#both loving each other and only wanting the other to know

[khioneee]

tap out.

simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.

based on this.

simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.

in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.

but simon is an orphan now.

there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.

over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.

the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.

he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.

maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.

no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.

still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.

then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.

it’s you.

you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.

you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.

—you. you. you.

and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.

he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.

you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.

he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.

and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.

with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.

then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.

in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.

his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.

‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.

his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.

you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’

and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.

. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.

[emmyrosee]

shhhhHHHHHUTUPIDONTWANTTOTALKABOUTIT

-

The first time you sleep over Katsuki’s, it’s not long after he’s moved into his apartment with the rest of his friends.

Which is bold, the only one who doesn’t flirt with you any chance they get is Mina -mainly because she has her own place- but she’s always telling Katsuki that the minute you get bored with him, she’s there to swoop in.

But his friends waste no time in making sure to rile Katsuki up with cheesy pickup lines that mean nothing to you, but everything to him. He hates the idea of having his friends hit on you, but you’d be lying if riling him up wasn’t exhilarating.

You smile as you hear bare feet pad along the tiling of the kitchen, a massive presence looming behind you; it’s warm, loving, and you feel yourself relaxing at the closeness.

“Morning,” he rasps, arms wrapping around your waist. You smile and curl against him, tipping your head back to look at him.

“You hungry?”

“You didn’t have to make us breakfast,” he murmurs, pressing a loving kiss to the curve of your neck.

You mewl and bend your arm to wrap around him, “I know, I just wanted to do something nice for my man and his friends for being such good company last night.”

He grumbles, “don’t ever refer to my roommates as ‘good.’ Bunch of fucking menaces and creeps.”

“They can’t be too bad,” you hum, turning off the stove. God knows how long you’ll both be drooling with affection. “After all, you let me meet them,” you coo. “And you’d never let your little baby be put in danger.”

“Fucking hate when you call yourself that,” he snaps, spidering his fingers up your side. You squeal and shrink to the side, only to be met with pokes on the other. “Katsuki!”

“Don’t be a little shit and I won’t have to torment you,” he snickers. You’re quick to flick off the stove with what little movement your arms can give you while protecting you from tickles, and you duck as fast as you can under his caging limbs to escape.

He must like the challenge, because he lets you go, only to barrel after you into the living room. A small coffee table separates you both, and you’re at a standstill as you watch each other.

“Katsuki!” You giggle, making a sudden dart to try and throw him off your trail. It doesn’t deter him, like he’s able to predict what you’re going to do before you do. “Y-You’re gonna wake everyone up!”

“I’m not gonna do a fuckin’ thing,” he snorts. “You’re the one screaming and whining.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

“Are not-“

“I think it’s bold of you to argue with me instead of sprinting away.” He shrugs, making a dash for you and wasting no time in grabbing you into his big arms. You writhe and laugh in his grip, desperate to not shriek and wake his poor roommates. Giggles bubble wildly over your lips, and he hauls you back into the kitchen before plopping you onto the countertop, distant from the stove. You instinctively move your hands to card his blonde hair, and he leans in to steal the last of your giggles from your lips.

“How much time we got before breakfast burns?” He mumbles, hands smoothing up your thighs. Crimson eyes glimmer with mischief, and he bumps your nose with his.

You chuckle and shake your head, legs wrapping around his thick waist, “it was burning before you came in; I turned off the stove so it wouldn’t burst into flames.”

He snorts, “good.” One of the hands resting on the meat of your thighs comes up to grip your chin, “now I don’t have to rush.”

“Ew,” you giggle, but it dies as quickly as you said it when he connects your kiss, working his lips against yours in this own way, full of passion and love with just enough tease to have you whimper.

The hand on your cheek shifts down to rest on your delicate throat, dangling like a necklace. A subtle act of dominance to make you shiver.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips.

“I love you more-“

“Ewwwww!!!”

“Who knew he had a weakness?”

“Lookin’ good, Dynamight!”

Immediately, Katsuki’s shoulders hike up as the shrill voices from his friends ring through the air. You let out a string of laughter while the other boys you were visiting peer around the wall of the apartment, Sero with a face of disgust, Kirishima with a playful understanding and Kaminari with a cheesy bite of his lip.

“I’m going to KILL YOU IDIOTS!” He barks, abandoning you to dash over to the trio, mainly targeting Kaminari and Sero, who sprint away as fast as they can. Kirishima chuckles and makes his way over to you, helping you off the counter with a sigh.

“How’s he ever going to keep being Number One if you keep doing this to him?”

You snort and elbow his ribs while somewhere in the house, Katsuki caught Denki, and the screams ring loudly in the walls.

“Shut up and help me remake breakfast, dickhead.”

[lizardho]

I was like 11-12 years old when I figured out at a boring-ass church activity that you could put rocks into little plastic spoons and then pelt people who annoyed me with them. I did this for the rest of the activity, and at Sunday dinner the next night was bragging about my victory (cornering the mean kid who picked on my youngest brother and pelting him with rocks). One of my cousins was like “no way, that sounds SO fun! Let’s do that RIGHT NOW!” So we grabbed spoons and went and got pebbles from the back yard and launched them at each other.

The problem was my grandma sold her soul for the world’s most resilient plastic spoons so we could launch those fuckers HARD. I gave out welts like candy on Halloween, and I got them back in kind.

So we resorted to taking cover and giggling until we got whacked, then yelping, then returning fire.

My cousin hid in my grandpa’s little fishing boat. It was a good boat, but simple and honestly underused. We didn’t know the little windows on it, meant to keep the wind out of my grandpa’s face while he drove, were cracking. However, they were definitely cracking. Eventually it became obvious and we realized we had been being dumb.

This was NOT the first time in my life I’d been dumb roughhousing and broken something, and I had developed a reputation in my family as being “suicidally honest” so I was the one to deliver the bad news. My grandpa let out a pretty good chuckle and said it was OK, tousled my hair, and asked my grandma to bring me cake. I am not kidding. I learned later he hated his boat and only bought it for his kids’ sakes, since he thought everyone needed to know how to fish. At the time though I was just bewildered and pleased at my good fortune. FINALLY, at long last, being honest and telling the truth about breaking something expensive was getting me cake. I knew if I kept trying it would eventually serve me, and now so had CAKE. I was pleased as could be.

My dad, on the other hand, was livid. He LOVED that boat. He spent several weeks each summer recovering from breaking ribs in that boat every year for about 7 years prior to this incident. He had great memories and memories that boat. So he told my Grandma NO cake for me AND that I’d be coming by this weekend to fix stuff around the house and pay for the broken window with my babysitting/lawn mowing money.

Obviously I was devastated, but that felt more in-line with the way things normally went when I broke something expensive so I just figured it was OK. My grandpa gave my grandma a look and sadly said “Ok, have her here on Saturday to help me with some yard work.”

That Saturday my dad woke me up at 6:00 sharp and drove me, sleepy and bewildered, to my grandpa’s house. He was mumbling under his breath the whole time but he thought he was teaching me consequences for my actions so he was ultimately OK with it.

We get to my grandpa’s house at 6:15. My grandpa is outside with a ladder hanging Christmas lights. The lawn is freshly mowed, the trees and garden are weeded and well-tended to, the carnations in the front yard look immaculate, and my grandpa has this giddy mischievous look on his face. He tells me he was so excited that I was coming over that he couldn’t sleep, so he did all the yard work himself. He asked me to help him put up Christmas lights and decorate the Christmas tree, which I did, then said that because I was such a good helper I could have some pancakes for breakfast. I was sent home with the slice of cake I had been denied the week before, wrapped to keep it as fresh as possible.

The whole way home my dad looked a little miffed, but told me that he was glad I had been honest and was proud of me for helping grandpa. I know he wanted me to Learn a Lesson™️the cowboy way, like he had as a kid, but didn’t have much room to complain since I’d still been Put To Work.

I think that was a lesson for both of us, although I’m not totally sure what it was supposed to show me. I think it was my grandpa’s way of showing my dad that discipline without tenderness doesn’t count as much. He died last year and I miss him terribly, as does my dad. I hope that my story of victory, drama, punishment, and ultimately a secret second victory is meaningful to someone else out there, but if not it still means a lot to me ❤️

[ellecdc]

The Bolter

Sirius Black x fem!reader who meet again [5.5k words]

prompt: poly!wolfstar or just Sirius x reader in which they were friends with benefits but it was obvious they loved each other even though they acted like they weren’t. Then, reader finds out shes pregnant and before telling them, they do something stupid. so reader runs away for a few months. When she comes back (only bc she had to for some reason) shes like 6-7 months pregnant

CW: secret pregnancy, angst, FWB to strangers to lovers, second chance fic, post war trauma, both Sirius and reader are meeesssssssssssyyyyy in this! I don't approve of what they've done but I understand it

“So…she’s coming back?” Sirius asked cautiously, focusing more on the condensation pooling on the coaster underneath his pint than the concerned gazes of his two best friends. 

“Well, I don’t know if she’s coming back, but she’ll be here for Harry’s birthday.” James mollified, sharing a nervous look with Remus.

“Right.” Sirius murmured around a swallow; throat tight and dry though neither the pint nor the pitcher of water in front of him looked as though they’d be able to help him with the matter. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Remus queried, and Sirius offered him the most arrogant scoff he could muster; he missed by a long shot.

“Of course I’m going to be alright.” He huffed. “Why? Can’t two friends see each other after five and a half months of silence?” 

“Sirius-” James started, but Sirius carried on. 

“She’s the only one who’s been silent, you know?” Though he knew that they did indeed both know. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried reaching out.” 

“Pads.” Remus offered consolingly, looking frustratingly like he was going to reach a hand out to Sirius as if he were some over tired toddler on the brink of a meltdown.

“Stop, no I- I’m fine, honest.” He insisted as he took a steadying breath. “I- you… talked to her, then?”

James and Remus shared another look before James allowed the segue. 

“Mostly by owl, but she has spoken on the phone with Lily a few times.” 

Sirius nodded as he considered this; considered the number of owls Sirius had sent that had gone unanswered - perhaps even unopened if the silence meant anything at all.

“She’s…okay?” 

Remus let out a sigh as he shot Sirius a tight smile that looked more like a grimace. “She’s…vague.”

“She doesn’t share a whole lot.” James agreed. “Says she’s fine, things are good. Mostly asks about…all of us, Harry.” 

“She’s still staying with that great aunt,” Remus added, “helping her with the property.” 

“She seeing anyone?” There was no point in pretending that wasn’t the most pressing matter in Sirius’ mind; of course it was. And as angry and bitter as the idea made Sirius, it would have been his own fault, his own doing. He had no one to blame but himself. 

And he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing he was the one who let you slip away - pushed you away - right into the arms of someone else. 

“Not that she’s mentioned.” Remus responded honestly; he couldn’t say for sure that you weren’t, but if you were, you clearly hadn’t said anything about it. 

“Right.” Sirius offered shortly. 

“Pads, I…we would understand if it's too hard for you to see her. If you can’t come-”

“Don’t be daft.” Sirius scoffed deploringly. “I’m not going to miss my godson’s birthday. If anyone should be missing it, it should be her; I’ve been here for the past four and a half months, she’s the one who fucked off for good.”

“Sirius-”

“I don’t understand why you had to invite her!” Sirius shouted then, startling even himself when he realised how breathless he sounded all of a sudden. 

James smiled at him sadly; Sirius wished he’d stop doing that. “We wanted all of Harry’s uncles and his aunt to be there, Sirius…it’s important, yeah? We…we almost didn’t get this chance.”

Sirius could feel a wicked migraine coming on; between talking about you, the close calls and the fact that the group of you were all alive following the war by nothing but chance, and the fact that the person Sirius was most angry with was himself, he downed the rest of his pint and flagged the server in favour of having to look at the pitiful gazes being shot at him by Remus and James.

Sirius couldn’t tell if he was eager for Harry’s second birthday or dreading it. But like it or not, Sirius was going to be seeing you again. 

It had felt like a good idea at the time.

It felt beyond foolish now, but it had felt like a good idea at the time. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

“Sirius, we just won. We just won, why do you have to leave now?” You practically begged as you followed Sirius through his flat. 

“Because if I don’t get out now, I’m going to be stuck here for eternity.” He all but spat at you as he shoved articles of clothing into his duffle rather haphazardly. You felt like grabbing the bag from him and folding them properly if the act wouldn’t leave you feeling like you were aiding and abetting his abandoning you.

“But what about James? And Remus? What about Harry? You fought this war for them, and they for you - we just got them back!”

“And they’ll be here when I’m ready to come home!” Sirius shouted; turning to look at you with wild, red rimmed eyes. 

“What about me?” You asked quietly, hating how small you sounded.

“What about you?” He asked; face falling painfully neutral. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was occluding. 

“I…I don’t know.” You started awkwardly, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought…maybe we’d have a chance now. To try?.”

“Y/N.” Sirius sighed as he rubbed harshly at his eyes; entire being oozed exhaustion at having to have this conversation with you. “Have I not been entirely clear about what this was between us?” 

“Right.” You agreed quickly, biting roughly on your lip and looking anywhere but at him as he let his hand fall away from his face. 

“It’s…it’s not you, doll-” but even your humourless scoff didn’t derail him “I’m not the kind to settle down and be content I- I wouldn’t be enough for you.”

“I’m not asking you for any more than what we have, Sirius-”

“Yes you are.”

“-I just want you to stay.”

“That’s too much for me.” He stated; his voice never raised though he may as well have screamed it at you. “I cannot sit here and play house, I cannot be that guy for you.”

“Cannot or will not?” You asked quietly, regretting the question the second it came out of your mouth and he looked at you with nothing but pity in his eyes. 

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry I asked.” You let out with a chuckle as you harshly wiped tears from under your eyes. 

“It’s…it’s not forever, yeah? I just…I can’t see myself being happy here…not right now, at least; not for a while.” 

“Where will you go?” Your voice grated painfully as it came out, but you tried to keep an air of nonchalance about you. You wouldn’t look at him, but you could see his shoulders shrug helplessly. 

“I don’t know…everywhere. Anywhere.”

Anywhere was better than stuck here with you, apparently. 

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is.” You offered, and you found that you meant it. As much as it hurt to say, you really, really meant it. Sirius had been fighting and running his entire life, and he finally won. If he wanted to celebrate his victory by taking off to be that rich, vague uncle who popped by with lavish gifts every so often, who were you to deny him? 

You loved him.

You were in love with him.

You loved him enough to let him go. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

He had sent James a postcard a few weeks later. Turns out he started in the South of France; his family had a home there that had been left untouched by the war, and Sirius was going to start by figuring out what to do with the property. 

And you? Well, you found out you were pregnant. 

You suppose it was a small mercy that Sirius wasn’t here to know; you’re sure it would have hurt more hearing him tell you he was leaving if there were two of you he couldn’t find it in him to love. You would have hated it even more if he felt trapped into staying with you just for this.

But all this meant was that you couldn’t stay, either. 

You supposed that was alright, though; the life you wanted to build here was with Sirius. You loved your friends, but you had a little one to think about now, too. 

You made up a story about a great aunt needing help tending to her property and wishing to be closer to your relatives now that you could be, now that it was safe. No one questioned it, likely because Remus had done the same following the war; moving back home to help his dad and ailing mother tend the property in whatever ways he could. 

