that night, and they were sixteen with three fifteen-year-olds and little Luke sat in a circle. The way Cole’s face had screwed up hideously, Jack and Trevor’s attempts to be ‘cool’ but landed them both in the bathroom and gagging and Luke tucked into her side most the night.

“Yeah, Luke used to cling to you all the time, he was literally your shadow,” he said, watching Luke take a cocky bow after a successful turn, “and Brady, oh my God, you two used to torture me, like, come on, ‘who do you currently have a crush on?’ while you were sitting on my lap? You two killed me.”

Y/n laughed fondly, watching Brady enter the basement waving tongs like a magic wand, passionately interrupting the guys by fact checking them about something too muffled to make out from where she was sat. She then remembered the argument she and Brady fell into that everyone retold as if they’d thrown fists at each other, “Honestly, I thought you’d be jealous that I’m close with Brady too, but I was so wrong.”

“How about we not bring up my teenage insecurity, I felt so lame,” he smiled, hand taking hers and interlacing their fingers. He remembered that part too well, Jack and Luke loved to bring it up with him because for them, it was peak comedy and a learning curve on what not to do. Watching it happen was not as funny, but Quinn was their older brother, so how could it not be funny? “You don’t even understand, y/n, I got a scolding, from Jack.”

“Well, I was also lame so we’re even. Luke told my brother about the whole thing and that fucker did not let me live it down.” She grinned and placed a kiss on his nose, “You know what he said? ‘Yeah, everyone knew Quinnifer was, like, in love with you’ the little loser.”

He groaned playfully at the nickname, even after all the years her brother still called him that. He really couldn’t escape that one, he’d somehow obtained it during college, y/n’s brother just started calling him Quinnifer out of the blue and his only explanation being that the women love it and it’s catchy, but it was better than other thing’s he’d been called.

Looking back over at the group, their friends that’d grown up with them, but whose personalities hadn’t changed, they wondered what it’d be like if they were sixteen again, and what they’d do differently. But they weren’t sixteen anymore and all the angst had been and gone, that chapter closed. Quinn was captain of the Vancouver Canucks and y/n was flying in her own career, and while they’d achieved so much by twenty-five, Quinn still had a list he wanted before he could feel satisfied.

Moonlight shimmering over the ripples of the lake, warm lanterns illuminating along the dock just like it always had. Y/n and Quinn’s bare feet padded along the wood leisurely, hands encased in each other’s and not a word spoken between them, they just needed a bit of peace away from everyone, even just for a moment. Passing the boats harboured up, Mila came to mind. Not in any other way than what happened that day and how he felt y/n’s desperate, burning glares from the other side of the boat, how he wished it was y/n breasts pressed against his shoulders and not some random girl’s.

“I should’ve just told you how I felt from the start,” Quinn mumbled, but his voice clear from the serenity of the dock, nothing but crickets singing and distant chatter, “Like, we wouldn’t have had to go through that confusing, are-we-are-we-not phase. I can’t believe I was such a pussy.”

Y/n giggled, swinging their arms, “Don’t blame yourself, I was also responsible. I told most the story to some friends in college, and even they thought it was obvious we liked each other. I sort of wish we hadn’t had that situationship, like, we were just hurting ourselves.”

“Yeah, no, I agree. Had me crying myself to sleep, it was fucking stupid.”

“I know, Jack told me the night of the Vodka Incident, he saw you crying when we were going to sleep.” She didn’t need Jack to tell her Quinn cried that night, she felt his tears on her skin and the way he’d squeezed her like she would evaporate, his favourite teddy bear. She just never said anything, no need to bring up the painful past when they were living in their own paradise in the future.

The more time she spent in the lake house, the more the memories swirled in her mind, not dwelling just remembering the times she couldn’t during the hockey season. The lake was a sanctuary, a museum of youth that held so many minor details you’d never see unless you were searching for them, like the names etched into the decking, aged but still prominent.

Quinn glanced down, barely reading the names scratched into the wood until he walked over something he distinctively remembered scratching with Brady, right before they were off to college; Q + y/n in a heart. He stopped right above it, tugging y/n back to face him, sweat forming on the back of his neck with butterflies in his stomach. Y/n blinked twice at him before raising a brow. He pulled his hand away, wiping both on his shorts before taking a deep breath.

“Uh, hey, listen…” his eyes shifted to her ‘Q’ necklace, to her eyes and then back to the etching on the floorboards before her necklace again.

“Q?” she asked, head flooding with multiple scenarios, piecing together location and their ages, his sweating, the fizzling in her chest and down to her stomach, “Oh God, you’re not getting traded, are you?”

His eyes widened, “Huh? No, no, Jesus no. It’s uh…well…um, just wanted to tell you how much I love you and appreciate you. You’ve, um, been by my side forever and I’ve been, uh, thinking about the future…”

He dropped to one knee, sliding a little, velvet box from his pocket and held it out in front of her, eyes sparkling under all the little lamps but more importantly because when he looked at her, he saw the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. The most caring, supportive, girlfriend. His best friend who, no matter what, never gave up on him. He gazed at her with dilated pupils that may have well been hearts. Y/n’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as she gasped gently, hands covering her mouth, and she struggled to hold back the tears welling in her eyes.

“Y/n L/n, I have loved you since we were fifteen and only you can make me feel this way. There isn’t anyone else I’d rather spend the rest of my life with, in sickness and in health. Will you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?” Quinn’s voice shook, not a filler word tumbling out for once. All those days rehearsing his speech in the mirror paid off, all that stress lifting off his shoulders and she watched his hands tremble.

Y/n nodded desperately, tears spilling down her cheeks, “Yes, of course!”

He grinned from ear to ear, corners of his eyes creasing as his eyes watered, wiggling the ring - polished with her birthstone - from the cushioning and sliding it onto her finger, his arms wrapping around her waist firmly. He held her close into his chest, spinning her around with his face buried in her shoulder, his heart swelling. When they rounded back to their original spot, they melted into each other’s bodies as they always had, t-shirts soaking up the salty tears of joy, the realisation of how far they’d come hitting them like bricks. Y/n and Quinn Hughes, forever and always. Their new chapter, with new adventures and the start of their own little family one day.

small worlds | @bunbunbl0gs

(To be added to taglists, just comment or ask via ‘pass me the puck!’)

[Masterlist]

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#≡qh43 #≡small worlds #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader

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acute-crashout-jeyuso · 2 days ago

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Sacrifices/ BTR Book 2: a Jhea fanfic.

Chapter 17: Preparations..

Jey took Jeyce up to his room, the silence between them growing heavier with each step. Once inside, they both sat down on Jeyce’s bed. Jey leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and took a deep, steadying breath.

Jey finally broke the silence, his tone calm but firm. “Jeyce, I want you to know something. I’m happy for you—finding your first girlfriend, feeling all these new things—that’s part of growing up.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “But what you did tonight? Sneaking out, lying to us, and crossing boundaries in someone else’s house? That’s not how we raised you.”

Jeyce kept his head low, fiddling with the edge of his bedsheet, unable to meet his father’s gaze.

“To be a man,” Jey continued, his voice softer now, “you have to respect people’s boundaries. Mr. Bartley? That’s Demi’s father. That’s his home, his rules. And you didn’t just disrespect him—you disrespected Demi too by putting her in that kind of situation.”

Jeyce swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing. “I—I didn’t mean to, Dad,” he mumbled.

Jey sighed deeply, placing a hand on Jeyce’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t. But intentions don’t erase actions, son. What matters is that you learn from this. And tonight… tonight, I’m just really disappointed in you.”

Jeyce flinched at the words, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Dad. I really am.”

Jey pulled him into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around his son. “I know you are, Jeyce. And this doesn’t change the fact that I love you, no matter what. But love means teaching you when you’re wrong, even when it’s hard.”

Jeyce sniffled, his small hands gripping the back of his father’s shirt. “I’ll do better, Dad. I promise.”

Jey nodded, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “That’s all I need to hear..”

“Love you dad..” Jeyce replied, his voice barely audible.

Jey kiss his son’s forehead and a small but encouraging smile breaking through his stern expression. “Alright, get some rest. You’ve got some work to do to earn back our trust, but I know you can do it.”

As Jeyce nodded and climbed under his covers, Jey stood up, glancing around the room before heading toward the door. He paused, looking back at his son. “Goodnight, buddy.”

“Goodnight, Dad,” Jeyce replied, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and guilt.

Jey closed the door softly behind him, leaning against the hallway wall for a moment. He exhaled deeply, shaking his head. “Puberty.” he muttered to himself before heading downstairs to debrief with Rhea.

As Jey walked down the stairs, he noticed Liv and Dom had returned and were sitting comfortably on the couch with Rhea. She was mid-laugh at something Liv had said, and when she saw Jey enter, she smiled and held her arms out. Jey walked over, sinking into the seat beside her and pulling her into his embrace.

Dom leaned forward, a curious look on his face. “So… how’d the talk go?”

Jey rolled his eyes dramatically, letting out a small groan. “Puberty.”

The room erupted in laughter, even Jey cracking a small grin at his own frustration. Just as the laughter died down, the front door opened, and Jaciyah stepped inside, still wearing his work uniform. Jey’s eyes immediately honed in on him, noticing something unusual. “Why’s your uniform so clean?” Jey asked, narrowing his gaze.

Jaciyah froze for a moment, then shrugged, trying to play it cool. “It was an easy shift, that’s all,” he replied, a goofy smile spreading across his face. Without waiting for further questions, he quickly made his way up the stairs toward his room.

Jey watched his eldest son disappear, suspicion tugging at the back of his mind. “What was that all about?” he muttered.

Dom leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. “Man, I know that look.”

Jey turned toward him, raising a brow. “What look?”

Dom’s smirk widened as he replied, “Oh, he either had his first drink or… was deflowered.”

Jey’s eyes widened in shock, his mind racing. His gaze shot back to the staircase, his jaw tightening as realization began to sink in.

Rhea noticed his trance-like state and placed a hand on his arm. “Babe… babe…” she called, her voice soothing but firm as she tried to snap him out of it.

Jey blinked, finally looking at her. “You think Dom’s right?” he asked, his voice laced with both disbelief and concern.

Rhea shrugged, her lips twitching as if fighting back a smile. “It’s possible. But maybe don’t go interrogating him just yet, okay?”

Dom chuckled, nudging Liv playfully. “Jey’s about to pull out a flashlight and ask where his son was at 7:03 p.m. on a Friday night.”

The room burst into laughter again, but Jey didn’t join in this time. He was too busy staring at the stairs, debating whether or not to march up there and demand answers.

“Babe,” Rhea said again, pulling his focus back to her. “Let it go for now. He’s growing up. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

Jey let out a long sigh, leaning back into the couch. “What am I going to do? Take up drinking?”

Liv grinned, raising her glass of water in a mock toast. “Amen to that.”

Dom laughed, chiming in. “Just wait until you and Rhea’s kid hit their teen years. You’ll be wishing for the good old days.”

Jey groaned at the thought, shaking his head. “Don’t even joke about that.”

