#casual touch is the air in my lungs

[theindiscreetbookworm]

me: sits down to write a sexy sword fight fix-it fic

also me: at 7000 words, takes a break from the reconciliation angst and kisses to write found family crew cuteness

[captain-hawks]

you want to blame it on the sheer amount of people packed into mattsun’s small, tenth floor apartment—the way it’s suddenly difficult to breathe.

at least that’s what you mutter to makki as you excuse yourself and head toward the balcony’s reprieve, your drink forgotten on the coffee table as you step out into the frigid winter air.

but fuck if the familiar, warm scent of iwaizumi’s cologne doesn’t invade your nostrils a moment later anyway, something you’re beyond embarrassed to recognize with your eyes closed.

you don’t turn around as the sliding door clicks shut, eyes trained on some unremarkable landmark in the distance that you can’t quite make out in the darkness. and as he comes to stand beside you, forearms leaning on the metal handrail inches away from your own, you’re not sure if the slight shiver that wracks its way down your spine is from the flakes of snow that have begun to settle on your bare arms or his maddening proximity.

you can’t fucking stand it—this unceremonious collapse of your lungs in his presence, the blistering heat that prickles down your neck and closes tightly around your throat.

something soft and warm settles around your shoulders, and your throat goes dry as the zipper of his jacket brushes against your neck.

“where’s your girlfriend?” you ask, hoping the question doesn’t sound as pathetic as you feel.

it’s funny how these things work—you spent years trying to get over your silly high school crush, only for all of it to come crashing back down in your lap gathered at the bar with friends celebrating his return to japan after uni.

it’s funny—the way you could hardly remember the name of the guy you were casually seeing in that moment as you watched iwaizumi walk in with a pretty girl clutching his elbow.

iwa laughs quietly, and it’s a little rough, a bit self-deprecating. “where’s your boyfriend?”

it’s funny—the odd curve of his tone on the last word.

“don’t have one,” you reply, casting him a sideways glance, his expression unreadable.

“she told me she wanted to move to japan with me,” he says carefully, exhaling a cloud of warm air as his gaze sweeps to the skyline.

your heart sinks.

“and?”

“and i told her i wanted to break up.”

you whip around to face him, convinced you heard him wrong. “you what?”

he reaches across the space between your bodies, hands grasping the bottom edges of the jacket and zipping it up to your chin (and it’s so goddamn reminiscent of the way he used to chide you for not dressing properly on the walk to school that you sway a little on your feet).

you can’t help the way you nudge his foot in return just like you always used to—it’s muscle memory, more than anything else.

and yet you’re not anticipating the way he still follows up in kind, hooking a foot around the back of your ankle, muttering about your shit choice of shoes in the dead of winter. while it’s hardly a tap, it’s enough to make you take a step forward in surprise as the lines between the past and present begin to blur, stumbling slightly.

two hands at your waist steady you, and despite the layers between his palms and your hips, your nerve endings ignite.

“coming home made me realize that even moving to the other side of the world wouldn’t stop me from wondering,” he says softly, snowflakes accumulating in his mussed brown hair.

“wondering what, iwaizumi?”

he doesn’t answer you for a moment, just stares at you with an intensity that makes you briefly question the physics of spontaneous combustion.

“what it’d be like to hear you call me by my name for once,” he murmurs. “what it’d be like to do this, if you’d let me.” carefully, he traces the curve of your bottom lip, his touch feather-light.

your legs wobble, just a little, and iwaizumi’s left hip and thigh press up against you. it’s a weather phenomenon, the way everything goes quiet during snow fall—but it’d all be drowned out either way right now against the erratic thrumming behind your ribcage.

“i missed you, hajime,” you whisper, the syllables heavy on your tongue—they’re at odds with this dizzy lightness in your chest.

his eyes fall shut for a beat, lips curving upward in a faint smile, his fingers twitching subtly at your waist.

you begin to lean forward, and there’s a quiet sigh of relief that falls from his lips before he cups your face in both of his hands, his mouth crashing into yours.

[theemporium]

[4.7k] the four times carlos encourages lando to confess his feelings to the youngest sainz sister and the one time where he's had enough and takes matters into his own hands.

.

New Years’ Eve, 2020 

It was a few minutes past eleven when Carlos found him hiding out on the balcony. 

There was something so overwhelming and intoxicating about New Years Eve, something that seemed to bring so many strangers together for the end of year celebration. That was the exact reason he had practically begged the Spaniard to fly out to London after the holidays, to spend the night drinking and laughing and celebrating with him to bring in the new year. 

The night had started out great. He had been surrounded by friends and friends-of-friends. He had been drinking some awful concoction Max had made that was far too sweet for his taste. He had been badly singing along to the songs blasting through the speakers and dancing—both badly and proudly—in the living room of someone's mutual friend’s house. 

But then things started to get suffocating. The buzz of the alcohol started to wash away, thoughts and reality started creeping in and, suddenly, Lando didn’t want to be stuck in the middle of a group of strangers who didn’t seem to understand he didn’t want to be touched and jousted around or hugged. 

He needed space. He needed fresh air. He just needed to be alone. 

His lungs were burning as he took deep breaths of cold, crisp air. He let it overwhelm him, let himself focus on the fact the cold was starting to seep into his bones. He let himself focus on the present moment, rather than the millions of racing thoughts in his head. He let the loneliness ground him. 

But just as quickly as that relief came, it ended.

“Why are you hiding out here for?” 

Lando’s eyes instantly snapped shut as he gripped the railing, wrapping his fingers around the cold metal before he lifted his head and turned to glance over his shoulder. The Spaniard stood by the door, the buttons of his shirts undone and his cheeks flushed from the drinks he had been downing all night. His eyes were a little glossy and dazed, but his smile remained as he made his way over to the Brit.

“I’m not hiding,” Lando answered, though the response was weak and Carlos could see right through him. 

“So standing on a balcony alone whilst everyone parties inside is a British New Years tradition I didn’t know?” Carlos mused as he leaned against the balcony, his body turned towards Lando. “Try again.”

“I just needed a breather,” Lando said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

Carlos’ brows furrowed together. “From what?”

“Just…things,” he muttered, his eyes cast down as he spoke. “I’ll be back inside in a couple of minutes. You didn’t have to come out here.”

“Of course I did, you’re my friend,” Carlos scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What’s wrong?”

Lando shook his head. “Nothing is wrong—”

“Lando,” the Spaniard said his name in a softer voice, and something about it made his eyes well up a little. It was stupid. It was so stupid—and maybe the alcohol was playing a part—but he felt oddly emotional, and he didn’t like it. “Friends don’t lie.”

“I guess I’m just not in the mood to start a new year, that’s all,” he grumbled, feeling a bit like a whining child but it was the truth. There wasn’t much in the upcoming year that he was genuinely excited for, at least nothing that was coming to mind tonight. 

“Just because we aren’t teammates anymore doesn’t mean I’ll abandon you,” Carlos said, resting a hand on his shoulder until the Brit finally looked at him again. “We are friends, Lando. Nothing can change that. Not even Charles.”

“We’ll hardly see each other,” he whispered in a soft voice.

“I’ll make time,” Carlos promised, but it still didn’t seem to be enough to put the boy’s racing mind at ease. “You know the best part of us not being teammates anymore?”

Lando froze, his brows furrowing together and he almost looked offended that Carlos could find a positive in the whole situation when his chest felt tight every single time he thought about the Spaniard in the Ferrari garage instead of the room right next to his.

“What?”

And before Lando could even question the glint in his eyes, he found his eyes following Carlos’ gaze as they both glanced back into the raging party inside—or, more specifically, where you stood in the middle of the crowd, laughing and smiling and having the time of your life.

“There is nothing stopping you now.” 

Lando’s head spun back around to look at Carlos, his brows furrowed together. “Huh?”

“Lando,” he said his name like it said everything. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Lando let out a noise mixed between a scoff and a nervous laugh. “What? No! I—”

“Lando,” Carlos repeated, and the boy quickly pressed his lips together. “I know you didn’t want to do anything because you were scared you’d cause something but…we aren’t teammates anymore. There’s no conflict of interest. You can ask her out.”

“I don’t like your sister like that, mate,” Lando attempted to laugh off, shaking his head.

Carlos shot him a look. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“So, you don’t care if she kisses someone else at midnight?”

And truthfully? He felt his stomach churn at the idea. He felt like he could keel over the balcony railing and empty his guts there and then at the idea of witnessing it. The boy had spent the last two years pathetically pining after you, he had time to get used to seeing you with someone else and yet, it still made him feel physically unwell. 

But as pathetic as he was, he was also a coward. Because even if it would kill a part of him to see you kiss someone else when he so desperately wished it was him, he would still rather throw himself off the balcony before he confessed his feelings for you. 

“I don’t care,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “Plus, you’re her older brother. Shouldn’t you be stopping guys from coming near her?”

Carlos sighed, shaking his head. “You’re being a muppet.”

“Yeah well, it’s not the first time you’ve said that.” 

Lando had told everyone he had drank far too much that night, but the truth was that he couldn’t stomach anything after watching you kiss some pretty blond guy when the clock struck midnight. 

.

Summer Break, 2022

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not. You’ve done this on purpose.”

“It’s just a few prawns, Lando.”

“And they are making me gag!”

“They aren’t even on your plate!” 

Lando glared at the small shellfish on Carlos’ plate with his nose scrunched up in disgust, a clear look of disdain on his face. He should have known the Spaniard would torture him in some way, shape or form when he invited him out for lunch. Lando just honestly assumed it would be Carlos teasing him in front of you, he didn’t realise fish would be involved. 

“That is disgusting,” Lando muttered with a frown.

“You are just dramatic,” Carlos scoffed. 

“Hey, give him a break,” you lightly scolded your older brother, an easy smile on your face as you pushed your pasta around your plate. “In his defence, he did look a little green when they brought it out.”

“I did not,” Lando huffed, his cheeks flaming up in embarrassment. “This is bullying. You Sainz folk are bullies.” 

You snorted.

However, Carlos only rolled his eyes in response. “It is not our fault that you have the taste palate of a five year old.”

“I should have just taken Max on his offer to play FIFA over this,” Lando muttered, letting out an exaggerated squeak when he felt the Spaniard pinch his side. “Hey! Hands to yourself!”

“I thought you liked it when us Sainz folk touch you,” Carlos retorted, a glint in his eyes that made Lando’s cheeks go redder. 

“Don’t be silly, cabrón,” you spoke up, a look in your eyes that matched your mother’s. “He’s just like that for Mama. Little Lando Norris likes older women.”

“I think you’ve mistaken me for Verstappen,” Lando countered. 

You opened your mouth, a witty reply undoubtedly on the tip of your tongue and something in his chest buzzed in excitement to hear it. He liked it when you did this. He liked the snarky back and forth, like some weird twisted foreplay. He enjoyed the thrill it gave him, the fact your attention was purely on him and his words. 

But the universe seemed to be against him as the shrill of your phone ringing interrupted whatever you were about to say, leaving you to excuse yourself as you quickly headed outside to take the call. 

“For the love of everything holy, please just tell her.” 

Lando tore his eyes away from the large glass window at the front of the restaurant where he had watched you animatedly talk to whoever was on the other side of the phone—not that he was jealous or anything—and instead focused on the older Spaniard next to him.

“Huh?”

Carlos shot him a blank look. “Lando.”

“Not this again,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Yes, this again!” Carlos argued as he leaned over to pinch the Brit’s side again, narrowly avoiding his hand being swatted away. “It’s been years!”

“I don’t like her like that,” Lando argued, watching as Carlos went to open his mouth, but he quickly continued. “And even if I did, it’s been years. I wouldn’t like her like that anymore.”

He didn’t think it was possible for Carlos to look more exasperated. 

“You bought a camera,” Carlos stated like it was the most obvious and incriminating piece of evidence against him. 

“I wanted to take up a new hobby,” Lando said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. 

“So, you choose photography?” 

“Yes.” 

“And it has nothing to do with the fact my sister offered to give you lessons and tips?” Carlos questioned with a knowing look. 

“That was just a happy coincidence,” Lando argued. 

“Mate,” Carlos sighed, heavy and exhausted, as he gestured towards the camera sat beside his plate. “You’ve literally been carrying that thing around everywhere you go in hopes it will start a conversation with her. Just ask her out.” 

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just wanted a new hobby?” Lando retorted, feeling as though his face was on fire because he was right. Carlos was always fucking right. But that wasn’t something he would ever admit, especially right now. “I was thinking of starting an insta account for my photos.”

“Really?” Carlos deadpanned.

“Mhm,” he hummed, nodding his head. 

Carlos opened his mouth, arguments and exasperated pleas ready but was quickly cut off when he noticed you barrelling over to them with a massive grin on your face. 

“I did it!”

��What?” Carlos murmured, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“I got in! They accepted my portfolio! My work is going to be in the exhibition!” You all but squealed, your cheeks beginning to hurt from how wide you were smiling but you couldn’t stop. This was everything you had been working towards in the last few months and it was finally paying off. 

“Congratulations!” Lando said, a grin just as wide as yours spread over his face as he quickly stood up from his seat, ignoring the looks Carlos was sending him as he brought you into a hug. “I told you you would get it.” 

You pulled back, your smile softening a little as you looked up at the Brit. “You always do believe in me, Norris.”

“Always,” he replied, like it was instinctive. 

For the rest of the meal, Lando promptly ignored the messages Carlos kept sending him under the table and instead let himself bask in your happiness, in your smiles, in you. 

.

Silverstone, 2023

Lando Norris felt like he was standing at the top of the world. 

There was a buzz of adrenaline and excitement coursing through his veins, and he genuinely didn’t think his heart would ever return to a normal rate ever again. Blood was roaring in his ears as he crossed over the line, as he heard the murmurs of his race engineer in his ear confirming his position, as the screams and cheers of the crowd completely enveloped him as he pulled his car behind the P2 sign. 

His body was on autopilot as he pulled himself out of the car, running towards his team and throwing himself halfway over the barrier as they cheered and slapped him on the back. Their congratulations and praises washed over him as he tried to wrap his head around it, as he tried to process the fact he had managed a podium as his home race, like he always dreamed of. 

He couldn’t stop grinning as he went through all of the post-race routines, getting weighed and finding himself in the cool down room before he headed towards the podium. He basked in the cheers as he lifted the trophy over his head, as he slammed his bottle down, as he drowned himself in champagne.

Lando Norris felt like a fucking winner, if he was being completely honest. 

He had been grinning down at his trophy, gripping onto it like it was his most prized possession (and at that moment, it genuinely may have been) that he hadn’t even seen you barrelling towards him until your arms were wrapped around him and your body hit his with a soft impact, enough to make him let out a small oomph before the familiar smell of your perfume washed over him.

“I am so proud of you!” 

Something in his stomach fluttered widely at your words as he wound his arms around you, holding you tighter against him as he sunk into your embrace. His eyes fell shut, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck and Lando believed that if he died right in that second, he would have died a happy and fulfilled man.

“Thank you,” he finally spoke when he remembered he hadn’t replied yet. “It doesn’t feel real.”

“You deserve it, especially after how this season started,” you said to the boy, your voice just loud enough for only him to hear as you held onto each other. 

He clung onto you, no plans of letting you go anytime soon as you both swayed on the spot but it seemed as though you were happy to stay there too. However, the unnerving sensation of feeling like he was being watched forced Lando to open his eyes, looking over your shoulder to find your older brother staring at him. 

‘Do something.’ Carlos mouthed to him. 

And when you eventually did pull back, teary eyed and looking at him like he hung the moon, Lando couldn’t help but let his eyes fall down to your lips. It would be so easy, so fucking easy. He could just lean down and press his lips against yours, feel the little squeak of surprise you would let out before you sunk into his kiss. He could imagine it so fucking clearly.

But the voice of reason in the back of his head managed to scream louder than the adrenaline pumping through his body and he simply threw his arm around your shoulders instead, guiding you towards where Carlos was standing. 

“Gonna celebrate with me?” 

“I’m gonna get you so many shots, you won’t even remember your own name, Norris.”

Lando ignored the disappointed look Carlos sent his way and instead focused on the positives. He wasn’t going to ruin your friendship when you had a good thing going, not when there was the risk he could lose everything. 

And Carlos was just going to have to mind his own business and deal with that.

.

Las Vegas, 2023

It happened so fast.

He didn’t even know what happened until his car finally stopped moving, when the rush of spinning and going hundreds of miles an hour came to a stop and the excruciating pain washed over his whole body.

It felt like someone was stepping on his lungs, making it really fucking difficult to breathe. His head felt fuzzy and heavy, his arms even fucking heavier. For a few moments, he couldn’t remember where he was. And then the sounds of the cars passing, the smell of rubber tires and fuel hit him and he couldn’t help but let his eyes shut as the disappointment of an unfinished race overwhelmed him. 

He could hear the team in his ear, begging for a response. It took him a few attempts before he was able to properly grip the wheel and hit the radio button. It took even longer to scramble out of the wrecked car, even with the help of the marshalls. Everything felt like it was moving too slow and, for someone like Lando who thrived on speed, it was disorienting.

It was like an out of body experience, like it wasn’t really him controlling his body. He just let himself be passed from person to person, someone always guiding him on where he should go. He didn’t argue with anyone as he was taken to the hospital, feeling far too tired to even try disagreeing. He just did what they told him. 

Test after test, observation after observation, talk after talk. Lando went through it all, feeling like a fucking pinball as he was tossed between different rooms and machines and doctors, but he didn’t say anything. He just wanted to lay down and sleep. He just wanted to pretend this whole weekend didn’t happen.

And when he was finally allowed to head back to the paddock to have a debrief with the team and pick up his belongings, the last thing he expected was for you to be waiting in his driver room.

“Gracias a Dios,” you breathed out in relief when your eyes settled on him, standing frozen in the doorway in a jumper that was far too large for him. But it was a passing thought as you rushed over to him, only to pause in fear of hurting him further. 

However, Lando just flashed you a weak smile and brought you into a hug, feeling your body sag against him.

“I was so scared,” you murmured into his chest, sniffling a little as you spoke. “They wouldn’t tell me anything. I threatened to cut Zak’s balls off if he didn’t at least tell me whether you were okay or not.”

Lando snorted softly. “He always was scared of you.”

“Good,” you grumbled before you pulled back, taking in his tired and weary expression. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore,” he answered, smiling a little when he saw your lips twitch upwards. “I’ll be fine. Just need to take it easy for a few days.” 

You nodded. “We can have an easy night in, just watch a movie or something.” 

And suddenly, it felt like someone was standing on his chest again.

“You don’t have to,” Lando said, shaking his head a little. “I know you’ll probably want to celebrate—”

“I don’t want to do anything except make sure you’re okay,” you interrupted, a note in your voice that he recognised as your unwavering stubbornness. “You can choose the movie. I promise I’ll only complain a little.”

Truthfully, how was he meant to say no to that? 

He tried to pretend like his heart wasn’t racing when you later made your way to his hotel room, sprawled over his bed as you flicked through possible movie options. He tried to pretend his stomach wasn’t fluttering with butterflies when you settled against the headboard, your shoulder brushing against his. He tried to pretend like he was so completely fucking normal when you grabbed one of his hoodies, pulling ot over your head before settling back into his bed. 

He was fine. So fucking fine.

Smooth Operator: this is your chance, muppet. tell her how you feel!!!

And despite Carlos’ message, Lando just enjoyed the night with you. After a crash that could have gone so much worse, he was just grateful to have your presence beside him, whether it was as a friend or something more. 

At least, that is what he kept telling himself.

.

Sainz Christmas Party, 2023

Despite the jokes made, Lando genuinely was an honorary member of the Sainz family. 

With some extra time spent in Monaco before he headed back to England to spend Christmas with his family, it was easy enough to stop over in Spain for a day or two to enjoy the annual Sainz Christmas Party before he headed home.

He had arrived the night before the party, presents in hand to give to the whole family despite their insistence that it wasn’t necessary. Something in his chest eased whenever he spent time with the Sainz family, that reassurance that even though he and Carlos are no longer teammates, they still cherish him the way he cherishes them. 

The party was as extravagant and lavish as it always was. The decorations were sleek and timeless, the wine was expensive and top of the range, and the food served to the many guests was some of the finest Lando had ever truly eaten. 

It felt like a home away from home as he stood beside Carlos Senior and Reyes, a glass of some fancy champagne in his flute as he laughed and chatted away to them. 

That same flute that was almost knocked out of his hand as Carlos came rushing towards him, muttering apologies to the other guests as he pushed past them and beelined towards the Brit. He placed a hand on Lando’s arm, giving his parents a strained smile as he did. 

“Lo siento,” he simply said before tugging Lando away from his parents and the rest of the crowd, leading him down some random hallways in the Sainz household. 

“Woah, Carlos, what’s wrong?” Lando questioned, abandoning the flute of champagne on some table they passed before he split it all. “Where are we going?”

“I need your help with something important and I need you to not ask too many questions,” Carlos stated simply, which only made Lando’s concern grow tenfold. 

“Carlos—” 

But the Brit barely got a chance to say anything before Carlos opened a random door and gave him a hearty shove as he stumbled into the small cupboard. The boy let out a noise of surprise, taking a few moments to realise he had stumbled into you before everything clicked. He whirled around, ready to give the Spaniard a piece of his mind, but the door was quickly slammed in his face and locked shut from the outside. 

“Carlos!” Lando yelled, banging on the door a few times with his fist, but it was useless. 

“No, I have waited five years! I’m sick of this! If you won’t do something about this, then I have to.”

Lando kept his gaze on the door as his cheeks burned in embarrassment. “I am going to kill you!”

“You can’t kill me if I never let you out.” 

His ears burned. “Carlos—” 

“You’ll thank me later. Feliz Navidad and don’t forget to look up!” 

The telling sound of footsteps rushing off made it clear that Carlos had quickly disappeared, leaving you and Lando trapped in the small cupboard for god-knows how long. The Brit let out a groan, leaning his forehead against the cold wooden door as he tried to settle his pounding heart.

“Ouch. I didn’t realise being trapped with me was that bad.” 

“No,” Lando quickly shook his head, guilt eating away at him but he still didn’t turn to look at you. “It’s not that, I just—” he paused for a few moments before he spoke again. “He’s only doing this because of me, I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into it.”

“Lando,” you murmured his name softly, a hand placed on his lower back and he could have sworn your touch had burned through the layers of his clothes.

“I’m really sorry—” 

“Lando,” you repeated again, your voice a little firmer and your hand remained where it was. “Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Please,” you continued, and your voice tugged on his heartstrings too tightly to say no. 

Lando slowly turned around, a sheepish expression on his face as he took you in. You looked absolutely fucking breathtaking in the dark green dress you were wearing, the ends swaying and brushing against the floor when you moved. Your hair was curled to perfection, your makeup enhancing every feature to make you look prettier (if that was even fucking possible). But god, the best part of your whole ensemble was the smile you gave him. 

He would move mountains to see that fucking smile.

“Don’t apologise,” you said, shaking your head. 

“But—” He started. 

However, you just shook your head. “It’s Christmas.” 

He paused, frowning a little at your response. “Huh?”

“It’s Christmas,” you said with a knowing smile before your gaze shifted upwards, and he couldn’t help but follow your eyeline. Something in his stomach flipped when he saw the sprig of mistletoe hanging above you both. 

Lando swallowed harshly as he glanced back down at you, his eyes instantly landing on your lips. 

“It’s bad luck to break tradition,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you spoke. And it took a few seconds. A few split seconds for Lando to truly wrap his head around everything. 

This time he didn’t let himself hesitate as he reached up, his hands completely engulfing your cheeks in his hold before he smashed his lips against yours. And just like he imagined—like he dreamt about—you let out a noise of surprise before you sunk into his embrace. 

Your hands fisted the lapels of his blazer, tugging him impossibly closer in the small cupboard until your body was pressed against his. You let out a desperate noise when his tongue darted against your bottom lip, happily letting the boy completely consume you and the air you breathed. His arms around your waist, keeping you close and tight like you were going to disappear. And god, neither of you wanted to pull away. 

“Shit,” he breathed out when he had to pull away, when his lungs were burning and screaming for air. He pressed his forehead against yours, your lipstick undoubtedly smudged against his lips but he didn’t care. No, he didn’t think he could ever care about anything other than kissing you ever again. “I have wanted to do that for so long.”