You found yourself a little cottage, you wrote to the boys and had the occasional phone call with Lily, and you grew.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. 

But now you were almost six months pregnant and returning home for the first time since you moved to celebrate your nephew’s birthday with all of your closest friends, the love of your life whose child you were carrying, and none of them knew. 

You wondered if you should even go, but the thought of missing out on sweet Harry’s second birthday that the lot of you almost never got the chance to see made your throat constrict with tears you refused to shed since the war. 

You wondered if you should tell everyone before you arrived, but the thought of them all discussing you and your pregnancy without you being there left you feeling small and ashamed. 

You wondered if you should tell Sirius, but you looked over at the stack of unopened letters he had sent to you in the past four months - the first thin, perhaps a postcard, the second and third were thicker, the fourth was by far the thickest (like he had drafted an autobiography that he wanted you to proofread for him), the fifth was similar to the second, whilst the sixth (the last) couldn’t be more than one page - and wondered how the hell you’d even start that conversation after all this time.

Hey, remember me? Yeah, the bird who caught feelings during our friends with benefits situation that we both agreed would remain platonic amidst a battle for survival and then begged you to stay with no success? Well, whilst you’ve been off probably shagging every beautiful woman across the British Isles, I’ve been pregnant. Right, with your child. How was France, by the way? 

You swallowed around your gag reflex and groaned at your image in the mirror. You put on a pair of gingham pants with the baggiest band-tee you could find, planned on sucking in the best you could if anyone (when everyone) insisted on a hug and hoped to every deity that they all just assumed you’d been eating really well since the end of the war. 

You smoothed the fabric over your bump one last time before you left - looking at the proof that, if nothing else, you were protecting more than just yourself, and you let that be enough - before you grabbed Harry’s birthday present and called for Potter Manor, throwing a fistfull of floo powder into your fireplace and travelling by way of the flames. 

You could hear Harry squealing in delight in one of the adjacent rooms as you stepped into the floo reception room at Potter Manor; a smile taking over your face uninhibitedly at the sounds of the people you loved more than life itself, happy and celebrating.

How could you have gone so long without this? 

“Y/N!” Lily shrieked as she made for you, and you sucked in before returning her hug. “Merlin, you're glowing! Where’s your aunt's place again?” 

“Erm. Killarney.” You offered; not entirely untrue - you did have an aunt in Killarney. 

“Well,” she let out with a breath, eyes turning a touch glassy as they darted across your face, “it seems that Irish air’s been for you.” 

You smiled back at your friend before pulling her back in for another hug. “I’ve missed you, Lils.”

“Don’t let it go so long next time, yeah? We can come to you, too; I’m teaching James how to be a muggle, and Harry’s only had the odd burst of accidental magic yet. We could play the part in front of your aunt.” 

“I’d love that, Lily.” You responded earnestly. 

“Y/N!” James hollered then before you were being bodily tackled by the former quidditch chaser, a brief flash of anxiety at his hold around your stomach abating only when he relinquished his hold on you. “Where in the sodding hell have you been!?”

“Killarney.” Lily answered for you. 

“I love Killarney!” 

“Have you ever been to Killarney, Prongs?” Remus asked then, appearing in the door as he leaned against the archway. 

“No! But I love it there! I just know it!” 

“Hey Moony.” You greeted, quickly accepting his open arms and breathing him in.

“We’ve missed you.” He murmured into your hair, and you couldn’t help the traitorous hitch in your heart that he might’ve meant-

“Uncle Pafoo!” Harry squealed, suddenly standing right underneath you. 

“That’s right, Haz!” The voice that haunts your dreams called out. “Auntie is here!”

“Hullo, Harry!” You cheered as you picked him up, sucking in before settling on your hip. “Happy birthday, little dude.” 

“Am two!” He announced as he held up four fingers. 

“You are two! Way to go!” You laughed. “Is everyone here?” You asked the room, shooting Sirius a tight smile so you couldn’t be accused of hostility when your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason. 

He looked tired - a bone deep tired that no amount of sleep could rectify - and the bags under his eyes seemed to be chronic. But he was still so beautiful; his hair had grown slightly longer since the last time you’d seen it, the last time you’d run your fingers through it, the last time you’d brought sheers to it, and he donned more than a few new tattoos if the few you could see were enough to go by. 

You had to look away.

“Reg’s going to be by after work; his part-time student called in sick so he needed to be there to close the shop himself. Thankfully, they’re only open in the morning on Sunday’s.” Remus explained kindly.

“Good, it’ll be nice to see him.” You offered, and the room fell slightly awkward.

“Uncle Pafoo, aeroplane?” Harry asked then, and whatever exhaustion seemed to be plaguing Sirius vanished as he beamed at his godson. 

“Absolutely, little man!” He agreed, holding his arms out and taking Harry’s weight from you.

“Do you want something to drink, Y/N? Wine? Beer, Cider? Juice? Water?” James rapid fire, causing Lily to groan. 

“We just got her back, Potter. Do try to control yourself.” 

“Water would be great, Jamie. Thank you.” You laughed, following the group into the open concept kitchen-to-living room. 

Save the fact that you and Sirius seemed to be doing acrobatics to avoid each other, you were almost stunned at how easy and natural being back here felt. Regulus returned and the two of you shared friendly jibes, Lily caught you up on all of the drama at the Ministry, James strong armed you into agreeing to join them for their next pub quiz night, and Remus said that your old professors all wished you well. 

You loved your cottage - the home you’d built for yourself and your little one - but you found yourself feeling homesick for here, and you hadn’t even left yet.

You were leaning on your elbows against the kitchen island, watching Sirius and Regulus pretend to be knights in shining armour as they fought off a fire breathing dragon (Harry) to save the princess (James) when Remus appeared beside you and mirrored your stance. 

“It’s not the same without you, you know?” He murmured then. 

“But they seem to be alright.” You responded simply, and Remus allowed the two of you to fall into silence for a few beats.

“How far along are you?” 

You stood up straight and turned to stare at him in horror, only to see him smiling kindly at you. 

“How do you-”

“Lycanthropy - I could smell it on you.” He said with an embarrassed wrinkle of his nose. “I knew Lily was pregnant before she did.”

You shushed him and looked over your shoulder to ensure no one else could hear you.

“Come.” He said with a sigh, gently taking you by the elbow and ushering you out of the sliding doors to the back yard and closing it behind the two of you. 

“Remus-”

“Is it his?” He cut you off; his face held no judgement though perhaps just a touch of concern. For you or his best friend/virtual brother-in-law, you weren’t sure.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to clarify who he was talking about; you both knew. 

Remus simply nodded as he looked you over. “Is that why you left?”

“He left first.” You hissed petulantly.

“He left you, but you left all of us.” Remus countered somewhat sternly. “Besides, I didn’t ask about him; is this why you left?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because, Remus!” You shouted, tears flooding your vision as you turned to look at him. “Because he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to force him to come back just because… just because.” 

“Don’t you think he should have been able to make that choice for himself?” Remus asked gently.

“He chose! He did choose! He told me he couldn’t play house, he told me he couldn’t be this person for me. I loved him enough to accept that. I loved him enough to let him go.”

“Loved?” Remus asked with a tilt of his head. “Past tense?” 

“Remus.” You groaned. “Please.”

“He came back for you, you know.” Remus pointed out. “He left you, you left us, but he came back for you.” 

“Stop it.”

“It’s true, Y/N.”

“And so what if it is?” You nearly sobbed. “So what if he did, Remus? What can I do? I can’t go back in time and change my mind, I can’t go back and fix this. He made choices, I made choices, and here we are.” 

Remus heaved a sigh and looked at you sadly. “I don't think either of you realise that your choices don’t have to remain permanent; there can be an expiration date on them.” 

You were catching your breath from your mini temper tantrum when you heard the glass door slide open, both you and Remus turning to see Sirius standing there almost shy - far shier than you’d ever seen him before.  

“Just talk to him? Okay? You..don’t have to tell him now, just…talk to him.” Remus whispered before heading towards the door, clapping Sirius on the back before disappearing back into the house. 

“Hey.” Sirius offered cautiously after a few beats of silence, coming to stand beside you as the two of you looked over the railing of the patio to the rest of the manor grounds. 

“Hey.” You returned dumbly, clearing your throat before continuing. “You…you look good, Sirius.”

Sirius scoffed, and you could feel your shoulder rising before you saw him smirk at you - if not somewhat sadly - cutting you a playful glare from the corner of his eye. “Did you take up lying there in Ireland?” 

You let out a breathy half-laugh. “I’m not lying.” 

“Then you need glasses. I look like shite.”

“You look tired.” You amended. 

“I’m exhausted.” He agreed, and the two of you lapsed into silence. 

“You look good, though.” He continued. “Healthy.”

You hummed in agreement. “Funny what not having to run on rations and broken hours of sleep on military cots does for a person.”

“Why haven’t I heard from you, Y/N?” He blurted then, turning his entire body to face you. 

“Sirius, I-”

“Everyone else has. You’ve spoken to Lily on the phone. James and Remus have gotten letters. Even Reg got a postcard for his birthday.” 

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage to say.

“I wrote to you.” He continued. “Letters, a lot. Did you get them?”

You nodded your head yes shamefully.

“Did you read them?”

You felt your heart splinter at how hopeful and heartbroken he sounded over it. You felt like scum of the earth when you shook your head no, and he let out a sigh.

“I guess that makes me feel a little bit better, then.” He said as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. 

You found yourself taking a step away from him when you asked “why does that make you feel better?”

He let out a humourless laugh that forced smoke from his lips. “At least now I know that my begging for a second chance, begging you to come home, professing my love for you isn’t what kept you away.”

“Sirius-”

“I messed up, Y/N.” He declared earnestly. “I…I was fucking scared, terrified. I’d spent so much of my life living with one foot on the threshold of hell that after the war, I didn’t know how to live amongst the undead.”

He took a moment to catch his breath as if he’d run all the way here just to tell you something. “And I ran. I bolted, I…”

“You left.” You finished for him. 

“I left.” He agreed. “I… I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“Didn’t know what?” You asked as you choked back tears.

“Didn’t know what I had, or what I wanted. Or that I had everything that I wanted.”

“And you do, now? You know what you want?” You asked, and a look of determination painted his features as he met your gaze head on.

“For my entire life, I had never known what family meant, so I wasn’t even aware that I’d created my own with all of you until I’d risked it all. I was so sure I didn’t want to be like my parents that I never realised I may actually…want to be a parent someday. I was so sure I didn’t want to be my father that I never realised I actually did want to be a partner someday. I was so certain I’d never know what true love felt like that I didn’t even realise I had it right here all along with you.” 

“Sirius-”

“I messed up. I left. But what I don’t understand is why you did. Or why you stayed away.” He took a step towards you with his cigarette long forgotten in one of his hands, the ash threatening to burn his fingers before you plucked it and stubbed it out on the stone railing. He barely flinched. “Why’d you go?”

“I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you, Sirius. I- it hurt, I was hurt. And then-”

“I’m sorry.” He offered quickly, but you shook your head.

“I’m not telling you this for you to be sorry, I just-”

“I came back for you.”

“But it wasn’t just about me anymore, Sirius!” You shouted then, and you watched his brows furrow before his face fell in horror. 

“You’re seeing someone.” He asked, though he phrased it as more of a statement; like he’d been expecting it.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Sirius.” You sighed.

“Then why’d you leave? Why’d you stay away?”

“Because I’m pregnant.” You blurted, and Sirius fell silent. “I’m almost six months pregnant.”

“Six-” He started, eyes falling to your stomach still hidden behind the baggy article of clothing before you smoothed the fabric over your ever rounding bump. “Six months. Six…”

You let him do the maths in the head as he stared hard at your stomach like he was sitting in divination and it was a crystal ball that might just give him the answers if only he stared at it long enough.

“It’s mine?” He finally concluded.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“It’s mine. You’re pregnant, it’s mine.” He murmured, before his eyes met yours again. “You’re pregnant with my child?”

“Right.” You agreed, and he crumpled to a heap on the floor. 

“Sirius Orion Black,” Sirius heard Remus hiss, clearly hovering somewhere over him, “I swear to Godric if you do not wake up and eat some of this godsdamned vanilla cake you bought, your brother is going to skin you alive.” 

“It’s true.” James agreed from somewhere on Sirius’ other side. “He actually ran to the store when he found out you bought vanilla because he knew Remus wouldn’t eat any of it. Remus is going to get his chocolate cake, and you’re going to get egged.” 

“Shut up.” Sirius hissed as he scrunched his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

“How do you feel, mate?” James asked rather jovially as he clapped him roughy on the shoulder.

“Like hell.”

“Why’s that?” Remus joined in.

“Because I was in the middle of a dream and you sods woke me up going on about cake.” He muttered as he opened his eyes, realising then that he’d been propped up on a number of cushions in one of Lily and James’ spare rooms.

“S’he awake?” Lily whispered, and Sirius craned his neck to see you and Lily poke your heads into the room.

“Oh my gods.” Sirius breathed as he sat up, likely far too fast for someone who fell unconscious mere moments ago. “Oh my gods, you’re actually here?” 

“Did you hit your head, mate?” James asked as he prodded at Sirius’ head, causing Sirius to swat his arms away as he shifted towards the edge of the bed.

“You’re here.” He whispered as you slowly made your way into the room.

“I’m here.” You offered cautiously, eyes darting around at your oldest friends like there might be some secret threat lurking in the room.

“You’re pregnant…” He tried then, punching the air right out of Lily and James who both spun to stare at you in shock.

You smoothed the fabric of your shirt over your midsection again to expose a very obvious (now that everyone could actually see it) baby bump. 

“Oh my gods!” Lily and James chorused, causing Remus to snort.

“You knew, didn’t you!?” Lily accused Remus who held his hands up in surrender. 

“Only when she walked in, and not a second sooner.” 

“With my child.” Sirius continued, and you nodded at him. 

“Y/N.” Lily winced. “You-”

“You sodding scared me!” You shrilled then, grabbing one of the throw pillows James had dumped onto the ground to make room for Sirius and swinging it at him.

“I scared you!?” Sirius shrieked right back, much to the delight of Harry who started banging on the throw pillow that had landed beside him. 

“I thought I killed you!”

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry that finding out the woman I’ve been in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months - who was missing for all intents and purposes, may I remind you - is pregnant with my child happened to be a little shocking.” Sirius sneered sarcastically. 

“Well I only went ‘missing’ because the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months took off an-” The abrupt end of your statement nearly gave the room whiplash as you cut yourself off mid sentence and stared at Sirius like you’d never seen him before. 

“What…what just happened?” James whispered carefully.

“Years?” You whispered then, and Sirius hated every version of himself that deigned to let you go without knowing just how loved you were.

“Probably when we were still just cosmic dust.” Sirius smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t always realise, I’m sorry I didn’t make sure that you knew.”

“I take it to guess there isn’t an aunt in Killarney?” Lily offered then, smiling kindly at you when you turned your attention towards her.

“No, I- I think there actually is an aunt in Killarney, I just don’t live with her.”

“Where do you live?” Sirius asked eagerly, wondering if you could hear it in his voice or even see on his face just how desperate he was to know everything about you.