The group laughed, and slowly, the tension in Jey’s shoulders eased. He decided, for now, to let Jaciyah have his moment—whatever it was—and enjoy the rest of the evening with Rhea and their friends.

—

As Dom and Liv called it a night, Jey and Rhea followed suit. The weight of the evening still hung in the air, but there was a sense of relief in the quiet. Rhea had retreated to the bathroom for a shower, and Jey knew this was his chance to talk to Jaciyah.

Jey took a deep breath as he walked up the stairs. The house was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning, and Jey could hear the distant sound of water running from Rhea’s shower. He paused outside Jaciyah’s door, his mind already racing with what he was going to say.

He knocked softly.

“Come in,” Jaciyah’s voice came from inside, calm yet with a hint of uncertainty.

Jey opened the door, taking a moment to gather himself before walking inside. His eyes scanned the room briefly—Jaciyah was sitting at his desk, papers scattered in front of him, but he wasn’t really focused. His son had that look on his face, the same one Jey had worn at his age when he was trying to pretend everything was fine, but his mind was running a mile a minute.

“So,” Jey began, his voice steady but with a quiet intensity. “What’s going on with you?”

Jaciyah didn’t look up immediately. He shifted a bit in his chair, his fingers tapping nervously on the desk. Jey knew it wasn’t just the homework that was on his mind.

“Nothing, just finishing up some work,” Jaciyah replied, avoiding eye contact.

Jey walked further into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, not taking his eyes off of his son as he noticed the all to familiar mark. God damnit Jaciyah.. He had to be direct, but he also wanted to make sure Jaciyah didn’t feel cornered. This wasn’t about catching him in a lie, it was about understanding what was happening in his life.

Jey sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I see the hickey, Jaciyah.”

Jaciyah froze. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft buzz of the air conditioning. Then Jaciyah slowly turned to face his father, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and guilt.

“I—I didn’t mean for you to see that,” Jaciyah muttered.

Jey held up a hand, trying to ease the tension. “Son, it’s not about the hickey. It’s about understanding what you’re getting yourself into.” He leaned forward, looking at Jaciyah seriously. “You’re growing up fast, and I know things can feel overwhelming, but you need to know something—there’s a lot more to relationships than just feeling good in the moment.”

Jaciyah shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I know, Dad. It’s just—when you like someone, you don’t really think about anything else, you know?”

Jey nodded slowly, understanding exactly where his son was coming from. He’d been there, felt those same emotions, that rush of attraction and excitement. But he also knew it was his job to make sure Jaciyah understood the responsibility that came with those feelings.

“Yeah, I get that,” Jey replied, his voice softer now. “I’ve been there, believe me. But that’s not all there is to it. When you start getting serious with someone, you’re not just dealing with your own emotions, you’re dealing with theirs, too. It’s important to be honest, to be careful. You can’t just rush into things without thinking it through.”

Jaciyah was quiet, his gaze fixed on his hands. “I don’t want to mess up. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Jey’s heart softened at the vulnerability in his son’s voice. He could see how much Jaciyah cared, how much he wanted to do the right thing but was still figuring out what that was.

“You’re not going to mess up, as long as you take things slow,” Jey said, his tone firm but comforting. “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did, son. The mistakes I didn’t even realize I was making until it was too late.”

He paused, giving Jaciyah a moment to absorb his words. “Relationships aren’t just about what feels good in the moment. It’s about timing, respect, and making sure you’re both ready for what’s next. If you like this girl, then treat her right. Take your time. You don’t have to rush. You don’t need to have all the answers now, but you do need to make sure you’re doing things for the right reasons.”

Jaciyah looked up at Jey, his face more serious now, the weight of his father’s words settling in. “I’ll try, Dad. I didn’t really think about it like that.”

Jey smiled slightly, glad that his son was listening. “That’s all I’m asking for, son. You’re growing up, and that means you’re going to make mistakes. But you’ve got to learn from them, and you’ve got to keep working on being a good man. That’s what matters in the end.”

Jaciyah nodded, his expression softening as he processed everything Jey had said. “I’m not perfect, Dad, but I’ll do better. I don’t want to let you down.”

Jey stood up, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You won’t, kid. Just keep learning, keep being honest with yourself, and we’ll figure it out together. Always.”

As Jey turned to leave, he paused at the door and looked back at Jaciyah. “And hey, don’t be too hard on yourself, alright? You’re still figuring things out. Just make sure you talk to me when you need to.”

Jaciyah looked up, a small but genuine smile on his face. “Thanks, Dad.”

Jey smiled back, nodding. “Anytime, son. Anytime.” And with that, he left Jaciyah’s room, feeling a little lighter, knowing he had made a step toward guiding his son through this tricky part of growing up.

—

As the night grew quieter, Jey found himself lost in thought, even as he held Rhea close. His mind wandered, and the doubts he had been carrying for so long resurfaced. There were moments where he felt torn in two—caught between his love for his family and his passion for his career.

Jey shifted slightly, his hand still resting on Rhea’s stomach as he stared into the dimly lit room. Rhea could feel the tension in his body, the subtle shift in the air that told her his mind was elsewhere.

“Jey,” she whispered softly, her voice calm but knowing. “Talk to me.”

Jey looked down at her, his heart heavy with a quiet frustration. “It’s hard, Rhea. I’ve been thinking a lot, and I don’t know how to balance it all. Being there for you, being there for our baby, and still doing what I love—what I’ve worked so hard for.”

Rhea didn’t say anything at first. She just let him speak, knowing he needed to voice these fears. Jey let out a shaky breath, his gaze distant as he tried to find the right words.

“With Jaciyah… with Jeyce… I was always gone. I was always on the road, working, traveling. I missed so much of their childhood. And now with our baby on the way, I’m scared I’ll miss out again. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance, but what if I screw it up again? What if I’m too focused on my career and I miss everything? What if I miss our baby’s first words? Their first steps? The things that matter the most?”

He paused, his throat tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

“I’m supposed to be their father, right? But I feel like I was so wrapped up in my own dreams, my own career… that I didn’t really be there for them the way I should’ve. I wasn’t present enough. And I don’t want to make the same mistake with this baby. I want to do better, Rhea. I want to be the dad I always should’ve been, but I’m torn between being the man who’s there for his kids… and being the man who has to work. And I feel like, no matter what, I lose either way.”

Rhea’s heart broke a little as she listened to Jey. She knew how much this weighed on him. She knew how much guilt he carried over the time he missed with Jaciyah and Jeyce. It was one of the reasons why he’d worked so hard to build a future for them, but in the process, it had come at the cost of missing moments that couldn’t be reclaimed.

Rhea placed her hand gently on his cheek, turning his face so he could meet her gaze.

“Jey, I know how much you love them,” she said softly, her voice unwavering. “I can see it every day in the way you try, in the way you care. You are trying to be a better dad. That’s what matters. But you can’t be everything to everyone all the time. You’re only human.”

Jey looked at her, his brow furrowed as the weight of her words settled in. “But I should’ve been there more. For Jaciyah. For Jeyce. They’re growing up so fast, and I wasn’t there like I should’ve been. They needed me.”

Rhea nodded, understanding his pain. “They did, but they also know you’re their dad. And they know you love them. I think that’s the most important thing you can give them. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about showing up, even when you’re tired, even when it’s hard. And you are showing up. You showed up for Jaciyah tonight. And you’re showing up for me. And you’ll show up for our baby, too.”

Jey’s eyes softened as he took in her words. He knew deep down that Rhea was right. But the guilt still clung to him, like a shadow he couldn’t shake. He had missed moments with Jaciyah and Jeyce that he would never get back. Moments that, no matter how hard he worked now, would remain a part of his past.

“It’s just… I don’t want to miss any more of their lives. I can’t lose out on being the dad they need. I want to be here, Rhea. I want to be the man they look up to.” Jey’s voice cracked a little as the weight of his emotions caught up to him.

Rhea took a deep breath and sat up slightly, shifting so she could face him more directly. She cupped his face in her hands, her expression soft but firm.

“Jey,” she said, her tone serious but full of love. “You already are the dad they need. And I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re already making up for a lot of the time you feel you’ve missed. You’re here, you’re present, and that’s what matters. You can’t change the past, but you can be here for the future. And our baby is going to have you by their side, every step of the way. You’ll get to make all of those memories. And that’s what counts.”

Jey felt a wave of relief wash over him as Rhea’s words sank in. He knew she was right. There was no perfect formula for being a parent—no perfect way to balance everything. But he was trying. He was trying for his family, and that was all he could do.

“I’m scared, Rhea,” he confessed, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know if I can do this. Be everything to everyone. I don’t want to be a failure again.”

Rhea leaned in, resting her forehead against his. “You’re not a failure, Jey. You’re the father your kids need. And you’re going to be the best father to our baby. Just take it one day at a time. We’ll figure it out together.”

Jey closed his eyes, taking in her warmth, her strength. The fear and doubt that had clouded his mind started to dissipate. There was still a long road ahead, and there would be challenges, but with Rhea by his side, he knew he wouldn’t have to walk it alone.

“I’m lucky to have you,” Jey whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

Rhea smiled softly, her hand resting over his heart. “And I’m lucky to have you.”

As they lay back down, Jey pulled her into his arms, his heart a little lighter than before. He still had a long way to go in balancing his career and his role as a father, but he was willing to try. For his kids. For his family. And for the future they were building together.

—

February 15th, 2025 9:12 AM

The next day came in easily, and Rhea awoke first. Stretching, she slipped into the shower, letting the warm water wake her fully. Once she was done, she brushed her teeth and pulled on a pair of comfortable loungewear—a soft hoodie and leggings. Slipping on some fuzzy socks, she headed downstairs, Bella and Barry trotting close behind her, with Storm lazily trailing behind.

As she glanced out the kitchen window, she noticed Jey’s cousins—Jeremiah, Jesse, and Jeremy—already outside doing their morning patrols of the property. She smiled at the sight of their dedication, feeling reassured. Opening the back door, she let the pets out, giving each a quick pat before attaching GoPro cameras to their collars. Ever since Luna had passed, the cameras had been her way of keeping an eye on her furry companions and easing her anxiety.

Rhea returned to the kitchen and connected her phone to the Bluetooth stereo, scrolling through her playlist labeled Yeetman’s Jamz—a collection of songs Jey had sent her over time. She grinned, selecting “Sunshine” by Lil Flip, and the cheerful beat filled the room. With the music setting the tone, she moved to the fridge and gathered the ingredients for breakfast: eggs, milk, bread, bacon, and a hint of cinnamon for the French toast.

As the smell of sizzling bacon began to fill the air, Jey was the first to come downstairs. His hair was slightly messy, and his hoodie hung loose on his frame, but his smile was warm and familiar. “Morning, baby,” he said, leaning in to give her a kiss on the temple.

“Morning, love,” Rhea replied, handing him a fresh cup of coffee. Jey took a sip, humming in satisfaction as he sat down at the kitchen table, watching her work.

Not long after, Liv and Dom joined them, both dressed in mismatched pajamas and looking slightly groggy. Dom yawned loudly as Liv mumbled, “Morning,” before plopping down at the table.