“I have been waiting for you to do that for so long,” you retorted, your hands smoothing the lapels of his blazer before they slid up to rest on his shoulders. “Five years, to be exact.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

And you smiled, wide and unbashful, and he thought the whole world stopped moving. 

“You weren’t subtle. But apparently you were too oblivious to notice the fact I liked you back,” you said as your fingers lightly traced along the collar of his shirt. 

“You knew?” His brain took a few seconds before he fully processed your words. “You liked me back?” 

“Like,” you corrected. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be locked in a cupboard with you hoping you kiss me again.” 

His hands squeezed your waist, a smile making its way onto his face before he could really stop himself. “I—” His cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t care. “Fuck, I think I’m dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming, I promise,” you murmured as you tilted your head back to look up at him, eyes full of adoration that he had never really noticed until now. “But better late than never, right?”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, and because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned down to peck your lips again. Though, it was a little hard when he couldn’t stop grinning. “I have five years of bad dates and secret makeout sessions to catch up on.” 

Your grin widened. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Lando murmured and, for the first time in five years, the tightness in his chest felt desired and wanted. The tightness was reassuring, it was the proof he had that this was all really happening.

“Merry Christmas, Lando.” 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” 

And maybe—just fucking maybe—he would thank Carlos for giving him that shove he needed to have the best thing in his life: you.

.

[appocalipse]

something good ⋆ bucky barnes

summary: bucky is about to go to war without confessing his feelings for you. you are about to watch him leave without confessing your feelings for him. that is, unless one of you gets up the courage to do something about it...

"I...need some fresh air. I'll be back."

Steve looks like he's going to argue with you as you push the chair out, but then you glance toward where Bucky disappeared in the crowd of people dancing, and Steve's face softens before he gives you a nod.

"We'll be right here," he says, pointing to your barely-touched drink. "Be careful."

The alley behind the bar is damp and quiet, cool from the rain earlier in the day but blissfully empty. You lean against the bricks and tip your head back, closing your eyes.

Steve was wrong — you should have stayed home.

He'd begged you to come out tonight; it wasn't just the two of them, he'd said, his eyes wide with hope. A few others had been invited, too, old friends who Bucky had wanted to see one last time before shipping out tomorrow.

And girls, of course. Girls with big smiles and bright eyes, who looked at Bucky as if they were hungry and he was a steak dinner.

To his credit, though, Bucky had asked you to dance first, and you'd said no. No, because it would have been impossible to act casually around him with your hands on his chest and his on your waist.

So, yes, you’d needed some fresh air after that. How could you not, when—

"Are you mad at me?"

You turn toward the voice that came from down the alley. Even though it's dark, you, of course, recognize him instantly, silhouetted against the weak light coming from inside the bar.

"Me? No, you—I'm not," you reply, your tongue feeling like it weighs three pounds. You attempt a smile. "What are you doing out here? You should be inside, enjoying your last night, no?"

Bucky shrugs and walks closer, but only far enough so you can see each other without straining.

"I was looking for you," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Steve said you'd come out here."

"I'll go back inside soon, I promise. Don't worry."

He doesn't move except to kick a loose pebble away from his toe. "Why didn't you want to dance with me?"

Your stomach plummets at the question. He sounds almost hurt, and you wish you could explain yourself to him in a way that doesn't include blurting out your stupid feelings in the process.

"Uh...I don't know, I just...well, no reason," you stumble, wishing desperately that you weren't such an idiot. "I thought I'd keep Steve company while you...you know."

"Danced with the rest of them?"

You nod silently.

Bucky makes a scoffing sound before running a hand through his hair. "They're all the same."

"Okay..."

"It's not, uh, it's not what you think," he continues, taking a step forward, then back again as if he's unsure of how close to stand. "The girls — they're nice and pretty, sure, but...they're just not... I don't think they're my type, I guess."

"Uh-huh," you murmur, turning your gaze downward toward your shoes, suddenly finding it easier to look anywhere but at him. "Yeah, well, we better get back before—"

"Is there somebody else?"

The air in your lungs vanishes at his abrupt question, and you look up as your heart starts beating out of rhythm.

"Excuse me?" you whisper, surprised that you've even found your voice. "Somebody else?"

"Somebody that you...that you're seeing," Bucky says slowly, his words strained, as if every one causes him pain.

You stare at him for a second, hoping this is a joke, that maybe Steve put him up to asking these ridiculous questions — or maybe he's been drinking too much — because, surely, Bucky couldn't possibly be trying to ask you what you think he's trying to ask you.

"Bucky, let's just go back inside—"

"It's Steve, isn't it?" he cuts you off with the most absurd statement yet. His expression softens. "It's okay, really. If you are, I mean. He's a really good guy."

"Steve?!" You actually laugh at the absurdity of it all, shaking your head until the shock fades away into incredulity. "Jesus Christ, no! I mean, Steve is...he's like a brother to me, what...what the hell are we even talking about?"

"But...there's someone?" he asks again, sounding less upset than he had a few moments ago.

"No, not—no," you say, slouching against the wall and shrugging halfheartedly. "There's no one. Honestly, there hasn't been since..."

"Since when?"

Since I met you.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose and praying that a sinkhole will open up and swallow you whole. This has gone on long enough. "I don't know. It's...been a little while. I don't know what you want me to say, really."

"I just wondered."

"Okay, fine."

You start to walk back to the door leading inside, but Bucky moves so quickly that you run smack into his chest.

"Wait, just—"

He grabs your hand and holds it gently, thumb softly brushing along your knuckles.

Your breath hitches at the unexpected contact. You glance down at where he's holding onto you, then back up again, confused, curious, wondering if this is real and not some strange dream you'll wake up from any moment now.

You exhale with a shaky laugh when he lifts his other hand to your cheek and rubs his thumb across it, stopping at the corner of your mouth.

Slowly, so slowly, he leans in.

"Bucky," you breathe, his name soft on your tongue.

His forehead touches yours, and you reach up to rest a palm against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips.

"Do you not want me to...?"

He's never been this close to you, but everything about the moment feels familiar — the heat radiating from his body, the light scratch of his stubble on your cheek, the smell of him surrounding you.

You lift your chin slightly. "I do, but..."

"Just..." You feel the warmth of his breath on your lips; he's so close now that they brush against yours as he speaks. "I wish I'd...said something before it came to this."

"Before what came to this?"

"That I'd have...asked you. Proper, like. Dinner, movie. You know, the way it shoulda been. Before I...before I leave."

You stiffen at the word leave, pulling back so that you can look him in the eye.

"Bucky..."

"I wish I would've asked you to dinner. Would've loved to take you to dinner," he says, his eyes searching yours. "Wouldn't that have been nice, doll?"

A small smile lifts the corner of your mouth. "It would've."

"It could've been nice, you and me."

"I think it could have been."

"Yeah?" he chuckles quietly, lifting your hand and bringing it to his lips. He presses a kiss to the back of your fingers, then your palm. "I think it can still be. You see, I'm quite selfish. I'd like to go to war with something good to think of. Something — or someone — to come home to. That'd be worth coming home to."

"Like...Steve?"

It's a joke, of course, and Bucky, to his credit, does laugh, too. Then, he slips a finger under your chin and tips your face up toward his. You hold your breath as he dips his head to place a gentle, barely-there kiss on the corner of your mouth. "Not like Steve. No."

The music from inside the bar becomes louder, a woman's voice singing softly, sweetly. Stars fading, but I linger on, dear...

"I..." You clear your throat nervously, fiddling with the collar of his jacket. "You better come back to me in one piece."

"You gonna be waiting for me?"

You smirk. "I mean, I already waited this long, so I might as well—"

The rest of your words disappear into his kiss. You gasp at the sudden, almost desperate press of Bucky's lips on yours, but then he brings his hands to the sides of your face and kisses you more gently, more slowly, more purposefully, as if he has a lot to say to you in this moment but words fail him and the only thing left to do is this — to kiss you, over and over, again and again, to say, with his lips, with his hands, with every inch of himself...that he'll come back to you.

You whimper as Bucky's teeth catch your lower lip and tug before letting go. He pulls back far enough to look at you, to see your swollen lips parted. "So...that means yes, right?"

"Yes," you murmur. You slide your hands over his shoulders and into his hair, pulling his mouth back down to yours. "It means yes."

[acapelladitty]

Smoke Them All

Pairing: Cooper Howard/F!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Summary: Not content with the litany of bruises and bite marks which he has littered across your skin, Cooper decides on something a little more permanent. (2.2k words)

(tw for: spanking, rough play, branding, fingering, orgasm, pain kink, dom/sub dynamics, subspace, allusions to cannibalism, cum eating, mild aftercare)

You hear the swish of his hand as it arcs through the air a split moment before the connecting smack rings out loudly and fresh fire flares in your unprotected ass.

"That's eight, little killer." Cooper muses as his open palm comes to settle against your skin, the flesh feeling raw and heated due to his vicious strikes, and his fingers trace the unseen outlines of his hand prints as they litter your ass. "You're almost warmed up for the main event."

Anxiety laced with a wicked arousal floods your groin, your cunt feeling slippery and neglected as you consider the small metal brand which sits in the nearby fire - the end balanced where the fire was at it hottest to ensure a clean imprint.

The brand had been his idea, a casual and sleazy comment given life by your own curiosity, but the spanking was just an added boon and Cooper was never one to deny himself the chance to dole out a little bit of good ol' fashioned discipline when the mood suited him.

So here you were, braced over his lap as the evening moon shone high in the sky. The surrounding area was dead of life, raiders and monsters having been long snuffed out, and any potential new onlookers had been provided their chance to scarper at the presence of the infamous ghoul. It was luck that the night air wasn't too chilled, not that it would have made a difference to either of you as you set about your combined goal.

The first few strikes had been pretty manageable as Cooper targeted different parts of your ass, quickly and efficiently trying to cover and redden up as much skin as possible while his other hand pinned your lower back to his knees. His tattered jacket flared out from behind him, the ratty ends touching the ground just beside your own fingers as you pressed them against the ground to keep balance.

Cooper, however, hadn't been as impressed with your easy management of his punishment.

C'mon now, little songbird, I want to hear that lovely voice.

And his efforts had quickly doubled as he brought his hand down with much more violence, the next two strikes coming in rapid succession as they glanced off the fullest part of your ass and stole the breath from your lungs. It was like being struck by metal. Hard. Unforgiving. And so fucking good.

He got the reaction he wanted as your playful groans dissolved into pathetic squeals when his fingers groped at the stinging flesh, your knees pulling together as you smeared the growing wetness that was developing between your thighs. The following hits were much the same, his accurate hand having targeted the same patch of skin until you could feel the heat buzzing free of the abused flesh as small whimpers stole from your throat freely.

"You're lucky I ain't using my belt, darling." Cooper growls as he disrupts your thoughts, tugging at your hair to force your head back enough to gaze up at him. "Cause the welts that leaves would paint you purple for a week and give you a harsh reminder of it every time that fine ass wanted to sit down anywhere."

"Yes, sir." Fumbling over the words, your fingers scratch against the dirt of the ground as your cunt feels swollen and painfully abandoned. You swear you could feel yourself dripping with mess but since he hadn't commented on it yet, maybe not.

"Might even use the buckle." Your scalp burns from his rough grasp and the extension of your neck makes breathing difficult as he continues. "Let it tear strips off you until you're a sobbing mess just crying out and begging for me to let up on you. You want that?"

Rubbing your thighs together at the open threat, you gasp and whine under his grip. From this position, you are barely able to make out his expression as your vision is also limited by the unshed tears which gather in your eyes, vision blurring due to the pain and frustration.

"N-no, sir."

"Good answer, darlin', cause i don't want to delay the next part any longer than we need to. You think you're ready for it?"

His hand releases your head and you nod frantically as fear lances your heart. A little masochism was fine by you, hot as fuck actually as it made the pleasure all the sweeter, but the brand would hurt like hell. Your heart beating a messy tune in your chest, your breath stutters as you feel him leaning over you to snatch up the brand from the fire.

"You gonna lie there like a good girl while I fix and mark you up? Hmm?" Cooper asked, his hand spreading your ass as textured fingers roll over the area he intends to mark on your right ass cheek. "I've got the rope ready to go if you can't hold still and let me make a clean print."

"Do it, Cooper." You gasp out, body shaking with anticipation as your eyes squeeze shut, preparing for the hurt to come as your hands visibly shake against the dusty ground. "Make me yours. Only yours. Make it so that everyone in the wastelands can see who the fuck they're messing with if they mess with me."

"Language." Tutting his disapproval with a playful hypocrisy, the rough excitement in his voice speaks of just how eager he was for you to have this mark. Well, that and the way that his cock remains pressing between you, the rock-hard length digging into your stomach with every slight movement as he speaks again.

"After this you're mine. Anyone else touches you then I take their throat. No mercy."

"No mercy." You repeat, almost a hypnotic babble as your breathing grows more and more erratic and anxious.

"I don't claim much in the wastelands, darlin', so you be good to me and I'll make sure that you never get the chance to forget what it means, you hear?"

"Goddamn, Cooper. Just do it! Mark me, brand me, give me something. Just- FUCK!"

It was nothing compared to the previous spanking.

The pain is indescribable as the metal presses harshly against your skin, searing his initials into the reddened flesh of your ass. You bury your scream in your forearm, tasting blood as your teeth clamp together roughly around your own flesh, and it's only his hand - hard as steel and twice as unforgiving - which prevents you from bucking in place to avoid the horrid pain.

Darkness dances in your vision for a moment as a genuine fear that you're going to pass out clenches your heart but it sweeps through rapidly, leaving you teetering on the edge of consciousness for only a few seconds.

You don't feel the brand pull free as the metal essentially kills off your nerve endings, the damage welcome as it dulls the initial shock. Rather, the initial sear is quick to settle into a vicious pain which is more like a deep, heated ache that sits beneath your skin.

"Cooper." You howl, fingers scrambling against his closet leg as you desperately seek something to cling onto as a wave of nausea rolls through your stomach. "Hurts."

Violently sobbing at the residual ache, you remain pinned in place as his free hand audibly drops the brand to the sandy floor before his fingers return to your ass. You can't feel him ghosting his digits along the wound but you're fairly certain that's what he's doing as a rumble of approval slips free of his chest.

"I know it hurts like a motherfucker." Cooper exhales, his roughened voice holding a giddiness as he watches you struggle to keep control of yourself. "But you did so well, girlie. Took it better than most would and I think that deserves a reward."

His fingers follow the curve of your ass to drop and press insistently at your hole - two digits sinking deep as they quickly provide a little relief to the aching neglect which your cunt was experiencing.

Audibly delighted with his markings, Cooper's tone is as predatory as ever as he slowly pumps his fingers into your cunt - following a pattern he knows drives you wild as he continues.

"Smells good too. Ain't gonna lie. Wish I'd taken a strip for myself before I burned it away."

Shivering at that, you moan out something that may have been an encouragement or a denial - your brain too fuzzy to make sense of it as his textured fingers rub along your walls.

"Coop-Cooper." You stutter out his name, sharp breaths feeling hot in your lungs as the adrenaline flushing through your veins - made all the worse by the dual sensations of dull pain and growing pleasure which wracked your lower half - causes a light-headedness which leaves you slack against his knees. "Touch me more. Make the pain go away."

"Can't make it go away, sweetheart. But I can make you forget about it for a minute or two."

With two fingers still curled within you, his thumb slides up your slickened folds until it grazes your clit. Body tensing, you sigh and groan as he teases the sensitive nub by gently circling his thumb across it. It didn't help that the leathered skin was so much rougher than a typical man's and the added sensation of it was enough to make you forget the burn of your ass as you focus on it.

His fingers are skilled and he is quick to target all those sweet, wicked little spots that make your mouth dry and your soaked cunt clench around his probing digits; that bastard thumb of his never letting up its teasing pressure on your clit as he strokes along the engorged nub with a lazy enjoyment. Adrenaline making every nerve feel heightened, your earlier neglect and enjoyment of his hand bring you close to the edge with an embarrassing speed.

"Such a tight little thing." Cooper grunts, his groin grinding against your stomach lightly as he plays you like a fiddle while taking care not to damage the fresh brand. "Can barely get my fingers out with you gripping at them like this. You'd have thought by now I'd have loosened you up at least a little."

Unable to speak, your reply is a mess of jerking nods and gasping pants. But he seemed to catch the jist of your agreement and it causes a low chuckle to rumble through his body.

Slipping a third finger in, the added stretch was all it took to have your toes curling against the air as the building tension in your body snapped into rolling waves of pleasure. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, pulling them deeper as they continue to rub against your sweet spot, drawing your orgasm out until your limbs felt tight and your throat started to burn from the constant whining and pleas that trickle free of it.

Shuddering and feeling faint, you lay limply against his knees, feet touching the ground as you actively fight the euphoric nausea which makes your body feel light and far off. It was too much and instead of facing the aches and pleasures, you allow the weariness to slip within your very bones.

A lurid suckling noise makes your head turn up to the side and you catch the sight of Cooper pulling his fingers free of his mouth, the digits slickened by both your mess and his spit as he messily cleans them off.

"Sweet as honey. Ain't nothing like it." He mutters, mostly to himself, before tilting his head down to meet your eye. "You alright down there? Not gonna pass out on me are you?"

Sighing out as darkness touches at the edge of your vision, you give him a soft smile - bottom lip only slightly trembling as you answer. "Sleepy."

He's surprisingly careful as he picks you up with his impressive strength, hands wrapping around your upper body to right you to your feet - shaking legs barely able to hold even your limited weight - before he deposits you in his lap. Angling your body atop his so that the pressure of your ass on his lap is far away from the fresh brand, your head presses against his clothed chest and you inhale the coppery scent that clings to him like it was a lifeline.

"Then sleep and I'll keep the beasts at bay."

Cooper speaks lowly, the words washing over you skin like a soothing blanket. "Here." His hands wrap the edges of his leather jacket around your sides, the material not enough to cover you completely - not even close - but you appreciate the gesture regardless.

In the warm night air, your thighs coated in the mess of your release and your ass throbbing will a dull ache that was going nowhere any time soon, you focus on the interesting sounds which roll through Cooper's chest as you press your ear against his frayed shirt and allow fatigue to finally claim you.

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned ୨୧ Chapter II

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” Songs of Solomon 8:6-7.

As newly appointed Duchess-To-Be, you have much to learn. Etiquette, conduct and eventual motherhood are the pillars you are expected to live by. Because who cares about your choosing?

The Chapel, tended to by a mercurial Priest, is the perfect refuge.

…right?

Pairing: Geto x female reader

A/N: The is dedicated to the artist ( @captainsalsaa ) I mean look at our fallen Angel. His tears. His frustration. Dear GOD.

To the artist: I stared at your piece, then heard a specific song on my writing playlist then wrote the entire last scene in one sitting. To date, it’s my favorite scene in my author’s portfolio. I hope I did our fallen Angel justice. Thank you for creating this 🤍

Previous | Next

CHAPTER II: Hello, Father.

“Awake early, little dove.” 

Warm hands caress your shoulders. A welcome contrast to the chilly nautical dawn. The sun still has a ways to go, but songbirds have begun their wake up call. 

“As are you, Arella.” 

Your eyes float to your favorite maiden standing above you. No more than a handful of years older, but with a heart for you as if she raised you from birth. 

“It’s my duty to tend to you, is it not?” 

Soft laughter harmonizes with the nightingales. A quick kiss on your forehead before her warmth disappears off the balcony —  undoubtedly to go retrieve a treat of some kind. 

She’s not wrong. 

Technically it is her duty. 

But Arella is your blessing. 

Matting and kneading your surroundings to fit your needs. Eager to dampen the growing pains of settling in a new home. 

Constant hellos. 

Permanent smiles.

Not too wide, like a promiscuous woman. But not too tight, like a cold prude. 

Rooms to tour. Hands to shake. Garments to pin and tie and lace around your lungs as if your God-given ribcage was a frivolous extra not needed for life. Not needed to breathe. 

Breathe.

Your lids screw shut. Pulling in as much of the balmy, saltwater breeze gliding up the steep rock face along the overhang. 

Much like he did. 

The Chaplain. 

His hair cascading down his back in the same way poets monologue when inspired. His eyes a mural of what the Gods paint when they want to show off. 

The way earth acquiesces to his touch as if he is the Creator. The birds choose to perform for him every morning. And the ocean exists to bathe him. 

You cannot decide if the sorbet sunsets are created by the Chaplain. Or if the Gods fight over who gets the honor of painting him a new one each evening. 

“Sleep still escapes you, precious girl.” 

It does, but not for the reason she thinks. 

“You worry too much, Arella. I’ll adjust soon.” The tea she brought you is delicious.

The both of you cross back into your quarters. The stagnant, perfumed air suddenly suffocating.

“I would like to go to the chapel garden.” 

A quiet declaration that stills your handmaiden in her tracks. Then a small grin blossoms on her beautiful face. Fussing with your bedding. Wiping away evidence of your sleepless night. 

“For the flowers that bloom, little dove? Or for the God that tends to them?”

The blood in your veins runs subzero. 

“Arella! I am engaged to be marri—“

“Of course you are. But eyesight isn’t a sin.”

Another moment of feigned irritation before you burst into a fit of childish giggles. The both of you no better than school girls, covering your mouths, stifling your laughter. 

“I just wanted to see you smile.” Arella gestures to your extravagant dresser across the room. 

“In the second drawer you can find a casual garment. Come back with at least one hour to prepare for Mass.”

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

A hummingbird chaperones your walk to the church estate. Dulcet hums drown out the rattling heartbeat between your ears. 

This is harmless.

It is not a sin to take in Earth’s natural candy. To appreciate God’s gift to humanity.

In all of his majestic glory. 

Your eyes dart around as if your thoughts are a tangible scroll. Written in ink for the world to see.

Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no one around. 

Just you. Your fluttering companions (both heart and bird). The waking sun. God above and his plants swaying in the gentle gusts of wind. You’re safe in your mind. 

Until he decimates all logical and reasonable train of thought, that is. 

You should be angry. Infuriated. That no one adequately prepared you for seeing the demigod for the first time. Even now, you question whether he’s flesh and blood. 

Maybe an illusion? 

The Lord playing tricks from his throne? 

The mirage before you halts your paces. You can’t help but question your level consciousness. 

Because this must be a dream. 

“Oh, don’t be cruel.” 

Words slip out of your mouth, currently ajar. It’s not your place to chastise the One above, but come on. 

Your eyes taste the Chaplain for a second time and this course is even more decadent than the first. 

There he stands. 

A raven waterfall down his broad, muscular back. Half of it tied away from his face. Olive skin so rich the surrounding plants pale in comparison. Russet brown working pants hang loose around his tapered waist, but snug around his thighs. Various tools hooked in the belt loops. Heavy mahogany work boots match the worn leather gardening gloves fitted to his hands. 

His hands. 

Reaching for thorny vines plaguing his hydrangeas. Even at your distance you could detail each muscle fiber in his arm tense and release with every pull and toss.

Pull and toss.

Pull and toss. 

You would have gotten lost in his rhythmic trance, if it weren’t for the symbol branded in charcoal sprawling his back. The emblem peeks through his thick hair, every now and again. 

A spear? 

No.

A trident. With waves snaking up its stalk along his spine. 

His gravitational pull is overwhelming. Your feet move with more stealth than the King’s Guard.

“Working on the Day of Rest, Father?” Casual, measured. 

“Duchess,” Saliva pools in your mouth. His smile teases your ears before he graces you with it. 

“I have to start being more careful about my clothing.” A playful glint in his eyes. 

“Especially now that I’ve been blessed with a fellow greenskeeper.” 

He is a man of God.

And would never insinuate anything impure. 

But that doesn’t stop your cunt from clenching around his words steeped in a baritone potent enough to rumble the ground beneath you.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve sent word that I was coming.” 

“This palace belongs to you, Duchess. You are welcome here at any hour.” His hand captures a vine and tosses it into the pile without his eyes ever leaving yours. 

You are weak.

And greedy. 

The way your gaze drops to his arm. Desperately etching its contours into memory. Seconds, maybe minutes pass before you realize you were gawking. And the Chaplain just let you. 

Head cocked to the side. Soft smile ghosting his full lips. 