“Near Tintagel.” You offered abashedly as Remus slapped his hand on his thigh.

“You minx!” He scolded you. “You lived basically across the channel from me this whole time!”

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is” You offered him then, smiling through your tears as Sirius swallowed around his bile threatening its way up his oesophagus.

“I hope it’s nice.” Sirius blurted suddenly, and Sirius thanked the heavens for Remus John Lupin who seemed to understand that the conversation delved beyond the need of an audience, scooping Harry up and closing the door behind Lily, James, and himself to give you two some privacy. 

“It’s nice.” You offered wetly. “It’s quiet.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement. “In Tintagel, near Merlin’s cave?”

You laughed, which saw Sirius smiling. “I’m not right in Tintagel, just outside. My neighbours are mostly sheep.” 

“Does it have a picket fence?”

“To keep the sheep out of my garden.” You nodded with a smile.

“Flowers; lots of them.” Sirius deduced, you nodded again though Sirius watched your smile falter.

“You’d probably hate it.”

“Are you there?” He asked quickly.

“Well, usually, yes.” You offered, and Sirius shrugged easily.

“Sounds as though it might be my favourite place in the world, then.” 

The next breath that left you shuddered on its way out, and Sirius finally stood and met you in the middle of the room; close enough to touch but not daring to. He hadn’t earned that right yet. 

“Take me with you?” He all but begged then, and your face crumpled in misery.

“Sirius, I don’t want you to follow me because you have to, I-”

“I don’t have to though, I know I don’t; I know you’d never make me.” He assured you then, lifting a hand but pausing to wait for you to nod at him before he placed it on your upper arm. “The letters, Y/N, I- I’ve been looking for you for months.”

A sob tore through you as you lowered your head, and Sirius allowed himself to catch it in his free hand. 

“I don’t want you to feel bad; I’m not telling you so that you feel bad, love.” The endearment falling off his tongue so easily now that he had you in his arms. “But I need you to know that I want you - any of you, all of you - and have for a very long time.” 

“It’s just…you said-” and Sirius knew exactly what he said; he had played that conversation over and over and over in his mind until he found himself sick over it more than once. But we waited for you to tell him anyhow; he’d always wait for you. “You couldn’t settle down and be content, you couldn’t play house; you weren’t that kind of guy.” 

“I know, doll. I know.” He whispered. “I…I didn’t think I was capable of it. I didn’t think I deserved everything I wanted and I knew that you deserved better. That you deserve better.”

“But?”

“But I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life trying to prove you otherwise; trying to give you everything you deserve.”

“Sirius…” You sighed, and Sirius could see your walls cracking. “I…I’m-”

“Take me home? Please?” He begged then, words interrupted by a sob of his own. “To Tintagel, to Killarney, to bloody fucking Azkaban or the bottom of the sodding ocean, I don’t care where it is just as long as it’s with you, please. Please.”

Your hands landed on Sirius’ chest and he was sure you could feel his hummingbird heart beating under your fingertips. He only hoped you knew how it beat for you. 

“Please bring me home?”

James didn’t know if he could consider this a success or not. 

His motivation was not singular; it was a ‘hit two fairies with one gobstone’ sort of scenario, so to speak. Was his son turning two? Indeed he was! Was James throwing a party for said son’s birthday? You’re damned right he was. But was it also a really good excuse to force two of his idiot best friends into the same room again? Absolutely.

Except James seems to have gotten slightly more than he bargained for; Sirius falling unconscious in his childhood backyard, you sobbing into Lily’s shoulder out in the hallway as he and Remus tried to bring him back from the dead, Remus sneering at a slice of birthday cake like it personally offended him and Regulus threatening to defend his boyfriend’s honour, and - apparently - a new niece or nephew coming in the next three-ish months. 

But when he looked over to see you and Sirius emerging from the spare room - both of your faces tear stained and puffy from the grief and torment you no doubt put yourselves through - hands intertwined between your bodies and your hand resting protectively over your growing bump, and a spark in Sirius’ eyes James had thought he lost in the war but now realised he only lost when he lost you…

…yeah, James figured he could probably consider this a success.

[eupheme]

Not to be the little gremlin obsessed with Chappell Roan BUT… reader thinking Logan is too cool to want a proper relationship with them, so when things get physical they insist things are just “casual” in order to protect themselves from getting hurt. But secretly you’re in love with each other, so honestly, neither of you want things to be casual at all… (mutual pining my beloved) please & thank you!! Love you!

ahh hi hi avo I LOVE this song, and this request, and you - I could so see this being a situation that Logan and reader find themselves in. I had so much fun writing this, I hope you like it! (I added a couple winks to the lyrics as well.) 💖 thank you so much for sending this to me!!!

casual | variant!logan howlett x f!reader

1.2k | posessive!logan, fwb(???), use of alcohol, mutual pining, references to oral sex and PiV.

It doesn’t matter that your heart flips when you look at him. It’s Logan. It’s just casual.

It certainly feels like a dream, watching your worlds collide.

The heft of Logan’s palm fitting into your friends as he shakes their hand - the five of you squeezed into your usual booth in the corner of the bar.

You’d say the past couple weeks had seemed that way, as well. A late-night dose of bravery spiraling into something so raw and intense and real, that you feel like you could choke on it.

Even now, there’s heat in your cheeks as your eyes flick his way. Something stirring in your chest at the way his other arm slings across the back of the booth almost possessively.

But like all dreams, there comes a moment where you have to wake up.

Because you know it’s not.

Because you know your feelings aren’t requited. How could they be, when it’s Logan you’re talking about?

A legend.

A lone wolf.

Someone important, someone whose name carries a weight. Who saved the world, from what Wade tells you.

And you’re - you.

So even if you know what he looks like beneath that flannel, know what his mouth feels like when it presses against yours - what he sounds like, when he comes - you know that this is nothing.

It’s casual. A distraction, for both of you.

And if that’s how it has to be, then you’ll do your best to show him you’re cool with it.

You just hadn’t expected this moment to come so soon. It had been a genuine offer, your “you wanna come with?” when the hour rolled around for your weekly trivia night.

Not thinking his head would cock to the side. The look he’d give you - that arched brow, as his fingers splayed out across your bare hip. Still crowded together on your couch, sweat-dewed.

The “sure, sweetheart” that slipped out.

And now you’re introducing him as your friend - that quick history you’ve perfected - rattling off the “you know, Wade from work’s roommate” even though Wade didn’t work at the dealership anymore.

He had made enough of an impression that none of your friends had forgotten.

And you ignore the bitter jolt in your stomach, when all Logan does is hum.

You think you must have assumed right.

He doesn’t correct you.

Logan quickly solidifies himself as an asset to the team. He gets a lot of the history questions that you’ve always struggled with. A shy quirk of his lips when your friends cheer, and you get swept along with it.

His hand ending up on your thigh along the way. Squeezing, when you chime in. Almost as if forgetting - it’s easy to, when you’re having fun like this.

A low rasp in your ear, when the host takes a break.

“Lemme get you another.”

You can only nod, as he eases out - taking your glass with him.

It only takes a second, before MJ’s hand slaps down on yours.

“That’s Logan?” She hisses - leaning forward, “The one who-”

“Yes.” You cut her off, ignoring the sideways glance her boyfriend gives you.

You never should have told her about that.

Had a hard enough time climbing into your car without thinking about it, yourself - the way he had man-handled you in the passenger seat. Thighs thrown over broad shoulders.

Fingers twined in his hair, as he made you moan in the dark parking garage. Too eager to make it up to your apartment.

She frowns, the words petering out, “But I thought-”

Your teeth worry at your lower lip.

“Yeah. Me too.” You sigh.

MJ knows how much you like him.

Really like him - butterflies, and everything. How it’s been years since you felt this way - slipping from you during that rushed phone call at 6 am the morning after your first night together.

Her eyebrows raise, and it’s a look you know well.

“It’s, you know.” Your hand waves, “It’s casual. It’s-”

It’s easier, this way.

Maybe if you keep repeating it, it won’t hurt as much when he moves on.

The look she shoots you is one of pity, just as a drink is set down in front of you.

Your teeth clicking against each other as the words are swallowed. Forcing a smile as Logan slips back in the booth next to you.

The next round starts a moment after, and it’s a welcome reprieve.

You miss the way his eyes narrow, as yours fix firmly on scorecard in front of you.

But you don’t miss the way his hands stay folded on top of the table, for the rest of the night.

You suppose he must have remembered where he was.

“You wanna come up?”

He lingers outside your apartment door, hands jammed into his pockets. That look from the bar is back - all dark, narrowed eyes.

A low sound in his throat, close to a scoff.

“That what you want, sweetheart?”

Your eyebrows raise, “Yeah. I do, I mean-, that’s what we usually do, right?”

He’s spent just about every night at your apartment. His things still scattered across your room. A leather jacket slung across the chair that’s tucked against your vanity.

Logan’s lips twist at the edges, eyes dropping.

“Suppose we do.” Those hands slip from his pocket, crossing over his chest, “Back when I thought we knew what we were doing. But now…”

His head shakes. A tick in his jaw.

Your stomach drops.

“What do you mean?”

Logan huffs, “The bar, baby. Is that how you really feel?”

A step closer, until he’s caging you in. Voice dropping, rough and low - near gritted out.

“Does this,” His fingers flick between your chest and his, “feel casual to you?”

Your heartbeat gallops behind your ribs.

“I thought-,” You manage, “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

He’s too close, now. The dip of his head, those eyes burning in their shades of brown and gold.

“Now, why would you think that?”

You swallow, “Because you’re you, and I’m-”

“You’re?” He prompts, but you go silent.

A sigh, when your head dips.

Unable to say it out loud.

“Driving me crazy all night, you know that?” He rasps, “Giving me those looks. Calling me your friend, when we both know your mouth was around my cock this morning.”

A low rumble in his throat, “When I still taste like you.”

Your breath hitches, as his hand thumbs at your jaw, tilting it up.

“Lemme ask you again.” His mouth is close enough now to ghost against yours, “Is that how you really feel?”

Your head shakes.

“Wanna be yours.”

It’s breathed out, just as he kisses you.

His body pressing flush, as your hands twine around his neck. A palm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he deepens it.

Desire thrumming to life inside you, washing out the dregs of insecurity that you’ve been carrying this whole time. Melting them away completely with the hungry sweep of his tongue, the way he swallows your soft moan.

There’s a flash of white when he finally leans back, with the curve of his lips.

“Good.”

His hand closes around the knob. A rough twist, as his another arm wraps around your waist.

Walking you backwards, into the dark.

“The let me show you exactly how I feel.”

thank you so much, again!! 💖

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Gentle Love

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: She may be Lady Death, but to you, she is your sweet love.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of depression, panic attacks, just a lot of hurt/comfort

a/n: surprise! another fic! i know a lot of people have been wanting just rio fics, so here you go! a little hurt/comfort! the goal was to make a mental health fic where it isn't romanticized, so here's hoping i did that! enjoy!!!

Your relationship with Lady Death wasn’t one that had a spontaneous start. She didn’t save you from a painful demise, or help you realize life was worth living.

She had met you on her day off. (Yes, Lady Death gets days off. She’s not the only one working the underworld, you know.) She was wandering through a wooded area when she came across you. You were sitting under a willow tree, humming to yourself as you wove a crown of daisies.

Her heart had practically melted at the sight of you, and she found herself gravitating towards you. Before she knew it, she was introducing herself to you and you were inviting her to join you beneath the willow.

The two of you were pretty much inseparable after that. You spent countless days getting to know every part of each other; mind, body, and soul. Soon enough, you were deeply in love with Rio Vidal: Lady Death. And she could say the same about you.

You both had grown exponentially by being in each other’s presence. But a romantic relationship doesn’t mean the absence of all problems.

Rio struggled deeply with guilt. She hated that she had been bound to this calling, that she had been chosen to wear a face she found hideous and escort living creatures to a world beyond life. It pained her to take children from their mothers, sisters from their brothers, soulmates from their lovers. 

But you were so soft with her. Soft as you kissed her in her Death form, soft as you held her while she shook with guilt and self-hatred, soft as you assured her that she was doing the right thing. That you loved her always.

As for you, mental illness was something you had dealt with from a young age. After all, being a witch who was chased from countless villages and hunted endlessly, all for possessing a magical ability she never asked for…well, it tends to have some lasting negative effects on one’s mental well being.

You were proud to say you knew how to handle it, but you had your weak moments. Moments like now. And you hated them.

As you woke up, you felt a familiar heaviness in your bones. Your heart felt heavy but was racing all the same, your head ached, and your stomach churned with dread and anxiety.

You turned to the other side of the bed, reaching for your comfort, your person, only to find it empty. Your eyes filled with tears as you took a deep breath. 

You wondered if you should call her. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind. You could handle this alone.

“But you don’t have to,” your lover’s words echoed through your mind as you pondered what to do.

You and Rio had created a system for times like this. If ever you were feeling like the walls were closing in, like you couldn’t breathe, like you could barely function. All you had to do was think of a color and a name. Her name.

Yellow meant you were struggling, but could handle it alone if need be. Red meant you needed her.

You rarely tended to use red. You loved Rio, and you knew full well that her presence helped to calm you in times of discomfort and anxiety, but you couldn’t pull yourself out of your need to be independent and not rely on anyone for help. You hated admitting the need for help.

Even now, as you laid in bed, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to breathe, you refused to admit defeat. But you knew you owed it to both her and yourself to say something.

Yellow. Rio. Yellow, you thought as you brought your hands to your face, willing your breathing to calm down.

It was no use. All you could think of was how useless you were, how helpless, worthless, weak.

You choked out a sob as the room seemed to get smaller and smaller.

Until you felt gentle hands on your wrists, tenderly pulling them from your face.

“Hey there, sweet girl. Let’s sit you up, yeah?” Rio said softly.

You followed her instructions, allowing the witch to help you to a sitting position.

You met her eyes, expecting to see disappointment and disgust, but instead being met with nothing but love pooling in her brown eyes. 

Her hands moved from your wrists, gently intertwining her hands with yours. 

“There’s my girl. Let’s try and get that breathing to slow down. Wanna get some more air in those beautiful lungs of yours, yeah?” She cooed, her eyes encouraging.

You nodded, and she took one of your hands, placing it on her stomach as she took exaggerated breaths as an example.

You began to copy her, your eyes not leaving hers, feeling safe as you lost yourself in her.

She squeezed your hands softly. “Look at you go. Breathing all by yourself. I’m so proud of you, mi vida,” she whispered as you found yourself finally able to breathe steadily.

You both sat there for a few more minutes, her allowing you the space to feel whatever you may be feeling as you came back to your senses.

You opened your mouth to speak, struggling to find words to express your needs. As if she had read your mind, Rio let go of your hands to reposition herself against the headboard of the bed and opened her arms to you.

You smiled at her in gratitude, moving to sit in between her legs, laying your back against her front as she held you.

You both sat in silence for a few moments, just soaking in each other’s presence; Rio running her fingers through your hair with one hand and softly caressing your leg with the other.

Eventually, she spoke.

“I’m so proud of you.”

You shrugged against her and she shook her head.

“I’m serious, my love. I’m proud of you for calling for me.”

“Feel weak,” you mumbled as you hung your head.