“Breakfast is almost ready,” Rhea announced as she flipped the last piece of French toast onto a plate. She set the table with bacon, eggs, and the golden slices of toast, and soon, the four of them were digging in.

As they ate, Liv looked up and asked, “So, what are the plans for today?”

Rhea thought for a moment before suggesting, “You guys wanna do BBQ again? It was fun last time.”

Dom shook his head, his expression lighting up. “Nah, let’s do something different. I wanna make enchiladas today.”

Jey paused mid-bite, raising an eyebrow at Dom. “Enchiladas? You know how to make those, or are you just craving them?”

Dom rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Man, don’t play with me. I’ve been in the kitchen with my mom since I was a kid. I know my way around enchiladas, thank you very much.”

Rhea chuckled, nudging Jey. “Alright, we’re sold. Dom’s in charge of dinner.”

Liv grinned. “Oh, this is gonna be good. You better not disappoint, Dom.”

Dom smirked confidently. “Trust me, you’re all gonna love it. Just wait.”

The group laughed and continued their breakfast, the easy camaraderie filling the room as sunlight poured through the windows, promising a relaxed, fun-filled day ahead.

Jey felt a buzz in his phone and pulled it out, seeing a text from Takecia, his ex-wife and the mother of his children. The message read:

“I just finished setting up the last piece of furniture in Jeyce and Jaciyah’s rooms at the apartment. Just wanted to ask if the boys could stay with me for the next two weeks.”

Relief washed over Jey as he quickly typed out a reply, agreeing to her request. Takecia responded almost immediately: “Perfect! I’ll pick them up in about an hour.”

He put his phone down and turned to Rhea, who was finishing up her decaf coffee at the kitchen table. “Takecia’s taking the boys for the next two weeks,” he said, his voice a little lighter than before.

Rhea smiled and nodded. “That’s good, babe. Gives you some time to digress.”

Jey sighed, feeling the weight lift slightly off his chest. “Yeah, it’s gonna help. But I gotta let her know what’s been happening so she understands what they’re going through too. I can’t just leave it like this.”

Rhea agreed. “You’re doing the right thing. The boys need to know that you’re still there, even when they’re with their mom. And Takecia deserves to know what’s been going on.”

After breakfast, Jey made his way upstairs to Jeyce’s room. He knocked softly before stepping in. “Hey, Jeyce, can you pack a bag? Your mom’s coming to pick you up in about an hour,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Jeyce looked up from his sketchbook and nodded. “Okay, Dad. I’ll be right there.”

Jey smiled and walked over to his son, pulling a small bag from the closet. “Also, I’m gonna give you your phone back. Just for the two weeks, okay? I want you to have it while you’re at your mom’s.”

Jeyce’s face lit up, “Thank you, Dad! I’ve missed having it!”

“I know, I know,” Jey chuckled.

“I love you dad..” Jeyce said, running to start packing.

Satisfied that Jeyce was all set, Jey made his way to Jaciyah’s room. He knocked gently before stepping inside. “Jaciyah, can you pack a bag? Your mom’s coming to get you too.”

Jaciyah was lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He looked up and nodded. “Okay.”

Jey walked over to his son’s bed, sitting on the edge. “Listen, I need to talk to you about something,” he said, his voice serious but calm.

Jaciyah sat up, looking a little concerned. “What’s up, Dad?”

Jey hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m gonna tell your mom about the hickey you’ve got on your neck.”

Jaciyah’s eyes widened, and he quickly glanced down at his shirt collar, tugging it higher. “Dad, no! Please don’t!”

Jey placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not doing this to get you in trouble, Jaciyah. But you need to know that it’s not something you can just hide. And I’m telling your mom because she needs to know what’s going on.”

Jaciyah sighed, looking down at his hands. “I know, I know… I just didn’t want her to freak out.”

“I get that,” Jey said. “You’ve got to be honest, especially with your mom. She’s gonna respect that more than if you try to cover it up.”

Jaciyah nodded reluctantly. “Okay, Dad. I get it. I’ll be ready for whatever she says.”

“Good,” Jey said with a nod. “You’re growing up, man. And with that comes responsibility. Just make sure you’re being safe and respectful. Alright?”

“Alright,” Jaciyah replied, a little more subdued but still understanding.

Jey stood up and ruffled his son’s hair before walking toward the door. “I’ll let you finish packing.”

As Jey closed the door behind him, he felt a wave of emotion. There was a lot on his plate—his relationship with Rhea, the pressure, and now the real responsibility of being a parent. But at least for the next two weeks, he knew the boys would be with Takecia, and that gave him some breathing room.

When he returned downstairs, Rhea was sitting on the couch, watching TV. He sat next to her, his gaze distant.

“Everything good?” she asked, noticing his expression.

Jey nodded, but his voice was soft. “Yeah, just… a lot to think about. I know I’ve got some stuff to work through, but it’s good to have some space with the boys gone for a bit. I just don’t want them to think I’m neglecting them.”

Rhea took his hand and squeezed it. “You’re not neglecting them, Jey. You’re just figuring things out. They’ll understand that.”

He smiled faintly, grateful for her support. “I hope so.”

—

A knock on the door signaled that Takecia was here to pick up the boys. Jey stood up, giving Rhea a reassuring kiss on the cheek before walking to the door.

“Take care of them, alright?” he said to Takecia as she stepped inside.

She nodded. “You know I will.”

Jey looked at Takecia, his face serious as he asked, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Takecia, who was standing by the door, gave him a nod and followed him into the dining room, away from where Rhea was sitting in the living room. Jey pulled out a chair and motioned for Takecia to sit down. They both took a seat, the noise of the house settling around them as Jey gathered his thoughts.

“Look, I know it’s been a lot lately, and I wanted to fill you in on what’s been going on with the boys,” Jey began, running a hand through his hair. Takecia nodded, her arms crossed as she leaned back in her chair, silently listening.

Jey took a deep breath. “Jeyce—he’s been having some issues at school. He hit a kid with a lunchbox. And, well… he’s got a girlfriend now. Sneaking out to her house, kissing her on the couch when I’m not around.”

Takecia raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt, waiting for him to continue.

“And then there’s Jaciyah,” Jey said, his voice a little softer. “He sneaked a girl in the house, and now he’s got a hickey on his neck. I need you to know all this because… well, it’s been a lot, and I want to make sure you’re aware of what’s going on with them.”

Jey sat back, his hands resting on the table as he looked at Takecia. “I don’t know what to do, Takecia. I’m trying to handle it, but it feels like it’s just one thing after another.”

Takecia, to his surprise, started to laugh. Jey blinked, confused. “What’s so funny?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.

Takecia wiped a tear from her eye as she continued chuckling. “Jey,” she said between laughs, “they’re boys! What did you expect? Gray hairs? Stress lines? Of course they’re acting up. It’s just part of the deal.”

Jey sat there for a moment, staring at her, and then his own lips curled into a reluctant smile. “I didn’t think it’d come this fast. But yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Takecia’s laughter died down, and she looked at him seriously. “Look, Jey, you’re doing the best you can. I know it’s not easy, especially with everything going on right now. But you’ve gotta remember—boys are gonna be boys. We just have to keep an eye on them and guide them as best we can.”

Jey nodded slowly, feeling some of the weight lift off his shoulders. “I know, I know. But sometimes it feels like I’m failing them, you know? Like I’m not doing enough.”

Takecia softened, her tone more gentle now. “You’re not failing them. Just keep being present. They need that more than anything right now. And we’ll work together on this—just like we always have.”

Jey leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. “Thanks, Takecia. I appreciate it.”

She smiled, standing up and moving to the door. “Don’t forget, Jey—being their dad doesn’t stop just because they’re with me.”

Jey stood as well, giving her a nod. “I won’t forget. I’ll check in on them, and I’ll be here when they get back.”

Takecia waved him off with a wink as she stepped into the living room to gather the boys. “I’ll make sure they’re on their best behavior at my place, besides you know me.. I don’t tolerate that no-no nonsense shit.” she teased.

Jey chuckled and followed her out to the front door. He watched as Takecia led Jeyce and Jaciyah out to her car, waving as they drove off.

As the car disappeared, Jey felt the weight of the house grow quieter. He turned back to the house, heading toward the living room, where Rhea was sitting, a curious look on her face.

Rhea looked up at him. “Everything good with Takecia?”

Jey nodded, walking over to her and sitting down beside her. “Yeah. We had a good talk..”

Rhea smiled, reaching for his hand. “I’m glad. You needed that, Jey.”

He squeezed her hand and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, I did. But now… it’s just us.”

Rhea’s smile deepened as she looked up at him. “So, what are you looking forward to?”

“I’m looking forward to said Enchiladas now..”

—

Tuesday February 18th, 2025 1:48 PM

Rhea sat at her desk in her office at WWE Headquarters, a stack of notes and scripts spread across her workspace. She dipped a chicken nugget into a small cup of barbecue sauce and popped it into her mouth as she scribbled another idea for the NXT invasion storyline. The song Drive by Incubus hummed softly in the background, providing a steady rhythm to her brainstorming session. It was only Rhea’s second day back at work but she was already getting into the groove of everything.

As she leaned back to stretch, there was a knock at her door. “Come in,” she called, quickly grabbing a napkin to wipe her hands.

The door opened, and Bruce Prichard stepped in, his usual clipboard tucked under his arm. “Got a second?” he asked.

“Of course,” Rhea said, motioning to the chair across from her.

Bruce sat down and got straight to the point. “I need your thoughts on Roman’s WrestleMania direction. We’ve got a few ideas floating around, but nothing feels solid yet.”

Rhea nodded, setting her pen down. “I’ve been thinking about his arc too. Let’s keep it personal, tie it into the Shield fallout. Something with Seth to keep the made family dynamic at the forefront.”

Before Bruce could respond, there was a quick knock at the door, and an intern poked their head in. “Ms. Bennett, you’re needed in the conference room. Now.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow, surprised. She glanced at Bruce, who waved her off. “Go ahead. We’ll pick this back up later.”

Gathering her notebook, Rhea stood and followed the intern down the hallway. As they approached the frosted glass doors of the conference room, her stomach tightened. She had no idea what awaited her on the other side.

The intern opened the door for her, and she stepped inside.

Rhea smiled warmly as she stepped into the conference room, immediately recognizing Julian Velasquez, the lawyer she and Jey relied on for all their legal needs, especially with WWE keeping him on retainer for them. Julian stood to greet her, his face lighting up as he took in her appearance.

“Rhea! Oh my—your belly!” he exclaimed, pulling her in for a brief hug. “It’s starting to show. My wife didn’t even start showing until the end of her second trimester.”

Rhea laughed, rubbing her very slightly rounded stomach. “I know, right? Honestly, I think I’m going to have a big baby. But for now, I’m just a little curvy.”

Julian grinned, stepping back. “Curvy suits you. Any cravings yet?”

“Nothing too wild,” Rhea replied with a shrug. “But earlier, I was craving pickles with cream cheese and spicy Doritos.”