“Would you like to finish the tour of your new playground?” 

“Y-yes. Of course, please.” Stumbling over the uneven cobblestone in your voice, you turn away to begin the coordinated stroll. The Priest slides his arms into a linen button up. Lazily fastening two center buttons only. 

He informs you of the work that has already been done, what’s left. Where the soil is richest, where it is the most acidic. How the sun hits certain flowers at each hour of the day.

Brilliant. 

With complete command over God’s bouquet. The sun following him wherever he steps.

“Did you enjoy your swim today, Father?” Both you and the Priest come to a slow stop. One of his angular eyebrows raised.

“I’m dry, Duchess.” He responds with a low, hypnotic chuckle. 

Heat floods your cheeks. How could you be so presumptuous?

“What gave me away?” 

Your knees nearly betray you. The razor sharp grin on his face could cut glass. 

“You were born for the ocean. Or rather, the ocean was born for you.”

Your statement is greeted with blaring silence. 

Lava in his gaze. Singeing every part of your face it touches. His expression is like a foreign language. 

“I—I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Clearly I have much to learn about social graces.” A meek apology bubbles out of your lips. Desperate to fill the space between your bodies. 

The mercurial man shakes his head slightly. Thawed out from your statement, he reaches over and plucks a stray lilac petal resting on your crown.

“My father used to say the same.” He muses, looking away for the first time. 

“Your father! Is he—“

“He was called home some time ago.” This smile is soft. Reminiscent. Polite, but his mind clearly elsewhere. 

“Oh Father Geto, I’m so sorry.” 

A foot in your mouth is not enough punishment for your indecency. Why would you go prodding like this?

“Don’t be, I’ll see him again. Soon enough.”

“Not too soon, I hope.” The statement draws a stunned gaze from the Chaplain. Eyes dancing between yours. 

“Time to prepare for mass, little dove!” Arella’s melodic call tethers you back down from outer space. 

You flicker over to her with a ruby dusting over your nose and cheeks. Like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar before supper. 

“Happy Sunday, Father!” Arella calls out, cheshire grin on her face deepening your crude blush. 

“Indeed, Arella.” He returns the greeting while keeping his eyes on you. 

“Send my regards to the Duke.” His voice lowers, for your ears only. With a nearly imperceptible edge to his tone. 

“Happy Sunday, Duchess. We have a counseling session scheduled late afternoon, yes?” 

A statement of pure black and white fact. And yet it travels down your spine and settles between your legs. Wet heat dampening your thin negligee.

“Yes, Father. Happy Sunday.”

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Mass was miserable. 

Your corset laced tight enough to meld your two lungs and beating heart into one entity. To say the neckline strangled you is putting it mildly. Cold, uninviting pews dug into your skin at every turn. 

Wretched. 

But the worst of it wasn’t the thin, oxygen-deficient air. Or the shards of glass that slid down your throat with every swallow. Even the jaw pain from tensing your lips in a well-mannered smile for two hours straight was tolerable. 

The worst part of it was him. 

The Priest mesmerized an entire congregation to an ear-splitting hush. 

His first Sunday mass since appointment and nearly everyone in the country and every surrounding province stuffed into the chapel. 

So desperate for blessings from Father Geto. 

Could you blame them?

His voice danced in and out of the pews listlessly. 

Soothing fussy children. Adolescent girls and their mother’s alike — utterly smitten. Adolescent boys experienced their first “I want to be like him” with their fathers sitting right next to them. Husbands glanced feverishly at the women in their lives. 

He had to have noticed it. And yet, he floated above it all the entire service.

Above you. 

Refusing to gift you those eyes that put Vincent Van Gogh to shame. No matter how much you shifted in your seat and straightened your spine.

The Priest spoke to everyone in the room but you. 

Did you read him wrong? 

Did you misinterpret your budding friendship? 

Does it…should it even matter?

Your irritation is palpable. Innocent bystanders are caught in your friendly fire. Including Arella, who changed you out of that horrid costume. And sweet Noel, who ushered you into the seating area — just outside of the good Father’s office.

You make a mental note to send treats to the tender-hearted alter boy. And to apologize profusely to your handmaiden. 

“You are a million miles away, darling.” The sound of your betrothed tows you out of the storm clouds. 

You flicker over to the Duke. Emerald green eyes, high cheek bones — handsome in a way that is characteristic of everyone native to your new home.

“I’m right here, Ezra.” 

“Are you, sweetheart?” The back of his hand caresses your cheek. 

“Mmhm.” You offer your future husband a weak smile and kiss on his cheek. His eyes  faltering slightly, undoubtedly hopeful for lips instead. 

“Good afternoon, Duke and Duchess Ahriman.” 

Father Geto’s velvet greeting encases you both. If Ezra’s arm didn’t guide you to stand you would have been paralyzed in your seat. 

“Father Geto, a pleasure. Thank you for seeing us.” Ezra offers a genuine smile and handshake. Buying you a few extra seconds in your mind’s safe haven.

The Chaplain is tight lipped. Professional. He returns the handshake firmly. 

“Pleasure is mine.” 

Ezra shifts slightly on his feet. Straightening his spine and dropping his shoulders. Your eyes bounce between the Chaplain and your fiancé.

“I must say, Father. You are even more handsome up close. I speak for the men in this country, thank you for taking the vow of celibacy!” The words spill out of the Duke. Unknowingly thinning the air. 

The Priest chuckles quietly, dropping his eyes briefly before landing them on you. And it feels like you could double over.  Your core temperature skyrockets under his smoldering gaze. 

He, the archer. You, the bullseye. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Ezra laces his fingers in yours, taking the two seats directly in front of the oak desk. A leather bound notebook and pheasant feather pen are neatly arranged — with your names on the first page.

Blue flame rises from your toes to hairline. You might as well have been sitting naked. With how exposed, how vulnerable you feel already.

“What will we be covering first, Father? Something about how wives should obey their husbands, right?” Ezra is light-hearted. Meant to be said in jest.

But he finds himself being the only party in the room laughing. 

The Priest rolls the ink pen between his fingers. Allowing a deafening silence to coat the walls. His expression is neutral, but eyes ablaze. 

“If the man in question is worthy of submission.” He starts. A low, ominous rumble. 

“Uh, yes. Of course.” Ezra responds, shifting in his seat. 

But the Chaplain does not stop. Intent on making a point, he leans in. Pen whirling lightning fast between his long, deft fingers. Enough tailwind to launch across the room, if he desired.  

“If the man in question would give his life for his wife.” Volcanic eyes linger on you, then back to your fiancé. Ezra’s palm finds your thigh. You gnaw on your inner cheek to avoid flinching away. 

“If he would love her like Christ loves all of his creations unconditionally. Unselfishly. Irrationally.” 

“Yes, Father. I understand.” 

“Only then, should she submit.” His serrated tone could split chromium with ease. 

“Of course, of course.” Ezra wisely accepts defeat. 

He presses a short kiss on your cheek as an apology that you didn’t ask for, nor do you want. 

“Mmm.” A forced acknowledgment of the Duke’s affection through your pinched lips. Barely able to move under the Father’s microscopic gaze. 

“Now then,” Father Geto clears the boulders in his throat. 

“Tell me about your love.” 

The question stuns both you and the Duke. Looking to each other sheepishly because neither of you chose this.

War is young men dying and old men talking. And your life path is no different. Dictated by conversations between the powers that be. 

“We’ve only met a week ago, Father.” Your honesty drives both of his eyebrows upward. 

“A week ago?”

“But we are hoping you can teach us.” The Duke, overeager and excitable. 

“Teach you…?” Father Geto muses. You can’t quite interpret his tone, or minimal response. But your heart flutters all the same. 

He is thinking something. And what you would give to get a glance. To be let in. 

“Perhaps guide us?” Ezra gives an unintentionally painful squeeze on your thigh. You fail to muffle the tiny whimper. 

The Priest’s eyes laser down to where your fiancé’s hand lays. Chest rising and falling dangerously slow. 

“Right.”

Your eyes trail upwards as he stands. Closer to God than to you from this point of view.

“Duke, Duchess. You’ll have to accept my sincerest apologies.” 

His fingers dip the unused pen back into the ink cup. The edges of his leather bound notebook coming together. Seemingly without any notes, but an entire script from this session swirling in his mind. 

“My schedule is incorrect. I have another commitment. We will reschedule, yes?” Said with a finality that sends chills crawling down your spine. 

The two of you stand. Another handshake between the men. A restrained nod for you.

Just as quickly as you were let in, Father Geto shuts you out of his office and his mind. 

     · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · 

Suguru presses his forehead against the shower tile. Warm water raining down his loose mane. Soothing his sore, overworked limbs. 

Today was maddening. 

He nearly destroyed his vestment the minute that God-forsaken counseling session ended. Seeking refuge, he took to the coast. 

And the sea provided anything but peace. 

She was angry with him, tonight. 

Curt. With unpredictable currents. Rip tides at nearly every turn. She tested his adaptation without mercy.

Just like that night.

“I’m going to stay on board, brother!”

Suguru flickered over to the silver-haired deckhand. An unfamiliar reservation opacifying his nearly translucent, iridescent eyes. 

Brother in name, technically. 

Their bloodlines were oil and water. He was a high born. Suguru was born unworthy of a beggar’s pity. 

But, bloodlines were inconsequential when their souls were instep as one. Both handed to humanity on the same night. During a thunderstorm already inscribed in history books.

‘The Tide of Eternal Requiem.’ 

It brought complete devastation. Crops destroyed. Families torn apart by tragic accidents inland and at sea. 

Then fate struck. 

Within the same hour, a voltaic boy, with a halo that put the clouds to shame and diamond eyes that could draw truth from murderers was born into the loving embrace of his parents. 

And Suguru was born with a crown so dark that the raging midnight appeared bright. 

With eyes as ominous as the sky above. 

Gunmetal grey, accented by an eerie violet swarm. Dormant volcanoes, threatening eruption. His birth mother abandoned him in an alley. Driven by fear that he was a bad omen from the Gods. 

“Ahhh, Satoru come on. Since when do you shy away from a few waves?”

Suguru teased. Already well into the process of shedding his work gear. 

“Zeus is the one rumored to be my father.” His counterpart flashed a knowing smile. 

“Poseidon doesn’t watch over me like he does you, Suguru.”

A tsunami couldn’t keep Suguru from his home. Much less a little rain. 

They were 3 miles away from the shoreline. Using his God-given ability, Suguru regularly acted as their scout. Performing his own reconnaissance then alerting the incoming ship of safe or turbulent terrain. 

“Almost ready to go, son?” 

His chosen father came up behind him. Suguru knew there were tears lining his meek eyes before turning to face him. 

“Dad.” Suguru sighed, fully disrobed now. Just his muscular frame and a compression suit. 

He met his father’s concerned gaze. Always like this during sea storms. Quiet prayers written all over his gentle features. 

Despite the worry, he never once attempted to convince his oceanic boy to stay on board. It would have been too cruel.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve traversed angrier swells.”

“Suguru, take care of yourself when I’m gone.” 

Elder, worn hands landed on his shoulders. Nearly too high for his reach. Suguru cocked his head to the side. 

This goodbye was different. 

“Stay on this path. For me. Albeit straight and narrow, there is a wonderful view. This is all for you, son.” 

Both men glanced to the Persian gulf. She thrashed against their vessel. Swaying their catch left and right with the intention of taking her creatures back. 

“Where is this coming from?” A genuine question from his younger self. Unable to read between the lines. 

“Can’t a man just speak from the heart?”

The melancholy smile didn’t meet the wrinkles of time decorating his eyes, but they shared a laugh anyway.  Suguru turned away but was promptly drawn back. 

“My beautiful boy.” 

The fisherman cradled his son’s face. Swimming in the eyes that Suguru once hated. The eyes that convinced his birth mother to abandon him. 

“Make it to shore, son.” Suguru rested his head against his father’s neck. Taking a slow, sweet drag of his scent.

Oak. 

He always smelled like oak. It was one of Suguru’s favorite things about him.

“If Poseidon calls—“

“I’ll tell him to fuck off.” Mischievous grin plastered on Suguru’s face. His father planted a kiss on his cheek, pushing him towards the end of the boat. As he always did.

Then the Gulf wrapped him in her hostile embrace. 

She was irate. 

Vicious tidal waves. Rapidly shifting currents. Even her creatures knew to settle below their usual depth. Suguru cursed the fact that he was born with useless, human lungs. Unable to withstand the pressure of the Midnight Zone. 

Within minutes his long, lean frame was riding her whims without a shred of control. Tossed around like a rag doll. At her complete mercy — or lack thereof. 

This was the first time he struggled to tame his element. A muffled groan bubbled around him. Serrated edges of long coral stalks dug into his back. Stark white foam whirled around him. 

Aerated waters. 

Suguru could barely maneuver against the waves pummeling his core. Searing heat traveling up his spine. His lungs demanded oxygen. 

The boat. 

The boat would never make it to shore. 

Desperate, furious strokes of his arms meant nothing against her unrelenting grasp. Effectively pinning Suguru to his underwater cross. 

A piece of chewed plank wood whizzed by his face. 

Followed by another. 

Then another. 

And Suguru watched his nightmare materialize before his eyes. Mustering his last oxygen reserve, he bellowed against his closed lips.

As if she hadn’t already ignored the cries of his fellow fisherman. 

Even still, he screamed so loud his ribcage should have vaporized. But ushering him to a watery grave at that time would have been too merciful. 

Suguru blinks out of the harrowing memory. The steeping tea takes at least two layers of epithelium off his esophagus.

Fucking, hell. 

He can’t seem to escape pain today.

The swim was excruciating.

Mass was dreadful.

Watching that boy’s hand lay on your lap was grating. 

Suguru’s mind drifts back to you. Your thought washes over him like baptizing waters purifying that which is impure.

The gleam in your eyes when you asked about his morning plunge. Barely a week and your pulse on him is already this precise.

Do not covet, Suguru. 

He scoffs to himself. Shaking free of your tempting spiral. 

This ‘straight and narrow’ path is proving to be more challenging than he let on. 

“Would you be proud, Father?” 

A whisper of accusation at the end of his inquiry. Suguru would give his arms, his eyes…his life to hear his father’s voice on the other end of his questions, once again. 

“Did He tell you?” 

Roaring silence. Of course. He knows that. He expects it. 

But it angers him all the same. 

“Did He come to you in a dream??” Suguru echos louder. More frantic. Punched out in a way he can barely recognize. 

“Was the reaper at His left, my heart on the right?!” A weak sob slips through the crack in his baritone. 

Yet another pain. But this one is tart and blurring his vision. 

“Did you KNOW? D—did you know that day was your last?!” He hisses through a salty stream.  Storming out to the garden to escape the walls collapsing in on him. 

Suguru’s eyes laser to the remaining thorny vines along his bed of hydrangeas. Without a second thought he wraps them around his bare arms. Staining the plant and his freshly bathed skin with crystalline tears. Once its thorns sufficiently bury into his skin he rips it away from the soil with all his might. 

“Bastard. I’m your SON.”

Warm metallic drips down the hills and ridges of his arms. Collecting in the flower bed. 

Is he cursing his earthly father? 

His Heavenly One? 

Or the Deity that brought this grief on him in the first place?

It hurts. 

An unforgiving pain. 

Much like the thorns in those rapids. Much like the inconceivable burn from his lungs begging for expanse. The time limit, even for him, ran lethally low. 

Well exceeding his father’s time limit. 

Poseidon stole from him that day.  

A callous trade for Suguru’s continued existence. 

“Why didn’t you…I—I should’ve been there.” 

Guilt eviscerates Suguru’s remaining resolve. Tilting his head up, he lets the salty crystals rain down his cheeks freely. 

The full moon cradles his face with the same warmth, the same adoration his father’s hands used to. 

Suguru accepts its celestial kisses for a moment before burying his face into his bloodied palms. His damp locks curtain his flushed face. Protecting the world from his unruly sobs.

“I’m here.” Barely audible words escape through desperate grabs for air. 

“I made it to shore, Dad.”

E/N: Oh hello, don’t mind me just sobbing. Also, guest appearance by our glorious Blue Eyed Babygirl King™️ If you need me, I will be in witness protection before Gege finds this since it’s a crime to be a S*toru lover. 

taglist: @blkkizzat @rotteneyess

[toppersbitch]

sebastian sallowxF!reader with the prompt ❛ keep it. it looks better on you. ❜

Keep It, It's Yours // Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Characters are not aged up here, there is nothing 18+

Summary: Sebastian just loves the way green looks on you!

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: none this is just fluff

Prompt: “Keep it. it looks better on you.”

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

You lay on the lawn just near the lake on the Hogwarts grounds, watching the clouds hurry by. Sebastian was dead asleep, his body resting just beside yours. It was a warm day, the last day before summer break began. You would go back home and so would Seb, far away from each other. It was heartbreaking; the two of you had been close since you started in year 5, and now it was the end of year 6. Your teachers despised the two of you, you got in double the trouble. No real feelings had ever been spoken between the two of you, little touches of the hand and knee, words were spoken during late nights and in hidden tunnels. 

“Seb,” you said lightly, pushing your shoulder up against his. He opened his eyes, turning his head to make eye contact, “I think we should jump in the lake,”

“But it is forbidden,” he was mocking one of your teachers, he rolled over onto his side, and you did the same. 

“Who told you that?” no teacher had ever said that and unless it was told to him before year 5, you’d never heard it.

“I don’t know,” he rubbed his eyes with his hand. You smiled, Sebastian always assumed everything at the school was off-limits, that's what it seemed like to him. 

You sat up, untying your boots and setting them to the side, evening was approaching. The sun has almost gone behind the outline of the castle. Seb sat up groggily, following your steps. You had already packed your robes into your trunk, your clothes being strictly casual since then. Why not jump in your clothes? It was shower day anyways. Seb stood up, waiting for you, his hand outstretched. His foot tapped impatiently, mocking you as you placed your hair up. 

Grabbing his hand you hoisted yourself up, holding tight and running towards the lake. You waded in quickly, pulling Seb behind you. The mud squished between your toes, moss, and lake vines snaking up your body.

“I sure hope the squid doesn’t get us,” Seb pinched at your legs, and you squealed, kicking at his hands. You splashed each other, the water feeling refreshing over your sunbaked skin. Laughing at little jokes and such. He lifted you throwing you deeper into the lake, swimming with ease out to you. You held onto each other, the sadness of this week's end events. 

“Seb,” you pulled his eyes from the ducks her was watching, “ I hate summer.”

“Why on earth would you hate summer?’ his eyes carried nothing but confusion.

“I hate not being with you,” you felt your heart grow heavy, “it's so boring.”

“Floo powder is a thing you know,” he had a sarcastic tone, his house fireplace wasn’t connected to the network and neither was yours. 

“Seb you know what I mean,” you rolled your eyes at him. 

“Yeah I know,” you both trailed off, looking around. Night had fallen fast and it had grown surprisingly cold. Your body shivered, teeth chattering involuntarily. However, you stayed, anytime with Sebastian was worth it's total in gold. The bell rang, meaning it was time for dinner, no matter if you two actually made it, Sebastian had an in with the house elves and they’d do just about anything he asked.

“Let’s go back,” you said, your voice quivering from the cold. You swam back, every motion sending chills. The outside air wasn’t much warmer, the air consuming your body. You shivered, tying your shoes and waiting.

“Here take my sweater,” Sebastian offered his knit sweater had been wearing all day. You pulled it over your head, the smell of Seb filling your lungs. 

“Why don’t you wear green more?” Sebastian was staring at you, his robes hanging over his shoulder like a used bath towel. 

You were a Slytherin of course, but you opted for the least amount of green in all your clothing, black fabrics being the majority in your closet. You shrugged, in response beginning the walk back to the castle. 

You both skipped dinner,  opting to take showers and sneak out again later for a snack, possibly in the restricted basement of the library, this was a favorite meeting spot for the two of you. You dressed, pulling over Sebastionas sweater again. It was possibly the coziest thing you’d ever put on, the Slytherin rooms were known for being cold, the walls being all stones. 

“I got us lamb chops and eclairs,” Sebastian sat roughly on the floor, a bag of food falling into your lap. You emptied out the contents, chowing down. The conversation flowed effortlessly, jokes and laughs, even snorts echoed off the cement walls. It was late, even the ghosts were quiet and you no longer had to occasionally hide from them. 

“I don’t wanna go home,” you said, your head resting on Sebastian’s shoulder, his on top of yours. You twirled your wand in your hand, watching little sparks fly with just your thoughts. 

“Either do I, but we have to,” his words were tired and slurred, he was half asleep and you knew it. You stood up, pushing your mess back into the bag, and helping Sebastian stand, you both stood facing each other, tears welling in your eyes. There was no promise you would be able to say goodbye tomorrow. You wiped your eyes on the sleeves, the green fabric soaking the up. 

“Oh here's your sweater,” you pulled it over your head, wadding it up and stuffing it into Sebastian’s hands, he grabbed it tightly, letting his hands graze yours. He pulled you into a tight hug, beginning to sniffle himself. 

The next morning was hard, shoving the rest of your belonging into your trunk, and finding places for the trinkets you collected this year. Moving onto your desk you saw a specific green sweater folded neatly, a note pinned to it. You hurried over grabbing the note eagerly. 

It read: “Keep it. It looks better on you anyways” signed Seb

His sloppy handwriting is barely legible. How on earth did he sneak this in here before leaving? He was such a mysterious being.

You folded the note, slipping it into your journal, holding the sweater to your chest. Seb had already gone home, and this was all you had of him for the summer, other than the letters of course.

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

God this is so cute!!!!!! I hope this everyone enjoys <3333

Find my other stuff HERE

[lokisgoodgirl]

A Long Shower [Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: You become an unwitting voyeur to Loki's post-workout routine. (w/c 2.2k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Voyeurism. Awkwardness. Thirst. Smuttish. M*sturbation. Language.

Shit shit shit shit shit You hurriedly crouched behind the row of lockers, hunched and contorted to an inch of your life. If you were honest, you didn’t think you were going to fit. And right now, you sort of wished you hadn’t. The air you’d sucked in felt like granite, holding your breath as Loki Laufeyson padded obliviously over the heated tiles.

Why am I such an awkward arsehole, you thought; lungs starting to burn. Can’t just say hello, excuse me; like a normal person. Need to hide behind the feckin’ lockers, Jesus.

The unmistakeable sound of his sultry singing had wafted down the hall like a hymn. 'Der ligger hun i sjøen, min elsker, Jeg hører henne rope når månen er høy' He was so absent-mindedly perfect, in every way. Fuck. You’d only come in to grab forgotten headphones, there was nothing untoward. And yet, when you’d heard his hypnotic gravelled voice– you had panicked. And now, it was too late. 'Hun kjenner ikke ledningene hun holder... som binder hennes hjerte til mitt' Silence. You opened one eye reluctantly, half expecting to see his magnificent form looming with sceptical disdain. But, no. He was bent on one knee facing the opposite wall, untying his trainers. I didn’t think he’d tie his own shoes, you frowned. That ass, though. Loki was dressed in skin-tight black workout clothes that left just enough to the imagination. And boy, had you imagined. That gym gear of his clung to every carved inch of his body like a second skin. Alongside the way that he growled and grunted through inhuman workouts, it was a miracle you had survived this long in the team. Lord above, the filthy things he had done to you in your head in the dead of night as you touched yourself beneath sweaty sheets. It might even make him blush. You bit your lip, blowing air gently, silently, through your nose. You suddenly felt twenty pounds lighter. The thought had often crossed your mind about just who Loki was behind closed doors. He was charming and polite, a bit extra – kind of an asshole sometimes. And he was always on. There had been a sign hanging in the hallway of your old high school which had read, ‘who you truly are, is the person you become when you think nobody's watching’. You thought about that sign a lot. Your gaze tracked up from Loki’s ankles, over the curve of his bulging thighs tight beneath the shorts; a sheet of damp curls hanging down past his neck. And who are you, Loki Laufeyson? He unfurled, the muscles in his calves hardening as he pushed up. The shoes were kicked aside as he ran his hands casually through that gorgeous hair with a sigh. Oh god, you realised with rising horror. Is he going to… Still facing the wall, Loki began to strip.