Rio furrowed her brows, turning you to face her. “Quite the contrary, love. You are the bravest person I know. You can handle these things on your own. I know you can. But you knew it wasn’t what was best for you, so you called for me. And I’m so grateful to be in love with such a strong, beautiful girl who knows how to help herself,” she said, her voice full of adoration that brought tears to your eyes.

“I love you, Rio,” you choked out, your hands finding her cheeks, thumbs brushing against the skin softly.

She placed her hands on your waist, allowing you to initiate the kiss.

You brought her face to yours, kissing her with all the love you had. She kissed you back, softly, always softly, pecking your lips softly as you pulled away.

“I love you most, my precious girl,” she said, laughing as you rolled your eyes at her need to turn everything into a competition.

She kissed the tip of your nose, relishing in the way you wrinkled it at the sensation.

“Alright, I prescribe you a glass of water, some chocolate chip pancakes, and cuddles with your hot girlfriend,” she said as she got up, smirking at you.

She beamed in triumph as you giggled. “Well if that’s what the doctor herself ordered, who am I to disagree?” you teased.

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll be right back, my brave girl. I love you,” she said, her eyes softening again.

“I love you, Rio Vidal,” you said with a smile, and she blew you a kiss before exiting your bedroom.

Yes, she was Lady Death, but to you, Rio Vidal would always be your gentle love.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

burnt toast, sunday / i wanna teach you how forever feels

katsuki bakugou x reader

the morning after a fight with katsuki. for the yail series ❄️

inspired by all of the girls you loved before

bakugou sat up, groaning a bit as his back ached. he looks around, hit with his surroundings. he slept on the couch, in the midst of the living room torn apart from arguing.

he knew you were probably still pissed at him. worst of all, he couldn't even fully recall why you two had been arguing the night before. he only remembered that it was really, really bad, and you had ended up locking him out of the bedroom. just the thought of not sleeping next to you hurt blonde’s chest.

he lets out a sigh as he got up from the couch and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. when he sits up, he sees you walk in.

he cringes slightly, seeing your puffy red eyes. you had been crying all night, probably.

“…hey.” you say, softly.

he grunts in response, his words unable to reach his throat.

its a sunday, a quiet morning to contrast a loud, abrasive saturday night. the two of you resolve to make coffee silently, only speaking when you need a spoon he’s standing next to or when he needs you to move so he can grab the sugar.

the silence felt incredibly awkward. the two of you just stood there, quietly making your own cups of coffee. the only noise in the room was the sound of the coffeemaker brewing. bakugou’s thoughts were a mess. he couldn’t believe the two of you had gotten in such a big fight, and he wasn't even entirely sure why it happened. but he knew he was probably at fault, he was the one with the explosive personality after all.

he curses at himself quietly when he realizes he grabbed two pieces of bread. he does that normally- one for you, and one for him. but right now, you’re pissed at each other. he’s a little worried that making two pieces of toast will be seen as a violent act of aggression.

he moves to grab plates, too absent minded to notice that the toast is now burning. you take it out for him. thats when he noticed you’re still wearing his shirt, even though you’re mad.

he picks up his phone and scrolls, trying to distract himself. thats when he remembers what the fight was about.

whoever it was that got ahold of katsuki bakugou’s dating history was really obsessed or really, really bored, maybe both. for whatever reason, his fans were now talking about all his previous partners, the good and the bad. and, because you’re dating a celebrity, they just have to question your worthiness to be dating the handsome and strong dynamight.

he feels his anger flare up as he doom-scrolls some more. it pisses him off, thinking about how people would so mindlessly say things. it pisses him off more that its getting to you. don’t you know that he loves you?

he has yet to do anything about it, to address his dating life and who he’s with now. truthfully, katsuki doesn’t feel like he should have to. his pr team already works overtime for his asshole-self, anyway.

he’s so distracted by his own thoughts, he fails to notice the way his elbow knocks over your mug, sending it shattering on the floor. maybe its the silence, but you honestly jump a little when it happens.

both you simply stand there at first, blinking. did he do that on purpose? no, he wouldn’t break his own mugs.

maybe he just wanted your attention.

nonetheless, you wave it off with a soft “its okay” before kneeling down and carefully cleaning up the shards. he’s silent as he gets down in front of you, helping you clean the mess he made.

he wants to tell you its okay, and that he’ll take care of it. he wants to tell you that he’s sorry and that he loves you. but this is the closest he’s physically been to you since the argument, and he wants to relish in it for a moment.

“are you still mad at me?”

he almost flinches when he hears your meek voice. why would he be mad at you?

“..what are you talking about, babe?” he sighs, his voice gruff.

he is mad, but not at you. mostly at himself for not seeing how the recent speculations about him had been bothering you.

“i don’t wanna repeat myself. i just… i don’t know. i know you don’t want me to care about what everyone else is saying, but, i do.” you admit, still on the floor in front of him. at this point, you’ve both forgotten about the coffee and the shards.

he can see how upset you are, and it makes his chest tighten. “yeah, well… i don’t want those shitty extras getting to you. even if what they’re saying is the farthest thing from the damn truth.”

he so desperately wants you to know that he loves you. that when he’s with you, he doesn’t think of all the times he woke up to someone else, feeling alone. he doesn’t think of late night arguments that left him feel empty. when he looks into your eyes, he’s reminded of everything he wants to protect.

but you don’t see that as clearly as he does. “i guess i just… wonder if you agree with them. you never say anything to address those rumours, about your exes. and its not your fault, i get you don’t want to get involved, but, still…”

bakugou’s heart twinges as you bring up those accusations. he hates that you wonder such things, that you wonder if he agrees with those rumours or not. he wants to reassure you that you are the one he loves, the only one he loves. but he knows you wouldn't believe him right now, especially since he's been acting so shitty towards you lately.

“damn it, dumbass, i just want you to know that i love you. not any of those other bitches.”

“i don’t like when you call them that, katsuki.” you correct him. he nods, though both of you should be used to his sailor tongue by now.

“they’re people you’ve loved before… and thats okay. sometimes i just wonder if you love me more. i know its stupid.” you sigh.

he finally gets the courage to hold your hand, his calluses gentle against your skin. “..i feel i shouldn’t have to say it, i guess. in my head, you’re the only damn person in the world who matters.”

“maybe i’m just insecure.” you chuckle, self deprecatingly. you’re both tired of the arguing, now. “you’re #1, you’re gorgeous… and i’m me.”

he looks at you like you’re a complete idiot for that.

he hated hearing you say those things about yourself like it was a bad thing, that you were just you.

“just you? you really think it’s a bad thing to be you, dumbass?”

he pulls you in tighter, wanting you to really hear what he says.

“you’re amazing, you're incredible. there’s no one else I want to be with. I don't want anyone else, just you. you’re way too good for me, [y/n], in more ways i can count.”

“…you really mean that?”

he scoffs, a beautiful smile on his face. “yeah, i mean it. i love you.”

you give him that smile he loves, the one that made him fall so deeply in love with you all those years ago. “thats all you had to say, kats.”

your past and his are parallel lines. he isn’t sure how he got so lucky. how, by some cosmic miracle, the starts aligned so he could intertwine with you. you’re all he needs.

he hugs you deep, burying his face into your neck. he loves how you smell, how smooth your skin is. theres bot much proof, but he sees enough in you. he feels enough when he holds you, his entire world in his arms.

“i’m sorry.” he says, quietly for only you to hear. “you’re everything to me. i’m in love with you.”

your heart swells, ignoring the burnt toast and spilled coffee. you’re wearing his shirt, and he’s keeping his word. thats enough to make you melt, hugging him back, arms thrown around his muscular back. “i’m sorry too. i shouldn’t have doubted you. i love you too.”

he pulls back slightly to kiss you, making sure you’re in front of him and that this is real. for once, he let’s go of all of his fears and his ghosts. you’re his best friend, the love of his life and every beautiful thing he loves. he hears it in the silence, on his way home, and in your voice.

“if anything, i think i’m grateful for everyone you’ve loved before.” you chuckle, face close to his. his blonde eyebrows knit in confusion. “what do you mean, babe?”

“because the people you love make who you are, even if you’ve only loved them for a moment.” you say, squeezing his hand. “all those dead-end streets led you to me.”

he pauses, strange look on his face when he realizes you’re right. all that fake love, the teenage heartbreak and pains he’s been through- it’s made him the man you love. all those breakups, those unsaid goodbyes, they’ve led him hear.

he huffs, and then smiles, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i wouldn’t change a damn thing, then.” he says. “it all led me to you, dumbass.”

you stroke his cheek affectionately, pressing a kiss to his temple. his eyes close when you do that, relaxing into your touch. everyone that he knew brought him hear. and now, he gets to know what forever feels like.

“and in the end, it doesn’t matter who loved you before.” you conclude. “cause i love you more.”

he almost laughs at how cliché it is, resigning to press kisses all over your face. “i love you more, i’m not arguing on that.” he says, holding you in his lap. he’s tough, and explosive, and “too good for all that clingy couple bullshit”. at least, thats what he lets the world believe.

you’re his, and he’s yours. he’s so god damn thankful for everyone you’ve loved before. ‘cause now he gets to love you 10x more.

[katiascraft]

"Him" | LN4

Parings: Lando Norris x bestie!reader.

Summary: Oblivious idiots to lovers. That's what Max said.

Word count: +2,7k.

Warnings: nooone just pure fluff and some language hehe. Not a native english speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Author's note: AAAAAAA i loved writting this one 🥹 Dont forget to comment, like or reblog! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

“You only say that because you fancy him, y/n. You can't play with me”Max said out of nowhere while talking about the whole Lando drama and his fourth championship at Danny Ric’s house. Your three have been best friends for quite some time now. Actually, you have been friends with most of the grid for a couple of years now. They were like family to you and recently, you moved countries to live and study in Monaco and be able to spend more time with your friends.

“What have you just said motherfucker?” you acted offended. Nethertheless it took you by surprise that he said such a thing when you have never talked about Lando and your feelings for him with him nor danny. But Max knew you too well to already know the whole story. Of course Danny laughen and you could feel the heat going up your face. You feel exposed so you try to cover up by drinking another sip from your glass of white wine. You thank god it was in the privacy of Danny's house and not some random bar for everyone to hear.

“Oh c’mon y/n, i think it’s pretty too obvious by now” max continued noticing the panic and surprise on your face.

“Yeah, it is obvious and cute to see how you drool, staring at him everytime he talks. And not to mention you eat him alive at races when he is all sweaty -” danny continued the torture but you stopped them both making them laugh.

“Just stop!” you said “you guys are impossible!” your face was red and anxiety took over you for a moment.you sighed defeated. “To be honest with you, yeah, I do like him. But lets be real, im nt even his type at all” you said remembering how he was kissing magui, that model he fucks now and the, kind of a situationship, in front of your fucking face the whole night a few weeks ago. “And even as impossible as it sounds, if there was an actual chance for me with him, we wouldn't work either. I'm complicated. And he doesn't see me like that. He never did. And i'm sure that won't change like ever” you added just convince yourself of everything you said. It was impossible, right? There was no chance in this universe for him to see you like that. You are so far from what he used to date. It's just an innocent crush. You’ll meet someone,right? You saw Max denying with his head.

“y/n, i know you are not the most confident human being i know but be fucking for real, you are not complicated. And everything you said it's nonsense. You are fun to be around, you make him laugh until he pisses himself, you give him his favorite things, you bake him cookies and pies, you listen to him when he is sad, you are like the bestest person next to him. And let me tell you, I have no doubts he is into you as much as you are. It's in your eyes guys. You love each other more fondly than you want to admit” he said leaving you speechless for a moment and with a mess of confusion around your head. You wanted to believe him but at the same time you can’t.

“Mic drop, sir” Danny said and they both laughed. You smiled but rolled your eyes in disbelief.

“I wish” you finally said, making Max roll his eyes.

“Two oblivious idiots, can you believe it danny?” Max said ironically and Danny followed him.

“I see it mate. It's sad. I wanna cry” he said.

“You guys are impossible." You declared to go back to your trivial talk about cats and australia barbecue.

(...)

It was a beautiful saturday. You were thankful Ria said yes to accompany you to buy a new outfit for tonight's party. Martin Garrix was in town and lando invited you all to his friend's show. Coffees in hand, you were chatting about everything and anything.

“So the plan is a sexy outfit just to impress your boy?” she teased and you rolled your eyes.

“Why is everyone so obsessed with the idea that I like lando? As if he would care what I wear or not” you said, a little irritated. You just wanted to conquer someone else tonight to forget about all of this and move one. You knew it was impossible that Lando liked you back so why be stuck in it? You were gonna dress up and doll up and conquer whoever you may please. That was your masterplan.

“Girl, you need to relax. I say it first hand: he cares a lot fucking much. He likes you. I just know.but you two are too dumb to accept it” she said raising her shoulders.

You felt so confused once again. These were Lnados friends who knew him just like you did. First it was Max and Danny and now it is ria. You didn't want to fool yourself. And at the same time you wanted him to know for the longest time. You wanted him to notice you. And you also knew him and you knew how he is with girls and if he liked you then he would've told you by now.

“Ria, dont play with me” you begged. Concern showed in your voice. She gave you a gentle hug by your side.

“I won't ever do that to you y/n. I would never in a million years forgive myself if I did. You're my friend and I just want you to be happy. Believe me” her voice was soft and sweet. You just smile and change the subject. You didn't want to discuss this anymore. Nor did you think you could handle it.

(...)

Saturday night finally came and so did the margaritas you so dearly adore when you needed to forget reality. You were pretty tipsy by now. You met Franco Colapinto and you didn't even know he was invited but oh god he was so fun to be around. You've Been talking to him the whole night about whatever to be honest.and yeah, he looked really hot tonight by the way. You felt lucky he even looked at you and so you followed around.

You bumped into Max at the bar table after ordering yet another margarita. He looked at you a little tipsy as well.

“So you replaced lando for an argentine prince, huh?” He teased you.

“Oh shut the fuck up verstappen. Were in public” you said going back to the barman who was handing you your precious margarita drink. He rolled his eyes.

“Be careful. Lando's not happy” he said and disappeared into the people holding his vodka with red bull. Weird mix but he was loyal to his employers i guess.

You came back to where Franco was waiting for you to be back. He looked so cute under the lights in that white shirt he was wearing. And speaking of white shirt you saw Lando talking to him. You cursed yourself right there. You may or may not have ignored him the whole night. But you just couldn't face him after what all your friends said. You just didn't want to be tempted by his pretty shiny green eyes and his mouth. Oh what you'd give up just to taste his lips.

“Oh there is the missing girl,” Lando said, looking at you when you arrived and smiling nervously. The tension established between you two even Franco noticed it.

“Guess it is my turn to go to the bar. Be right back, guys” he said and left the two of you alone. You took a sip from your glass avoiding his sight.

“What's wrong with you?” he said kind of offended? Anger could be clearly heard in his voice. You sighed not knowing what to answer.

“What do you mean lando?” you decided to play the fool. You wanted to run away. His eyes were intimidating you.