Julian chuckled as he gestured for her to sit down. “Classic. My wife went through a hot sauce and chocolate milk phase.”

Rhea scrunched her nose in mock disgust. “I don’t know about that combo.”

Julian laughed again as they settled into their seats. He adjusted his tie and opened his portfolio, flipping through neatly organized papers. “Alright, let’s get down to it. We’ve got a lot to cover.”

Rhea rested her hands on the table. “So, any updates? How’s everything looking?”

Julian sighed, his tone shifting to one of seriousness. “It’s… a lot. I’ve already spoken with Hunter and the WWE legal team. We’re making progress, but there are a few hurdles we need to work through before everything is set in stone.”

Julian cleared his throat and slid a photo across the table, his expression turning somber. “I need to know if you recognize this man.”

Rhea leaned forward, picking up the picture. It was a mugshot of an older man, maybe in his late 50s or early 60s, with deep wrinkles etched across his stern face. She studied it carefully but felt no spark of familiarity. Shaking her head, she said, “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Julian sighed heavily, his tone gentle but firm. “I know your brain injury from the overdose has made remembering things harder for you, but I need you to really think back on this.”

Rhea’s stomach tightened as she looked at the photo again, her fingers trembling slightly. “Who is he?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

Julian clasped his hands together, the gravity of the situation weighing on him. “This man’s prints were found on Liv and Dominik’s rental car when the police retrieved it. There was another set of prints as well, but they haven’t been able to identify the second person.”

Rhea’s heart skipped a beat. “Liv and Dom’s car? When was this?”

“When they reported it missing. I’ve been keeping tabs on the investigation for you, and this photo only just came across my desk.”

Rhea stared hard at the image, searching for any flicker of recognition, but her mind was blank. She finally shook her head. “I really don’t remember him. Who is he?”

Julian leaned forward, his voice dropping. “This man is Demetri Jackson’s father, Frances James Jackson.”

Time seemed to stop. Rhea’s entire body froze at the mere mention of her ex’s name. Her breathing became shallow as her vision blurred slightly, and a wave of memories she’d fought so hard to suppress threatened to surface.

Julian gave her a moment, then pressed on, his tone cautious but insistent. “Rhea… I know about the incident in 2022. I know it was ruled as self-defense, but I need to ask you something very serious.”

Rhea swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “What?”

Julian pointed back to the mugshot. “Do you think this man—Demetri’s father—might hold a vendetta against you because of what happened? Because you took his son away from him?”

Rhea’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. Her mind raced, piecing together fragments of the past and trying to reconcile them with the present. She clenched her fists as her voice finally broke through, hoarse and uncertain. “I… I don’t know, Julian. I didn’t even know Demetri’s father was still alive.”

Julian nodded solemnly, understanding the emotional weight she was carrying. “I need you to think, Rhea. Anything you can remember, even the smallest detail, might help us figure out if he’s involved. This could be more than a coincidence.”

Rhea exhaled shakily, her heart pounding. “I’ll try,” she said softly, though the fear and uncertainty in her voice were unmistakable.

Julian reached into his briefcase, pulling out another photo and sliding it across the table. “What about him? Do you know this man?” he asked, his voice low but serious.

Rhea picked up the photo, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the face staring back at her. It was the same one that Detective Hart had shown Matthew, the one where Liv and Dominik were seen talking to someone outside of a gas station. The man in the photo was posing as a cop, standing by a re-painted police car.

Rhea stared at the image for a long moment, her mind racing. She touched the face on the picture, feeling a strange, unfamiliar jolt. “I… I really don’t know,” she admitted, her voice uncertain.

Julian sighed, frustration creeping into his tone as he leaned back in his chair. “I need you to dig deeper, Rhea. Any connection, any feeling of familiarity? This could be important.”

Rhea shook her head, her fingers still brushing the photo, trying to draw a memory from the recesses of her mind. But there was nothing—only a cloud of uncertainty.

She looked up at Julian, her brow furrowed. “The car,” she asked, her curiosity piqued. “What happened to the car to Liv and Dom’s car?”

Julian didn’t hesitate. “It was found in a tow yard, registered under a fictitious name: Imed Ttenneb.” He paused, letting the information settle. “That’s your name spelled backwards, Rhea.”

Rhea’s stomach dropped. She stared at him, stunned. “What? My name?”

Julian continued, his eyes locking onto hers as he spoke. “The police found Liv and Dominik’s personal belongings, but there was one thing missing—Liv’s championship belt. Liv’s nameplates were scratched off, badly damaged but the belt is still missing.”

Rhea’s thoughts swirled as she processed all the details—each one adding more weight to the situation. She took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly.

Julian stood up and moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding her in the midst of the chaos. “Rhea…” He said her name softly, almost like a plea. “I don’t believe Matt just assaulted you because you wanted to leave him for Jey. I don’t believe that Matt just randomly came in one night and shot Jey in the shoulder. And I definitely don’t believe that blowing up Jon and Trinity’s cars, the car accident involving Liv and Dom, Damian and Kayden’s assault in New York—were all just a series of coincidences.”

Rhea’s breath hitched. She shook her head, trying to make sense of everything. “Then what do you believe, Julian?” she whispered, barely able to keep her voice steady.

He squeezed her shoulder gently, looking down at her with sincerity. “I believe some people are after you, Rhea. They’ve been after you because of what happened back in 2022. The pieces are starting to fit together, but we still don’t know who exactly is pulling the strings.”

Rhea swallowed hard, a knot forming in her throat. She tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest, but it was impossible. She had always known her past might catch up with her, but never like this—never in this way. The people she cared about, the ones she loved, were being targeted, and she was powerless to stop it.

Rhea sat back in her chair, her mind racing with the weight of everything Julian had just told her. The air in the room seemed heavier now, more suffocating. She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. “What should I do?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a mix of exhaustion and uncertainty.

Julian’s expression softened as he watched her. He had seen Rhea face many challenges before, but this one was different. “Hunter informed me that you have family patrolling your property,” he said, his tone firm but reassuring. “I think you should keep them there until this blows over. It’s a precaution, nothing more.”

Rhea’s gaze dropped to her hands, instinctively resting on her belly as if the touch could anchor her. “My life, Julian… my life.” Her voice cracked slightly, the realization of her situation sinking in. “I can’t just stop everything because people have a vendetta against me. I’m going to be a mom, I’m literally due in late July. I have two bonus sons. How can I manage all this?”

The vulnerability in her words struck Julian. He knew she was facing the impossible—trying to balance the life she was building with the chaos from her past. He leaned forward, his voice calm but steady. “I understand your frustration, Rhea. This isn’t easy, and it’s a lot to handle all at once.”

Rhea took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but it was hard. The future she had envisioned—peace, family, a growing bond with Jey and his children—was suddenly clouded with uncertainty.

Julian gave her a moment of silence, letting her process before speaking again. “You gotta keep pushing, Rhea. Keep doing what you do. Don’t let fear control you. But do stay aware. Don’t let your guard down, not even for a second. You’re stronger than you realize, and you’ve got people who are going to support you through this.”

Rhea wiped away the stray tear that had escaped down her cheek. “It’s just… it feels like everything’s out of my control, Julian.”

Julian smiled softly. “It may feel that way, but you’re not alone in this. Not now, not ever.”

She nodded slowly, still feeling the weight of it all, but Julian’s words—his unwavering support—gave her a bit of strength. “I’ll keep my family close,” she said, her voice steadying, “but I won’t stop. I can’t. Not now.”

Julian gave her a reassuring look. “That’s the Rhea I know. You’ll get through this, I have no doubt. Just don’t forget to lean on the people who care about you. And always remember, you’ve got this.”

Rhea took another breath, glancing down at her belly once more, feeling the new life inside her. She was going to be a mother, and no matter what threats loomed ahead, she wasn’t going to let anything take that from her. Not now. Not ever.

“I’ll keep going,” she said quietly, her resolve slowly but surely solidifying. “For me. For Jey. For our kids.”

Julian nodded. “Exactly.” He stood up from his chair and gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I’ll be in touch. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

As he left, Rhea sat there for a moment, the room still heavy but her mind clearing. There was no turning back now. Whatever was coming next, she would face it head-on, because she had to. For herself. For her family. For the future they were building together.

—

5:01 PM

As Rhea stuffed her backpack with binders and her work materials, she felt the weight of the conversation with Julian still lingering in her mind. The questions, the uncertainty—it all felt so overwhelming, but she knew she had to keep pushing forward. She grabbed her phone and turned off the lights in her office, the quiet hum of the building reminding her that the day was over.

She made her way down to the elevator, the soft ding echoing in the empty hallway. As the doors opened, she stepped inside, pressing the button for the garage. The descent felt slow, giving her more time to think, but as she exited the building and walked to Jey’s Mercedes, her thoughts wandered to him. She missed him—his smile, the warmth of his touch, the quiet comfort he always provided, especially now.

Rhea unlocked the car door and climbed in, the familiar scent of the leather and the smooth hum of the engine welcoming her. She hooked up her phone to the car’s system, and the moment she did, Not Like Us by Kendrick Lamar began to play. She smiled softly to herself, hearing Jey’s favorite song fill the car. It was such a small thing, but it grounded her, reminded her of him and of the life they were building together.

The long drive home felt longer than usual, her thoughts clouded by Julian’s words. She had so much to consider, so much at risk. But as she pulled into the driveway and typed in the code for the gate, her worries momentarily faded. The gate swung open, and she drove through, the security lights illuminating the path to their home. She pressed the garage door opener, but then, just as she was about to drive in, she stopped.

There, standing in the garage, was Jey. His arms stretched wide, a big grin on his face as he yelled, “Surprise!!!”

Rhea blinked, her exhaustion melting away as her eyes landed on the enormous plum-colored Tahoe parked in front of the garage. It was sleek, bold, and unmistakably stunning.

She laughed, her heart lightening at the surprise. “Oh my god, you really surprised me,” she said, getting out of the car and walking toward him. “But I love the color. It’s… perfect.”

Jey chuckled, handing her the keys with a proud grin. “Only the best for my soon-to-be wife,” he said, his voice full of love and warmth.

Rhea took the keys, her fingers brushing his as she smiled up at him. The weight of the day seemed to lift as she stood there, in front of her family’s home, with the man she loved. Her heart swelled, feeling the love and the excitement for what was to come.

“Thank you, Jey. I love it,” she said softly, before leaning up to kiss him, the world fading away in that simple, quiet moment.

Rhea and Jey walked through the garage door, the warmth of their home wrapping around them like a soft embrace. As they made their way to the kitchen, Rhea glanced over at Jey, the comfort of his presence making her feel lighter after the chaotic day. “So, what’s for dinner?” she asked, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Jey, with a confident grin, opened the stove and said, “I’m making steamed vegetables with steak.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What kind of vegetables?”

Jey looked back at her with a playful smirk. “Your favorite. Brussels sprouts and carrots.” He closed the oven with a satisfying thud.