The damp lycra top was the first soldier to fall. It peeled away beneath crossed hands which raised achingly slowly above his head. With every inch of skin revealed, you felt the blood drain from your face. I’m going to pass out, you thought, pushing yourself back against the tiled wall and hoping it would absorb you. His broad, triangular torso was inescapable. You should close your eyes. Avert your gaze. Protect his modesty. But oh, god - Loki tugged the training top from his head with a strained grunt, wild hair falling in waves between shifting shoulder-blades. He stretched to the side, freshly pumped forearms bulging with sickening definition. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his iridescent skin. Fuck, how you wanted to lick him. Taste the virgin sweat that was gathered in every dip and valley. In the soft lighting of the changing rooms, every dented curve of his arms were visible, each breathe making the landscape of his back flex as he rolled his head from side to side. He has fucking...back-dimples. You realised you had been holding your breath again. Long fingers began to toy with the waistband of his shorts. Jesus take the wheel, not the shorts. They caught on the curve of his ass, elastic grazing sluttishly down taut skin. You pressed your lips together painfully to stop the whimper building behind your teeth as the shorts fell in a heap around his ankles. I’m fucked, you thought. He’s naked. And I’m fucked. All he had to do was turn around. But he didn’t. Loki took a step to the side, positioning himself with ceremonial purpose in front of a small square mirror. Blessedly, it was too far to the side to reveal your hiding spot. You watched as his brow furrowed, looking deep into his own eyes. If there was one thing more hypnotic than Loki’s body, it was his face. As deep and inscrutable as the galaxies themselves.

He brought a hand across his chest to the opposite shoulder, massaging the dip as he appraised what he saw against some inscrutable criteria. Loki’s endless legs widened, ass clenching. Your stomach had a heartbeat, whirring with unspent adrenaline. Of all the ways you imagined you would first see Loki naked – this was not it. The digits slid to his jaw, thumb and forefinger tipping it to either side as he inspected himself. Is he checking for wrinkles? With mild horror, you realised you couldn’t feel your legs. Loki frowned again, ropes of hard shoulder muscle rolling as he sighed deeply. It was a tired sigh. It made you wonder if a god-level workout was the only thing wearing him out in the morning. He ran a hand through his hair, turning away. Your eyes flew to the wall before firing shut, a primitive freeze response. This was it. The rumble of a shower spurting to life broke the silence, strong pressure from the fancy waterfall head pattering to the tiles below. The showers were to the far right, outside your frame of view. You let out the breath you were holding in staggered, soundless relief. Maybe I can get out while he’s distracted. Crawl out. On my fucking hands and knees like a pervert. You waited a few seconds until the water’s rhythm broke, a contented growl from Loki’s throat that made your pussy hum signalling that his ritual had begun. Like the aforementioned pervert, you craned forwards, peeking around the corner of the lockers. God, how your legs ached. Your eyes widened. Goddammm, Laufeyson.

Loki stood long and lean, water cascading from where the stream hit the back of his neck, all the way down his legs. Even in the shower, his posture was impeccable. He tilted his head back, lips parted as he let the fresh droplets soak his front. The curls you adored from afar had turned to an inky slick, tendrils winding over alabaster skin like an intricate tattoo. There was a quiet beauty about him like this. This was one of his few private moments, an oasis of calm in his otherwise simmering façade. He’s so fucking…beautiful, you pined; realising that your eyeline was dropping unforgivably down his naked body. The rounds of his ass glistened in the soft light, lucky droplets rolling over the curves of muscle which dipped in at the middle of each cheek. He shifted on his feet, the slap of water making you jump as he swivelled his midriff to the side. The baritone hum began again, a hauntingly beautiful melody. From this new angle, every ridge and valley of his abdomen came into view. Fluffs of bubbles ran down his slick skin at a snails pace, each trail lapping over the deep crevices of his adonis belt. Your breath hitched, drawing back behind the lockers so only the tiniest sliver of him was in view. Fat drips of water slid down his legs from hip to calf, relishing each second they spent grasped to his ethereal skin. The undeniable slick in your panties was becoming untenable, becoming an itch that you didn't dare scratch. Heat seeped through the fabric of your leggings as you squashed further back against the wall. Loki raked a hand through the jet mass of hair, shaking a clump as he smoothed it to one side. His eyes were closed, a dark fan of lashes pressed innocently against the delicate skin beneath. I’m going to go into cardiac arrest, you mused, making your peace as he raised one arm to brace against the tiled wall. His profile was in full view now, and for the first time, you caught a glimpse of the legendary cock which haunted your dreams. It rose against his flat stomach, hard and thick and ready to be fucked. Oh god. You swallowed, mouth drier than sand. No. No. No, this is not happening. You shook your head, trying pathetically to wake. The dull ache in your thighs had grown to a roar, muscles screaming to be released from the stress position you’d be holding for what felt like three hours. You felt your parched lips part as the god placed his palm against his obscene manhood, wrapping each straight finger singularly around the shaft with formidable intent. He licked his lips, looking down at it like prey. Like a conquest. The arm locked against the wall, fully outstretched, sliding the foot nearest you backwards a few inches. It squeaked. His bicep tensed as he pressed against the tile, running water continuing its steady beat against his perfect skin. And then, he began to pump. In slow, torturous strokes. Oh god. Loki’s pinky finger hit the sudsy patch of public hair around the base with every journey, squeezing his foreskin out at the tip as it reached the summit. This was not a man in a rush. This was a man with relaxation on his mind. What the actual fuck am I doing here. Your eyes squeezed shut again, slinking back. To be fair, you had more than enough material in the wank-bank to last you the rest of your days. So the next five minutes, then; you thought bitterly, as low moans of pleasure began to sink from the god’s lips. I will not survive this.

The sound mingled with the heavy steam filling the air, a heady scent of bergamot wafting as his erotic sighs and breathy groans reluctantly transcended you to a higher plane. Loki’s moans vibrated, rising and falling. He was shameless. Anyone could walk in, you thought incredulously; before realising the irony.

The god’s hips rocked into each swipe of his hand; fucking rhythmically against his fist as water cascaded over his neck and down chiselled abs. Clumps of soaking hair hung around his cheekbones, layered down his neck, down his shoulders. You hadn’t even realised you were staring at him again, rocking on the balls of your feet as your sweaty fingertips pressed against the floor in a trance. He was intoxicating. The way his brow creased. The way he was sighing gently from glistening lips. Droplets clung to his cheekbones, pacing downward before fainting to the porcelain below. He was completely in the moment, completely lost in himself. Who are you thinking about, Loki? Your heart was thundering, the acid collecting in your burning calves, forgotten. Loki released a ragged groan, taut obliques clenching. The muscles in his femurs tensed, his palm sliding down the wall as his whole body juddered. Long fingers that you fantasised about slipping deep inside you curled against the tiles. Please cum, you hoped ravenously; breaths quickening. Please, for the love of god please cum. “I know you’re there, Agent.” Cold dread rose with each slowly enunciated word, eyes widening as panic expanded like barbed foam in your belly. “Honestly," Loki smarmed, his head falling back with a rasping moan as he released himself with a final squeeze. “How you ever manage to conceal yourself in any undercover operation with all that heavy breathing is beyond me.” With an ungraceful gasp you fell forward, splayed on the heated tiles. Your forehead was pressed to the floor, mind racing as you carded through every possible excuse. None of them were plausible. With difficulty, you turned your cheek to the side to face him. “I’m sorry…” you mumbled, reluctantly pressing up and dusting off your leggings as your cheeks burned hot. “I didn’t mean to-I was just...and then you-” “-Look at me.” he said sternly. Your eyes fluttered up, hoping that the way you were gazing at him was penitent and seductive in equal measure. But he was smiling. Sort of. One side of Loki’s mouth twitched, the pressure from the waterfall shower bouncing outward from between his shoulder-blades as he stared you down. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. In that standard regally panty-wetting pose that you had admired many times while you raked every inch of his leather-clad body with covetous eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, and closed it again. “I plan on having a very long shower, Agent,” he purred knowingly, the inky curls pasted to his jawline making your stomach flip. He widened his legs, reminiscent of a battle stance. Your eyes fell to his perfect cock twitching neglected against his stomach and then back to his face. The clothes on your body felt heavier with every passing second. “Would you care to join me?” he said politely, as easily as offering you a cup of tea. He already knew the answer. He had known all along. Of course he knew, you mug. Your thighs squeezed together, biting your lip. Loki did the same, before stretching to a wide smile. Mischievous fire simmered in his dilated eyes. There was a click as the lock on the door slid shut of it’s own accord while you pulled your t-shirt over your head.

In the brief cover of darkness, you heard Loki moan again.

Loki's Song (aka nonsense I made up) There she lies in the lake, my lover I hear her call when the moon is high She does not know the cords she holds That bind her heart to mine

Tags (cont in comments) @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @coldnique @holdmytesseract @jaidenhawke @imalovernotahater @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @sebstanwhore @xorpsbane @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @acidcasualties @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @skymoonandstardust @gruftiela @glitchquake

[thebutchersbitch]

Cooper Adams x Reader

18+ Dom!Cooper Adams x Sub!Fem!Reader • Daddy kink, DDLG, Blood, Rough Sex, Breath Play, Biting, Cooper has a dark side (ofc) he’s tender and sweet but also really fucking insane, Reader is an adult; Cooper is probably ten-twenty years older than reader.

Cooper lifts you off your knees, forcing you to stand. The feeling of your mouth around his cock was fine for awhile, but more than anything, he craves the feeling of your tight little cunt gripping him like his lungs crave air.

You protest with a little whine as he lifts you, worried you’ve done a bad job and displeased him. Cooper knows what you’re thinking-he’s always been able to read you like an open book-and he casually casts aside your worries with a brief “no no baby, y’didnt do anything wrong, promise-,” as he lays your back against the bed. “-Just need to feel your pretty little pussy around me, okay?”

Cooper hovers over you, his large frame shadowing yours, boxing you in like a protective shield. He grabs a pillow from beside you, one of the pink frilly ones that match the whole bedroom set you insisted on having (even though Cooper hated it, he still bought it for you). He tucks the pillow under your head just as you lay down to rest under him, his other hand warm against your thigh, his fingers fanning to caress upward across your hip.

He braces himself against his elbow, leaning close enough so his belly is touching yours, toned in just the right places and soft where he needs to be. His skin is smooth and unbelievably warm; every time Cooper embraces you, especially when you’re both naked, it feels like you’re being swallowed up in the warmest bear hug ever.

The pretty pink sheets are cool beneath you, a contrast to the heat of Cooper’s body covering yours. He guides his hand between you, pumping his cock a few times in his fist as he places its ruddy head at your entrance. “Okay baby,” he murmurs gently, his eyes back on yours. “There’s gonna be a big stretch for a second, but you can do it, okay sweetheart?” You nod, exhaling as Cooper sinks his hips forward slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to him. His eyes fall closed in pleasure, his self control faltering as his carnal instincts are telling him to absolutely brutalize your pussy, to fuck it so hard you’ll be ruined for any other man that puts his dick inside you...

Cooper forces himself to remain calm, to focus on making you feel as good as you’re making him feel right now. His hand rests against the side of your face, gently stroking your hair, his breath uneven as he tells you “so good, baby, you’re doing so good…” Cooper eases himself deeper inside you, a sharp whine leaving your lips and he checks your expression to confirm you’re alright. “Don’t stop,” you plead. “Please don’t stop…” Cooper licks his lips, a little grin turning them upward. “Never planned to,” he groans as he carefully bottoms out inside your pussy.

He isn’t even fucking you yet, not really, just resting inside your cunt, letting your body open up for him. He kisses you tenderly, soft, gentle kisses that grow deeper and stronger, his tongue wrestling yours. You feel his cock pulse inside you, throbbing between your walls, nestled tight in a perfect fit. “Okay baby,” Cooper says against your lips. “Go ahead and wrap your legs around me, yeah? Give my waist a real big hug, alright sweetheart?” You do as Cooper says, wrapping your legs around him, your ankles crossed against his back, pulling him impossibly deeper, somehow. You both let out a low groan at the space he’s filled inside you, space that no other man has ever had the knowledge or experience to find before Cooper. He’s taking his time with you, unlike all the other (younger) men you’ve been with.

“M’gonna fuck you now, okay sweetheart?” Cooper asks, his nose brushing yours. You suddenly feel overwhelmed, so many brand new feelings pounding through you, both physical and emotional, that you begin to cry. Cooper understands; he kisses away the tears that fall scattered down your cheek, and he calmly asks, “what do you need, baby? Tell Daddy what you need…”

You squeeze your legs tighter around Cooper, begging him to thrust, feeling as if you’ll go crazy if he doesn’t start fucking you. “Need you, Daddy,” you whimper, not even caring how pathetic and needy you sound.

Cooper knows you’ve gone to a special place now in your mind, a soft space that feels just a little like dying…a kind of surrender, of giving up all control and thought and logic and just existing for the purpose of being fucked. “It’s okay princess,” he coos softly, pressing gentle kisses to your lips. “You don’t have to think anymore. Just lay back and let Daddy take care of everything from here, alright…?”

Cooper curls his hips inward, the muscles in his stomach tensing against yours. He closes a hand around the back of your neck, cradling you into him, while his other hand grips the thick meat of your thigh, locking you in place while he fucks you.

It isn’t sweet, the way Cooper fucks you, but it isn’t cruel, either. It’s a delicious, delicate balance of tenderness and brutality, held together in harmony by the massive amount of control Cooper holds over both his body and yours. He could as easily crush you beneath him as he could kiss you, and that amount of power goes to Cooper’s head a little, gets him high. He doesn’t want to hurt you-not yet, anyway-but if he did, he knows he could crush you like a flower in his hand, your pretty petals forever warped into whatever shape he breaks them in…

Sweat dots Cooper’s forehead, his eyebrows drawn in as he invades the deepest space inside you. Your bottom lip begins to bleed as the delicate skin breaks under the bite of your teeth. Cooper’s senses perk, like a shark sensing prey, his eyes landing on the drop of blood blooming at your lip, forced to spill down your chin by the impact of his brutal thrusts. He dips his tongue to chase the thin trail of red along the curve of your neck. You shiver at the unexpected feeling of Cooper’s tongue licking up your skin. He purses his lips inside the curve of your shoulder, trapping the runaway blood and sucking, dragging the crimson liquid and your skin between his lips, bruising you.

Cooper is insatiable now that he’s gotten a taste of you; he doesn’t want your flavor to ever leave his tongue. He slides a hand over your throat, pressing just hard enough to feel you gurgle against his palm. “More,” he demands, but it sounds like he’s begging, his eyes filled with a need you haven’t seen from him before. “Do it again, baby,” he pleads, his voice breaking. “Do it for Daddy.”

You don’t understand exactly what Cooper’s asking of you, but regardless, you’ll do anything for him. So when he shows you, by taking your bottom lip between his teeth and nipping at the small wound there, you don’t object. Wincing slightly, you lay back and let Cooper suck at your pouty bottom lip. The pain is minimal, and he more than makes up for any discomfort he’s causing you by railing your guts like he’s trying to rearrange them. Cooper’s hitting that sweet space inside you, his veiny cock rubbing just right around the curve of your body, your pussy fluttering around him as your climax begins.

Cooper locks you inside his arms, his thighs closing around yours, his mind completely lost in the desire to own you; whether or not you come is for Cooper to decide now, every beat of your heart belongs to him, every drop of your blood is now his. So when he lets you come, he takes something for himself as well, a little slice of your breath, his palm gripping your throat with just enough intensity to hold you back against the bed. His sweat drips between your lips as he rocks into you, hard and fast, the salt stinging your bottom lip where the skin is broken.

Cooper releases your throat as he comes, his head falling forward into the crook of your shoulder, his hips stuttering against yours as his final thrusts pump thick streams inside you. His chest is heaving, his breath hot on your neck and between your lips as he finds them, his tongue swiping tenderly across the sore spot on your bottom lip. He’ll make sure to take extra good care of you later tonight, bringing you a cold compress and some ointment for your lip; but for now, he scoops you up in his big arms, his limp little rag doll with a big smile on her mascara-streaked face.

“I’m sorry Daddy’s kisses got a little rough, princess,” Cooper says, and you see the concern in his eyes. His chest is sweaty and his heartbeat so comforting, you nuzzle into him deeper. “It’s okay, Daddy,” you murmur, gliding your tongue over your bottom lip, savoring the sting. “I like it when your kisses hurt...” 💋🩸

[serendipitous-girl]

𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲

⊱✿⊰ summary: you weren't the same afterwards, they've all noticed

⊱✿⊰ warnings: trauma, angst, past kidnapping, past assault, cult sacrifice, ptsd, depression, panic attacks. My daydream/lore is more angsty than this and also might be some sal x reader undertones since that is my daydream

⊱✿⊰ notes: so i have this like plot idea thing for sally face that i use for daydreams. This is entirely self indulgent and half of you guys might not understand it. But to sum it up: reader was going to be a sacrifice to the cult however was saved. Yeah

⊱✿⊰ taglist: @fashionablysouly @kozumesphone @lotus-sunn

It's been two weeks since you got away. You returned to school like normal, acting like your heart wasn't trapped within a cage.

Your parents didn't mention what happened; they didn't even know. They assumed you stayed at Larry's for a few days and never bothered to check to make sure. You sighed as you brushed your hair, untangling the knots like you wished you could to your brain.

Finally, you walked out of your apartment silently. Your skin felt like it was safety pinned together, like it was a plastic bag barely holding onto the bones and organs inside. Was this a body you were in? Or was it just a sack of flesh, deteriorating until you were nothing but rotting and vile?

You spotted Sal almost immediately, the combination of his prosthetic mask and bright blue hair made him easy to identify. He waved at you and came closer, casual behavior for him.

Yet your mind was stuck back there, when he found you crumpled on the floor your white gown soaked in blood. You weren't sure how he could bear to look at you, look at you and not think about how monstrous you felt. (Was it cruel to believe yourself monstrous when surely Sal has it worse?)

A cold hand rested on your shoulder, jumpstarting your heart and make your blood rush. It was like when they touched you, grabbed your arms and shoved you in the car as though to say good riddance. But it was Sal, it was your angel, your hero. He wouldn't hurt you, he wouldn't hurt you, he wouldn't-

"Hey? [Name], you okay?" Sal asked, tilting his head slightly to show his confusion. You blinked a few times, remembering your surroundings. Your brain and soul was in that room with those men, but your body was here and safe. Then how come you felt nowhere near safe in your body?

"I'm fine," You replied slowly, pulling away from his touch. Your lungs were filled with smoke, collapsing in on itself like a building on fire. You just needed to get away, forget about school just get away and get some air. Out of Addison apartments, out into the woods away from the cult away from the school away from it all.

"Hey, hey, stay with me. Come on, let's get some fresh air." Sal suddenly said, appearing in front of you and leading you out of the building. Noticeably he didn't touch you, he made sure to not make your skin feel anymore fake than it already did.

He sat down on a fallen tree, patting it for you to sit beside him. It poked you uncomfortably, sticks and bugs and whatnot hurting your backside but it was a fine way to stay active. Feeling pain meant you were alive, you were alive and safe.

"Can I hold your hand?" Sal asked, giving you enough space in case you said no. Shakily you nodded, surprisingly feeling relieved when his cold palm brushes against your own.

He slowly brought your hand to his chest, letting you feel as he takes deep breaths. You tried copying his breathing, in and out, in and out. Eventually your brain stopped fizzing like an exploded soda and you felt semi human once again.

"Thanks, Sal." You mumbled, looking away with an ashamed face. He shouldn't have to deal with you and whatever the hell that was just now. He still hadn't let go of your hand which was surprisingly nice.

"Its okay to not be okay." Sal replied, making your eyes snap back to his. He was staring directly at you, blue eye boring into your brain (it made you wonder if he could read every thought racing through your mind.) "You went through something...nobody can possibly imagine. I would be more concerned if you were perfectly fine."

"I want to be okay, though. I don't want to be trapped back there." You replied softly, acting like this was a confession of sin. You never mention what happened with your friends; let alone explain what had happened before they saved you.

"I saved you once and I'll save you again." Sal said, squeezing your hand gently, "I promise you, [Name], I will stop at nothing to make you happy again."

You smiled even though it hurt, feeling the tiniest bit of hope form in your heart. If anyone could save you, you were grateful it was Sal to do it. Right now living felt like torture but you would go through torture to stay with Sal.

[missblissy]

Little Things! Astarion x Reader HCs

A/n: 😤😤 I’m just gonna say it, ya’ll don’t have enough casual domestic relationship headcanons in these tags. To much smut. Y’all need some water, come up for air or something good god I love y’all but drink some fucking water 😂 So have some HCs of Tav and Astarion in Act 1. GN! Tav with no class/race as always UwU Also thank you so much for all the likes and kind words on my last post! I plan on opening my requests soon so be sure to follow to stay updated on when that happens. 💖☺️ Enjoy!

Was it even possible for someone to be annoyed… and pleased at the same time? Could a contradiction even exist? Yes. It could. And it baffled Astarion. Sure you had a pretty face, a nice laugh, a way with words… A shimmer in your eyes… a crooked grin that barely broke a smirk… The faint and unmissable sound of your heart beat… A smell so signature he could pick it up in the subtle breeze.

Just with the shift of wind and now he was tossing and turning in his tent. Huffing and throwing his blanket over half his face. Thoughts racing with you now, all the way on the other side of camp and no where near him. Not even in his sight. And still you were in his mind.

How annoying. This was just a misguided, maybe even a malicious attempt at forging an alliance. So why did he feel so… bad? His red eyes couldn’t close so he just stared at the fabric wall of his tent. A blank but also bitter stare on his face.

Out of all the books he read, and he read a lot, none of them actually showed him what real was. What was real passion? Not the mask he wore. What was real conviction and adoration? All he knew was what he’s done for centuries. And this was nothing but uncharted and unfamiliar territory.

So why was it your delightful and diluted scent in the wind alone just enough to send him reeling? He couldn’t know, or didn’t dare to wonder.

These little things didn’t stop there. During the day you’d bounce up to him with a skip in your step… that equally would send a skip right into his ribs and tore up his lungs. With big bright eyes you’d show him something random, something you found, something you made… it didn’t matter.

Just the way you beamed with a radiant smile the sun could be jealous of, it was enough for a snide back handed comment that could be confused for a flirt, “Oh darling, for me? You shouldn’t have, you might just be one of my most devoted fans,” Normally a line like this worked. Either it would send the conversation towards the bedroom or someone left standing alone.

Neither happened. You just rolled your eyes, gave a little laugh and said, “A fan? In your dreams,” And go on chatting like before, unfazed by his little remarks. You were an enigma to him.

Especially during times after a battle. It was always such a gentle touch, when you’d place a hand on his shoulder and praise him for his good work and efforts in the battle.

If vampires had blood to blush he would. He didn’t understand why he wanted to hear more of it, “That was a good job you did out there today,” or maybe it was the way you said, “You did amazing,” He could listen to praises all day. He never knew how much he enjoyed them before.

Let’s not forget, he could hear your heartbeat. Not yours alone. Everyone had a different rhythm and rhyme. For instants Shadowheart, her heart was slow, sad, faint but still beating away with life. Astarion could hear it, just the same as Lae’zel who seemingly had no heart beat at all until the surprising thumb of it came every hour or so. He could hear yours too. Rattle away within your bones. And he paid close attention.

Normally these ‘skills’ of listening to hearts were used to hunt out a target for his master. But with no master and a band of fools, he still used these skills unbeknownst to himself.

He’d listen with eyes glued to a book. You’re heart pitter pattered like any other. But sometimes it’d start racing, picking up speed. Not to long ago a racing heart was the first step into picking a target, since the heart never lies and when a fool looked Astarion’s way if their heart sang that song he knew who would be his unfortunate soul.

But no, this time he just peered from over his book and watched you stare off into the distance, into the darkness of the woods. To his surprise there wasn’t a glance his way or even at anyone. Your heart only raced for fear it seemed. Even when you looked at him or shared a conversation, the same steady beat flowed.

It was something little like this, these little things only he knew as they festered in his mind. They ached within him. He hid it well but it wretched at his organs and plucked at his fibers every time. It was annoying. It was… wonderful…

It was terrifying. The way his breathe would catch when you’d ask him to join you. The way he actually felt anger, as petty as it was, when you asked him to stay back at camp.