“One day we watch movies together and bake cookies and the other you ignore me for several days and even flirt with another dude straight to my face?” what he just told you took you by surprise. You frowned, confused at his statement. The tension was burning your throat. He got closer and so you finally faced him. You looked at him. His face straight and his eyes dark with a little sparkle. You couldn't read what was going on inside him. Maybe he was just as confused as you were. “You look too pretty in that dress to be talking to him and not me” you could breathe his warm breath tasting tequila mixed with lemon. You swallowed hard. Your insides exploded. what was happening? He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. His touch burns your skin sending shivers down your spine. This was actually happening? Your hands were shaking. You really thought about what to tell him. A devilish smile appeared in his face when he thought he left you speechless. But you weren't ready to let him win.

“Well, for your information, I'm single and I can talk to wherever my vagina pleases so that shouldn't be none of your business. Also, why would I talk to you if you have been talking with more than one girl tonight? I'm a selective lady. What can I say” you smiled innocently.

He bit his lip. He tightened his grip around you. More possessive. More irresistible. Your innocent smile turns into a triumph smile. ”so if you dont mind i’ll keep talking to Franco and luckly fuck him. Have a good night Landito” you said provocatively leaving lando hanging into his words as you pulled away and walked away from him. His brain is malfunctioning.

And as you promised you kissed and fucked Franco Colpinto that night.

(...)

It was already the next sunday and Lando had disappeared. There was nowhere to be found. He didn't reply to your texts nor your calls. He became just dead silent. That made you feel even more confused than you already were. What did it mean what happened at the party? What were his intentions? Why didn't you kiss him? You were torn into feeling guilty and stupid at the same time. Like you had an actual chance with him but you didn't take it. And you didn't even know why. You hated yourself so much for that. How stupid.

Max, Lando's best friend, invited you over along with Pietra and Lando. You were cooking some vanilla flavored cookies with chocolate chips. The famous crumble cookies. Lando has been pretty much ignoring you. And you have been really quiet. Very unusual both ways. The tension was irritating. Max and Pietra tried to play it cool but it was very uncomfortable. When Lando came back from the bathroom, Max took him into the terrace and you stayed with pietra inside in the kitchen doing your stuff.

“Babe, what happened between you two?” she sounded genuinely worried. You sighed stressed.

“To be honest with you, I don't know. After a weird moment at the party last Saturday, he has been ust ignoring me. I didn't know if he was even alive if Max didn't invite us here. Very childish in my opinion but what can I say? I Didn't face him either.” you explained and pietra frowned her eyebrows.

“You need to talk honey. You need to tell him” she said, sobbing in your arms. You pressed your lips together looking outside through the glass door straight to lando seriously talking to max.

(...)

After the worst and most traumatic hang around with Max and Pietra - the cookies were great by the way - Lando offered to give you a ride and you said yes. Probably the worst decision of your life because the tensi could be cut by a knife and it was hard to breathe of how dense the air was inside the car. His radio was playing Jmaes Blunt ‘you’re beautiful". It was one of your favorite songs. How pretty was to you to enamour someone just by existing in the subway going to work or going back from university. You just romanticized that idea. You started mumbling the lyrics in a whisper just to not disrupt his comfort. But after a few seconds he turned off the radio and you looked at him weirded out.

“I can't do this anymore,” he said, parking his car on the side of the road. Anxiety kicked you. You licked your lips looking at your hands and he was just starting to nowhere outside his car window.

“I really like you y/n. I am in love with you in fact. And dim so stupid i realized about it when i saw you with Franco kissing. His hands touching you grossed me out. It felt wrong because that should've been me - not him” he finally looked at you. What he just said took you by surprise and you wanted to cry but holded inside. You looked back at him. The knot in your throat was unbearable.

“We are idiots,” you said, remembering what Max said to you a couple of months ago.”Because I'm in love with you. I was too afraid to tell you and ruin what he had. Losing you terrifies me. And to be honest I just thought you wouldn't even look at me that way. I never felt pretty enough for you, I don't know why” when he heard you say that last sentence his heart sank.

“I always felt you were out of my league to be honest. Please, y/n, you're gorgeous, and funny as fuck, and intelligent, and sweet and such a great person. You're almost perfect. Don't ever talk about you like that. I'm just an idiot. A normal stupid ass dude. Don't compare yourself like that ever again” he said feeling a little guilty for you to feel that way even though it was not his fault.

You gave him a soft smile nodding.”you know? I can't believe every single friend of yours told me for months that you liked me and I just couldn't believe it. How dumb I gotta be. So I'll fight the intelligent compliment of yours” you said, making him laugh.

“But let's be honest, who thinks straight when they are in love?” he said with the most precious smile and sparkly eyes looking at you so fondly. You knew you had heart eyes in your eyes.

“Fair point” you said, smiling widely. And you giggled out of nervousness. He did too.

Two kids in love. You dreamed about this day for so many years. You just hoped that it wasn't another dream because it felt like one. And without asking, Lando took you out of your self doubt and inner conversion pressing his lips into yours in the most felt kiss you have ever given. The man that you are Lando norris. You cupped his face on your hands making the kiss more intimate and passionate. A kiss you two wanted to give for so long. You said everything in that kiss. You just knew this was it. This was the start of the most exciting and magical love story. And it was yours.

It was him. It has always been him. Lando. Your best friend. Him and no one else by your side.

(...)

Your eyes filled with tears of joy. You were at the wedding of one of your best friends: max verstappen. Lando was holding your hand gently and so dearly. They were speaking their vows and everything was so emotional. You were such a sensitive soul. Lando loved that about you. So pure in emotions. So vulnerable yet so strong and brave. That was you and watching the isle,he knew it was you who was gonna be there with him when the moment came around. The bride kissed the man and you two cheered the new wife and husband of the group. You looked at Lando for a moment knowing he was the love of your life and it was gonna be you two there one day.

What you did not expect was to take in your own hands the wife’s bouquet announcing you were next in line to get married. Youcelebrated in happiness and laughter around your friends and Lando. You kissed him so fondly.

“I love you bestie” you said between his lips grabbing him by the neck, the bouquet in one of your hands.

“I love you bestie, forever” he said with heart eyes hugging you looking at you with love in every fiber of his body.

“Forever and always” you assured him.

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

Hope you liked it 💌 if you have any idea my inbox is open so send your requests!

[anonymous-existences]

DCxDP Prompt 10 :

Death Defying Ship. Danny and Dick are childhood friends where the Fenton's would often bring Danny and Jazz to the circus to hang out with their old friends the Graysons, where Danny and Dick are very close and do dumb kid stuff but jazz is there to watch them so they won't get into too much trouble when the parents aren't looking.

In there Danny learns from the Graysons some basic Gymnastics and Dances that require two people and all that brings them all closer.

Dick and Danny lost touch after the tragic incident with the Graysons, Many years later the story progresses as usual. Danny moves to Gotham to pursue his pursuit in getting a Professional Engineering Recommendation to W.E. with a Bonus Dani that appears every so Often and Dan a normal Mechanic that's acting as his older brother.

Sam Manson happens to be once again forced to attend a gala but this Wayne Gala was Unique because of it's setting as a Masquerade Ball. Sam is thrilled as she can add spice to her gothic aesthetic clothing with a more gothic mask, Danny is being dragged along as because of BFF code, (if I get to suffer, you suffer too.) thus Danny is also wearing an almost as gothic clothing that matches Sam.

Dick and Danny meet there but ofcourse they don't recognize each other, a specific song plays and Dick ever so playful tries to dance a specific routine that only He and Danny knows as they both made it as kids with the help of Jazz. Dick is surprised that Danny is keeping up, Danny is ecstatic and pacing faster as both are in full rhythm and sync in movements.

They don't even realize it but they've become the center of attention as they danced right in the middle of the ballroom. The song comes to a halt and Danny and Dick are breathing heavily, both smiling in excitement until Sam grabs Danny in a headlock and drags him away, scolding him for ditching her for another man.

Dick tries to stop them but was immediately blocked by many who wanted to converse or get his attention as he loses sight of Danny in the crowd of people.

Danny and Dick only ever meet in a gala but something keeps pulling them away from each other, both unable to get each other's names, Dick is totally mesmerized by Danny just as much as Danny is too. Sam finally tells him at some point that he's Dick Grayson. Danny's memories of their past flooding in but Danny didn't want to tell Dick about that because what if dick doesn't remember? What if he asked Dick and he didn't remember him? So Danny kept quiet until he can finally give Dick his name but that moment never came.

Danny is forced to go back to Amity because of the GIW and their Plan to once again destroy the Ghost Zone and Declare War, Danny is captured by the GIW and Sam in desperation with Tucker finally found a way to bypass the GIW firewalls and Break through to connect to the JL.

In the process of saving the captures ghosts with the help of the Justice League in infiltrating and dismantling the Anti Ecto Laws for going against the Meta Protection Rights. Dick doesn't recognize Danny as Phantom, they save him and all that process through Frostbite's help.

Jazz immediately recognizes Dick even as Nightwing and calls him 'Robin' and Dick immediately recognizes her because she is the big sister he always had and wished he kept. Jazz doesn't blow his Identity as expected but she does tell him about Danny as Phantom and Dick as A Wayne once again is processing all of those information in the Manor, Jazz had reassured them that Danny would visit at some point once he is fully healed and Dick waits everyday, waiting for Danny to call or text him that he'll visit.

Dick realizes he's fallen deep in love with Danny with his desperation and also everytime they've met and interacted with each other even for brief moments in the galas they've attended. Danny become the sole reason he'll force himself to attend a gala as he wanted to see the man, his best friend and his first love.

Danny eventually visits Dick and from then you can tell the story goes that way, it's sweet fluff with angst and Dick and Danny gets their happy ending.

[sirenedeslily]

it’s late—so late, almost 3 a.m., and you’re both wrapped up in the stillness of a room where candlelight flickers shadows onto the walls. the low, warm glow casts an amber haze over everything, painting you both in soft, melted hues. outside, the world sleeps, leaving only the soft, steady hum of the record player filling the room, the quiet strum of guitar notes tracing through the silence like a whisper. the song is slow, thick with longing, and you feel it sinking into your bones, the way music sometimes does when the night is soft, and time stretches out like it’ll last forever.

matt’s sitting close, so close that you can see the delicate lines of ink woven across his arms, intricate designs that tell a thousand quiet stories. his tattoos blend into the soft shadows of his skin, his arm resting around your shoulders, fingers tracing light patterns down your back, almost absentmindedly, as though he can’t help but touch you. his hair’s messy, soft like he’s been running his hands through it all night. those blue eyes catch yours, and he smiles, just a little crookedly, like he’s been waiting for this moment all his life.

“you know,” he murmurs, voice low and gentle, a kind of reverence in it that you’ve only ever heard him use with you, “i could stay like this forever. just—us, right here.”

you can feel his breath, warm against your cheek, and his lips brush yours in a way that’s barely there, so light that it feels like he’s memorizing every tiny moment. he cups your face, his thumb tracing slow circles along your cheek as if you’re something precious, something he’d never want to let go of.

“you’re so perfect, you know that? like, how is it possible that i get to have you like this?”

his words are soft, sincere, threaded with that slight rasp in his voice that you adore. he keeps kissing you, slow and unhurried, like he’s got all the time in the world. each kiss feels like a promise—like he’s trying to tell you all the things he feels but can’t put into words. and you know him well enough to understand it; every kiss speaks volumes, a silent confession of all the love he holds in that heart of his.

between kisses, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded, the faintest smile on his lips. his fingers brush through your hair, and he chuckles, low and warm.

“god, i love this,” he whispers, voice barely audible, almost like he’s speaking to himself. “i love you.” his hand moves to cup the back of your neck, pulling you in, his lips finding yours again. it’s gentle, yet there’s something deep and unyielding behind it, a kind of desperation like he’s scared this might all be a dream.

the song shifts, the guitar fading into a soft, distant refrain, and for a second, you’re both quiet, breathing in sync as you hold each other. the world could be crumbling around you, but here, with matt, it feels like nothing else matters. the room’s filled with the scent of autumn—clove, cinnamon, a faint hint of something woody. he pulls you closer, his arm tight around your waist, his lips pressed against your temple.

“can i just…keep kissing you?” he whispers, almost like he’s asking permission, and you feel the smile pull at your lips.

“matt,” you say, and he leans back just enough to look at you, blue eyes catching the candlelight. “you don’t have to ask, honey.”

a smile breaks across his face, a bit bashful, and he shakes his head. “just—you don’t know what you do to me.” his fingers brush over your jaw, tracing every line, and he presses another lingering kiss to your lips, softer this time, more tender. you lose yourself in him, feeling his warmth, his steady heartbeat, and the way his touch seems to melt away everything else in the world.

as the song fades, the room slips into silence, and he just keeps holding you, keeps kissing you like you’re the only thing that matters. it’s simple, beautiful, and as you both sink into that quiet, you realize you don’t need anything else. just him, just this moment, and the way he makes you feel like forever might just be real.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ lil comfort blurb, i love slow dance by clairo :p

❝ 𝟐𝟐𝟐 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @carvedtits @et6rnalsun @wovenribbons @flouvela @eternaldecisions @elizabebabe @ncm9696

❝ 𝟑𝟑𝟑 ❞ 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻, @l34n @sturniolossss @lovingregulusblack @cl1tlover3000 @mattslolita @mattssgf @le4hsblog @brvtall @mattscoquette @chratts-left-ball @jetaimevous @angelesqve @starlace111 @starkeyszn @etherealval @slut4chriss @star-yawnznn @nickmillersn1gf @sturnsmia @tastesousweet

© sirenedeslily

[botslayer]

If the fire, sulfur, black iron, and devils every which way didn't give it away, both of us aren't in a place you want to be after you die. I'd offer you a drink but the only things they offer you usually came out of... Well. You. My own blood has a pretty good palete.

You don't have to panic. Not yet. You aren't dead, again, not yet. You're only here because everyone gets a fair warning. So change your ways, yadda yadda, find Christ, yadda yadda... Can you tell my heart isn't in it? Good. At least they'll vary up the torture for it. You get sick of eating hunks off of yourself and still being able to feel it the whole time.

Oh... You want to know what I did for that punishment? Well. It started when I was alive. I killed a man in self defense. Robber broke in, I shot him. And it was all down hill from there. I moved out to the woods after the third guy... Mostly because the best I could do there was plead manslaughter.

Anyway. I bought a plot of land not too far from a hiking trail, built a little shack. Turned it into quite the operation. I was a one-man Sawyer family. I had butcher knives, cleavers, cutting boards, sausage stuffers... I remember the first time I ate a man in those woods. The first woman was alright. I screwed up the spices for her liver, though. Live and learn. All in all? I musta got about twelve or thirteen hapless hikers where they needed to be. And I ate like a king for six years.

Why only six? Throw another skull on the fire and I'll tell you... Thank you. See. One night, another guy came traipsing up the path. Another lost and weary traveler. Two in one day, would you believe it? But winter was coming. So a quick stock up in the event of being snowed in was necessary. Problem was I was outside having a smoke and I was still draining the latest one. If he saw that there'd be no mistake what I was up to.

So here comes a seven foot slab of man. Treating the cold around him like it wasn't much of an issue. One thin hoodie over a thin T-shirt and some overalls. I took to a short conversation with him as I sized him up. He had about a foot of height on me and he was built. Big country, cornfed son of a bitch.