Rhea smiled warmly, but as the smell of the food filled the air, her stomach turned. She took a step closer to the counter, trying to ignore the sudden wave of nausea, but it hit her too fast. Without warning, she rushed over to the trash can, covering her mouth as she bent over and threw up.

Jey’s eyes went wide with concern as he immediately rushed to her side. He reached out to pull her hair back, a gesture that made her feel safe despite the discomfort. As she finished, he made a lighthearted comment, trying to ease the tension. “I swear, my cooking ain’t that bad, babe,” he teased with a laugh.

Rhea, still feeling queasy, managed to give him a weak smile, her hand resting on his arm for support. Jey quickly grabbed a dish towel and gently wiped her lips, his worry evident in his eyes.

Rhea took a deep breath, feeling a bit better now that the immediate nausea had passed. She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “It’s not you, babe. It’s the baby. I smelled Bruce’s cologne earlier today and threw up in his office.”

Jey’s expression softened with understanding, a chuckle escaping him as he pulled her into a gentle hug. “Guess that’s one way to tell him to lay off the cologne, huh?” he said, his voice warm and reassuring.

Rhea rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, the weight of the day catching up with her. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Rhea,” Jey said, his hand rubbing her back comfortingly. “I’m here, okay? We’re in this together. Just focus on taking care of yourself—and the baby.”

—

After dinner, Jey and Rhea decided to take her new Yukon for a spin. Rhea settled into the passenger seat, the plush leather seat cradling her as she admired the smooth ride and the spacious interior. She fiddled with the radio, settling on a playlist Jey had made, the rhythmic beats of Kanye West’s Flashing Lights filling the car as they cruised down the road.

“You know,” Rhea began, smiling at her reflection in the passenger mirror, “this car is a game-changer. You really outdid yourself baby…”

Jey smirked, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. “Only the best for you Riri’.”

Rhea rolled her eyes playfully, shaking her head. “Okay Jeyjey’.”

The drive started peacefully, the couple enjoying the quiet moments together. But as the ride stretched on, Rhea started to notice they weren’t heading anywhere familiar. The streets grew less residential and more industrial, the orange glow of streetlights lining the empty roads. She furrowed her brow and glanced at Jey, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“Okay, where are we going?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter.

Jey’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “You’ll see.”

Rhea crossed her arms, a skeptical look on her face. “If it’s not a candy store I’m gonna be annoyed.”

“Trust me, babe. You’ll thank me for this one.”

Soon, Jey turned into a parking lot, the large glowing sign above the building catching Rhea’s attention. She leaned forward, reading it aloud. “Stamford Firearm Training.” Her eyebrows shot up as she turned to him, clearly unimpressed. “The gun range? Seriously?”

Jey put the car in park and turned to face her, his expression earnest. “Listen, I know this isn’t exactly your idea of fun, but just hear me out.”

Rhea gave him a dubious look, leaning back in her seat. “I’m listening.”

“Baby,” Jey began, his voice steady but soft, “I know you were not too thrilled to hear of it last time but now… right now.. I need to know you’re safe. Especially when I go back on the road. Knowing you can protect yourself, the baby, and the boys… it would mean everything to me.”

Rhea sighed, her arms still crossed. “Jey, I get what you’re saying, but I’m just not comfortable with the idea of having a firearm. It’s not… me.”

Jey reached over, gently taking her hand in his. His eyes, full of concern and love, locked onto hers. “Babe, I wouldn’t push this if it wasn’t important. It’s not about turning you into some gun enthusiast—it’s about peace of mind. For me. For us. You’ve already been through so much. I need to know you’re prepared if, God forbid, something happens.”

Rhea hesitated, his words sinking in. She knew where he was coming from, the depths of his worry, especially with everything that had happened over the past five months. The threats, the incidents, the constant uncertainty—they weren’t living a normal life, and she couldn’t deny that.

Finally, she let out a resigned sigh, her shoulders relaxing. “Fine,” she said, her voice softer now. “But don’t expect me to turn into some sharpshooter overnight.”

Jey grinned, his relief evident as he leaned over to kiss her hand. “Thank you, baby. I promise, it won’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Rhea muttered as they stepped out of the car.

Inside the facility, the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. The hum of faint activity echoed in the background, but it wasn’t the chaotic, intimidating scene Rhea had envisioned. Jey approached the front desk, where a clerk greeted them with a polite nod.

“Private class for Fatu and Bennett,” Jey said confidently.

The clerk tapped a few keys on her computer and looked up with a smile. “Got it. Right this way.”

Rhea followed reluctantly, her steps slower than Jey’s as they were led toward a private training area. Her mind was already racing with doubts and questions. Would she even be able to handle this? Could she do what Jey was asking of her?

As they stepped into the private room, a friendly-looking instructor greeted them, gesturing to a counter lined with safety gear and training pistols. “Welcome! First time for both of you?”

Jey shook his head. “Nah, I’ve done this before. But it’s her first time.”

The instructor nodded with a warm smile. “No worries, we’ll start with the basics.”

Rhea glanced at Jey, who gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “You got this,” he said.

Taking a deep breath, Rhea stepped forward. “Alright,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “Let’s do this.”

#jey uso #rhea ripley #fanfic #fanfiction #rhea and jey #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #wwe #yeet #the judgement day #jey uso fanfiction #rhea ripley and jey uso #jhea fanfiction #jhea #wwe rhea ripley #wwe the bloodline #wwe the usos #wwe jey uso

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neyafromfrance95 · 2 days ago

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i know i have talked about this already, but there is not much else to talk about at this point and i still can't get over how much ick s2's finale gives me when it comes to galadriel's storyline.

everyone except for sauron invalidated galadriel's trauma and treated her like a burden in s1, then they shamed and humiliated her in s2. and it all could have had a good narrative reason... if it hadn't led to a really sexist conclusion.

the whole narrative of the good guy who slut-shamed her "fixing" her, resulting in her putting down the sword and putting on the dress instead? yikes...

i love galadriel's characterization in trop. she is a perfect blend of feminine + masculine. saying this could get me crucified but i think she is much more queer-coded than sauron is; in a way that i can see her being nonbinary-coded. she is gender-nonconforming! she is abrasive and proud and a leader!

and this makes the insinuation of that ending all the more painful - from being this authentic, complex character to being... a tradwife to be.

she did not actually turn into a tradwife ofc. now that would be a real blasphemy against tolkien, lol. as galadriel was always a leader first and foremost, never defined as a wife/mother. but narratively, it felt like that was what happened.

some people will say that it's her transformation, that she must learn not to rely on her sword, yada yada. and sure, it can be a character development. BUT! in what direction? they have to be very careful with this direction if they don't want it to come off as a regressive and bio-essentialist "embrace your inner divine feminine, woman" conservative propaganda. it can be done if they lean into "the witch galadriel" arc.

and man, it's somewhat a similar case to killing eve. one reviewer of ke's finale said that women live their lives told to sit still, be accommodating, be self-sacrificial, and there comes a point in their lives where they have to decide if they are going to conform to all that even if it's inauthentic to who they are. villanelle recognized eve's darkness (which really was her authentic self) and wanted to nourish it. so the framing of eve "surviving" villanelle and being cleansed of her "darkness" felt wrong to many.

in many ways, that's how trop s2 finale felt to me. it's so interesting how haladriel's dynamic turned out subtextually. sauron saw galadriel's trauma, her darkness and yet he alone saw galadriel's greatness in her authenticity, and offered her authority - something that all others stripped her off of. yes, he stabbed her (and villanelle shot eve, btw), but told her that he would make her into an overlord of the universe at the same time, lmao.

worst of all, it doesn't make sense legendarium wise - galadriel is going to continue being a leader; yeah, she is not going to be as abrasive, but she will grow into a stone cold bitch (affectionate) instead; she is going to have a push-pull dynamic with sauron till he evaporates. so what was all that supposed to mean? i do believe they catered to the whiny "make galadriel tradwife again" crowd, and maybe inserted a mormon propaganda where it's the most misogynistic in its' message.

anyways, i still have my fingers crossed that they redeem the story direction in s3 by dismissing the undertones of s2 finale. or else it would really leave a sour taste in my mouth.

#haladriel #saurondriel #sauron x galadriel #the rings of power #rings of power #sauron #galadriel #trop #galadriel x halbrand #rop

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 2 days ago

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I know you’ve said in the past that you don’t think switching marinette and adrien’s kwamis would solve anything writing-wise, but do you think having the kwamis switch personalities would do the trick? marinette still has ladybug/creation, but with plagg’s personality, and adrien still has black cat/destruction, but with tikki’s personality. thoughts?

No, I don't think that this would fix anything because it's approaching the problem as if the issue is some flaw in the show's base setup. As if you have to make major changes for Miraculous to work. My stance has always been that the base setup is totally fine. The problem is the execution. In fact, I think that the current kwami personalities are a great choice, the problem is that they're not being used well.

Marinette has a pretty strong personality. She knows what she wants, but has a tendency to get caught up in her own head and a tendency to make snap judgments. Those tendencies make her occasionally fail to consider alternate paths or points of view. That means that what she needs most is someone who will make her consider those alternatives. Someone who will be direct, talk her out of mental spirals, and keep her focused. A voice of reason, if you will. Tikki is perfectly suited to that role. She is not the kind of kwami to sit passively by. Plagg, on the other hand, would just encourage Marinette along the path of glorious chaos or let her do whatever she wants so long as he gets his cheese. While I think that could be genuinely fun to watch, it's not really benefiting Marinette much and this ask appears to be treating the Kwamis as potential mentors, so I will, too.

Adrien is a little more complex. Given his rather depressing home life, I can see why someone would want to pair him with loving Tikki over more-detached Plagg, but I'll explain why I think that Plagg is the better fit IF you actually let him mentor.

Adrien is a passive follower. He never fights for himself and he bows to authority at the drop of a hat. While those traits are arguably strengths for his role on the battlefield, they're not great for him in his day-to-day life. There's nothing wrong with being more passive and more of a follower, but he needs to learn that he can make his own choices, too. The best way to do that is to give him the kind of mentor who doesn't just hand him the answers. Someone a little chaotic whose style is subtle pushes and not just handing him a possible path to take because Adrien would absolutely just take the suggested path. Plagg is perfectly suited to taking on this style of mentorship and it is a crime that the show never let him shine.

Example scenario: Adrien feeling left out in season four. (Note the following is a very rough draft)

Adrien: I feel like Ladybug doesn't need me anymore. She keeps calling in other heroes! Tikki: You need to talk to Ladybug and tell her how you feel! Ask her when she's free to meet up! Adrien: Okay, what should I say? Tikki: Tells him what to say.