Or maybe when he’d hear just the sound of your voice, distant on the other side of camp, muffled, not even loud enough to hear what you were saying but just enough to hear your voice. How strange that something so little as that was enough to ease him into sleep.

[teshadraws]

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 60]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

-

Tobias speaks with Dismas.

CW: Blood, violence, child death.

-

In the silence, Dismas gives them an uninterested onceover, starting at Nia and ending with Tobias. When the pangoro reaches Tobias’ face, his brow furrows, his chin lifting with a spark of interest.

Tobias can’t decide if he wants to glare back or look away. His throat is tight. He balls the hand not holding Nia’s into a fist, trying to keep himself from shaking like a newborn.

Suddenly, the pangoro’s brows rise, and a toothy grin lights up his face. He rears back as much as he can in his chains, roaring with laughter. He’d probably be slapping his knee if he could.

Tobias stares, stunned. When he’d imagined this in the past, thought about coming face-to-face with one of the outlaws, he’d never pictured laughter. He kind of feels like puking.

Dismas’ laughter dies down, but the jovial expression remains. “You’re the little brat from the mountains! How long’s it been? Five years? Six?”

He says it like a distant relative catching up. Like he’s asking how Tobias’ training has been going, instead of reuniting with the child he made an orphan.

“It’s been eight years,” Tobias hisses. He can’t decide if he wants to attack the pangoro or run away. Nia’s grip anchors him in place.

“Huh. Time flies. You’re still a squirt, but you were a tiny little thing then. No bigger than my paw.”

Dismas lifts a paw as far as he can with the chains restricting him, and wiggles his fingers. His claws flash in the low light. He could probably still crush Tobias without a second thought, but when Tobias was younger, when he was half his current size, it would’ve been effortless. Vivi was even tinier.

Tobias grits his teeth, anger slowly overpowering the terror. He can feel his control slipping, embers climbing into his throat.

“You a big-shot Seeker now?” Dismas asks, still so casual. He gestures to the scarf around Tobias’ throat.

Tobias’ free hand lifts, grabbing the worn material as if to keep it from him. This scarf was Vivi’s, and Tobias will die before he lets this monster touch it.

Dismas’ gaze moves to Nia. “This your little partner?”

Nia doesn’t answer, but Tobias can feel her squeeze his hand just a bit tighter. She’s standing tall out of the corner of his eye.

Dismas huffs. “You gonna say anything or are you two just here to waste my time?”

Tobias takes a step forward, fire boiling over. “Shut up! You aren’t the one asking questions here!”

Dismas’ brow rises. “Well, go on then. I don’t have all day.”

Tobias wants to lunge for the pangoro’s throat. Nia tugs him back a step, away from Dismas and back to her side. Tobias can’t tell if she’s shaking too, or if that’s just him.

Tobias swallows, gut churning.

“Why?” He rasps. “Why did you kill them?”

Dismas looks unimpressed by the question. “You were there, brat. Surely you remember.”

Tobias was there, but he doesn’t remember. He can’t. Every time he’s ever tried to remember the details, panic has risen like a tide, swamping his thoughts and choking him for air, sending him flailing until he stops.

Dismas, in response to Tobias’ silence, shrugs a shoulder. “Sulien ordered it.”

Tobias takes a breath, tears brimming in his eyes. He blinks them back. “Why did Sulien want to kill them? My dad was an instrument-maker. My mom was a mail-mon. My sister was six. They…there’s no way they were involved in something shady, and we…it’s not like we had a lot of money. So why?”

Tobias hates the way his voice breaks. He hates that this is how he has to get his answers. He hates being at the mercy of Dismas yet again.

The pangoro snorts. “It’s not like we went there planning it. There was a storm.”

Tobias knows there was a storm, but that doesn’t explain anything. Why would the storm be important? Tobias doesn’t know, he doesn’t remember, he—

…He does. He does remember.

———————————————————

It’s raining. Hard. Has been all day, and although storms usually pass quickly in the mountains, this one doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up anytime soon.

Since she can’t fly safely in this kind of weather, Mama’s home today—a rarity in the middle of the afternoon. She takes over for Papa’s lessons to let him work in peace, playing little games with Toby and Vivi to help them learn their letters and math.

Each time they finish a lesson, Mama lets them each hold onto one of her giant wings. She flaps them open to fling her children up with shrieks of laughter before gently catching them and lowering them back to the ground. Usually they can get three rounds out of her with cries of “Again! Again!” before she puts her foot down and they have to start the next lesson.

It’s a peaceful day. A bit boring, even, until late afternoon when a shadow—three shadows—block out the gray light from the mouth of the cave.

Toby recognizes the biggest Pokemon from one of his books. He remembers, ‘cause he’s a fire type like them. A growlithe, maybe? Wait, no, an arcanine.

His ear is shredded like an old piece of fabric, scars cutting through his fur and across one of his eyes. His fur is limp with rain, though, and he has a sheepish smile on his face, so he doesn’t seem scary.

There’s another Pokemon standing behind him with his arms folded and an unhappy scowl on his face. He’s tall, with black and white fur.

The third Pokemon, a crobat, came in dangling from the tall Pokemon’s arm, but quickly hopped off to huddle in the dirt instead. His wings are crossed over his body, looking too drenched to fly.

“Sorry for intruding,” the arcanine says, friendly and warm. “We were hoping we could get out of the rain for a while?”

———————————————————

Tobias blinks. He stares at Dismas. “You…you said you wanted to get out of the rain.”

“Yup.”

“But that…” Tobias’ heart is pounding faster. Why does he feel like he’s the one being interrogated here?

Tobias glances at the quagsire standing guard off to the side, as if she’ll somehow have the answers. The quagsire looks back at him, sharp gaze softened by something sad and sympathetic.

Tobias doesn’t have time for her pity. He avoids Nia’s gaze entirely, looking back at Dismas. “B-But that wasn’t true, right? You were just…lying. To get to us.”

Dismas snorts. “Why would we lie? The idiots wanted out of the rain.”

“But why our cave?!”

“We ran across your cave by chance, brat. Your family just had the bad luck of living in the first decent shelter we found going over the mountain range.”

Tobias stares at Dismas, disbelief making him feel numb.

By chance? Bad luck?

Tobias’ family was killed because of bad luck?

That—that can’t be right. Tobias lost his whole world that night. There has to be a better reason. There has to be some reason why his family had to go through that. Why he had to go through that.

“What do you mean?” Tobias asks, trying make the words a demand. They come out weak and lost. “If it was just by chance that you met us, then why did you attack us?!”

“You don’t remember.”

No, Tobias doesn’t remember, because he can’t ever let himself remember that night in full. Because when he tries, the panic comes back in full force and shuts him down before he even gets a chance.

Tobias snarls, a wordless and feral sound. A threat.

Dismas rolls his eyes. “Your mom figured us out.”

Tobias stops, breathing hard. Embers flutter in the edges of his vision.

Just like that, just like a twig holding together a dam, everything falls loose.

He remembers.

———————————————————

His parents are welcoming, at first. His mama jokes with the arcanine and crobat, Sulien and Asra, about the rain while his father adds kindling to the fire to give it extra warm.

Toby is a little shy, as he always is around strangers. Even more with big, strong strangers like these ones.

Vivi echoes all of his awe without the shyness, immediately bouncing around the strangers’ paws with question after question about their names and species and types and where they’re from. The tall one, a pangoro named Dismas, is clearly annoyed by her curiosity, but Asra and Sulien smile and answer patiently.

The storm rages on far longer than anyone expects, into the evening. Vivi has graduated from crawling around Sulien’s giant paws to to climbing over the arcanine’s fluffy back and mane. She’d scrambled her way up the fire type’s shoulders before their parents could stop her, and once there the arcanine had assured them she was fine. Toby had settled in at Sulien’s paws, listening to the adults talk.

The strangers tell them that they’re called Team Zenith, and they focus on rescue work.

“Is that how you got that scar on your face?” Vivi asks, sprawled stop Sulien’s fluffy head and peering down at him.

“Vivian!”  Mama scolds.

Sulien laughs. “It’s fine. No, this one was from a nasty fight.”

Vivi gasps. “A bad guy?!”

Sulien nods, solemn. “The worst.”

“Whoa.”

Toby echoes his sister, leaning back against the arcanine’s warm, fluffy chest. He loves his Mama and Papa, but there’s something really nice about a pelt so soft.

“Maybe I wanna be a Seeker when I grow up,” Toby muses.

“Oh! Me too! Me too!”

“You’ll both have to get a bit bigger first,” Mama teases, flicking her tail over to tickle Tobias’ side. He giggles and kicks her away.

Eventually, Mama excuses herself from the warmth of the fire to grab her mail for the following day. When the storm clears up, she’ll have a lot of deliveries to make. She brings them to the fire to organize by neighborhood, sorting them into piles.

Toby crawls into her lap, watching as she reads the name and location on each one before deciding which pile it belongs to. He tries to read them too and make it a race, but he’s a lot slower than her.

Conversation continues between the adults, interrupted only by Vivi’s occasional question or exclamation. Toby mostly listens, and reads, and sometimes puts a letter on the right pile when Mama points it out to him.

He perks up when they’re done with the regular mail and get to the guild notices. A lot of the papers are boring stuff that just go to the local guild outpost, but sometimes they have wanted posters that Mama has to pin up in town. Those are a little scary, but they’re kind of exciting, too.

Tobias skims the words he can see on the current paper, the sheet held a little too high over his head as Mama reads. Finally, she hands it over to him, pointing out where it needs to go. He lays it gently in place.

Mama picks up the next letter, and Toby feels it when she suddenly goes tense underneath him. Confused, he looks up at the paper she’s holding, seeing that it’s a wanted poster with pictures of outlaws on it.

Huh. Mama doesn’t usually get scared by wanted posters like Toby and Vivi sometimes do.

It’s taking way too long for her to hand it to him, so Toby tugs impatiently on his mom’s wrist. The paper is yanked down just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pictures.

An arcanine with a scar. A crobat. A pangoro.

Mom yanks the letter away from him. He lets her, frowning up at her face in confusion.

“Mama, what—"

“Toby, go over to Papa.”

Toby hesitates, feeling like something is…wrong. Why was Team Zenith on the wanted poster? Toby thought those were only for bad Pokemon.

Mama doesn’t wait for him, sliding him off her lap and standing. She gathers the piles of letters with unusually sharp movements.

“Mama?”

“You’re fine, sweetie,” Mama says, neck dipping to brush her muzzle over his head. “I just don’t feel like working on those anymore tonight. I’ll get your help with them again later. Go over to your dad, okay?”

Her voice shakes.

Toby glances at Papa. He’s watching Mama now, smile gone.

Toby looks back at Mama. She’s watching Vivi, who is crawling all over Sulien and still chattering on about something.

Mama’s quiet. Like something’s wrong but she doesn’t want Toby and Vivi to know about it.

The arcanine smiles at Mama, apparently picking up on it, too. “Something wrong, ma’am?”

“No no. Just—Vivi, get off Mr. Sulien, all right?”

“Aww, why?” Vivi whines, little fingers tightening in his fur.

“Vivian!” Mama snaps.

Toby and Vivi both wince. Slowly, with a pout, Vivi slides down Sulien’s back and trudges over to Papa, leaning into his side. He wraps his tail around her.

“Toby, why don’t you come over here too?” Papa says, voice light. “It’s about time for bed.”

There’s something about his tone, though, that makes Tobias tense.

Toby doesn’t move. He doesn’t understand why that outlaw paper had Team Zenith on it, or why everyone suddenly got so quiet.

Mama is standing, not putting her papers away like she said she would. Like it’s important that Toby goes over to Papa before she does.

Papa is sitting up straighter than before, not letting Vivi move. He motions Toby closer.

It’s Asra who really makes Toby upset, though. The crobat suddenly looks sick to his stomach, gaze flicking between Sulien and Mama.

Sulien smiles. “You’re sure nothing is wrong?”

Thunder rumbles outside, long and low. Like the sky is growling.

Toby finally darts to his sister’s side, ducking under his papa’s tail and pressing close to his belly where it’s safe. He’s scared. He doesn’t know why he’s scared.

“You said you’re a mail mon, right?” Sulien asks politely.

His mama doesn’t answer.

“That includes notices to the guild, doesn’t it?”

Sulien stands up. He stretches, muscles rippling under striped fur.

“Show me that last notice you were sorting.”

Mama shakes her head. Toby doesn’t think he’s ever seen that look on her face. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Shame,” Sulien says, casual. “Neither did I. But it seems trouble has found us regardless.”

Papa’s tail curls tighter around them, pressing them close.

“We don’t have much,” Mama says, low. Fervent. “But you can have it. Just go. Or let us go. We’ll go.”

“I’m afraid that’s really not the problem here,” Sulien says. “The problem is that we need to get out of this mountain range without anyone knowing where we’re heading next.”

“We won’t say anything,” Mama says, quick. Desperate. She’s usually the one picking fights, not trying to compromise.

Toby’s stomach feels cold.

“S-Sulien,” Asra says, hushed. “Come on, they said they won’t say anything. We can make them leave and—"

Sulien sighs, cutting the crobat off. “I’d really like to believe that. Unfortunately, you know I’d rather not take any chances.”

He flexes his paw, claws extending in the firelight.

Tobias flinches.

Vivi whimpers.

A growl pours from Papa’s throat.

His mama’s wings spread, making her bigger. She looks angry. She looks terrified.

———————————————————

“You really didn’t come there looking for us,” Tobias whispers, staring at Dismas. The pangoro stares back, expressionless.

It wasn’t some kind of shady business. Or even a robbery. It wasn’t anything against his parents at all.

They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. They extended their kindness to the wrong Pokemon.

———————————————————

“I’m afraid I’d rather play it safe,” Sulien says. He flicks his shredded ear.

Dismas launches himself forward. Toby doesn’t even see the move that sends Mama flying back into the cave wall with a crack.

“Mama!” Toby shrieks.

He and Vivi try to push past Papa’s tail, but he drags them back.

“Aria!” His papa yells.

Mama pushes herself up, blowing a wave of fire out in front of her to ward the pangoro off. She glances at them, eyes wild. “Run, Silas!”

Papa hesitates for only a second. Then he scoops Tobias and Vivi up in his arms and bolts towards the mouth of the cave.

But it’s storming! Mama said they can never fly when it’s storming! It’s too dangerous. There’s rain and lightning and wind and—

And Sulien is there, standing large and proud against the darkness.

Papa stops. Toby can hear Mama fighting with the pangoro behind them.

“They’re just kids,” his papa says, voice tight. “Let them go.”

Sulien’s eyes move down to Toby and Vivi. “They are. But eventually they’ll be adults. And that one—” he nods at Vivi, who bares her teeth and growls, even with tears in her eyes. “Has the look of a hero. No, they’re old enough to realize what happened here.”

Toby feels his papa’s heart racing against his back, skin hot and clammy all at once. Slowly, he’s put down beside Vivi.

“Papa?” Toby asks, shaky. He’s trying to sniff back tears, but he can hear his mama snarling and the FWOOSH and heat of fire and Sulien is looking at them like a stranger, like a villain in a story and—

“Toby. Take your sister and run.”

Papa’s voice is low. Almost too low to hear.

Toby blinks. “W-What?”

They aren’t allowed out in storms, and definitely not on their own.

Papa spares him a glance. He swallows. “Run. Don’t stop running until you’re safe. And take care of your sister.”

“Papa?” Vivi says.

“We love you both,” Papa whispers. His voice is higher than usual. Rough. “So much.”

Before Tobias can answer, Papa is using his tail to sweep the two of them towards the mouth of the cave. Toby stumbles, Vivi crying out at his side.

Then Papa is arcing over them with a roar that shakes Toby to his bones. He watches with wide eyes as Papa and Sulien tumble together in a snarling blur of orange.

Everything is chaos. Growling and crashing and fire and—

Vivi slams into him, hugging him desperately. He wraps his arms around her on instinct, claws bunching into the oversized red scarf she always wears like a little cape.

“Tobias!” His mother roars. He looks over at her, panicked. She’s panting, one of her wings hanging in a sickening way at her side as the pangoro recovers from a heavy hit. “Run!”

“Asra!” Sulien barks. “Grab them!”

Tobias spins, locking eyes with the crobat. He’s flapping in midair, looking just as scared as Tobias feels.

“Sulien, they’re—they’re just kids. Surely we don’t need to hurt them, right?”

The word ‘hurt’ jolts Toby into movement. He grabs his sister by the hand and yanks her towards the entrance, tears blurring his vision.

A flash of purple flies by and blocks the entrance, making them stumble back. The crobat flaps in place, brow furrowed as he glances between them and Sulien.

Toby grabs Vivi tighter and darts to the side, hoping to skirt around the crobat. The crobat swoops at them, barely missing them. It feels threatening, like he’s going to pick them up and carry them away, but—

——————————————————

“He wasn’t really trying, was he?” Tobias rasps. “He…he was so much faster than that. He wanted us to escape. But…”

——————————————————

For an instant, Toby thinks they’re going to make it. They duck under the crobat’s wings and—

A heavy weight—a thousand times heavier than Mama and Papa when they play fight with them—slams into Toby, pinning him on his back. It knocks the air out of him. He tries to gasp for air as he looks up at his attacker.

Sulien doesn’t look scared like Asra. He doesn’t look like he’s feeling anything, except mild irritation. Toby feels the arcanine’s claws dig into his throat, bruising in their force and cutting off his air as something wet leaks down his skin.

Toby tries to kick, but he can’t reach the arcanine’s chest. Vivi screams and grabs the arcanine’s paw, trying to pull it off of him.

Sulien grabs her in his mouth like she’s nothing more than a toy, throwing her aside. She slams into the cave wall with a cracking sound and lands hard on her stomach.

Tobias tries to turn his head, his sister’s name on his tongue, but pain sears through his neck as claws tear at his soft throat.

Sulien’s mouth opens, and Toby sees nothing but fangs and fire lunging at him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

There’s a roar and a gust of hot air, and then the weight is gone from him entirely. Mama slams the arcanine into the wall with a sound that echoes and sends stone raining down from the ceiling.

Toby gasps and coughs as he scrambles up, reaching for his neck. His palm comes away red and slick with blood. It tickles as it streaks down his chest.

Toby ignores it, still coughing as he stumbles to Vivi’s side. She’s trying to push herself up, but one of her hands is pressed to the back of her head and the other shakes and trembles.

“Lemme see,” Toby rasps, kneeling at her side. He helps her sit up, then peels away the hand on her head. His heart stops when he sees slick red on her palm.

Vivi whines, slumping into Toby’s shoulder. He pulls her close, looking around frantically.

Mama is wrestling with Sulien now. Papa has turned on the pangoro, cornering him in the back of the cave. Asra is still stalled in place, staring at them with wide yellow eyes.

“Tobias! Run!” Mama yells again.

Toby jolts, then staggers to his feet. He feels lightheaded, spots in his vision, but he knows he needs to move. Vivi is clinging to him weakly, but she can’t seem to get her feet under her even when he tries to pull her up.

Toby feels renewed panic lap at him. Usually when they get hurt, when they scrape a knee or pull a claw, they go to their parents. And Vivi is clearly hurt, stumbling and tilting as if she’s dizzy.

He doesn’t know how to fix this.

Tobias decides on a different course of action. He swings Vivi around and pulls her onto his back, hopping to secure her higher. He nearly falls from the weight throwing him off balance, but staggers towards the mouth of the cave all the same.

“Asra, get those kids or you’re next!” Sulien snarls.

There’s no protest this time. A blur of purple flashes out of the corner of Toby’s eye, swooping for him again. He ducks and runs faster, out of the cave.

The storm slams into him like a wall. The cold rain stings against his skin, whipping into his face like needles. He squints against it. Between the rain and wind and darkness, he can hardly see two feet in front of him.

Another snarl comes from the cave. Toby startles and takes off, stumbling over rocks and slipping in mud. Each time he does, Vivi whimpers, her face tucked away in the crook of his bloodied neck.

Tobias runs and runs through the darkness, sliding down steep inclines and through scraggly groups of trees. It’s a miracle he doesn’t run himself right off the cliffside, guided only by hazy memory and luck.

He feels like he runs forever.

His lungs burn. He can’t feel his legs. Vivi sits like a boulder tied to his back, deadweight, but he doesn’t dare slow down. His fingers feel locked into place by the cold.

He doesn’t stop until a deep mud puddle sucks his foot down. He falls hard onto his front, then lays gasping in the mud. Its icy cold burns, and eventually he summons the strength to push himself up and crawl out of the puddle he’d landed in.

He gently deposits Vivi onto the ground behind him.

She slumps over.

“Vivi?” Toby asks, panting.

Vivi lies motionless on the grass. Too quiet. Too still. She’s never that quiet and still, even when she’s asleep.

“Vivi?” Toby asks again, shaking her gently. She feels cold, but everything feels cold right now.

He turns her over, to find her eyes closed and her little brow furrowed. He pats her cheek. “Vivi? Vivi, c’mon. W-Wake up! We…we gotta go. We gotta hide. O-Or get help, or…”

Vivi doesn’t answer. Fresh panic blooms in Tobias’ chest, and hot tears flood his eyes. He can’t tell what’s rain and what’s tears.

He shakes her a little harder. Her head lolls.

“Vivi!” He shouts.

She doesn’t wake up. Is it—is it because she hit her head?

He turns her over in his lap, breath hitching when he sees the place she smacked the back of her head against the cave wall when Sulien threw her. The rain has been washing out the wound, but it still glistens with fresh blood. Tobias knows head wounds bleed a lot, especially in the mountains, but the scariest part is how the spot looks almost…dented. Just a bit.

Toby looks around desperately. He can’t see anyone in the darkness and rain, and he knows there aren’t many other Pokemon who live near their home, but—

But he’s so scared. He’s never been so scared in his entire life.

“Help!” Toby yells, voice hoarse. Sulien and Asra and Dismas might hear him, but…but his sister is hurt.

“Help!” He yells again, a hot wave of tears filling his eyes to streak down chilled cheeks. “Please!”

He yells and yells, but nobody answers.

Tobias suddenly remembers what Papa told them, a long time ago. That they should pray to Entei if they ever feel scared or unsafe. He protects kids like them! He’ll help. He has to.

“E-Entei, please help us. Please, I’m really scared and Vivi needs help a-and I don’t know what else to do.”

Toby waits again. The storm continues overhead, loud and cold and endless. Entei doesn’t appear on fiery paws to whisk them away. There’s no big, strong presence to shield them from the rain.

They’re on their own.

Toby sniffs hard, looking down at Vivi. He doesn’t know what to do. Did she lose too much blood? Or is something inside her hurt? What did Mama say that one time about bad injuries?

You…you need to stop the bleeding if you get hurt real bad. You need to put something on the injury.

Tobias doesn’t have supplies, but his eyes land on Vivi’s scarf, its red hue looking dull and drab in the darkness and rain. Vivi’s going to be so mad at him for getting blood on her favorite scarf, but—but this is more important.

Toby unknots the scarf with shaking hands, then presses the soaking wet fabric against the wound. He expects Vivi to whine or cry out, since it has to hurt.

She doesn’t move. She still hasn’t moved.

Thunder rumbles again. The rain comes down in sheets, painful and freezing against his nearly-numb skin. Toby needs to find shelter soon. Sitting out in the rain for too long is dangerous for any fire type, but especially kids. Especially in the mountains.

Toby starts to drag Vivi onto his back again, when something catches his eye.

The tip of her short tail.

Dark.

Tobias drops her. He hates himself for it immediately, but he does. He hovers over her—her body—her, and shivers, and stares.

No. No no no.

B-But—but maybe she’s still okay? Maybe she’s just hurt, really bad, but if he gets her help, then…

Tobias presses the side of his head to Vivi’s chest.

He waits. And waits. Two rolls of thunder. Three. The rain doesn’t let up.

No breath. No heartbeat.

Toby whimpers. Then he gathers air into his lungs and wails. He thought that he knew what it was like, to be upset. To be scared. To be in pain. He remembers crying to Mama and Papa really hard that one time he pulled a claw.

This is something else. His voice rips out of him like it’s alive, like he has no control over it. He drapes himself over Vivi, crying, pleading for her to come back. He doesn’t know how long.