"Who're you?" "Who are you?" "Why are you on my property?" "You can own property this close to a hiking trail?" So on and so on... And then I asked if he knew how to get back to the trail. It was getting dark, you see. I offered to help him back if He'd just let me nab my hiking boots. He agreed and I tried to circle around him. I figured he would still be looking at my front door. Waiting like a big old dog.

But when I exited the side, butcher knife in hand, he was holding a woodcutter's axe. Still looking at the door though. I could tell his tool wasn't mine. Crazy bastard must have had it strapped to his back... I took the chance and leapt at him from the side. He shook me off but the fight forced the door to my cabin open and he got a good look at the woman on the hook. I had left the TV on and was listening to it as I smoked, lit her up enough to see.

I'll remember until eternity, when else is there to remember to down here? But I'll remember until eternity what he said after I got to my feet. "Well... This is awkward," and I think it was a joke. I don't know. But I couldn't help but laugh. "I suppose it is."

But we looked at each other... And we kept sizing each other up. I knew my chances of surviving a face-to-face fight with a bigger man with more reach were minimal... If I recall correctly, he didn't want to fight. "We don't have to do this. I could help you butcher if you want..." But I tell you no lie when I tell you meeting a kindred spirit. One so forceful. One so... Comparatively Jovial. I was in love. And love makes us all do crazy things.

The next few minutes for both of us was a game of hack-and-seek. And we were both it. I don't know if he felt the same, but I think we were both having fun slinking around my house and yard. It was a hell of a way to spend my last hour or so on Earth.

But he caught me. I rounded just the wrong corner and he had me by the scruff of my neck. His weapon, unwieldy as it was with a single hand gave me just the time I needed. I stabbed him in the throat just in time to feel the axe crack though my rib cage and split my heart. I died on top of him... I remember trying to kiss him but I don't think I got close enough to his chin.

And now I feel it is another punishment for me. To never see my darling Francis again... I take some solice knowing he hasn't seen me, either... Maybe it means he felt the same. Who can say?

... Your presence in this realm is fading... Well, your arm is translucent, that's usually a dead give away, no pun intended... Just remember. Change your ways. Or you might end up with a good view of what's happening to everyone else while what happens to you, whatever it is, goes on and on. And on. And on. And on. And on.

After successfully leading your next target to your murder-shed in the woods, they pull out an axe from themself and proclaim "oh, this is awkward."

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part5

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: sadnesses.

previous - next

He’d never thought of himself as someone who could be in a serious relationship. He never thought he could be devoted enough, or love someone that deeply. For Rafe, it was beyond impossible. Fleeting interests had always come first in his life.

It’s not that he found it difficult to connect or share feelings with someone; he just never wanted to. He’d always seen it as a waste of time.

Whether love even existed was something he still wasn’t sure of, because he didn’t believe in it.

But he was sure the feelings he had for you were real. He couldn’t say it was love—he wasn’t even sure love existed in that way. But the affection he felt for you was beyond words.

Yes, he was rich—rich enough to support his family for three generations. But he quickly realized that the bond he had with you was his real wealth.

He’d never thought of you as different from anyone else. To him, you were a typical Kook: rich, aware of your own beauty. To overlook that beauty, he would have to be blind.

Yes, he’d liked girls before. He liked spending time with them, preferring quick, physical flings over emotional entanglements. He was the kind of guy who enjoyed one-night stands.

Until he met you.

You’d met in a completely ordinary way. You already knew of each other; you both came from the island’s wealthiest families. It was impossible not to know one another.

When you ended up side by side at one of those dull Kook events, neither of you thought you'd hit it off. You weren't much of a drinker, usually preferring lighter, non-alcoholic cocktails. But that event was so painfully boring that you thought you couldn’t get through it without a drink in hand.

You hadn’t expected him to be there. You hadn’t expected him to want to escape the event, just like you did. And you certainly hadn’t expected that, while grabbing different drinks, the two of you would start talking.

You ended up spending the whole night together, maybe just to pass the time, maybe because you actually enjoyed the conversation—you couldn’t really tell.

But after that night, neither of you could stop thinking about the other.

Surprisingly— you were the first girl to linger in Rafe’s mind without him sleeping with her. He couldn’t get the length of the conversation, or your laugh, out of his head.

From then on, things began to change. At every party, his eyes searched for you. At every Kook event, he hoped to find you alone—watching for those rare moments when you weren’t with your family. He didn’t see you as some object of desire; he saw you for who you were.

He didn’t just want to have sex with you; he wanted to spend time with you.

At parties, the second he saw you, he unconsciously pushed away any girl sitting next to him. He wanted you to see him differently, even though you already knew his reputation.

When he realized you were starting to show up at every party, he started distancing himself from other girls. Not only did he push them aside, but he wouldn’t even let them come close to him. He acted without thinking, because if he had thought it through, he would have found a way to stop himself.

He didn’t want you to see him as a playboy. He wasn’t sure how he wanted you to see him; he just wanted you to see him as… a good person. Even he couldn’t believe he was trying to change himself, but he couldn’t help it.

Rafe looked at you with the same awe an eight-year-old might have if they saw Spider-Man in person.

He couldn’t help but want you. But it wasn’t just desire—he was crazy about you.

Every time you talked, he wanted more. For you, he’d probably break down the atom just so you two could talk about it for hours.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to share a bed. But for the first time, Rafe didn’t feel fixated on that. He didn’t just have sex with you; he made love to you. Every kiss ignited a warmth in his chest. Every time you moaned his name, his heart pounded for you. Every time you held hands, he couldn’t help but kiss your hand.

He’d never felt this way for anyone. No one else was like you. You were the only woman who made him feel like he even had a heart—aside from his mom.

And it went on like that. Rafe stayed loyal to you. Even when you weren’t officially together, when you were just flirting and spending nights together, he never looked at another girl.

At parties, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Whether it was your hand, your arm, or your waist… he always stayed close. He liked acting as if you two were in a real relationship.

Rafe thought he was just feeling things more intensely than usual. He’d never felt this way about relationships before. You were the woman who’d stayed in his life the longest.

When you two finally got together, it felt like a fairy tale. Everything was perfect, and it stayed that way. Every time he saw you, his heart warmed. Every touch, every time you called him “my love,” it erased the world around him. There was only you. His whole world revolved around you.

Everything was perfect.

Rafe’s life had been nothing but a sea of gray. But the moment you entered his life, all the colors returned.

During the year and a half of your relationship, Rafe felt like he was lying on a beach, listening to the ocean waves. Every moment with you brought a peace to his life like birdsong.

Yes, there were arguments. But you two always found a way through. It was surprising, but he couldn’t stay away from you; he couldn’t stand being apart. You two never even talked about breaking up.

Not until now.

Neither of you had the strength for a breakup conversation. To do that would mean it was truly over. That the beautiful year and a half was done. Rafe had never wanted that. But somehow, he knew his reactions—the way things had spiraled—had led to this moment, and it scared him.

A few weeks back, you’d sent a message saying you were keeping the baby. He hadn’t known what to say. He was afraid, afraid things would stay just like this. And a message saying you were keeping the baby definitely felt like a breakup message in your language. He was sure of that. His heart and mind were at war.

Every moment with you had made his heart race with love and excitement; he’d never felt this kind of weight—especially from you.

“Earth to Rafe! Get it together, dude.” Kelce’s voice snapped him out of it, and Rafe looked up from his drink to find Kelce looking ready to shake him. He hadn’t even realized how lost in thought he was. His day-to-day was becoming affected.

He was lovesick, but he was the one who’d pushed you away.

Rafe dropped his hand from his chin and ran his fingers through his hair. He hated looking weak. He’d worked so hard to prove that he wasn’t. He wanted to show everyone a breakup wouldn’t break him. His eyes, lips, and face might lie, but his mind was consumed with thoughts of you. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice firm. He felt like he was losing his mind when he wasn’t with you, but he wasn’t ready to accept what came with you.

He liked risk, loved adrenaline. He enjoyed going full throttle, ignoring the dangers.

And you were pregnant. With Rafe’s baby.

There were so many times he wanted to erase that thought from his mind. He wanted to pretend it didn’t exist. He loved you like crazy, but this wasn’t the life he wanted or was ready for.

He didn’t feel good enough to be a father. He wasn’t at an age to start a family. He had a whole life to live. He could spend years with you, but he wasn’t ready to start a family. All he wanted was you. Just you, without all that extra.

Rafe rubbed his eyes, feeling suffocated by his thoughts, glancing around. He was sick of this stupid place. Golfing, hanging out at the country club—it all felt so fake. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, as if he was suffocating even though they were outside.

It was like the sunny sky suddenly turned to pouring rain in front of his eyes.

“This place is boring as fuck. I’m out.” He raised a hand to call for the check, noticing the questioning looks from Topper and Kelce. He didn’t owe them any explanation. Who were they to him anyway?

As if they were so important…

“I swear, serious relationships are a disease. If it’s gotten even to Rafe Cameron…” Rafe exhaled heavily, watching the waiter approach as Topper’s mocking laughter echoed. Even his friends talking like that was getting to him.

He’d already gotten into a fight with Kelce over you weeks ago. Even if things were over between you, he wasn’t going to forgive Kelce, not after he’d slut-shamed you. Topper clearly wanted things to cool down, hoping his two closest friends would both be at his upcoming birthday.

"It's like he's had a serious relationship before and found someone to actually date," Topper snickered, while Kelce nudged him under the table. Kelce looked ready to lunge at him, clearly annoyed, and Topper seemed just as irritated. Bringing up your situation, knowing it would rile Rafe, made him look like he was out for a fight. If they weren’t at the golf club, Rafe was sure Kelce would be on him in a heartbeat.

"Talk like your dating history’s any better, it’s hilarious. First, there's Ruthie—total bitch nightmare. Then there's Sarah Cameron, your best friend’s sister. Clean up your act first, creep."

Rafe could hardly stand it anymore. If he heard Kelce mention one more name from his life, he was going to knock him out. He’d rather throw himself off a cliff than lose more brain cells listening to these two idiots. When their chatter finally died down, Rafe took a deep breath. He hated this.

"Hey Sofia, you look as… Pogue as ever. You guys just love that, don’t you?" Topper grinned, watching the waitress as she met his gaze with a blank look, as if his very presence annoyed her. She quickly shifted her attention back to Rafe. Watching the exchange, Topper nudged Kelce, amused by the interest sparking in Sofia's eyes. He couldn’t help but find it funny.

As Rafe took out his wallet, he listened to his friends’ ongoing conversation. "I can't be alone here with you in this dumb place. I can’t stand you and your girlfriend. It’s like the two of you found your perfect match.” Instead of responding, Topper rolled his eyes and ignored Kelce as he took out his wallet.

Topper, like Kelce and Rafe, took out his wallet, muttering, "Right, says the guy with so many partners he’s practically a walking biohazard."

Kelce's eyes widened as he insisted that wasn’t true, making Topper chuckle. He loved stretching the truth for a laugh. Kelce rolled his eyes, quickly handing his card to the waitress, while Rafe’s gaze drifted to his open wallet. He couldn’t help but notice the photo tucked inside—a picture of you and him.

Was this how you’d keep showing up in his life?

Would you just appear, throwing yourself in his face whenever he least expected it?

He hadn’t seen you in weeks. Rafe wasn’t sure if you were avoiding him or if you were holed up somewhere, in your own world. He sighed as he looked at the photo, memories washing over him. He missed the old days, and the weight of this picture hit him so hard he felt disoriented. Your cheeks pressed together in the photo, with Rafe's arms wrapped around your waist while you snapped the shot. That smile on your face—it was so beautiful he couldn’t look away. He could’ve stared at you for hours, just watching. He had watched you sleep so many times. Somehow, you only grew more beautiful each time he saw you.

His love for you was a flame that refused to die, and it didn’t take a genius to see it. He loved you.

Though he couldn’t admit it, he was scared. It shouldn’t have ended like this, but he didn’t know what to do.

Rafe wasn’t one for big moments. He wasn’t known for making the best decisions. He’d usually take his time, mulling things over until he was sure they were right. But in quick decisions, he tended to mess up and stumble.

Hearing about your pregnancy face-to-face had sent a wave of panic crashing through him. Even though he had no idea what to do, he tried to keep his composure. He couldn’t forget the moment you’d tearfully said the two of you were a mistake. He wasn’t used to seeing you cry. Those red eyes of yours were burned into his memory.

He didn’t want regrets. He didn’t want to wish he’d done things differently.

But the thought of a happy ending with you? That had never even crossed his mind.

As he kept looking at the photo, a faint smile tugged at his lips. He couldn’t help but remember that day. Time with you had been so perfect, filling him with warmth every time he thought of it.

He remembered it so clearly. It was your third month together, seven months since everything between you had started. You’d shared countless special moments. Every experience with you was a first for him. Whatever you two did, he felt like a clueless schoolboy with a crush—and he meant that.

Who had he ever woken up with, wrapped in his arms? Who else’s hair had he smelled as he fell asleep? Who else’s eyes had he gazed into, getting lost? Who else had made his heart race like this?

No one. In some ways, Rafe Cameron was a total virgin Mary.

For the first time in ages, your family had to go overseas, leaving you home alone—for a week. Being with you felt like a vacation to him. You swam, you cooked, he tried to make you breakfast, you showered together, you slept…

That week was so perfect he felt like he was filled with peace. He’d replay it in his mind over and over again. You and those memories were always there. Always would be.

This photo was taken just after you’d both showered, right before cooking a meal together for the first time. You both made dinner that evening. It wasn’t the best, but because you’d done it together, no amount of money could buy a meal that meaningful.

It was honestly an achievement for you both. You went into the kitchen at six and finally finished cooking by nine. At one point, you even considered ordering pizza but convinced each other you were close to done. And then you spent another two hours in the kitchen—guess it wasn’t so “close” after all.

It was such a beautiful day.

After dinner, you’d made sex.

As he felt his smile widen at the memory, a sudden jab to his leg snapped his attention back. His smile faded instantly, replaced by his usual hard look. Trying to figure out what had happened, he noticed the waitress waiting for him. Frustration bubbled up in him for interrupting his happy thoughts of you. He looked away from the photo, quickly pulling out his card without making eye contact. He knew that if he looked at you, he wouldn’t be able to look away.

"Sofia’s waiting. Just give her what she wants," Topper teased, a smirk on his face, as Rafe sighed and tapped his card.

If he gave attention to every girl who showed interest, like he used to, he’d never be able to keep a serious relationship. Not that he was sure your relationship was even still… ongoing.

But he was certain he’d be off the market for a while. Touching someone else after you didn’t feel right. Embarrassingly enough, he doubted he’d even, well, respond to anyone else.

He stood up, grabbing his keys as he hurried past the waitress without a second glance. As crazy as it might make him to be alone, he couldn’t handle his friends’ stupid conversations any longer.

Even if it drove him mad, he couldn’t stay by Topper or Kelce’s side for another second.

As soon as he got in his car, his phone rang, and he let out a long sigh. Not a single moment of peace today. His thin veneer of calm was barely hanging on, and it felt like the day was determined to shatter it. Starting the car, he glanced at the number on the screen before it even connected.

Wheezie Cameron.

What on earth could she want?

Honestly, if Wheezie was calling him, it’d better be because she was in actual danger or Rose had finally stormed out of the house for good.