This is solid advice, but Tikki is just handing Adrien an answer. He's probably not going to learn from this and may even flub up his talk with Ladybug without Tikki walking him through it because he's just doing what he's told and not coming to this path on his own. Contrast this to Plagg in his ultimate form (by which I mean mentor Plagg, not eldritch horror Plagg):

Adrien: I feel like Ladybug doesn't need me anymore. She keeps calling in other heroes! Plagg: And you're left watching from the sidelines every time? Adrien: No, not always. Plagg: So she's sharing the cheese now? Giving you slices instead of the whole wheel? Adrien: yeah, I guess. Plagg: why? Adrien: what do you mean why? Plagg: why'd she start sharing? Adrien: I don't know. Plagg: Huh. Too bad. If only there was a way you could find out. I guess it will remain a mystery. Adrien: (annoyed) Ladybug knows! Plagg: And? Adrien: And... I guess I could ask her? Plagg: I mean, if you started sharing my cheese, I'd be demanding answers! Adrien: I'd never share your cheese! Plagg: You promise? Never? Not even if you were starving? Adrien: Well, I mean, I guess I might if it was an emergency or something, but I wouldn't share it without a good reason! Plagg: And Ladybug's different? Adrien: What do you mean? Plagg: She does things without a good reason? Adrien: Of course not! She's brilliant! She always has a plan! Plagg: Interesting. Might want to keep that in mind for your little talk. Adrien: (after a thoughtful pause) So you think I should talk to her? Plagg: Is there another way for you to find out what's going on? Adrien: No. Plagg: Then why are you bothering me? Sounds like you only have one option!

Note that Plagg never gives Adrien a clear answer here. He just asks questions in a bored manner and lets Adrien think things through. He's guiding Adrien to a specific answer, but making Adrien really think about it, better prepping him for the coming talk. This mentorship style would drive Marinette crazy, but I think it would do wonders for Adrien! The difference is that, in this situation, Marinette probably already knows what she needs to do and is just avoiding it while Adrien genuinely needs help realizing that he can speak up. This doesn't mean that Adrien should never get direct, clear advice, I just wouldn't make that the standard as it's not helping him with his passivity.

All of this is a big part of why I love Plagg so much. That little cheese gremlin is just brimming with potential and it saddens me greatly that canon will never give it to us. They gave him the perfect personality, they just missed the fine details of how that personality should function as a mentor.

#isilee #lore discussion #kwami swap #ml writing critical #ml writing salt

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sombredancer · 3 days ago

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Li Lun, a villain I feel for (Pt. 2/4)

So, by the beginning of the drama LL says that he wants to kill all of ZYZ’s new friends. In fact, he just likes talking. He says: “Let’s kill ZYZ’s friends starting with Baize Goddess, like the previous time” so the viewer thinks he killed previous goddess off, but later we learn that he didn't do it. Even if he has a perfect opportunity to kill someone of ZYZ’s new friends without ruining his own schemings, he does pretty nothing to achieve it. He just stands and talks. Because he doesn’t really want to kill anyone, including ZYZ. He wants to attract ZYZ’s attention and to make ZYZ stop ghosting him.

Li Lun speaks to Big Bad in Mask while possessing a courtesan. Meanwhile, he lends Truth Eye to Ao Ying so she could see his true self.

LL joins hands with Big Bad in Mask, not knowing he was the one who tortured demons in that bloody dungeon (yeah, LL is not the smartest guy of the Universe). By doing it he tries to achieve his own goals. First, he wants to break free from his custody, and second, he wants to get attention from ZYZ, who ignores him.

In order to break his chains LL works as matchmaker for ZYZ and his girlfriend, so they could fall in love with each other and find and unite pieces of Baize token, because only if the token is intact, it can be broken and its spells can be dissipated. He is not a saint, so he kills some folks (by possessing them or just because) and tricks other demons into helping him, although he is said to value his own kind more than anything. It means he goes through break-up with ZYZ so badly, that even his principles fade into the background for his anger and pain. Or it’s just another script flaw.

Li Lun behaves himself very much as a ghosted ex-boyfriend (in fact, he is), and I understand him well. He goes through stages of acceptance: throws himself from denial (ZYZ is no better than me, why don't you treat him the way he treated me?) through anger (ZYZ, I’ll kill your friends and make you suffer!) to bargaining (Why does he find you better than me? What if you would be like me, would he still love you?).

To talk about his feelings with someone, he uses the only way to leave his dark lifeless place of imprisonment, which is possessing others. At first, this ability and an omnipotence of it looks intimidating, but later we learn that he cuts his lifespan by a half each time he does it, so his need to talk to someone is very desperate. (Later, LL says that it was his way to enjoy the world and freedom but GJM never showed us such a use of this LL's ability). ZYZ knows that destroying LL’s leaves (through which he possesses bodies) will hurt Li Lun, yet he does it anyway, and LL kinda... enjoys it bitterly. As if the fact of him being not ignored by ZYZ is more important that his wellbeing. It's miserable and pathetic, but understandable.

And anytime LL tries to get some answers for his questions, ZYZ and his friends say something like “You don’t understand a thing, I won’t bother to explain, though.” or “We have friends and ZYZ is our boyfriend, and you are a lonely loser!”. How it supposes to help LL understand his wrongs? I have no idea.

Ghosting your ex is the sure way to make him a villain.

LL breaks free from his jail and destroys a “support beam” of the “wall” around demon ghetto. An accent on “I’m destroying the wall” is strange, because I can’t understand the gain demons will have when they aren't in their ghetto anymore (and it obviously should be). Would Great Demons even the scores of victims if not only humans would catch and torture demons but demons would also catch and torture humans, or what? However, it sounds pretty fair, as long as said Baize Goddess’ and ZYZ’s protection of demons consist in only preventing them from going outside their ghetto without passport, LOL.

Although LL is free from the seal, he is still dying from the fatal wound causing by ZYZ 8 years ago. His true body is smoldering slowly, so he has got not so much time left.

For plot purposes, the main heroes need to visit LL’s birthplace to get the last cup of magic water to fix Baize token and to restore a “support beam” of ghetto’s wall. What would a normal villain do, knowing about it? Yes, he would spill it. What does LL do? He, in fact, hands it over to the main heroes. Yes, stained, but LL was a student of Mountain God, too, so he could know that there is a way to restore the pureness of magic water, and the best way to destroy the token for good is to spill this water.

During their visit LL kidnaps ZYZ’s girlfriend (it is funny that the main heroes don’t notice it for something like first five minutes 😅) and has a phycologist session with her (in which she is a psychologist). They have a superstrange conversation, something like: LL: “ZYZ supposed to be my friend but ghosted me for no obvious for me reason and I’m hurt!”. WX: “Oh, it’s because you are a loser with no friends, ZYZ did everything right!”.

Then ZYZ and his current boyfriend come and LL tries once more to tell ZYZ that he is hurt, but ZYZ has absolutely no desire to talk to him or to explain to him something and acts like they were never boyfriends and LL is his archenemy.

So, they fight and ZYZ hurts LL with Everburning Wood once more, now deliberately. LL dies, and although ZYZ has red eyes at this moment he never thinks of LL again. So, LL is right: ZYZ is a hypocrite with double standards. It is such a contrast with the stories of the main heroes and ancient dragon gods, in which killing your friend for Higher Goals is a tragedy.

But there is a plot twist ahead!

Here is Part 1 Here is Part 3 Here is Part 4

#fangs of fortune #大梦归离 #li lun #cdrama #fof #yan an #SDaboutFoF #离仑 #閆桉 #long reads

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gravityrises · 24 hours ago

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Thinking about "Dipper and Mabel vs. the Future": And you know what? I'm not even going to defend Ford in this one, because he did in fact mess up. But there are still a few thoughts I wanted to share.

1. Ford took Dipper on a dangerous mission:

Well, there are a few things to point out. First, Ford most likely didn't think it would be dangerous at all. His plan was to retrieve the alien adhesive and be done with it. If along the way he could show some cool stuff to a twelve-year-old, that would be a plus, right?

Second, at least Ford was physically there, when all hell broke loose. Stan just allowed the kids to venture into a forest full of paranormal creatures completely on their own. Meanwhile, Ford understood that kids are curious by nature and it's impossible to contain their curiosity by simply denying everything. So, it would be better to go along with them.

Still, this does not absolve Ford of his wrongdoing, just because Stan sucks as a caretaker. "I did something bad, but other people have done worse" is a wrong attitude to have in general. Ford should've been more careful and not allowed Dipper to mess around with the controls on the alien ship. Which, I should probably add, wasn't the reason why the droids were activated. That was just generally irresponsible.

2."Just feel no fear", he said:

Yeah, I actually disagree with people who claim Ford was wrong in saying that. He wasn't asking Dipper to repress his feelings or whatever. It's actually more similar to being instructed to keep calm during a fire alarm. Which, you should. You absolutely should. Your life may depend on whether or not you manage to control your emotions. That doesn't mean you'll have to repress your feelings for the rest of your life, you can still deal with them after the crisis is over.

And was Ford expecting out of Dipper too much? Perhaps, but Dipper still had to know what was going on. Explaining how the security droids worked was the right call and I will stand by that.

3. Ford's apprenticeship offer:

Okay, let's get this out of the way, I do believe Dipper shouldn't have stayed with Ford after summer. And it wouldn't be healthy or good for a young boy to stay apart from his family and peers. Maybe it would've been okay, if he were slightly older and still interested in this field. But at this point Dipper is an impressionable kid, whose plans for the future might change a hundred times over until he reaches adulthood.

Something I failed to appreciate before is that wrong timing is something that affects Ford, as much as Dipper. And it's something Ford brings up himself, he is getting older. And who knows for how much longer he'll be able to continue his strenuous work in Gravity Falls. He was definitely under pressure to find someone who would be willing to learn about the anomalies. And not just by reading the journals: Some skills are better acquired in the field, by being shown how it's done and giving it a try yourself.

Still, as much as it is tempting to offer this apprenticeship to Dipper, Ford really needs to look for someone else.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #dipper pines #dipper and mabel vs the future

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sokkastyles · 3 hours ago

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Actually, yeah, there is such thing as trespassing, and you sure do seem to complain a lot about me "misconstruing" your arguments when you came here to argue with me and then claimed about four times in this reblog that I said Mai was an abuser when I said nothing of the sort. I thought you wanted to agree to disagree. I think "nasty" is a word that fits you better, since that's how you started acting because I didn't agree with your opinions on a fictional character.

"Aside from her just existing as a fire nation character on the wrong side of the border"

Lol, THIS is the kind of stuff Azula stans say, actually. Mai helped Azula capture Zuko and infiltrate Ba Sing Se, and fought the gaang numerous times. The first time we meet her, she shows disdain for the city her father helped colonize. We are told that Mai and Azula bond over their "dark sense of humor," which is also what we see a lot of from Mai. She makes a joke about the Dai Li "peeing their pants." She makes a joke about ordering around servants. She's a villain. She's not the worst villain, but she is a villain. We are supposed to think she's a villain. It's not speculative. Otherwise, why did she need to learn to be better in the first place? I know the show is making an attempt at showing her growth, I just don't think they do a very good job of it, and I find your arguments of "but actually she did nothing wrong" alternating with "but actually she got better" to be inherently contradictory and not helping you here. The difference between the Azula stan arguments you are citing is that while we are supposed to feel sorry for Azula to a degree, we are also still supposed to recognize she is a villain. I think you know this, but you're using a strawman argument. Just like I think you know that we're supposed to not think Mai is not being particularly kind when she dismisses Zuko's worries about going home. Something she does in part because of her own trauma, but also because she helped put him there and that is not something she is willing to admit. Saying that she "doesn't have to be his therapist" is not only callous, but an inherently bad reading of the show. And no, the scene is not portrayed as it being "just a joke." Zuko looks upset when she says that. He accepts being kissed, but the tone of the scene is still meant to make us understand that Zuko is right and Mai is wrong.