She doesn’t answer.

Tobias doesn’t remember getting up. He doesn’t remember leaving Vivi. He doesn’t remember wandering off with his sister’s scarf clenched tight in his fingers.

He does remember stepping just a bit too close to a cliffside that was loosened by the rain. Remembers how it gave out from underneath him. Remembers how he didn’t even yell, falling and falling and then—

Darkness.

Next time he woke up, he was bandaged and warm, tucked into a soft bed. The nice Pokemon who found him half-buried under rubble had taken him to the village doctor. Tobias had asked the doctor where his sister was, or his parents, and he knew right away what the old ‘mon’s tight smile and evasive answers meant.

His family was gone.

——————————————————

A painful squeeze of Tobias’ hand catches his attention. What is that? Did Sulien come back for him? No, he’s safe at the doctor’s house, he—

He stares at the riolu in front of him, uncomprehending. There’s not a riolu at the doctor’s, and certainly not in his cave.

Her ruby eyes are glassy with tears, and she’s holding his hand. Something about her makes him feel safe.

She’s saying something, but Tobias can’t hear her, his heartbeat loud in his ears. He can read her lips, though, as she repeats one word to him, over and over.

Breathe.

Tobias tries to listen, taking a shaky breath of air. Then another, and another. The riolu doesn’t look away, smiling encouragingly and breathing with him.

Slowly, Tobias feels his body settle into the room around him. It’s warmer here than in the rain, but colder than the doctor’s house. Darker, lit a muted green. His ears feel funny. His free hand is pulling at his—at Vivi’s scarf, and his neck burns as if the marks left there haven’t long since scarred over. There’s a quagsire and malamar watching him with sympathetic expressions, and—

Tobias freezes when he sees the pangoro. Dismas. Dismas is here, he’s going to hurt Mama and Papa and Vivi and the riolu and—

“Tobias!” The riolu places both paws on either side of his face, turning him away from the pangoro until all he can see is her. “Ignore him. Keep breathing with me, okay?”

Tobias doesn’t think he can, but he nods anyways and tries to follow the riolu’s exaggerated breaths. In. Out. Again.

Tobias doesn’t know when the riolu in front of him turns into someone he knows, but suddenly his brain remembers that she has a name.

Nia.

He latches onto her paws, taking stock of himself.

His eyes sting, as if he was crying. He’s still shaking, but his breathing is steadier. The grief and terror in his chest feels fresh, painful as the day he lost his family.

Tobias must make a pitiful sound, because Nia shushes him gently, murmuring, “Hey, stay here with me, okay? You back?”

Tobias nods, trying to stay in the present. He focuses on the cool metal underfoot. Nia’s soft paws on his cheeks. The sight of her eyes, red cooled to a deep brown in the green light. The quiet creak of the metal room around them.

He’s here. He’s in Kaleido Bay, with Nia. And he finally has the answer he has wanted all these years. He finally knows why his family was ripped away from him.

Chance.

Has Tobias wasted the last eight years of his life, looking for this? For a simple, nonsensical answer that changes nothing? An answer that was hidden away inside his own head?

If Sulien gets captured by other Seekers like Dismas had, then…what is Tobias’ goal? Without answers to find and the outlaws to track down, what does he have to strive towards?

What does he even have to live for?

“We really messed you up, huh?” Dismas says. The pangoro doesn’t sound remorseful. If anything, he says it like a joke, lighthearted and casual.

Nia snaps her teeth at him. “Shut up!”

Tobias looks at Dismas again. He tries to speak, then has to clear his throat to get the words to come. “You…don’t even care, do you? About what you did?”

Dismas snorts. “Your family wasn’t the first ‘mon we had to take out, kid. I can’t afford to get all weepy about it. I’m not Asra.”

“The crobat?” Nia murmurs. “Wasn’t he your partner?”

“A coward is what he was. Always trying to avoid getting his claws dirty. I bet that softhearted idiot didn’t even look for you brats after Sulien told him to. I was surprised Sulien let him run off at all, at least with his skull intact.”

Nia glances at Tobias before saying, “Asra’s, um…dead. He died in a rockslide.”

Dismas barks a laugh. “Ah, there it is! Looks like Sulien found him after all.”

Their faces must ask the question for them.

“Asra was spineless, but he was fast. He wouldn’t have gotten taken out by a rock slide. Not a natural one, at least.”

Nia looks vaguely sick. “You mean..?”

“Sulien always hated how much of a softie Asra was. Trying to run and start a new life with so much blood on his fangs? When he knew all of our history? Nah. He was a danger Sulien couldn’t risk keeping alive. It was only a matter of time for him.”

“And you?” Nia challenges. “Is Sulien the reason you got caught?”

Dismas laughs again. “No, we parted ways a while ago. I had enough of his brilliant ideas and decided to strike out on my own.”

“Lot of good that did you,” Nia mutters.

“You mean this place?” Dismas asks, making a vague gesture around the room with one restrained paw. “I needed somewhere to crash for a while. Time to figure out where I’m going next and all that. But now that you mention it, I am getting sick of the slop they serve here as food.”

Dismas looks past them, towards the malamar standing guard at the door. “Hey, beak face!”

The malamar straightens up, tentacles flaring. “Quiet down, D22.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be quick.” Dismas grins, toothy and goading. “Just thought you’d want to know that your little disable treatments haven’t been lasting as long as you wanted ‘em to.”

He lifts both paws as high as he can, curling them into fists. One paw bursts into flames, bright enough to be painful to Tobias’ eyes in the dim light. The other fist glints in the fire’s light, coated in ice.

Tobias feels a familiar sense of dread pool in his gut.

“Put your attacks away!” the malamar shouts, marching closer. The quagsire backs up a step, falling into a defensive stance.

“Aw, but I’ve been having a lot of fun in here with my little science experiments,” Dismas chuckles, opening his fists and dismissing the elemental energy. “You do know what happens when you heat and cool chains so frequently, right?”

The pangoro pulls his arms in, straining them against the metal chains. Tobias can hear them creak and groan for just a second before—

The chains snap like a cheap toy.

Tobias scrambles backwards, nearly tripping over his own feet. Nia moves with him.

Dismas isn’t the fastest ‘mon, but he’s still faster than the quagsire beside him. Before the water type can shoot off a move, the pangoro spins to punch her in the gut, the bright glint of metal following in his wake.

Bullet punch.

The quagsire resists steel type moves, but she still goes skidding back, slamming into the metal wall with a loud bang. Tobias flinches, seeing Vivi, hearing rain—

The malamar rushes past them, pushing Nia and Tobias back with one tentacle and attacking Dismas with the other. Dismas catches the move in a giant paw, grinning, shackles and broken chains dangling from his wrists.

The pangoro turns, swinging the malamar with him, and slams him into the floor, leaving a dent in the metal.

“Miro!” the quagsire calls, getting back to her feet. “Send out an alert!”

Right! The malamar’s a psychic-type. They must have some kind of telepathy system set up here to communicate.

Except the malamar doesn’t answer, rolling to dodge a heavy fist. He lunges into a peck that Dismas barely wards off with his legs and neck still shackled. The malamar looks almost frenzied, going after the pangoro with a vicious aggression. It’s strange, and so unsettling a strategy to see from a psychic type that Tobias realizes with a sinking heart what Dismas was doing earlier.

Taunt.

All the malamar can do is attack. And that is a terrible thing for a Pokemon who likely relies on stat changes and status moves to fight.

It’s clear from the easy way that Dismas handles the psychic type. With a single throat chop that leaves the malamar gasping, Tobias can see the end coming. Dismas sweeps his arm back, dark type energy leaving streaks like black lightning in its wake, then stabs a shadow claw through the malamar’s gut.

Nia makes a shrill sound, stumbling back with her paws clamped over her muzzle. Tobias just watches with a sick sense of deja vu.

Dismas lets the energy dissipate.

The malamar drops and lies still.

Tobias has to believe he’s alive, despite the odds. He can’t watch this monster kill another Pokemon right in front of him.

Dismas takes advantage of the moment of stunned silence. He lifts massive paws to grab either side of the shackle around his neck, snapping it open like a chestnut to drop at his paws. He sighs, satisfied, and rolls his neck with a crack that makes both Nia and Tobias wince.

The quagsire jumps into action, rushing at the pangoro. Her cheeks puff up with a water gun.

Dismas ducks under the first jet, fists flashing with fire before he punches right through the two chains holding his legs in place. Those, too, break with little resistance, likely weakened beforehand for this chance at escape.

The quagsire is slower than Dismas, but she fights strategically, keeping her distance when possible to shoot off a water pulse or mud shot. When she sees an opening, she moves in closer for an aqua tail or slam attack.

Tobias wants to help, afraid of what will happen if and when the quagsire goes down, but…Tobias knows what it’s like, trying to fight in close quarters with a partner you’re unused to. It can cause more problems than staying out of the fight entirely. They’d likely just get in the way.

Tobias glances at the crank to the door over his shoulder, wondering if they could open it themselves, but it’s nearly as tall as them. There’s no way they could get enough leverage.

Before Tobias can think of anything else, the quagsire is slammed down with enough force to dent the metal floor. She’s still fighting, landing a powerful drain punch on the pangoro that actually makes him grunt in pain, but Tobias gets the feeling that she isn’t going all-out. Whether that’s because she can’t use moves like surf or earthquake in this delicate prison cell without risking collateral damage or because she’s afraid of hurting Nia, Tobias, and the malamar, it’s clear to Tobias that she’s holding back.

She still puts up an impressive fight, but it only takes a few more powerful, unrestrained blows from Dismas before the quagsire thuds to the metal floor and stays there, out cold.

And with that, everything falls quiet. All Tobias can hear is the roar of his heartbeat in his ears. He stares at the pangoro, fear building in his gut.

Not again. He can’t do this again.

Nia steps in front of him, paws raised in a fighting stance. She looks confident, if you aren’t close enough to see the way she’s trembling.

Dismas turns to the two of them, huffing a laugh when he sees Nia’s stance. “What, you squirts wanna fight? You could just let me walk out, you know.”

Nia glances back at Tobias, as if asking what he wants to do. Tobias stares past her, unable to answer. He knows he’s shaking.

Tobias wanted this, not so long ago. He wanted the chance to take down the outlaws that killed his family. But now, trapped in here with Dismas, knowing he and Nia’s lives are on the line if they try to fight? Knowing what the pangoro can and will do, without a second thought?

Tobias is afraid. He wants to run. Hide. Let Dismas go without a fight.

But he can’t.

He can’t risk Dismas going free. He can’t risk the pangoro doing more harm to anyone else.

Tobias forces himself to breathe. Forces himself to step forward on stiff, shaky legs to stand beside Nia. He crouches into his own battle stance, trying to summon his fire.

Dismas laughs. “I’m impressed! Seeing as you just about wet yourself earlier, I thought you’d turn tail at the first sign of trouble.”

The pangoro strolls away from them, towards the far wall of the room. His broken chains drag on the metal floor with every step. He stops in front of the nearest of the tall, slim windows.

“If you wanna play hero…”

Dismas flings out a paw, slamming it into the window with a heart-stopping crack. It’s the way he’s holding his fingers, flat in a chopping motion, that tips Tobias off to what he just did.

The reflect and light screen cast over the glass, the only thing reinforcing it, stand no chance against a brick break attack. The barriers flicker, shimmering outward from the hit before dissipating entirely.

The unprotected glass cracks, splintering like a fault line. Right where Dismas’ fist hit, frothy water bursts in, spilling across the floor in an endless, powerful jet of water. In a room like this, sealed tight, it’s only a matter of time before it floods the space completely. It’d be a death trap for most Pokemon, but especially for Tobias.

Dismas grins as he turns back to them, toothy and ruthless. “Then let’s play.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Endurance 1

Warnings: this fic will include obsessive behaviour, possible non/ducbon, bullying, and other elements which may not be specifically triggered. Please be cautious in continuing on to the story.

Character: Walter Marshall

Summary: A fellow gym go makes your workouts even more taxing.

Please reblog and leave some feedback, preferably in a reblog but you can always drop by my asks. I always love working in y'alls ideas with these AUs so I am so excited to hear from you.

As always, take care of yourself <3 be kind and be patient. Love you.

No tag lists. Please review my pinned and bio for guidelines.

You come out of the changing room and peek at the wall mirror as you pass. You admire your new bubblegum pink leggings and polka dot top. It’s a bit out there but you’ve seen neons in this place that make your retinas burn. Besides, you’ve never been shy when it comes to fashion. It’s not just your passion, it’s your job. 

It’s late enough that the bodies there are far and few between. You prefer the nights when the gym feels like a ghost town. The air is quiet but not stagnant.  

Your water bottle swings on its handle from your hand as your bouncy steps keep in time with the boppy music thrumming in your earbuds. Your workout mix is a nice blend of retro and contemporary bass hits. You catch yourself humming and stamp it down. Sometimes, you forget other people can perceive you, not that there’s many around to so.  

You find an empty mat. They all are. You put your bottle down and start your stretches. Your late night sessions help clear your mind though it never really stops. In your mind, you’re seeing pleats, seams, and ruffles. 

Your body moves without thinking. It’s all muscle memory. You’re no gym rat, you don’t go that hard, just enough to loosen up your muscles. Your note overly swoll as the young ones call it. You’re fit enough for a light jog and the stairs don’t leave you winded like they used to. 

After your stretches, you slurp loudly from the straw of your water bottle, walking with it still between your lips as you head for an elliptical. You can just let the repetitive motion take over. You pop your lips off the tub and slip the bottle into the little plastic holder on the side of the machine. 

As you climb up, you see another figure across the floor. The man sits on the end of a weight bench. For a moment, it looks, even feels, like he’s watching you. From there, you can’t see very well. You don’t wear your glasses in the gym since you lost a pair to a hungry leg press. 

You can make out dark hair and his burly form. Hazy but wide enough to clock. Most people around here are stacked. You’re too casual for all that. And you like a piece of tiramisu with your Friday lattes. 

You pick your speed and start to climb. You cling to the machine and rock your head to the music. Once more, your throat vibrates and you have to remind yourself to stop. You can’t help it, you love Destiny’s child. Does that date you? For someone working in fashion, you can’t ever risk that. 

You zone out, vision blurring as you let your body do the work. The sweat speckles and slicks across your skin. Damn, you might just be bootylicious after this work out. 

Your fitbit rumbles and you look down. You’re in the zone. You keep going until you hit thirty minutes and slow down. You cool off for ten minutes and swipe up your bottle, sucking on it greedily as you head back to the mats. 

You swing out your arms and stretch your legs in slowly lunges. You bend forward, touching each toe with opposite hand, lingering with your ass up as you brace your hips. A sudden clang has you standing straight so fast you nearly topple onto your butt. 

You throw out your arms to catch your balance as you let out a pathetic, ‘woah-oh-oh'. You look over at the man as begins reps with the heavy dumbbells. You’ve never gotten above the tens. His blue eyes flash in your direction and you give a sheepish smile. 

You don’t want to seem weird so you return to your stretches. Arms up, lean to one side, then the other. You hear a strange rumble, like thunder, and look over at the man as he continues to work his traps, staring at you. You could even call it a glare. 

You tap your ear bud as you face him, “sorry?” 

“Do you have to make that noise?” He snarls. 

Your brows pop up. We’re you humming again? Oops. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I was,” you smile and before you can tap play, he scoffs.  

“Typical,” he grumbles as alternates to biceps. 

He’s built. He’s arms are bigger than your head. Probably. You don’t think he’d let you compare for scale. You drop your hand without tapping. 

You get down and extend your legs in front of you. His breaths underline your movement as you bend one leg over the other and push your straight arm against it as you twist. As you do the other side, facing him, his gaze flicks over again. 

“You put more time into choosing that outfit than you do working out,” he shakes his head. 

You blanch. Oh wow. You must have been really out of tune if he’s that grumpy. You give a tight-lipped smile and keep going. He’s not the first grouch you’ve dealt with. Your editor is a chronic miser. 

You straight arms and legs and bend to touch your toes. You then pull your arms back and plant your hands. You lift your pelvis and torso and lean your head back, raising yourself in a straight line as you hang your head back. 

“Form is off,” he mutters. 

You lower back down and look at him again. 

“Oh, uh, do you have any tips?” You ask curiously. He grimaces. You push your shoulders up and tilt your head, “well, if you think of any, I'd be happy to work on it. I’d hate to hurt myself.” 

You get to your knees and groan as you push yourself to your feet. He tuts as gets down to plank, still gripping the weights. He lifts the left and puts it back down, then the right. You watch him for a minute, impressed by his strength. Your wary of lifting too much, you don’t trust yourself. 

“You think your cute,” he sneers under his breath. 

“Um, sometimes,” you hover across from him, “I just thought you might know more than me--” 

“Of course I do,” he puffs between lifts. 

“Mm, okay, well, I’d love to learn--” 

“They got trainers for that,” he snips as he finishes his reps and puts his knees down. 

“Right, um, sorry to bother then. I was only... asking,” you turn and grab your bottle. 

You flip the top up again and slurp. You get to the bottom, sucking air loudly up before giving up. He huffs and stands with the weights, slamming them back on the rack. 

“Do you have to make so much goddamn noise?” He stands straight and turns to you, crossing his thick arms. You stop short and part your lips. 

“It’s empty, I didn’t--” 

“It’s not the only thing’s that empty,” he taps his skull, “go back to the mall, girl.” 

You scrunch your nose, “you don’t have to be rude, mister.” 

“Honesty is a gift,” he snorts. 

You pull your chin back. You didn’t mean to annoy him and you apologised already. You’re a nice person but you don’t appreciate his tone. 

“Well, if I’m being honest,” you put your hands on your hips, “you’re not very nice.” 

He chortles as a crease forms in his forehead, “and you’re not as cute as you think.” 

“What does it matter what I think I am?” You challenge, “I didn’t ask you.” 

“No, you just float around like some airhead and disturb everyone else,” he accuses. 

You peer around, “there’s no one here.” 

He drops his arms and lifts his chin. He steps forward and you waver, just a bit, put off by his size.  

“I’m here,” he says. 

You blink. What does that mean? 

He takes another step and you stare at him, necks and cheek burning. His words strike an epiphany. It’s just you and him. He’s a lot stronger than you. 

Another step and you put your hands up, “mister, you better not come any closer.” 

He scoffs again, “or what? Are you going to cry?” 

You pout and shake your head, “no, but I... I could scream. Or bite.” 

He shakes his head, “what do you think I’m gonna do, girl? That’s what you do, isn’t it? Make yourself the victim. You need the attention to make you feel special.” 

He’s getting closer. 

“I said stay away,” you project your voice as best you can, “I’m not afraid of you, mister.” 

He chuckles and tilts his head. He stops, just a step away from you, “aren’t you?’ 

Your eyes meet his and you stand trapped in the snare of his glower. His blue eyes are deep and fiery, his chiseled face is framed by dark curls and a thick beard, and his chin is cleft handsomely. He’s fearsome, a bear in man’s flesh. You’re no more than helpless hare. 

You back away and his mouth slants in triumph. He’s won. You turn and gulp, gripping tight your bottle as your sneaker squeaks loudly. You scurry away, buzzing with adrenaline. 

“That’s right, you run away, girl, run as fast as you can,” he calls after you, “not very, I’m sure.” 

You keep a brisk walk as you hurry towards the locker room and push inside. Your heart is hammering and your breathless as you reach your locker. You put the bottle on the bench and clutch the sides of your head. You’re dizzy as you try to get a rein on your frazzled nerves. 

You thought you left the bullies behind in high school, over a decade ago. In that second, you’re right back in your teenage years. Your eyes sting with tears and your stomach churns with humiliation. That glimmer of insecurity creeps back into you. 

No, no. You’re an adult. You’re a grown woman. You have a job and a life you love. You’re nothing they said you were. You proved them all wrong and you will prove that butthead wrong too. 

[nickandcharlieareticklish]

A More Enjoyable Assignment (tickle fic)

Fandom: Heartstopper

Summary: Nick loves to tickle Charlie, but he never lets Charlie tickle him back. Charlie would never admit it to anyone, but all he wanted to do was hear his boyfriend squirm and giggle and it was starting to drive him up the wall.

Forget homework - this Nick-related assignment was way more fun.

My first ever tickle fic! Quite nervous about posting this, so all (kind) feedback very much appreciated.

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Nick loved to tickle Charlie. This was common knowledge at this point. Charlie could barely make it through an hour in Nick's company before he was pounced on and his high-pitched babbling and squeals filled the air. Charlie would put up a dramatic fuss every time but honestly, he really didn't mind. And he could see from Nick's shit-eating grin just how much joy it brought him.

However, the main issue was that whenever Charlie reached out a retaliating hand to tickle Nick's side, or grabbed his knee to squeeze it, Nick would immediately employ Strong Rugby Arms and intercept his movements, never giving him the chance to properly get his revenge. He'd never admit it to anyone, but all Charlie wanted to do was hear his boyfriend squirm and giggle and it was starting to drive him up the wall.

One Sunday afternoon, they were studying on Nick's bedroom floor, music playing softly in the background. They lay on their stomachs alongside each other, hips and shoulders touching. Charlie had sunk so deep into quadratic equations that he was barely aware of his surroundings, until he felt the familiar sensation of fingers digging expertly, but gently, into his armpit. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up and then he gasped and squirmed away.

“Nick!” he all but squawked. “You're such a menace.”

When he turned to look at him, Nick was scribbling on his own Geography paper, his face schooled into an unconvincing expression of concentration. Charlie scoffed.

“You're fooling literally no one at this point,” he said, rolling his eyes affectionately and tapping Nick gently on the forehead with his pen.

A smile spread slowly across Nick's face, and he suddenly grabbed for Charlie's hips with both hands and squeezed. This was one of his worst spots – which Nick knew, the arsehole – and Charlie immediately crumbled, attempting to curl into the foetal position on the floor while high-pitched squeals poured out of him.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it!” he cried, trying to wriggle away. Nick just chuckled and ignored him, spidering his fingers up his sides. “Ah fu – fuck, Nick, that tickles so m-much – please...” His arms were flailing wildly, trying to grab Nick's hands and slow his movements.

Nick grinned but paused for a second, clearly winding down so as not to completely overwhelm him, and Charlie saw his chance. He lunged for Nick's thigh but before he could get any leverage, Nick casually plonked his entire body across Charlie's on the floor, leaving him unable to move.

“Nah, I don't think so,” Nick said calmly.

“Oh, for god sake.”

They lay there for a few moments, Charlie catching his breath after the attack. Nick's pinning was clever in stopping him being able to move much, whilst carefully avoiding actually hurting him. Eventually, Nick lifted his weight off Charlie and they rolled onto their sides to face each other.

“You good?” Nick asked, giving him his trademark lopsided smile.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, returning the grin with ease. They just drank each other in for a few seconds. “But you always -” He started, but then faltered, embarrassed.

“Hmm?” Nick was suddenly frowning slightly, always able to read him like a bloody book. He reached for Charlie's hand, linking their fingers together.

“You don't -” Charlie blew out a breath, frustrated at his inability to form words. “You never let me tickle you back.”

“Oh!” Nick's face softened with understanding, and then he grinned. “I know.”

“But why?”

“It's just funny,” Nick shrugged. “And because you're cute when you're annoyed. And in general.”

Charlie would never get used to Nick's unabashed compliments. He felt his face heat up as a rush of warmth spread through his body. “Shut up.”

“And when you're flustered.” The lopsided smile of pure sunshine was back.

“Nick, stop it! It's not fair when I don't get to fluster you back.” Nick's grin just grew wider. “Are you even ticklish?” Charlie asked, his eyes roaming around the parts of Nick's body that he knew were his own worst spots. He leaned in to poke his stomach but as usual Nick was too quick for him, grabbing his wrist.

“Ah now, that would be telling,” Nick replied in a gentle tone.

Charlie groaned, and Nick laughed brightly. “Do you giggle? I bet you're a giggler.”

“Absolutely not.”

A thought occurred to Charlie, and he had a sudden flash of anxiety. “If you really hate being tickled then it's fine, I won't tickle you. I just thought -”

“Charlie,” Nick interrupted softly, running his thumb over Charlie's knuckles. “It's okay. I don't hate it. I just happen to be very very good at stopping you.”