He was really hoping for the second one. He didn’t have a penny to spare right now.

“What?” he answered, not hiding his irritation. All he wanted was to get out of this trashy place and be stretched out at home with the ocean in view. No Wheezie, no Rose, and definitely no Ward. In fact, he’d had it with all of them. He was so done with seeing the same faces every day.

All he wanted was silence.

“Hello to you too, Rafe.” Rafe couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her tone. It drove him crazy. He wanted to chuck his phone out the window. Whatever Wheezie needed, she’d better spit it out so he could say no, hang up, and blast Kendrick Lamar.

“Just tell me, Wheezie. I’m not in the mood.” Wheezie was still young, and Rafe tried—halfheartedly—to keep from cursing around her. Ward and Rose had chewed him out about his language, and sure, they had a point. But it was annoying. He was the big brother—though honestly, he’d have preferred being an only child.

“Nope,” she said smugly. Rafe tightened his grip on the wheel, jaw clenched. Why did both his sisters have to be such idiots? It was like God deliberately made both his sisters total morons. “I’m not telling you a thing until you say hello properly.”

Rafe slammed his hand against the steering wheel, fighting the urge to yell. He forced himself to keep his eyes open. He was driving, after all, and the last thing he wanted was a crash. But if Wheezie kept this up, he’d be losing control of the wheel voluntarily.

“Hello! Hello, Wheezie! Now, spill it!” The words came out as a shout before he could stop himself. Immediate regret hit him. His temper was awful lately. You were gone. In short, he was a mess.

When he heard her give a dramatic sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. She wasn’t fazed, of course. She was used to this, barely fazed by him anymore. Classic Rafe, right? “So, I was out today. Shopping with Rose—”

Rafe knew how his sister worked—unfortunately. She wasn’t excitable, but she loved to narrate. Whatever the hell had happened, she was going to start from the million hours leading up to it. With a deep breath, he braced himself for the full play-by-play, including the time of day and every store clerk’s name. God help him if she started counting her steps…

The Kendrick Lamar dream was officially dead.

He had zero interest in listening to a full breakdown of her day with Rose, but if he hung up, Wheezie would go ballistic. She’d tell their dad, and Ward would chew him out for that, too. That he couldn’t deal with. Right now, he just wanted a bit of time to himself. Just some peace. Just him, alone.

“Then, I saw this blue dress—”

Rafe wanted to drive the car straight off a cliff. He couldn’t handle this. This was killing him. Every pointless detail Wheezie added wrecked his efforts to calm down.

“...and then we left, and we ran into Sarah. She asked about you. Can you believe it? Then she said she wanted to meet up— Family reunion!”

What the—what is even happening?

Even when you were holding your baby in your mind, all you could think about was ice cream. The cravings were off the charts. Sometimes, you wanted something so badly it felt like the world might end if you didn’t get it. Lately, strawberries were your biggest craving. You couldn’t stop. If your hands weren’t stained red from eating so many, you felt like you’d explode.

But right now, your mind had drifted back to ice cream. You wanted vanilla ice cream so much you could’ve dived into a whole tub of it.

You wanted someone with you when the cravings hit. Someone who’d put up with your fussing—like Rafe.

Just thinking about him made you tense, which was happening way too often these days. Especially now, carrying his baby, it was almost always on your mind, making you anxious.

Being alone was really hard. You’d never felt alone in a crowd—until now.

You waited.

You really waited. When you told him you were keeping the baby, you’d waited for some kind of response. You’d waited for him to call, to come over, to tell you he’d be there. But he never showed.

He didn’t text, didn’t call, didn’t make an effort. He left you to handle this alone.

To be honest, you hadn’t been sure you’d even keep the baby when you first told him. You were just so angry, you’d wanted him to think you would. But even so, your mind never actually veered toward an abortion, though you had the right. There was nothing wrong with choosing an abortion—but you’d decided you wanted this baby.

The idea of a man controlling a woman’s choices was sickening. Having an abortion was a right, just like having a child was.

When you went for your first appointment and saw the baby for the first time, your heart raced. They asked if the father would be coming, and you didn’t want to answer, but a quick “No” slipped out. Your mind wanted him nowhere near this, but your heart couldn’t quite let go.

Luckily, you’d always been someone who chose her head over her heart.

An “almost-man” who’d abandoned you with his child—he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t even a man at all; he was just a boy.

Taking responsibility was part of it. You’d respected his boundaries. He’d made it clear he didn’t want this, so you’d made your choice to raise the baby on your own.

Single motherhood would be hard, but you wanted this child.

And you’d do what Rafe wanted. He didn’t want the baby, so you’d make sure he’d never see it. You’d make sure he’d never touch, never meet this child.

When you were on that exam table, he should have been the one holding your hand.

But he wasn’t.

The support came from where you hadn’t expected it.

Your mom.

She was still upset you were keeping the baby, but it didn’t take her long to understand this was your life. The day you’d left home in anger had seemed to shock her into a full 180.

You knew your dad didn’t approve, either, but they’d never once turned their backs on you. Maybe they were scared you’d leave and never come back. Who knows?

When you learned the baby was healthy, you felt a deep calm settle over you. The doctor told you it was too early to know the gender, but you could wait. That was okay.

You were two months and three weeks along.

Despite everything, all the heartache, when you listened to the baby’s heartbeat, it was like none of it had ever happened. When your mom saw your eyes welling up, she quickly looked down, but she squeezed your hand and smiled.

From the woman who’d once shouted for you to get an abortion, to the one tearing up over her grandchild…

It was strange.

The baby was healthy. There was no sign of any issues. And soon enough, in just a few weeks, you’d know the gender. That made you happy.

Your hands were shaking when they gave you the ultrasound photo. You didn’t feel shy about asking for a few extras—you wanted to put them everywhere. The reality of it struck you all over again. You were going to have a baby, to be a mother, and there were only months left to go.

You’d be a mom, and you’d do whatever it took to give this child a good life.

You

Are you still working at the ice cream shop?

JJ Maybank

Nah, got fired.

Why?

You

Shit. I really need some ice cream.

JJ Maybank

Ok.

Vanilla or chocolate?

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[junkissed]

monster

member — incubus!cheol x f reader genre — smut, supernatural (demon), pwp word count — 2.2k synopsis — who said you aren't allowed to fuck your sleep paralysis demon? warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, monster cock!cheol, mean dom!cheol, masturbation (reader), messy blowjob, rough throat fucking, throat bulge kink, choking/breathplay, dacryphilia, some degredation and praise, a little humiliation, throat training (kinda), cum in mouth, sooooo much cum, cheol is a demon both metaphorically and literally, cheol has a tail and uses it for kinky purposes, objectification (of reader), nicknames (darling, sweetheart, slut, good girl, toy, etc.), implied established relationship ? (this is not their first time together) notes — thanks to @multi-kpop-fanfics @kwanisms for help brainstorming the demon part and @cheolism @onlymingyus @beomcoups for proofreading !! i really wanted to put out one more spooky fic before december hehe. if you enjoyed this fic, please remember to reblog!! it's super important for sharing my work and it lets me know this is something people wanna see more of :)

“darling, now what did i tell you about touching yourself without me?”

you startle at the sudden low voice whispering in your ear, and your cheeks grow hot as you sit up straighter on the bed. your skin prickles with the sudden feeling of being watched, tingling almost in excitement. 

you already know who it is even before his figure fades into visibility. his face still obscured in shadow and your room is dark, illuminated by nothing but the faint gleam of the moon shining in through your window. even so, you know his piercing eyes can see through the dark when yours can't. 

he looks different each time he arrives. sometimes it’s the long blond hair, slicked back with gel and a single strand falling across his forehead. sometimes it’s the black hair, shaved close on the sides with half of it tied back in a bun. but the red that he wears tonight has always been your favorite: a bright, unnaturally glowing shade that seems to match his fiery personality.

that’s how he appears to you now, dressed in his usual purple suit, the deep neckline showing off the muscles in his broad chest and his tail curled in a relaxed coil around his leg. a thick silver chain hangs around his neck and instinctively you shiver at the sight of it, the memory of it seared into your skin from all the times he's held you down rough and fast and let it drag across your back, just the way you like it.

“you were expecting me, weren’t you?” he murmurs. his voice is warm and deep like a pool of water, and each time you hear it, it only makes you want to jump deeper and deeper into him.

“m-maybe,” you manage breathlessly, though both of you know it’s so obviously a lie.

he laughs, but his tone isn’t humorous. you can practically see the smirk in his voice even without being able to see his face. “of course you were. or else you wouldn’t be sitting there, soaking through your panties and thinking about me like the depraved little slut you are. isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

the bedroom suddenly brightens with a warm orange glow, as if lit by a candle, except there's nothing there. cheol finally steps out of the shadows, allowing you to see all of him. the look on his face radiates condescension, yet it only makes the heat between your legs burn hotter. 

you don't give him an answer to his question, and he doesn't pry for one. that's how this usually goes; you both know exactly what the other is here for anyway. once you're sure he's watching, you slowly pull your fingers from your cunt and keep your legs spread to reveal your glistening, sticky arousal that he loves so much, and that's enough of an answer to keep him satisfied for now. he doesn't react, but you can tell he's enjoying the sight from the way his eyes begin to glow a deep, hungry red.

you get up off the bed and start to move towards him, but he vanishes. a laugh sounds from behind you, and you whip around to see him sitting where you had been on the bed.

cheol spreads his thighs apart, leaning back against the headboard of your bed, and you take it as an invitation to move back towards him. you're already starting to feel the neediness returning, the empty feeling only heightened by his presence.

you try to sit down but his hand catches your arm, wrapped around your wrist to keep you at a distance.

“ah ah ah,” he scolds, holding back a laugh at your pout of confusion. “you already had your turn. if you behave for me, then i might consider giving you something in return.”

you nod quickly, and he smirks, directing you to kneel between his thighs instead. “mm… my good girl, always so eager.” 

he leans closer to you and fists his hand through your hair, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull you up and force your head to be level with his. he whispers against your cheek and it raises goosebumps on your skin, his eyes dark and narrowed as he bares his teeth with a grin. “i think you might just be one of my favorites, you know? such a cute little thing you are.”

he lets go of your hair and you reposition yourself to lay as comfortably as you can, now face to face with his cock as he pushes away his pants. you may be one of his favorites, but he's also one of yours. the first time he appeared was the last time you slept with a human man, and as long as you have him you'll never want to again. there's no desire for the mediocre hookups of the past when you have the devil's right hand man using his hands on you. seungcheol fits in all the right places, in all the right ways, and each time with him is even more satisfying than the last.

you tentatively wrap your hand around the base of his cock, trying to guide him into your mouth. this part never gets easier on you, but it's well worth it for the pleasure he gives you in return. 

“relax, sweetheart,” he coos as you slide your lips further down. “you're so tense. you want to take it all, don't you? breathe through your nose, you know the drill.”

to anyone else his words might sound kind, but you know the way he's teasing you is anything but kind. you whimper and try to follow his direction, forcing your jaw to go slack as you try to fit more down your throat. slowly but surely you manage to take him into your mouth, but your lips still only reach halfway down his length.

he pushes his hips up into your mouth once he's given you a moment to adjust, an experimental thrust to see if you're ready. you choke a little and let out a gagging sound, your eyes instantly starting to water as he hits the back of your throat. but you don't tell him to stop, and he doesn't stop.

you keep trying to relax your jaw, letting the length of his cock slide against your tongue with wet, messy noises.

cheol's tail wraps itself around your neck and you stifle a strangled gasp in surprise. his cock is so far down your throat it’s already almost hard to breathe, but the added pressure as he chokes you makes it even harder. you're lightheaded from the feeling but not enough to hurt, teetering on the line between pleasure and pain. 

“you look absolutely pathetic, darling,” he says, a low groan rumbling deep in his chest. “so gorgeous.”

your arms are shaking from holding yourself up on your elbows, but his praise is what keeps you going, choking back a whimper as you take his cock further down your throat. your vision blurs around the edges, but you can feel the spit dribbling from your mouth as it runs down his length. he makes it impossible to focus on anything besides the bruising pace of his cock.

cheol coos in fake sympathy, his tail coiling just a little tighter around your neck. “aw, poor thing. is it too difficult for you, sweetheart? you're trying so hard to be good for me. just relax.”

at this angle he can't see it, but he can feel the way your throat bulges around his length. he can feel the ridges of your throat tightening around his cock with each labored breath you take, barely enough room to allow air into your lungs. if you were in a different position he'd be able to see the faint outline of his cock stretching your throat, expanding and contracting as you struggle to meet his thrusts.

“you're loving this, aren't you? i can tell. i can smell it.” he inhales deeply through his nostrils, as if to prove his point. “ahh. like cinnamon, and… peaches. i can practically taste you from here, my darling. so sweet…”

if your mouth weren't so full and you could speak properly right now, you'd probably be whining seungcheol's name and begging for more. no matter how many times he tells you to forget him, he always ends up back in your bed like this. maybe he really does have a favorite.

he groans and rolls his neck back, his skin flushed red as he looks down at you. fuck, what a sight: your pretty little ass up in the air and your lips stretched around him, looking up at him with pleading eyes filled with tears.

cheol lets out another laugh, his voice just a little strained as he teases you. “if you hadn't already soaked through your cute little panties before i got here, then i'd bet they definitely are by now.”

you choke a little around him, caught off guard by his words, but he's not wrong. you wiggle your hips involuntarily, trying your best to hold still but it's hard to stay focused. your head is fuzzy and your senses are overwhelmed, your throat burning with friction both inside and out.

your grip starts to loosen around the base of his cock but seungcheol just tsks and repeats your name, his tail squeezing once to get your attention. “use your hands, darling, you have them for a reason. now just stay still, relax for me.” he flashes you a grin. “don't want to hurt my favorite toy, of course.”

his thrusts into your mouth grow more hurried, shoving his cock down your throat faster and sloppier with each snap of his hips. the force of his movements is unnaturally strong, and although you know by now that he's right on the edge, he barely looks like he's breaking a sweat. 

he finally releases with a deep groan, spilling down your throat and flooding your mouth. his thrusts don't stop, only slowing down a fraction as he tilts his head back, letting out another satisfied moan.

you know better than to stop without cheol's permission, so you hold your head in place and try to keep up with him. your eyes are brimming with tears as you struggle not to choke, and finally the hot, wet drops spill over and roll down your cheeks from the intense amount of energy it's taking to stay still.

all you can do is focus again on breathing through your nose and swallowing all of his cum that you can. unlike other men you've been with, you're not repulsed by the taste of him, and swallowing would be easy if there weren't so much of it. even when he should be finished he still keeps going, his tip pulsating against your tongue with each spurt.

just when you think you can't hold it any longer, the pressure on your neck suddenly releases and seungcheol uncurls his tail from around your neck. you pull your head away from his cock, gasping and stuttering, and you vaguely register cheol's fingers beneath your chin to support your head, your jaw aching from being held stretched open for so long. 

“mm, there you go. deep breaths, now.”

seungcheol chuckles as if he’s pleased at the sight of you. his tail lifts to wipe the tears from your cheeks, then some of the drool and spit and cum from the corner of your mouth, and you exhale a shallow, shaky breath.