I don't have time to go through every scene with you and explain where you're being willfully obtuse about this because you don't like that I don't think these two characters would be besties. But I do think it's interesting that you jumped real quick to the "but Zuko." I think you also know that the difference with Zuko is that he was actually shown unlearning most of the things that Mai kinda sorta unlearns on a personal level, actually understood why his country was wrong and worked to correct those wrongs. Mai ends the show with "actually, I kind of like you" but also feels entitled enough to tell the person she's with to never break up with her. That's not good enough for me. I get what the show was trying to do here, but I don't have to like it, sorry. That's not the same as me saying Mai is an abuser. Get out of here with that nonsense, or stop acting like you're better than Azula stans who blatantly make shit up.

I know what Zuko says about protecting Mai. That doesn't erase the context of him not trusting her. Why would he? Their relationship is not built on trust. That's not entirely Mai's fault, but there is a fault when we try to ignore the context which does include Mai being an agent of fascism, does include him being in a context where he is not safe on a personal level and is being abused. Ignoring that context is not great. And if you have to ignore it to make maiko work, well, then, that's why it doesn't.

Anyway, I don't actually think Katara should punch Mai (mostly), but like. Come on. The comics are bad but they didn't pull Mai supporting imperialism out of thin air, and "he wasn't a real threat" is a ridiculous thing to say in her defense. Zuko's characterization in the comics feels regressive because we actually do see him working to end the war. We don't see Mai care about anything except Zuko. And that's me being generous about it. It's not unreasonable to critique her character based on that alone.

You're also still making a false equivalence based on Sokka and Suki's relationship. What would be a real comparison is if Sokka and Suki broke up because Suki tried to kill him and then when they met again Sokka wasn't sure whether she was still his enemy. The difference is that Suki is never written as a villain and Mai is. Like, it's okay to admit this. And again, if you can't, then that's why her character arc and her relationship with Zuko don't work.

"I think Katara would get along with Azula/Mai because female solidarity!"

Cool. I think Katara would punch fascists in the throat.

#the discourse #'there's no trespassing'#okay but i will block you if you can't play nicely #antimaiko

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everliving-everblaze · 2 days ago

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Fitz's characterization is so interesting and so hard. He's both very kind AND a bit of an entitled jerk, and most people only manage to capture one of the two.

I think this is well-illustrated in the first few chapters of the series. Fitz and Sophie spend a lot of these chapters rolling their eyes and sniping at each other, because they both have an attitude about the whole thing. In particular, Fitz has his attitude about elvin superiority, and Sophie immediately responds to that negatively.

He'd never heard of Albert Einstein? The theory of relativity was dumb? She wasn't sure how to argue. He seemed so ridiculously confident—it was unnerving.

On the other hand, it's very clear that Fitz's heart is in the right place (or at least, a well-meaning place). He has his attitude of elvin superiority, but he's thrilled to welcome Sophie into it as well.

Fitz nudged her arm. "Hey. It's not your fault. You believed what they taught you—I'm sure I'd have done the same thing. But it's time you knew the truth. This is how the world really works. It's not magic. It's just how it is."

(And undoubtedly, he's right. He would have believed what he'd been taught—he did, just different beliefs!)

The thing is, Sophie doesn't particularly want to jump aboard the elvin superiority train that he's so excited about.

"Well, it's like you're saying, 'Hey, Sophie, take everything you've ever learned about anything and throw it away.'" "Actually, that is what I'm saying." He flashed a smug grin. "Humans do the best they can—but their minds can't begin to comprehend the complexities of reality." "And what, elves' minds are better?" "Of course.

Fitz reads as a total jerk with what he's saying! He's completely ignorant of the fact that his belief that humans are stupid and evil is like, gonna hurt Sophie's feelings. Because that's what he's been taught!

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Fitz's character is hugely about prejudice, about people who believe what they are taught, even though it's wrong. And his character is about those people who then have to relearn their beliefs!

Fitz makes so much progress throughout the series in combating his own prejudice, largely through befriending Sophie. His character arc is one of my absolute favorites from any media, ever. I've gone through a lot of the same things he has, having to learn about prejudice and deal with my own biases, the lies that I was taught. His character is very meaningful to me!

But I think that's a piece that so often gets missed when people try to capture Fitz's character. Some people only see the bad parts and choose to portray him as totally evil. Some people focus on the good parts and portray him as more of a victim.

But I don't think either interpretation is totally right. Fitz is nuanced. He means well and truly tries to be kind within his worldview, and once he truly starts to realize his worldview is bad, he works on it! That's way more than a lot of people do. But he he makes a lot of mistakes along the way.

That's a fascinating, relevant character. And that's why he'll always be one of my favorites.

#starting some rereading before unraveled and I'm REALLY trying to work on recapturing fitz's character!#it's so difficult to do but I want to write him again and I want to get it really really RIGHT #kotlc #fitz vacker #stan fitz vacker or perish #meta #kotlc thoughts with catherine #book 1

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kaybug88 · 1 day ago

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Kirishima x Wife!Reader

Based on Teenage Dream by Stephen Dawes

TW: Disgusting fluff, a tiny bit of crying, pet name (baby), one slightly suggestive part, small bits of angst, small bit of swearing

WC: 3.6k

Blue - Song Lyrics

Red - Kirishima

Purple - You & Kirishima

Pink- You

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

Tonight, you were getting married to your best friend, and things couldn't be better. You two slowly dancing under the soft glow of the full moon and sparkling stars, the love-filled atmosphere being touched by softly glowing fairy lights surrounding you as music played from speakers carefully placed around the wedding. The night had been wonderful, and is still going wonderfully. Games had been played, jokes had been made, tears had been shed (and are still In the process of being shed), with everyone smiling at one point or another, whether it was from seeing the two of you so happy, or simply having a good time. You two were making small conversation as you swayed from left to the right, when the song Teenage Dream began to play. As the tune began to lightly sound from the speakers, you couldn't help but see memories flash in your mind's eye as the lyrics washed over you two.

“You think I'm pretty, without any makeup on.”

♡

“Stop, I look terrible!”

You said with a whiny tone, followed by soft giggles as you desperately tried to hide your face. You had just woken up in his room for the first time, and even though he's seen you after waking up, you simply couldn't help but still feel a little self conscious.

“Don't you ever say that again, you're the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen, no matter the circumstances.”

Kirishima said, admiring the way you giggled while he tried to get you to move your hands away from your beautiful face. He placed his soft hands on top of your own, slowly grabbing them and moving them away.

If he said he hadn't thought about marrying you one day at that exact moment, he'd be lying. The soft, dreamy orange glow of the morning sun leaked from the gap in his curtains shined on your gorgeous face, your soft eyes looked even softer with the morning glow highlighting the color, your hair slightly messy but still managing to look just fine to him, your lashes resting effortlessly perfect in place, and a gentle smile on your soft lips. The sight of you looking so effortlessly perfect would almost upset him if he wasn't dating you.

How in the world do you do it?

“Sometimes I wish you saw yourself the way I see you.”

He said softly as he admired how truly divine you looked before pressing his lips to your own. Your sleepy eyes were filled with adoration from his comment, but when you felt his lips perfectly mold into your own, you couldn't help but be a little surprised. Your heart fluttered, and stomach doing flips as you let your heavy eyes fall, embracing his kiss while bringing your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

“You think I'm funny when I tell the punchline wrong.”

♡

“Baby! What do you call a fish without an eye?”

He excitedly said as he stepped into your room, your guys' favorite snacks and drinks in a white gas station bag for your movie night. He wore an idiotic grin on his lips, and eyes shone with clear giddiness. He looked like a child who was eager to tell you something they learned at school that day that was so incredibly mind blowing to their small brain.

“What?”

You asked, a gentle smile on your lips with your eyes softly rolling in a teasing manner, already knowing the answer to this common joke, but you wouldn't dare ruin the smile he was wearing, as he prepared to tell you the answer.

“A fish!”

He exclaimed rather excitedly, his smile only beaming even brighter when you broke out in a laughter he could never get sick of listening to. Your laughter was his favorite thing to hear, and if he could, he'd always make you laugh.

“B-baby, that's not how it goes.”

You managed to get out through gulps of air after your laughing fit. His smile faltering a bit when he heard that he had in fact, told the joke wrong.

“What?”

“Ei, it's ‘fsh’”

You corrected with a silly smile and a tiny giggle, moving over a bit so he could sit by you on your bed. You pat the seat next to you a few times, waiting for him to join you.

“Oh, 'm sorry. . .”

“What? No, baby! No matter what joke you tell me, wrong or right, will always be funny to me.”

You informed in a reassuring tone, pressing a kiss to his red cheeks, your action doing nothing to lessen the bright color. His cheeks were nearly the same color as his hair, getting a small laugh from you.

“I know you get me, so I let my walls come down, yeah, come down. Yeah, I was alright, but things were kinda heavy.”

♡

You've never held onto your boyfriend As tightly as you did now. You had just gotten back with your classmates from the Eri mission, and you had gotten hurt pretty bad, slipping into a coma shortly after the fight. He was injured badly himself, but he's never felt so scared in his life when he overheard some pros on the mission say they were unsure if you were going to make it, and how terrible it would be if you didn't make it through your coma.

“I hope that (L/N) girl makes it outta’ that coma. It’d be a shame if she didn’t-”

He stopped listening after that, and cried himself to sleep that night. When he heard you had woken up, he ran, there. In the most literal sense too, you had been in a coma for so long he couldn't waste any time he had with you. Everyone had viseted you while you were asleep, hell, even Bakugo did. However, Kirishima was there day and night for as long as possible. He was the first one there in the morning and last one there at the night.

“N- never, ever do so- somethi- ing so stupid li- like that aga- ain.”

He scolded you with flowing tears and a cracked voice as he held onto you. You had thankfully woke up after what felt like years, but in reality, had only been two weeks. Kiri was the first one there to ensure you were alright once he heard you were in fact, awake and alive.

“Can't promise, but I'll try extra hard, just for you.”

You rasped as you ran soothing circles on his back, your other hand running through his hair. Tears of Your own threatening to fall as well. You laid your head back with a sigh. You had heard him talking to you the entire time throughout your coma and knew he had been there with you as often as he could, which meant the world to you.

“You brought me to life, now every February, yeah, you'll be my valentine, valentine.”

♡

It was your guys’ first Valentine's Day together after you began dating, and you remember the special moment like it like it was yesterday.

“So, um, I know we've been dating for a bit now, and I wanted to know if you'd be-”

“I'd love to be your valentine, Eijiro.”

You sheepishly interrupted, finished the sentence for him, looking at him with complete Adoration. You wouldn't dare miss the excitement in his eyes, followed by his already red cheeks To flair up once more.