“Well, I think it's mean of you to use Muscle 1 and Muscle 2 against me,” Charlie said sternly, poking each of them in turn with a finger.

Nick snorted. “Ah, but we both know that you like the arms.”

“Not in this context! Anyway, forget homework because this is my new assignment.”

Nick said nothing, just looked at him affectionately for a moment and then leaned across to kiss him. Charlie sank into it, but pulled back after a few moments to appraise him. “You scared?”

Nick pretended to mull it over. “Hmm... nope. But you should be.”

Charlie rolled his eyes, but then burst into surprised laughter a moment later as Nick dived for his knees.

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

Charlie took this assignment very seriously – it was in his geeky nature, after all – and work began the very next day. He figured that the best tactic was to catch Nick off guard when he might not be able to react quickly enough to stop him. It was hardly the most well-thought-out plan but he didn't really have many other options.

His first attempt was first thing on Monday morning, in form room. Mr Lange was about to take the register and Nick was hastily completing his Geography homework that was (of course) due first thing.

“If only you'd finished this yesterday like a good student, instead of distracting us both with those magic fingers of yours,” Charlie whispered.

Nick just turned to him, raising an eyebrow at his inadvertent choice of words.

“Tickling fingers, I mean,” Charlie added, hastily and unnecessarily.

“I know,” Nick replied, entirely too innocently. “What else would you mean?”

Charlie gave him a look, but couldn't stop the grin that took over his face a moment later. Nick was winding him up, and it was on. When Nick turned back to his work, Charlie bit his lip in concentration, looking him up and down. The problem was that he didn't know where Nick's weak spots were, but the idea of finding out was more exciting than he'd care to admit.

Knees were normally a weak spot, right? And they were hidden under the desk where no one else could see what was going on. Probably a good place to start.

Charlie shuffled a bit closer to Nick on his chair – not unusual, so Nick didn't bat an eyelid, just continued writing. He reached out his left hand as surreptitiously as he could, shifting it under the desk towards Nick's right leg. Before he could overthink it and chicken out, Charlie reached for the fleshy part just above Nick's knee and squeezed.

He heard Nick's sharp intake of breath and felt his hand instantly shoot out and close around Charlie's hand.

“Excuse me!” Nick muttered, chuckling in surprise. “What do you think you're doing?”

“My new homework assignment,” Charlie answered, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Finding Nick's giggle.”

“Oh, I see how it is. Well, I'm pretty certain there was no giggle there, so good luck with that.”

“Well, that was just phase one. Plenty more to come.”

Nick just smirked. “Has anyone ever told you that you're weird?”

Charlie ignored him. “So, knees, seemingly ticklish – noted.”

Nick's expression changed then, to something that Charlie didn't like the look of. “Do you know who else has ticklish knees? My very weird boyfriend.” Before Charlie could blink, Nick's hand shot out to his knee and squeezed back, getting more leverage than Charlie had managed. The sudden and intense ticklish sensation shooting up Charlie's thigh produced a startled giggle in the mostly silent classroom that he couldn't stifle in time. He clapped a hand over his mouth, blushing.

“Charlie, Nick! Quiet down, please,” called Mr Lange.

When they caught each other's eye a second later, they both leant over their desks in silent laughter.

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

The next day, they were studying in a quiet corner of the library during a free period, with their backs against the shelves and textbooks spread around them. Charlie had already finished his work but he was always happy to keep Nick company.

And if the opportunity arose, perhaps continue with his separate Nick-related assignment.

Twenty minutes in, Nick was on the final page of his history essay, with Charlie mostly watching him work, and chipping in with helpful information when he could. He started absent-mindedly trailing his finger along Nick's forearm, stroking back and forth. After a few minutes, Nick paused.

“You're being quite distracting, you know,” he smiled.

Charlie immediately withdrew, sheepishly. “Oh um, sorry.”

“No no, it's okay, it's, um – it's a nice type of distraction,” Nick said, flushing slightly. “You don't need to stop.”

Charlie looked at his feet, smiling shyly, and continued the soothing motions on Nick's arm. He felt Nick's relaxed exhale a moment later.

After a couple more minutes, Charlie was getting a little restless, and a slightly dangerous thought entered his mind. He looked down at Nick's side, perfectly exposed as his arms were raised to write in his book which was balanced on his bent knees.

He couldn't, could he?

Charlie took a look around – there was no one within sight, but the library wasn't empty. It was as quiet as you'd expect from such an environment. He slowly shifted his hand that was caressing Nick's arm, and casually moved it down to trail his fingers lightly over Nick's side instead. Nick immediately jerked away in surprise, but still no giggle – dammit.

Nick turned to look at him. “Don't you dare,” he said warningly, but Charlie could easily spot the amused glint in his eye.

“Don't what?” Charlie asked innocently. “Finish your homework.”

And surprisingly, Nick did. Bless his trusting soul. However, it was as he was writing the very last paragraph that Charlie just couldn't resist a second attempt. This time, he was determined to produce some sort of audible reaction from him. He knew he'd have to be quick because Nick would surely be expecting it at this point, and the rugby player had lightning-quick reactions. So Charlie waited until Nick was deep in concentration, scribbling away, before he reached for his side again and dug his fingers into the flesh more firmly. Nick didn't manage to move away quite as quickly this time and Charlie got a few good squeezes in - Nick's gasp and slight yelp were music to his ears.

“Oh I'm sorry, what was that?” Charlie asked, far too pleased with himself.

“You're ridiculous,” Nick retorted, but he was grinning widely. He'd only shifted to the left slightly, hadn't blocked Charlie's hand as he usually would, so Charlie decided to try his luck and moved up a little higher, feathering fingers over his ribs through his shirt. Nick's nose scrunched up adorably and a second later he was actually laughing – admittedly quietly, and it wasn't quite the uncontrollable giggle he was aiming for, but Charlie's heart still clenched at the adorableness of it as he watched Nick's eyes clench shut and felt him squirm against the sensations. He also noted that Nick could easily get away if he really wanted to, but he hadn't moved. Definitely not torture, then.

A few moments later, just as Charlie became bolder and travelled towards his armpit, Nick's hand finally came down to block him. “Ch – Charlie,” he managed around a soft gasp. “Stop.”

“Sorry, I didn't quite catch that?”

Nick rolled his eyes, breathing slightly heavily. “God, that was intense – I had to stop you before I really started cackling. We're in a library, you maniac.”

Charlie pouted dramatically. “But I wanted to hear you giggle.”

“Tough,” Nick replied, smiling. “Also, why do you keep doing this in places where we need to be quiet?”

“It's more fun that way.”

“I'm not sure if I like this new, rebellious Charlie.” The lingering kiss Nick gave him a second later was a pretty strong argument to the contrary.

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

After his recent success, Charlie abandoned his mission for a few days. The plan was to lull Nick into a false sense of security, but based on the way he put up almost no resistance in the library, Charlie probably didn't have much to worry about. The memory gave him a little thrill whenever he thought about it. However, he still hadn't fully scratched that itch and he was nothing if not determined.

On Friday night, Nick was round at Charlie's house and they were sitting on the edge of his bed, mostly making out and occasionally playing Mario Kart. Charlie won every time, of course. After his third loss, Nick was so worked up that he thwacked Charlie in the face with a pillow and Charlie couldn't stop cackling.

“I'm really never gonna let you win, you know,” Charlie said firmly, after he'd calmed down.

Nick sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He flopped backwards onto the bed dramatically. “Maybe we need to find a game I'm good at.”

“Sorry, not sorry.” He looked at Nick out of the corner of his eye. “I feel like you need some stress relief.”

Nick raised his head from his lying position. “Are you going to give me a massage?” he asked, all hopeful puppy dog eyes.

Charlie giggled, shaking his head. “Maybe later. I've got a better idea.” He deftly climbed onto the bed and sat himself on Nick's calves, facing him. “A cliche once told me that laughter is the best medicine, so I think we should test that theory.”

Nick just frowned as he watched him. “Charlie...”

“Are you seeing where I'm going with this?” Charlie asked, smirking at Nick's adorably confused expression.

“I'm not sure, but it definitely doesn't seem like I'm about to get a massage.”

A thought struck Charlie. “Okay, fine, I'll give you a massage. How about a... foot massage?”

Nick's eyes widened. “Um, no, I'm – I'm good actually.”

Bingo. “Oh really? Why's that, then?”

“Um...” Nick sat up slightly and tried to move his legs, but they barely budged with Charlie's full body weight on top of them. His fate seemed to fully dawn on him then and he flopped backwards, hands covering his face and a nervous laugh bubbling out of him. “Shit.”

“So first thing's first – socks. You won't be needing those.” Charlie reached behind him and, with some skill considering he couldn't see what he was doing, slowly peeled off Nick's socks one at a time. Even just these simple movements caused Nick's feet to twitch slightly, and Charlie bit back a smile. He'd surely hit the jackpot here.

“Would you mind telling me what you're doing?” Nick asked, clearly attempting to give him the stink eye through the gaps in the hands covering his face.

Charlie thought about it. “Homework,” he said simply, before reaching back to run a single finger gently along the arch of Nick's bare foot. The reaction was immediate and delicious – the scrunching of the toes, the panicked gasp of “Charlie!”. Charlie chuckled and brought his hand back in front of him.

“This is so unfair,” Nick whined, trying again to shift his feet but with absolutely no success.

“Consider it payback for the many times you've reduced me to a squealing mess.” He leaned closer, to whisper in Nick's ear. “You're about to get wrecked, Nelson.”

“I – no – come on, please -”

“Begging already, are we?”

“Will it make you stop?”

“Definitely not. We have to find that giggle.” He paused, struck with a sudden thought. “Oh and by the way, your safeword is bubblegum.”

“I – okay – but Charlie -” Nick screwed his eyes shut. The anticipatory giggles were already starting to sneak their way out of him, and Charlie's heart melted at the sound. He leaned forward again to press a kiss to the tip of Nick's nose.

“You're so fucking cute – I haven't even started yet,” Charlie smiled.

“Yeah, but -” Nick ran his fingers through his hair anxiously. “My feet are so ticklish, I might actually die.”

“Well, the ticklish truth is finally coming out. Also, you definitely won't die. Now stop distracting me.” He reached behind him again with his right hand, hovering close to Nick's foot for a few moments for dramatic effect. Nick groaned loudly as the seconds passed.

“Such a tease...” he muttered.

When Charlie could hold back no longer, he went straight for Nick's arch with purpose, scribbling his fingers vigorously over the soft skin. To his delight, Nick fell to pieces instantly, emitting a high-pitched squeal that Charlie had definitely never heard him make before. It was immediately followed by chuckles which quickly turned into desperate, breathy giggles as Charlie moved up to scratch at the back of his toes.

“No no no no no, Charlie ple - hease -” Nick spat out through giggles, his face scrunched up in a beautiful combination of euphoria and torture. His hands gripped the pillow behind his head. Charlie didn't let up, focusing in on the base of his big toe that was evidently incredibly ticklish based on the strangled cry he let out, and in a moment of pure evil, Charlie reached behind him with his other hand and attacked both big toes at once, producing a new bout of uncontrollable laughter. He didn't turn around as he didn't want to miss a second of Nick's helpless reactions.

“Yep, this is how I d-die,” Nick managed to get out, writhing from side to side in ticklish desperation.

“How does it feel, Nick? Do you promise never to tickle me again?” Charlie knew he didn't actually want this, but he also knew Nick would never agree to it either.

“I can never p-promise that – oh god, stohohop -” Charlie had moved back down to the arches of his feet in just the right spot, and Nick's hips bucked as the giggles poured out in a constant stream. Charlie wished he could bottle the sound. He focused on the killer spots of Nick's feet for a solid few minutes, often giggling along with him as he worked his magic, but listening carefully for any utterances of the safe word. It was only when Nick's laughter turned completely silent that he let up. He pulled his hands back to his front but stayed perched on Nick's legs, watching him recover fondly.

“I hate you,” Nick said weakly, a few moments later. “I also love you, but I hate you. Just so you know.”

Charlie just grinned and leaned forward to lie gently on top of him, resting his chin on Nick's chest. “I love you too,” he said, suddenly feeling bashful and overwhelmed with affection. “I can't really deal with how cute you are.”

Nick just rolled his eyes and smiled at him. “Do you know who else is cute? My very ticklish boyfriend.” And Charlie should have predicted what would happen next as Nick's hands reached greedily for his sides.

He wasn't really complaining.

[aqua-reeus]

model for me

⚠️NSFW 18+ mdni!! pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Fem!Reader cw: smut, teasing, oral sex, little bit of praise, little bit of biting hehe

a/n: apologies this is so damn long, but I’m a descriptive writer I have to write every moment and get it out my head lol.

Simon loves it when you model your new outfits for him

You stood with your back to the living room door after coming in from shopping. Simon wasn’t home yet, so you took this chance to try on some clothes you bought. Excitement coursed through your veins as you pulled out a stunning red dress from one of the bags, feeling its smooth fabric against your skin. You eagerly slipped it on, up from your thighs and up through your arms. With an effort, you managed to get the zip up halfway and pause, run your hands down your form, sighing as you gazed at yourself in the mirror.

The fabric hugged your curves so nicely and you wondered what Simon would think if he saw you wearing this. But those thoughts quickly dissipated as you heard the front door opening and heavy footsteps making its way to the living room, urging you to start fiddling with the zip again but it wouldn’t budge.

Simon leaned in the doorway, his arms crossed as he watched you struggle with the dress. His eyes slowly followed the contours of your body, from top to bottom, a mix of admiration and amusement in his gaze. A small smirk creeped onto his lips as he watched you wrestle with the fabric.

You turned to look at him, then back at the mirror, watching his reflection. “Hey you, how was work?”

Simon kept on smiling, watching you struggle and enjoying every minute of it.

“You need help, love?” he asked, his voice soft and playful. “Or do I get to watch you struggle for a few more seconds?”

You sighed and dropped your hands by your side. “Just zip it up for me.” You scoffed at him, turning away in embarrassment.

He moved off the doorway and chuckled as he walked slowly over to you, his eyes hungrily tracing the lines of your body. The scent of mixed sweat and tobacco filled your lungs as he got closer. You always hated that he smoked. Always, cursing him to put the killer sticks down. But right now, the scent was intoxicating, stirring something deep within you.

He came up behind you, strong chest pressing against your back, and you could feel the warmth he radiated. His scent now hit the bottom of your stomach. His lips lingered deliciously close to your neck, and he breathed out slowly. You could feel his hot breath against your skin, sending electric shivers down your spine. Damn, that man knew how to drive you wild. Slowly, deliberately, he started to undo the zipper, but instead of zipping it up like you asked, he pulled it down.

Your breath caught in your throat and realisation flooded your senses. You know the game he’s playing. He finished with the zipper and walked away, leaving you standing there, craving more of his touch as he casually settled on the sofa.

You removed the remainder of the dress and picked out another outfit to try on. And his eyes still lingered on you.

“Are you just going to sit there and watch?” You asked, a hint of seduction in your voice. But he didn’t answer, his silence only adding to the tension. With a playful tilt of your head, you modelled the new outfit in front of him, waiting for his response. “What do you think?”

“Mm, I think it looks perfect on you,” Simon said, his voice laced with a hint of desire. He placed one of his arms on the back of the couch relaxing back and subtly shifting forwards, parting his legs slightly. The air around you seemed to heat up with intensity and you squinted your eyes at him. You could see the lust and anticipation in his eyes but weren’t ready to jump on him just yet. No. Even though your body wanted to, you decided to tease him little longer.

You removed the outfit from your body and leaned into one of the bags and pulling out another outfit to try on, and another and another and finally, a delicate lace set. The intricate design and sheer fabric made your heart race, knowing the effect it would have on Simon. His eyes locked onto the lace set, following the intricate patterns and alluring designs. His eyes slowly fell back onto you, and from where you were standing, you swore you could see the minute his pupils dilated and turned dark.

You held up the lace set, a mischievous smile playing on your lips. You could feel the air thicken. “What do you think of this?” you asked.

“I think,” he cleared his throat. “I think you need to stop teasing me and put it on.”

You chuckled and turned back to the mirror, removing your old underwear and slowly putting on the new set. In the reflection of the mirror, you caught a glimpse of Simon’s intense gaze. His brown eyes devouring the sight of you donning the lace. You watched as his chest rose and fell quickly and you knew that the game of seduction had reached its peak. You fastened the delicate hooks and turned to look at him.

“Is this what you had in mind?” You asked, voice dripping with confidence and seduction.

Simon’s breath hitched in his throat and his eyes burned with a raw hunger that mirrored your own. “Come here.” His response was a command veiled in desire as he gestured you over, his hand patting softly on his lap. The invitation was clear and with a seductive smile on your lips, you sauntered over to him. Without hesitation, you straddled his lap, feeling his arms instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. The undeniable hardness beneath his jeans brushed against your inner thigh, sending an electric jolt through your body and sent a pool of wetness flowing out of you, soaking your new underwear. You could feel his pulse through his chest and his breathing became more rapid.

You barely had time to wrap your arms around his neck before his lips were crashing into yours. You met his kiss with equal passion, soft and slow. He took his hand and wrapped it around the back of your head pulling you even closer as he kissed you deeper, his fingers brushing through your hair and his rough tongue caressing your lips. A delicious ache built in your core as you slowly started to grind against his clothed hardness. Simon groaned as he felt your hips pushing into him, he pulled away from the kiss.

“I love you in this.” He whispered, his fingers brushed against your bare skin as he reached out to touch one of your nipples, teasing it gently through the material of your bra before cupping your breast in his hand. You let out a small moan.

He smirked, the corner of his lips turning up as he teased your nipple with his fingertips once more. A surge of pleasure surged through your body, making you hiss a breath in between your teeth. The anticipation was almost unbearable as you threw your head back, your hips instinctively grinding against his hardness, seeking more of his touch.

His lips had left a trail of fiery kisses and nips along your exposed neck. His hands had moved to caress your back and undo your bra and as the fabric fell away, you felt the rush of cool air brushing against your exposed skin, contrasting from the heat radiating from your bodies. In this moment you knew that you had finally attained what you desired all along: Simon’s touch.

With a swift and commanding movement, he had effortlessly lifted your body and gently placed you back down on the sofa. The sudden change in position made your heart raced and you watched in eagerness as he got up to remove his clothing.

Your legs automatically and slowly fell open, and you ran your hands down your body. Every inch of your skin was heated. Simon smirked, his eyes following the path of your hands as they roamed over your body. He moved closer to you, placing himself between your thighs and you watched as he left a trail of kisses down your body. Each one wet and soft. And as he moved lower, his teeth grazed against your skin, biting softly. The taste of you was intoxicating, a sweet nectar of your favourite body lotion and skin. It was a blend that was uniquely you, a delight he couldn’t resist. He savoured the taste on his tongue.

The sensations intensified as he moved further down your body, his teeth marking your skin. You gasped, your body arching in response to his touch as he continued his path, his breath was warm against your skin and you chuckled a bit.

“Mm, your breath tickles.” You gasped, your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. He grinned around your core and groaned, his own desire evident as you spoke. With his teeth, he pulled off the remaining lingerie, leaving you fully exposed. He positioned his head back at your core and with a deliberate slowness he extended his large tongue and traced a tantalising stripe up the length of your wetness. As his tongue teasingly flicked at your clit, the small pressure sent shocks throughout you. He continued his ministrations, his tongue danced and teased at your swollen bud before diving deeper, lapping up your juices greedily. His mouth moved skilfully against you, alternating between soft sucks and licks that drove you wild with pleasure.

“F-Fuck…Si.” You moaned, your voice breathless.

Simon’s ears reddened at your filthy words, but he couldn’t help but laugh softly against you, his fingers pressed softly against your wet entrance while his mouth continued to work its magic.

“That’s right, baby.” He murmured against you, his hot breath against your wetness.

“Si, baby…nng…mmm.” You whimpered under him, feeling a familiar tightening in your stomach.

Simon picked up the pace, his tongue and fingers worked in harmony to bring you closer to the edge. He hummed against your skin, the vibrations intensifying and making you writhe harder.

“That’s it, let it out.” He murmured as he continued his relentless assault on your senses, knowing you were close to climaxing. Your body quivered in response as the knot in your stomach spread over you. Your cries filled the room, loud and unashamed as the pleasure built up.

“Oh fuck!” You cried out, surrendering to the overwhelming waves of pleasure throughout your body.

Simon continued lapping and tonguing your sensitive core, drawing out your climax and helping you ride it out. He relished the feeling of your hot and wet gummy walls clenching around his fingers as he thrusted them slowly in and out. Your ears rung. Once you started to relax under his mouth, he slowly pulled away, lingering for a moment before he licked his lips. He moved up your body, locking his brown eyes with yours and his arms wrapped around you as continued coming down, your chest heaving against his.

“Maybe you should model for me more.”

“Maybe…,” you replied playfully. “I have a lot more outfits to try on.”

[builtbybrokenbells]

Melodic Memories | Track 4: The Air That I Breathe - The Hollies

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered.

Masterlist

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, (sweet and lazy) morning sex, praise, biting, simultaneous orgasm, cockwarming if you squint, sadness, heartbreak, breakups, fighting, arguing, crying, frustration/anger, miscommunication, high school breakups, unrequited love, estranged parent/strained parental relationships, angst, depression, anxiety, self doubt/self consciousness, swearing, flirting, fluff, angst, mentions of hookups/casual sex, sorry if I miss any!

hi everyone. remember i love you!!! as always, be kind, enjoy, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes! 🤍😌

Also a special shout-out to @gretavangroupie and @gretavanmoon for always keeping me on track, putting up with my craziness, and for the unwavering support and encouragement 🤍 melodic memories wouldn’t be what it is without you 😌

Jake’s POV

“If I could make a wish

I think I’d pass

Can’t think of anything I need

No cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound

Nothing to eat, no books to read.”

Rays of sunlight scattered across the room, the flowing curtains sheer and allowing the golden hue to fill the space around you. You were half covered with the sheet, the cool air in the room unable to bother you as you turned on your side. You knew exactly where the comforter had disappeared to, and despite the nagging chill, you felt warmer than ever before. The sweet smell of a million memories danced around your head, laced with orange blossoms and vanilla. As you leaned in closer, jasmine and pear joined the crowd. It was a perfect match, things you’d come in contact with plenty of times in her absence, but not even true plush petals of blossoms on trees nor vanilla beans wore it as well as she did.

Your eyes landed on her, cocooned in the expensive duvet as she slept away the early morning. Her hair was a mess, covering the white cotton pillowcase below her. Her eyes were closed, peacefulness encasing her features as deep breaths moved her shoulders. Her dark eyelashes dusted over the barely-there freckles on her cheeks, casting a small shadow over the bridge of her nose. Her lips, pink and parted ever so slightly, allowing for soft snores to escape made it difficult to sit by and watch the scene, rather than lean forward and kiss her, but you abided by the rules, deciding it was best to admire her than wake her and let the moment pass.

Goosebumps raised on your skin, not because of the coolness of the air conditioning seeping through the woven threads of the sheet, but because waking next to her was an otherworldly experience that you were lucky enough to be a part of yet again. Your mouth was dry, your lungs devoid of air, your veins depleted of the blood that once ran through them, and your heart barely beating in a fruitless endeavor. In the moment, you did not survive off the flesh and bone that carried you to twenty-five, but off of the woman beside you, granting you every desire and wish you’d ever dreamed of.

Waking next to her had been something you longed for since the last morning shared with her, vaguely remembering her sweetness as sleep begged to draw her back in and the tired smile that fought its way onto her perfectly crafted features. She slept so soundly, like trouble had never touched her and pain feared to disturb her. She embodied every single trait of the sun shining in the sky, the light emitting from her even when she was not awake to encourage it.

She was the most precious thing the world had ever created, and she was here with you, trusting you enough to let her guard down and show herself to you in the most vulnerable of ways. Sex was good—great, even. It was intimate, invigorating and fulfilling, and you had dreamed of it a million times, but this was something entirely different. This was the best moment of your day, the highlight of your life as you took the opportunity to admire her when innocence and effortless beauty radiated from her. Sex was great, but waking up to the sight of her beside you was something even greater than that, something you had dreamed of a million and one times in the six years you spent apart.

No matter how much you enjoyed the activities of the night prior, loving her so wholeheartedly for no other reason aside from love itself was always better.