“are you done for tonight? or…” he hums once he's given you a moment to recover, but although his words are kind again, there's no sympathy in his tone. he caresses your cheek gently with his thumb, his crimson red eyes sparkling as he looks down at you.

“… you think you can take more?”

your eyes are heavy and lidded, feeling like all your energy has been zapped from you, but somehow you're still insatiable. there's an itch that you can never quite scratch, feelings that only seungcheol can make you feel, and the promise of that satisfaction is enough to keep you sated and happy for decades.

“more,” you stammer, still catching your breath, but your eyes are fixed on his. “p-please, i can take it.”

cheol's smile widens, revealing his gleaming white teeth, although he'd already known what your answer would be. “oh, i know you can. such an obedient thing you are, always so ready to please and be pleased. you want more, hm?”

you nods quickly as you can manage, your neck still aching a little. that's how he always leaves you: a ruined mess, exhausted and sore, yet you'd still jump on the chance for another round if he offered. and he always does.

before you can blink he flips you onto your back, disappearing almost like magic and reappearing at the end of the bed to kneel between your legs. his thick cock rests against your stomach, still just as hard as before, and the weight of him on top of you already has you shivering with excitement.

“you’ve been such a good girl for me, darling. i think you deserve a little reward for taking my cock so well.” he grins as he traces his fingers down your body, his hands finding your hips as his grip tightens. “you get to take it again.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[persicipen]

₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓟𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. KAMISATO AYATO ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 2.1k ノ fem reader — distracting him from work in a certain way ノ petnames — dear . wife . darling ノ implied breeding kink . fucking against the wall ノ teasing and flirting . established relationship . marriage

When he sees you in his office room this late, he knows his frustrations with endless paperwork finally end as the long-awaited — and, what is wee embarrassing to admit, long-forgotten — break came to visit. Break, albeit used to describe many situations and events, in this particular case means you, his most beautiful wife. Ayato’s favourite type of break.

“It’s late, my dear,” he says, tone playful. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping already?”

Your fingers graze against his temple in a caring manner, and he purrs with satisfaction, allowing you to sit right beside him near the low table.

“I wanted to see you. It’s so cold in bed without you…” Your hand slowly slides from his temples to the nape, feeling your husband tremble ever so slightly at your meek touch. The warm pads of your fingertips trail across his shoulders and the area where the neck meets the broad back, resting for a bit and then gently rubbing circles against it, working through the layers of expensive garments. You don’t say anything for a few long minutes — rather, you’re fully immersed in taking care of his stiff muscles.

“Judging by the warmth of your palms, perhaps your claim is not entirely true, hm? Leaving your cosy bedding just to visit me in nothing but a flimsy robe? I sense an intrigue rather than a genuine concern.” Ayato’s hands grab yours before they escape anywhere else. He gives your knuckle a quick peck. Only once, unimpeachable, and he does this every single time you crave some intimacy after what seemed like eternity without him.

Frankly, you do not appreciate it. A pout forms immediately on your lips. They feel lonely, unkissed.

“Spare me a moment or two.” You wrap around his neck, burying your face in the curve of his shoulder and inhaling the intoxicating scent. Camellia flowers and cherry blossoms — a fragrance almost too sweet and innocent for a man such as Lord Kamisato. “I love you so much that I don’t know what to do with myself anymore if you’re not near me.”

What could have been better than enjoying all those delectable noises reserved only for him? A solid offer. No wonder you two are together, one always outsmarting another, always trying to bargain a better deal, be it a kiss, a hug, or an indecent touch during a walk in nature where even butterflies can’t seem to find a way to your secret place.

Insufferable are his thoughts now that you’ve inflicted this venom of lust into his system. If anything, the first dosage was administered long before this evening and had gone untreated due to your husband’s own unwillingness to firmly stop himself from overworking.

Ayato must say that it takes both more patience and determination than usual to fight off your beauty. The purple of his eyes never loses its enticing luster — a mystery worthy of thousands of poems dedicated solely to you. Why should he torture himself any longer while you’re within his reach, offering yourself so obediently?

“My sweet wife is already going for the kill.” His arms encircle your waist in one fluid motion. As expected, he grins to himself, feeling you shiver with excitement against his chest, gaze wandering between your parted lips and star-stricken eyes. “If your request wasn’t so very irresistible, then maybe… Oh well.”

None of you waste any more time, shamefully clawing at each other’s garments just to open them enough to continue making out. You cling to his nape as he puts one hand beneath your ass to hoist you up in order to carry you closer to him.

Every breath burns his throat until he presses you onto the nearest wall — away from the main corridor and prying ears of curious servants, which is unfortunate since he has planned something particularly scandalous involving said corridor. This one he will remember for another occasion, that is. Nothing lost. It does not matter anyway — whatever idea would’ve come to his head can be used tomorrow, a day after tomorrow, anytime, provided that the opportunity arises once again.

Ayato allows himself a brief evaluation of his abandoned tasks before getting down to business. A mere moment later, he’s fucking you relentlessly against the wooden column, your hair tangled with the surface and messy behind your head. With a warm hand on your cheek, it contrasts with the cool breeze coming through the window.

Debauched noises escape your throat without regard to decency, like waterfalls running dry after a hot summer, until there is nothing left but a silent heap of exhales.

Still starving for attention, deprived of everything your beloved husband has been reluctant to provide these past evenings, even the most minuscule gestures spark flames below your navel.

Supposedly, getting so easily wet could be considered unwelcome, always messing up your underwear, but in the company of your adored man, it’s perfect. It’s foolishly easy to slip past the entrance of your pussy and force it to catch every tiny shift of his shaft.

The quick work on your clothes made you too flustered to act before you could even explain your presence here in more detail. With an arm sneaking around your waist, he pulls you closer with a goal to slip his painfully hard cock deeper into your sodden cunt.

Alongside the kiss pressed to your forehead, his mouth lingers there for a brief moment, humming praises against your sweaty skin.

“Is this exactly what you wanted?”

“I love you.” You pant in desperation, fisting at the back of Ayato’s embroidered suit. A string of needy whines flows from your tongue in rapid succession while his lips pepper kisses over your jawline, up and down and across your heated skin until they land on the juncture of your neck, eliciting a small gasp as a reward.

“Aren’t you the most precious one? You should be aware that your words are more dangerous to my heart than any blade or poison.” The Commissioner lets his guard down, a ripple of relief and solace washing over him in the loving warmth of your closeness, and he leans into the embrace while holding you as careful as one holds an ancient vase.

“Hmm, isn’t that adorable that even you have a soft spot?” Your giggle turns into a wanton yelp as he manhandles you to fit against his lean body like a missing puzzle piece.

“Only because I adore you so dearly, I will allow myself to pause the work of utmost importance.” His fingers are brushing against the soft material of your night robe, creeping under the fabric to keep your thigh high enough for him to push his pelvis right against your clit. “It’s not as important as you, I have to admit.”

He kisses your cheek, and his lips travel down your jawline, the feather-like pecks on the side of your collarbone, and you can’t help the content sigh that escapes your mouth. His breath is ticklish, and when his teeth gently nibble the delicate skin, the gasp that follows makes him chuckle, his pace not slowing down.

“If my darling is not silent,” Ayato whispers, his hot breath fanning against your ear, “the servants may notice something unusual is happening in my private quarters.”

As if it would not rouse is excitement…

Such a threat is empty, just a fickle of a joke to raise your pulse before his pace returns to the previous rhythm. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes betrays his amusement, knowing that he will most likely fuck you dumb until you whimper out his name pleadingly, for he does not care if others hear how much of a perfect lover he is. Those working under him are long adjusted to the questionable ways of their Lord’s doings.

You can’t deny the effect it has on you, though. Especially with his hand moving to your mouth, covering it completely to muffle any delicious mewls slipping down your tongue.

“Bite it, if you have to.”

A rush of heat engulfs the pit of your stomach, your cunt squeezing his shaft hungrily. He doesn’t slow down — no, quite the opposite, as if motivated by the shame that strikes your silhouette. His thrusts are steady and merciless, and you are glad that the column is keeping you upright; otherwise, you’d collapse into his arms like a lithe rag doll.

It works like a charm on you. Heavy weight of his words, a need for control in every little detail, always caring, always considerate towards you. Although there are times where your husband will bend to your will and please you thoroughly, there are also moments like these when he won’t give you a chance to think straight, all because of such a simple reason.

He adores you to the point of addiction.

And now he wishes to enjoy you to the fullest without further pauses, reducing his duties to mere distractions that otherwise would stop him from revelling in your body.

No longer form a coherent sentence, you accept the mind-numbing sensation of his cockhead hitting the deepest spots simultaneously with his fingers rubbing at your wet, puffy clit. The tension in your core is threatening to snap at any moment, your juices soaking his length as your pussy greedily milks his shaft with each and every snap of his hips into your pliant body.

Even with limbs unable to muster out any strength to cuddle to your husband, the feeling of your hole gripping him like a vice rewiring Ayato’s mind into a mush, a delirious haze of lust. He removes his hand from your mouth, cupping your face and wiping the drool that is trickling down your chin, his thumb gently caressing the damp skin.

Dark lavender eyes follow sparkles dimming in your fluttering gaze as you try your best to not fall into bliss and close your lids. His forehead rests against yours, his breathing heavy and shallow, his lips dangerously close, and the Commissioner swallows at the familiar heat pooling in his abdomen.

“Just like this, dear,” he says softly, his voice trembling and strained. “Just a bit more.”

With a shaky sigh, he shoves his mouth against yours in a sloppy kiss to avoid any loud noise to escape him, savouring the flavour of your tongue as if you were the finest dessert prepared solely for his appetite.

Despite being unsure if you could truly make it last until your husband finds relief as well, you fight for balance on your shaking thighs while even a portion of your weight feels too much to bear on your wobbly knees. His cock swells, the pressure coiling and tightening from the inside of his balls as the release hits him like a tidal wave. As soon as his essence souses the walls of your womb white, you sob and join him in the moment of sweetest carnal satisfaction.

The sudden contractions of your cunt bring you both to the sweetest peak of pleasure, all too intense to not slump down the polished floors in a puddle of fine silk stained with your mixed essences.

Although Kamisato Ayato is the epitome of politeness and strict discipline, there is no way to deny the truth that he might turn the world upside down just to rest between the thighs of his darling wife.

The delirious euphoria comes to an end when he slips himself out of your snug cunt, soft and worn, satisfied but also amused upon noticing that some of his cum already leaked out of your hole. A pity, such a waste that his seed is seeping through the slippery gash. Maybe the idea of making you pregnant will stay with him until the next close encounter, then.

There is nothing left of composure that usually defines him as the leader of the Yashiro Commission. Instead, the sight is almost unnerving compared to his usual image. Clothes crumpled and skewed, hair ruffled atop his sheen forehead, and the pink blush adorning his cheeks. Perhaps you did him some good tonight after all, clearing his mind and relaxing the muscles tense from sitting still for hours. There are plenty of tasks left to be done — he won’t sleep even after exhausting himself — but perhaps now he’s willing to consider joining you in bed for the rest of the night.

As if hearing your thoughts, he chuckles breathlessly, scooping you up in his embrace without worrying about cleaning the mess just yet.

“There are several things I’d rather do instead of dealing with t-those reports right now...”

“Do I r-really have to coerce my beloved husband into sleeping together?”

“Obviously, no. It’s only a matter of fact that I forget about the passage of time until you have to visit my office. But wasn’t it just as sweet?” His teeth nibble at your earlobe before he laughs under his breath again.

[shoezuki]

hi hello so for any people curious bout the dream beef i am talking about im gon chronicle it all here in a hopefully fully contextual way for both longterm weirdos and new people who dont know bout my parasocial beef w dream. ill try to keep my biases out of it somewhat but anyways,

this began with a podcast Tommyinnit and Jack Manifold have together in which they had philza as a guest. Episode 9 is currently behind a paywall on their patreon but they have a youtube channel where they post them publically as well. Not sure if they make all their episodes public eventually or not but i digress.

Twitter user _constel_ has posted 5 clips from the podcast in question that contain their discussion about dream. I have downloaded the videos but tumblr doesnt want me to put them in this post so i will try and sum up each clip as I go.

Clip 1: Phil starts talking about how once the dsmp was done people would joke about how their 'contracts' would be over and they would be allowed to talk about things behind the scenes. philza mentions the infamous philza tweet in response to dream.

for context, the main discussion is around this exchange from around february 2021, where dream 'jokingly' argues that he is responsible to tommy's high viewership on youtube:

Most of it the tweets are deleted by both parties but it was very much a whole thing. Phil has apparently joked about revealing the context of his reply 'when he retires' (mentioned clip 1).

Jack Manifold had apparently been in a call with tommyinnit when the exchange was happening and recalls tommy being extremely stressed. The context philza gives is that he was texted by tommy to look at the thread while he was going on a walk and tommy was panicking over if dream was genuine (mentioned clip 2). Philza says "I'll find out if he's fucking joking' and that he essentially vibe checked dream. Tommy also states that after the twitter exchange he legitimately wrote in his diary to never be rude to dream: "never be horrible to dream. It's not worth it. It makes me too sad". Additionally jack manifold establishes that he hated dream from the beginning, they hate each other, and that, although he acknowledges dream aided him through the dream smp, he hates how dream 'takes ownership of other people and their accomplishments because he was a guiding hand' (mentioned clip 3).

Jack manifold mentions that tommy was 16 during this exchange and philza additionally says it was out of line (Clip 4). Philza more openly talks about there being 'reds flag after red flags' with dream in clip 5.

OKAY thats honestly a vague description and theres a LOT more so watch the clips if u want. Heres another tweet 'summarizing' it as well. But anyways this of course had people talking about dream again, some people (accidentally?) acting like this is about dream smp lore, and a lot of people concerned about how tommy was afraid to upset dream and would blame himself when dream picked fights with him.

Dream's response on dreamwastaken was to tweet about how he appreciated everyone who was on the server dispite differences, as well as a zip file to download the dsmp server/world file.

Worth noting there is a limitation on how many people can download the file within 24 hours so now people are only getting an error message when trying to access it which is fucking funny. On his private he also tweeted "love and appreciate you guys <3 very happy to be uploading again :) hope to keep it rolling" (Im not cropping out the reply its funny)

Thats all hes said so far, I havent seen tommy or jack manifold talking about it either. technically it isnt outright in response to their podcast but obviously everyone is taking it as such.

final stuff/my thoughts: dream has obviously had a tendency to kinda 'take credit' for 'making' the streamers who were on the dsmp and its notable that in his tweet he still acts like his server was the reason for people's fame and relationships. Saying 'a group of creators most of which would never have collaborated under any other circumstance got together and made something really cool' is just his thinly veiled way of still taking credit for tommy's fame and the relationships he and others have made and its moronic. Not to mention dsmp was very much NOT the server that got these specific people together, i mean techno and phil met through minecraft mondays, tommy and jack manifold met both of them through smp earth i believe. Even if the dsmp wasnt a thing they probably would have collaborated with other members through mcc eventually. the idea that the dsmp was what brought them together and a bunch of minecraft clowns would 'never have collaborated under any other circumstance' is stupid.

anyways sorry this is long as shit. im going to pray dream doesnt let this go for at least 3 to 5 business days as per usual