“I didn't even fini-”

“You don't need to.”

You interrupted again before pressing your warm, soft lips to his. Your Arms wrapped around his neck, lips failing to hide your smile as you felt his body relax and embrace the loving kiss. The warm fuzzy feeling you were getting completely counter acted the cold winter air.

“So let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love.”

♡

“I could get used to this. . .”

You quietly sighed, a small yawn following right after you spoke while you rested your head onto his stomach. It was the middle of a warm, summer night. The full moon shone similarly to a soft lamp and the stars dotted the sky like silver and gold glitter on a black paper.

“I could too.”

He replied softly, hands threading through your silky hair. His stomach rose and fell softly as you two admired the night sky. The soft blanket below you two was just big enough for you both to comfortably rest, but it felt like that only made it all the more enjoyable.

“Yeah, we can dance until we die.”

♡

You had just drug The poor red headed boy outside to dance with you in the warm summer rain. It was the middle of the night, but it only made it better. Rain clouds covered the moon light, leaving the streetlights to be the only source of light around you.

“If I get a cold, I'm blaming it on you.”

He scoffed softly as the two of you slowly danced in the rain, your clothes both hugging your bodies uncomfortably, water beginning to soak through your shoes and to your socks, but it was the last thing on each of your minds. His hair was begging to droop slightly from the rain which was quite cute to say the least. You giggled as he spun you around, bringing you back to his arms after a second.

“I'm okay with that.”

You giggled with a slight shrug while you swayed from left to right. You each closed your eyes when you rest you foreheads on the other's, soft breaths being shared between you two.

“You and I will be young forever, ‘Cause you make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream.”

♡

“Sometimes I wonder what life would've been like if we had met when we were younger.”

He randomly said while you two were laying in the comfortable darkness and silence of your room. Blankets were laid on you two, and pillows thrown here and there, all to assure you're both comfortable.

“What makes you say that?”

You asked with a tired voice, eyes staying shut as he ran small circles on your back. His soft breathing was (and still is) one of your favorite things to fall asleep to.

“Not sure. . .”

He mumbles so softly it's almost inaudible. Almost.

“We're still young, and we have the rest of our lives ahead of us.”

What you said that night particularly stuck with Kirishima throughout your lives. When things got hard for him, he thought back to that memory and played it over to tell him things would be alright when things got tough.

“The way you turn me on, now I can't sleep.”

♡

“Baby. . . I don't think you realize what you do to me. . .”

He groaned as you stepped out of your bathroom wearing a new red lace set Mina had got you for your birthday. Across your chest was a giant, sparkly "RED RIOT".

“Like it?”

You giggled, doing a 360 to show it completely off. You knew he liked it. . . Okay, more than liked it.

“I don't just like it, I love it. If you want, I can show you just how much I love it.”

“Let's run away and don't ever look back, ever look back. My heart stops when you look at me.”

♡

The giggles that erupted from you were pretty much addictive. He simply couldn't get enough. They reminded him of a sweet, savory summer treat that he wished he could have all day, every day.

He too, was laughing as you each ran through the grass under the stars. Fireflies flew up from the grass wherever you two had stepped, creating a harmony of little, sparkling lights surrounding you two.

You slipped some time while you were running and Eijiro immediately ran towards you, falling beside you to make sure you were okay. You were alright, but couldn't help but get up and tackle him onto his back, earning loud laughs from him as you tickled Him. He managed to flip and tickle you, like you had done him.

"Ah! Stop, stop!"

You squealed, legs kicking in an attempt to get him off, and your arms flailing around to try and hit him.

"Not until you surrender!"

He cackled, relentlessly tickling your sides. He had no intentions of stopping until you gave up.

"Okay, okay! I surrender, you win!"

“Just one touch, now baby, I believe this is real, So take a chance and don't ever look back, ever look back.”

♡

“Glad to finally be out of U.A.?”

He asked with a huff after placing one of the last boxes in your apartment. You two decided to get an apartment and split the cost until you guys bought a house, even if he was rather against of splitting the cost. You managed to convince him to do 50/50 on the conditions that he bought groceries.

“Even with all the good memories we have there, it's nice to have our own place to create new ones..”

You replied as you set down a cardboard box with nothing but a large ‘E’ in thick black sharpie. After letting out a groan, you stood up, stretching your sweaty back and wiping the sweat from your forehead.

“I like that Idea. Making new memories here.”

He said so softly, it was inaudible, but he meant it. He couldn't wait to create new memories just for the two of you. Maybe even share the new memories with your future children. Sure, kids were way far into the future, but hey, it couldn't hurt to just think about them, right?

“We drove to Cali, and got drunk on the beach. Got a motel and built a fort out of sheets.”

♡

“This fort is gonna’ be hard to beat.”

Your boyfriend had said to you with a huff. It was your anniversary, and You two had made it a tradition to make a fort Every year, and this had to be your best yet. Neither of you two were sure how this tradition started, but it's fun, nonetheless.

“We say that every year, and then the next, we do it better.”

You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder. It had taken you guys over an hour this year to build your fort, and it was the literal definition of ‘awesome sauce’. It took up your whole living room In your guys’ new (and first) house. You looked over the whole fort, clear pride on your face.

“I can't wait to share this tradition with our kids one day.”

He said to you, bringing you closer by your waist. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, a slight beginning of a stubble tickling your skin.

“Kids!? Let's wait a bit before thinking about kids.”

You laughed, clearly a little flustered, feeling his face move away from your neck, and soon feel his lips press onto your head. In all honesty, you would love for your kids to be with him.

“I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece. I'm complete.”

♡

“Here's the perfect spot for a picture.”

He said excitedly with a large grin on his Face as he led you to a beautiful, red traditional Japanese arch. It was your birthday, and your best friends had surprised you with a small simple trip to your favorite garden. The specific friends with you were Bakugo, Sero, Mina, Kaminari, Jiro, Midorya, Uraraka, and Tsu. Everyone of them knew what was coming, everyone besides you.

“Oh- okay!”

You giggled as he stepped behind you, placing his hands on your hips.

“So, before we take the picture, what're our three rules?”

He asks, almost a little breathlessly. The question Catches you off guard, but you answer without hesitation.

“Feed me, care for Me, and never leave me.”

You answered with a smile, remembering The day you guys set said rules. You loved those rules, and they managed to keep your guys’ relationship strong all these years.

“Right, so what if I never broke any of those rules, specifically the last one?”

He asked, taking his hands off your hips and began to kneel down. You almost asked what this was about before turning around and seeing him holding the most gorgeous black and red velvet box, a diamond ring perfectly placed in the middle. You couldn't stop the immediate gasp That left your mouth or the tears that began to flow.

“(Y/N) (L/N), you're my everything. You were my first kiss and first love. You were there with me at my highest of highs, and lowest of lows. We've made it through thick and thin, sickness and health. Your laugh makes me smile, your touch ignites me, your smile gives me butterflies, and no matter how many times we kiss, I'll never get used to the feeling. Will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?”

He asks, his own tears threatening to fall. Your hand fell from your lips as you opened your mouth to speak. Your throat felt like it was

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes, a million times yes!”

You cried as you crouched down to hug him, sniffles leaving you followed by some laughs shared between you two. Your friends clapped and cheered around you. He couldn't dare believe any man would be as happy as he is now.

Everyone was happy, and most of them were crying, even Bakugo was crying but you wouldn't catch him dead admitting he cried during the proposal.

Midorya turned to face Bakugo after hearing a sniffle or two, and was shocked to see a single tear falling down his cheek.

“K- Kacchan, are you crying?”

“Hell no, I'm not. Fuck off, you Shitty nerd.”

“And Imma get your heart racing in my skin tight jeans. Be your teenage dream tonight. Let you put your hands on me, in my skin tight jeans. Be your teenage dream tonight.”

♡

“Like my new jeans?”

Your fiancé asked, strutting out of the bathroom to show you his new jeans. You looked up from the book you were reading and couldn't help but let out a loud, ugly laugh at what you were seeing.

“Eijiro! What in the world are you wearing?”

You cackled as he did a 360 and strutted towards you, hands on hips, lips pursed and sassily swaying his hips side to side as he walked towards you.

“Fashion, obviously.”

He informed, with a sarcastic scoff. You could tell he was trying not to laugh as he did his little fashion show.

“Well, I must say, they show-off your butt really nicely.”

You chuckled, standing up to wrap your arms around his neck. you two shared a small laugh before connecting your soft lips. You reach down and slap his butt, laughing against his lips.

“What're you thinking about, Love?”

Your husband asked, noticing how quiet You had gotten.

“Us.”

You answered softly, resting your head against his. As the end of the song began to play, you took your head off his chest and looked up to see his smiling face.

“Oh, ‘Cause you make me feel like I'm living a teenage dream.”

You both sang, swaying to beat of the song. This song hit you closer to home than you'd ever realized, but you wouldn't be complaining about it one bit.

“The way you turn me on, I can't sleep.”

You guys sang as he spun you, wonderful white dress flaring out around you, showing off each intricate design

He brought you back to his chest to sway once more for the final lyrics. You placed your foreheads together as you softly sang the song together.

“Let's run away and don't ever look back, ever look back.”

“My heart stops, when you look at me. Just one touch, now baby I believe, this is real, so take a chance and don't ever look back, ever look back.”

After the song finished, and the next began to play, you looked Into his red glassy eyes, flashing a toothy grin he closed his eyes and pressed his lips into yours.

With every sound Around the both of you tuned out, you could focus on his beating heart. Things had turned out okay, and if you could, you'd choose to stay in this moment For the rest of your life.

—

“They're disgusting.”

Katsuki grumbled, wearing his burgundy red suit as he stood off to the side with their old friend group. He was desperately trying not to cry as he watched his best friend since their first year at U.A. kiss his wife, and girl he'd been crushing on since day one.

“Oh, give them a break.”

Mina scoffed from beside him, pushing him lightly, looking back to the newly-Wed couple. She refrained from pointing out the small sniffles coming from the explosive man beside her.

"Yeah, c'mon, don't be salty because you don't have that yet.”

Sero chuckled, backing up their pink friend. Next to him, Kaminari and Jiro were hand in hand, smiling softly at the dancing couple, simply drowning out the conversation beside them, and the angry grumbles from Bakugo.

“I'm going to give you that one day. Your dream wedding. Just you wait.”

Kaminari softly said to his girlfriend, who was looking up to him with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes.

“I'mma' hold you to that.”

Jiro chuckled, leaning into his side as she held onto the blonde’s arm. Not only had life turned out to what You and Eijiro dreamed for, but everyone was getting to what they dreamed of too, even if it wasn't now.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

A/N: Stop, I'm actually so proud of this, and it's so stupid cute! If any of you want this same thing, but with a different character, I'd be more than happy to write something! Each person would get their own memories and proposal ;)

#mha x reader #mha #reader insert #fem reader #kirishima eijirou #mha kirishima #bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha kirishima #kirishima x reader #kirishima x you #bnha #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha x fem!reader #boku no hero academia #kirishima x fem!reader

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