You placed your elbow on the pillow, propping your chin in your hand as you studied her, the constellations of dots decorating her smooth skin, the youthfulness of the girl you loved when you were eighteen and the elegance of the woman you were lucky enough to love now combined all in one. It was a picture you never wanted to lose, one you would spend a lifetime dedicated to remembering in pristine detail, and one that you could survive off alone. You would stave off hunger until it was nonexistent, ignore the thirst until you forgot what it was like to drink water, wither away to nothingness so long as she was there for you to admire. You didn’t need any other entertainment, never wanting to sleep again, never needing to play a guitar or hear the sweet melody of a song again, because she filled you with so much love there was no room left for anything else.

Even if there was, it would pale in comparison to her.

The air flowing in the room, perfectly controlled as it tousled the strands of hair falling over her forehead, could not even disturb her from the slumber she found herself in. It made you wonder if she slept as good as you did, if going to bed while the two of you were apart was as torturous to her as it was for you. Six years of nearly sleepless nights had taken its toll, leaving you exhausted and dreading to fall into bed when the day passed by. Last night, you finally found relief that no aid could match. You tried whiskey, above recommended doses of cold medicine and melatonin, company from another, lesser woman than her, and even Josh’s ridiculous guided meditations, but nothing could cure the nightmare plagued sleep or the relentless tossing and turning.

Nothing until she laid her head on the pillow next to you, her fingers twisting locks of your hair around her finger as her warm breath tickled her neck.

Nothing until you closed your eyes, surrounded by orange blossoms, pears, jasmine, and the faint whisper of vanilla.

Nothing until the warmth of sunshine itself wrapped around you, glowing bright despite the looming moonlight and twinkling stars.

This morning, you awoke with a new lease on life, well rested and with a full heart. The heaviness that constantly weighed down on your shoulders disappeared without a trace, and the storm clouds that forever followed you cleared, allowing for a long awaited taste of blue skies.

You were home again, and Michigan had little to do with the warmth you were experiencing. The woman beside you was many things, but more than anything else, she was the biggest comfort you had ever encountered. She made the world turn with ease, the flowers blossomed as she walked by, and the birds sang a song curated just for her ears. She made all the previous pain worth it, and any bad thing to come obsolete, because when she was loving you, nothing could hurt.

Your breath caught in your throat as her eyes fluttered, her eyelashes tickling her skin as she broke from the blanket tightly wrapped around her. Slowly, her arms stretched above her head, a long breath of air filling her lungs as she prepared to face the world for another day. You wondered how she made it look so easy, how perfection was second nature even when she couldn’t notice it herself. You wondered how everything she did, no matter if it was mundane or grandois, stole the air straight from your lungs and left your head spinning.

Her eyes fully opened, slowly blinking as she tried to pull herself out of her sleepy state. Once she registered where she was, her gaze slowly turned to you, watching silently with a smile on your face. It didn’t take long for her lips to turn upwards, too.

“Good morning, sunshine.” You whispered, giving her ample time to come back to earth before you spoke.

“Good morning, bug.” She said, pushing the blankets away from her face as she turned her head towards you. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“Only for a little while.” You confessed, slightly sheepish about it. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has.” She agreed, reaching forward and letting her fingers graze over your blushing cheeks. “I would have done the same thing. Kinda sad I can’t, honestly.”

“I can pretend to be asleep, if you want?” You grinned. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at your ridiculous need to please her all of the time.

“Think it’s okay, honey. Would take the charm out of it.” She giggled, her eyes turning down to the flimsy sheet covering your legs and stopping just below your navel. “Sorry I stole the blankets.”

“Are you kidding? Been waiting six years for you to steal the blankets from me again.” You stressed your point, ensuring she understood that this was all you ever thought about.

“You’re cold.” She stated, her fingers trailing down your frigid arm. “Come here.” She said, lifting the blanket for you to join her. You slid over, noticing her turn on her side away from you once the comforter was covering you. You slipped an arm around her waist, turning on your side just the same as her while you pulled her into you.

In an instant, you were surrounded in the familiar perfume still clinging to her skin, the soft strands of her hair tickling your face as you buried your head in her neck. Your hand talked upwards, a natural reaction to holding her in such a way. Your palm landed on her still bare breast, cupping it as her arm settled on top of yours. She pushed herself backwards a little further, her back completely pressed against you and the curve of her ass fitting perfectly against your hips. You placed a kiss to her shoulder blade, your stomach twisted with nerves and your entire body tingling with pleasure just from the simple position.

Holding her was your favorite thing to do, even if you knew it had to end eventually. Although the loss of her was debilitating, the few moments you had her all to yourself made up for the pain it caused when she pulled away. If it were up to you, you would hold her just like this for the rest of your life. If she allowed it, you would never let her go.

“You sleep okay?” You asked, your words muffled from your mouth lingering against her skin.

“Better than ever.” She whispered, without a doubt in her mind about it. “You?”

“Me too.” You hummed, letting your eyes flutter closed as you breathed her in. There was nowhere in the world you’d rather be, the surplus of emotion coursing through you so unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

You fell back into silence, neither of you needing to explain any further because you understood exactly how you both felt. The cloud of sleepiness was still hovering around the two of you, begging to pull you back in. It was tempting, but you fought it with everything in you, knowing you didn’t want to miss a single second of loving her.

Absentmindedly, you let your thumb drift over her nipple, hardened from the cold hair combined with your touch. She shuddered at the feeling, her hips pushing backwards into you as a natural response. The movement sent a flood of adrenaline through you and a sudden rush of blood straight to your dick.

“Careful, sweetheart.” You warned, letting her know the consequences of her actions were imminent. She could feel you resting against her ass, catching on to your intent immediately. Instead of heeding your advice, she arched her back slightly, pressing herself against your length even further. Your fingers tightened on her and your hips moved forward to meet hers, in search of relief already even though she barely did anything at all. “You want more already?” You smiled, relieved to know you weren’t the only one tormented by need.

“Been so long, baby.” She confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Been so long since someone could do it right.” She corrected herself, just as eager to make up for all the lost time. You let your fingers trail over her bare stomach, the touch light and tickling her as you advanced toward her hip. You could only imagine she was sore, bruised and still tired from the night prior, so you promised to be gentle with her from your touch alone.

“You know I’ll always give you what you want, angel.” You assured her, knowing that your statement did not even scratch the surface. You would do anything for her, even if it was a hindrance to yourself. You would move heaven and earth to see her smile, you would spend every dollar and every minute of every day in an effort to make her happy. You would do anything, be anything, and give anything for her. You hoped that she knew, that she understood just how important she was and how much you cared about her. You hoped that in a single day, you were able to show her the love you’d sworn to give her when you were fifteen asking her to be your girlfriend in the park, all over again at twenty five.

Slowly, your hand drifted down to her thigh, snaking around to the front of her. Before you could go any further, she reached down and stopped you, turning her head back over her shoulder as she shook her head ‘no’. You raised an eyebrow, wondering what caused her sudden change of heart all whilst you admired the softness and beauty in her still tired eyes.

“I don’t want that. I want you.” She whispered, hoping you understood her meaning. At that, you swallowed hard, feeling your dick throb at the intent of her actions. She was not in search of pleasure from an orgasm, but rather the pleasure of being close to you. She missed it, just as intensely and deeply as you did, the feeling of belonging to each other.

“You have me, sweetness.” You promised her, but abided by her wishes and instead used your hand on her leg to prop it up. You slid down on the mattress a little further, holding her thigh as she steadied it in the new position. “Used to dream of waking up like this every night.” You couldn’t help but feel a smile pull at your lips, almost unable to believe that she was there, beside you and wanting everything you hated yourself for needing all of the time.

“Don’t have to dream anymore, bug.” She breathed, arching her back a little further as you reached between your bodies and lined yourself up with her. You wondered if she thought about it as much as you did, if she craved the feeling of your hands on her skin with such a ferocity that it nearly brought her to her knees. You wanted to ask, to know if she daydreamed about tangled limbs and lazy Sundays in bed together, but a small part of you knew she did, or she wouldn’t have come back.

Your tip was settled over her entrance, already slick with arousal just from the thought of fucking you. Your eyes fluttered closed, your head falling forward as your forehead rested against her shoulder blade. You pulled her down just a little further, letting your hand hold the underside of her thigh so she did not have to exert her energy keeping the limb locked in place. As she moved down, you pushed your hips forward, letting out a hiss of pleasure through your clenched teeth. You pushed forward the rest of the way, hearing her let out a sigh of relief at the feeling as you brushed against the sensitive spot you knew so well.

“You always feel so fucking good, sunshine.” You muttered, taking a moment to rest inside of her. Your heart drummed against your chest, pressed against her back so she could feel the rhythmic beat that depended on her love alone. “Can’t believe you’re all mine.” You followed up your statement, still in disbelief that you had the opportunity to hold her so close again. Still, as you said it, you felt an unfamiliar tug of uncertainty twist your stomach.

Was she yours?

You hadn’t discussed that—in fact, you hadn’t discussed anything. You woke up, still stuck in a cloud of euphoria from life’s turn of events, still living in the fairytale world you had worked together to create. She wasn’t yours in any truthful manner, but rather just the fallacy you had created in your head. The plague of heartbreak continued consuming you, eating away at any bit of sanity that still remained, begging you to air out the unspoken fears that you still had. You couldn’t move forward without addressing what had already happened, which led you to a lazy morning hookup after a successful second first date. You hadn’t addressed the reason for the second first date at all, and if you continued to neglect the fact, it would leave you both at the very beginning again.

Not yet. Not now.

You shoved the feelings down, swallowing them as they got stuck in your throat. They were desperate to be spoken, but you couldn’t allow them to be. You had no idea where they would lead you, and you weren’t risking the end already, not when you just got her back, and not when you were sharing the intimacy with her you’d been craving so badly.

Soon, but certainly not now.

“Fuck, Jake.” She whispered, moving her hips further down in search of what you were holding back. Your name falling from her lips was like summer rain, washing over you with warmth as it relieved you from the irritating burn of the blazing sun. You wanted to hear it again, for her to say it over and over again until she could speak no more and your ears were ringing in the static silence. You never wanted her to stop saying it, never again giving her the chance to speak the name of another.

“This is what you wanted, sweetheart?” You asked, beginning a slow pace with your hips. Your fingers tightened against the flesh of her thigh, a whole new spot to leave a mark on her, ensuring she would remember the moment as the days passed her by.

“Yes, baby.” She breathed, leaning backwards so she was flush against your chest.

Your head fell to the crook of her neck, the sweet scent of her perfume invading your senses as your lips attached to the delicate skin. She was already littered with love bites, her skin sensitive as your tongue traced over her. You didn’t care, and she didn’t either; the state you had left each other in was childish, similar to the way you used to act when you were younger. Even if you would face ridicule at the hands of your careless actions, you were just happy to feel like you were hers again, for others to believe she was yours again.

To feel and to believe, but never in certainty. Even if it was true, you wondered for how long this time.

Although you would promise forever, and you longed to hear it from her too, you did not know. You weren’t even sure if she wanted forever, or if this was a passing moment that would leave you both alone again, with even less closure than before. The idea hurt, and it hurt achingly bad, taking over your entire body with such a devastating effect that it even seemed to overshadow the pleasure that came from being inside of her.

Why did it hurt so bad when everything seemed so good? When perfection was all around you? When the world seemed right for the first time in six years? Why now?

Perhaps it never stopped. The hurt did not go away when she broke the silence, not even when you showed up at her door. It subsided, covered up by the excitement and joy from the reunion, but it was never resolved. You never expected it to come back so soon, when she was still with you, but maybe that was the problem itself.

Being with you and being yours were two entirely different things, and although having her by your side was what you craved, it was not what you wanted. The uncertainty made it hurt worse, just like it did when she was packing up her childhood bedroom with tear stained cheeks and promises of everlasting love. The uncertainty made it worse when you spent those first few days texting, hoping she would change her mind or you would find the courage to speak your truth. Uncertainty was your entire life, never changing her contact name and always hoping that every notification was a ‘hello’ or an ‘I miss you’.

Uncertainty was right now, wrapped up in her and closer than you’d been in a long time, but not knowing what it meant.

But the sounds falling from her lips, strikingly beautiful and oddly haunting made it easy to forget about it, to draw you out of the cloud of doubt and back into the moment with her.

“God, you feel so good, baby.” She said, her head turned back to catch a glimpse of your face. Her eyes were heavy, tiredness still lingering on her features, but it made her all the more beautiful. The intimacy of having her in the state, no guard up and all of the walls broken down, was almost too much for you to bear. Words were failing you, the only thoughts in your head revolving around the same, undying love for her that forever existed in your heart.

You wanted it to last forever, to hold her in your arms until you turned to dust and the wind swept you away. Even then, you would find her again, whether it be in real life or something greater. Every part of you would be tied to her forever, no matter if death tried to get in the way.

“Show me how fucking good it feels.” You growled, your voice low as you held her gaze. Neither of you dared to look away, your arm still holding her quivering leg as you felt her walls flutter around you. She craned her head backwards a little further, just enough to connect her lips with your own.

You met her action, your eyes closing as you focused on all of the sensations at once. The slow, steady pace was almost too much for you. Feeling her all at once, enjoying and appreciating every second of it, all while holding her so close to you was overwhelming in the best possible way. She felt so good, so intoxicating, just like she always had. It was a relief to know that the distance nor the time had any effect on the chemistry existing between you, even if you had both changed so much.

The kiss was sloppy, messy and needy as you tried to hold onto it. The moment was pure bliss, more euphoric than anything else you’d ever experienced. The taste of her on your tongue and the feeling of her wrapped around you was sending you spiraling, still riding the high from the previous night all while getting to experience it all over again. She was more addicting than the sting of a cigarette at the back of your throat, burning stronger in your chest than a shot of whiskey as you swallowed her down, and more thrilling than playing on a stage before thousands.

Perhaps you were so caught up on the unknown because you knew living without her had never been worth it.

She let out a moan into your mouth, letting you drink down the sound as if you were dependent upon it for survival. You slammed your hips forward, a little sharper than before, causing her to repeat the action. You were dependent upon her, not the noises or the pleasure she could grant you. You needed every little bit she could give, and you feared that not even that would suffice. She was everything you’d ever wanted, more than you ever needed, and you were desperate to hear her say that she was yours, not because of a momentary high or a surplus of emotion.

The early morning hours left your willpower greatly depleted, the sleep still weighing heavy on your shoulders and the euphoria you had endured the night before still lingering under your skin. The feeling of her, so close and so intimate, was enough to push you over the edge the minute you felt it. The taste of her on your tongue, the desperation in her movements as she strained to ensure you would not break from the kiss. The scent of her fucking perfume, suffocating you and leaving you happy to die at her hands.

It was all too much. She was too much, and you didn’t deserve a single thing she was offering.

The pleasure was coursing through your veins, depleting your previous life source and creating a new one. Your heart ached from the strength with which it was beating against your chest, your stomach twisted with desire as you held yourself back. She was quickly becoming the only thing you could think about, the only face you could see and the only voice you could hear. As much as you wanted to believe it was a good thing, you felt that same nagging, grating self-doubt as you feared the fallout.

Could you survive her walking away a second time?

The fear was pushed from your mind once again, a rush of pleasure flowing through you more intense than the last. You broke from the kiss, letting out a shaky sigh as you did your best to pull her closer to you.

“Wish I could fuck you like this all day.” You muttered, your fingers digging into the skin on her thigh even further. “Keep you like this for the rest of my life, if I could.” You watched as her hand snaked between her legs, the blankets strewn across the bed and barely covering the two of you now. Her middle finger settled over her clit, tracing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves as she held your gaze.

“Nothing stopping us, baby.” She replied, her eyes speaking louder than her words ever could. She wanted it, and she was asking you if that’s what you truly wanted, too.

You don’t know why, but your eyes fluttered away from hers, unable to withstand the emotion existing between you.

Of course you wanted it, but it was never that easy. She might want it too, but it didn’t make up for the million things that had been left unsaid. It didn’t make up for the sleepless nights and the tears shed, not the pain you endured or the sadness that still plagued you, even with her beside you.

She was asking if you wanted to love her just like that forever, but you were too much of a coward to say yes. You couldn’t handle the thought of agreeing, to telling her the truth only to have it ripped from your grasp again.

“I love you, sunshine.” You whispered, your lips finding her neck again as you held back everything you wanted to say instead. Your statement was true, you loved her deeply and more dearly than you loved anything else in your entire life, and you always would, but you couldn’t promise her forever if you did not know the tellings of her heart, too.

Enjoy the moment, worry later.

“I love you, Jake.” She whined, desperate for you to kiss her again. In an instant, at the sound of the sweet words, the turmoil disappeared, replaced with a growing sense of pride in your chest to be loved by someone so fantastic.

That was the danger of letting her in; she took the pain away with little effort, and caused a million times more when she inevitably turned and walked away.

“Cum for me, sunshine.” You pleaded, your voice hushed and your words muffled from your lips still pressed against her skin. You were eager for her to reach her climax, and worried that if she did not do so soon, you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back.

You could feel how close she was, the flutter of her walls around you, pulling you in further. You could hear the desperation in her tone, her moans shaky and breathy, always a clear sign that she was close to the edge. She wanted to, she just needed a little extra encouragement.

“Come on, sweetheart. Being so good for me.” You whispered, your tongue tracing the love bites still littering her skin. She tasted sweet, lingering on your tongue like poison as you succumbed to the sickness of loving her. She continued tracing circles into her clit, pushing herself closer to the edge as she leaned her head back against you for support. You loosened your grip on her thigh, hooking your arm underneath her leg and pulling her back on you as you slammed forward into her.

The laziness in both of your actions was apparent, but it made the moment all the more addicting as you relied on each other to keep up the pace. You let your lips trail down to her shoulder, your teeth gently sinking into the flesh as you applied slight pressure, just enough for her to notice. The sensation sent her spiraling, your name falling from her lips like a hymn, praising you when she was the one who deserved the commendation.

“Fuck, baby.” She whimpered, her body trembling as the pleasure became too much to withstand. With a long slur of curses, you felt her descend into the cloud of euphoria, continuing to sing your name and only ever causing you to fall further for her.

Before the night prior, you did not think it was possible to love her any more than you already did, but she seemed determined to prove you wrong with every passing chance.

“That’s my girl.” You groaned, a pathetic little cry falling from your lips as you felt the same feeling wash over you.

You did not care if the title was fleeting, because there in that moment, she was yours, and you had to appreciate what you had rather than mourn a potential loss in the future.

You pulled her down on you, letting her completely surround you as you spilled your release into her. Her perfume hung like a haze around your head, the ends of her still curled hair tickling your skin and the warmth of her body giving you more comfort than ever before. Together, the two of you rode out the high breathless and happy just to coexist together again.

You wondered, even if this moment must come to pass, why could life not be so beautiful all of the time?

As you relaxed into the mattress, you noticed she did too, searching for the comfort she could only find in your arms. You eased your hold on her leg entirely, gently letting it fall without withdrawing from her. You snaked your arm around her torso, pulling her closer to you as you soaked up the last few minutes of intimacy the scene would allow.

“That’s a great way to start the morning, I think.” She hummed, her eyes closed as she rested her head on the pillow. She wasn’t protesting your prolonged stay in the position, because she was enjoying it just as much as you were.

“The best, actually.” You corrected, dusting a few kisses over her warm skin. It was torture loving her so completely, because no matter if she was yours forever, life would not allow you to hold her like this every minute of every day.

‘Making love with you

Has left me peaceful, warm, and tired

What more could I ask

There’s nothing left to be desired

Peace came upon me and it leaves me weak

So sleep, silent angel

Go to sleep.’

“This feels the same as it did before.” She whispered, her tone low and slow like she was fighting a slumber with all of her energy. She didn’t want to succumb to sleep, terrified of missing out on a single second of your company. “I thought… I thought it would be different, I guess. That because we’re different, it wouldn’t be the same anymore. I was worried that we would wake up and realize it wasn’t real, that we only felt this way because we never had enough closure to move on.” She was strung out from the pleasure, still riding an emotional high as she confessed to her own fears.

“It’s always been real, sunshine.” You assured her, tracing shapes into her skin as you held her. “Always wanted to be with you.” You muttered, slightly ashamed of the undying love you always carried for her. You were tired too, your eyes heavy as the world continued to wake. Sleeping away the day with her by your side was tempting, and you would have fallen victim to the peacefulness of her presence if you were less stubborn.

“I guess there’s just so much… shit we never talked about.” She trailed off, losing her confidence the longer she thought about it. “From back then and now.” She wanted to talk too, wallowing in confusion and self doubt just as heavily as you were and nearly drowning in the sorrow that still surrounded her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, hoping that she did so you could air out your own relentless thoughts.

“Yeah, I do.” Her tone was near solemn, the sound making your stomach sink and regret begin to form. If she didn’t want the same thing, would you spend the rest of your life regretting asking the damned question?

“Okay.” Your voice was soft as you bargained with the anxiety beginning to take over. Maybe it wouldn’t be bad—maybe she was afraid of all the same things and desperate to hear you assure her otherwise.

“I’m gonna get cleaned up, okay?” She asked, looking back over her shoulder. The breath was knocked from your lungs at the sight of her sleepy eyes and blushed cheeks, making you wonder if you would see it again in the morning, or waste your day trying to forget about it.

“Okay.” You repeated your earlier words, finding that the easiest thing to say when dread was crushing you. Then, she leaned back a little further, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. Your fingers tightened on her, the action alone prompting a sudden wave of relief that seemed to cure all of your earlier ailments. When she pulled away, the smile turning the corners of your lips helped you to relax, forcing you to believe that the conversation wouldn’t be nearly as bad as you thought it would be.

Carefully, she climbed from the bed and quickly disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts for a moment. You rolled onto your back, staring up at the ceiling as your heart continued to speed against your chest. The ghost of her kiss still lingered on your lips, the feeling electrifying as you desperately tried to find some common sense and calm yourself. You reached for your phone on the nightstand beside the bed, tapping the screen to catch a glimpse of the time. It was nearing the afternoon, the entire morning spent in a bubble of love and joy that nothing could penetrate. You didn’t care about the time wasted laying in bed, because when you were beside her, no time felt wasted.

You ignored the plethora of notifications sitting below the time, tossing it back down on the mattress just as the bathroom door creaked open. You shot a smile in her direction as she approached the bed, taking an extra second to admire the entire picture before you. Her cheeks darkened as she realized what you were doing, and instead of taunting her for her embarrassment, you climbed out of bed and landed a gentle smack on her ass as you passed her by. Light, playful, confident. The more normal you made this seem, the more likely she would be to go into the conversation with a clear head and an open mind.

“My turn. Be right back.” You looked back over your shoulder, watching her pull your shirt over her arms from the night prior, buttoning a few buttons to keep it closed.

That was a good sign, right? Wearing your clothes, climbing back into your hotel bed, a smile on her face and joy still shining in her eyes. She wanted to make it work, just like you did. She loved you, still after all this time. It had to be a good sign.

Right?

Her POV

You watched as he walked around the corner, holding your breath as the bathroom door fell shut behind him. You felt like your head was going to explode, your entire body vibrating with nerves as you climbed under the still warm blankets. You had no idea what you were doing, no idea where the conversation would lead you, but for the first time in six years, you felt happy. Pure, uninhibited joy that could not even be overshadowed by your own dramatics. You wanted him—you never stopped wanting him, and you were going to tell him. You were going to tell him how sorry you were, how terrible it was to be without him, and hope so desperately and deeply that he would be willing to give you a second chance.

He wanted it too, right?

Right?

He was so loving, so attentive and kind as he planned such a thoughtful date, down to every last detail. He had to want it too, and for once you didn’t think you made it up in your own head, that the hope was correct rather than misplaced this time. He had to want it too, because you couldn’t bear the thought of him rejecting your apologies and sending you away.

He was withdrawn during sex, and it didn’t take long to notice. You knew him better than you knew yourself, even if you’d spent so much time apart. What was he thinking about? Was he not enjoying himself? Was he regretting it?

You were working yourself up, your heart aching and your stomach sick as you thought of all the possibilities of what could happen next. You were trembling, vibrating with anxieties. The feeling was grating, irritating as it—no, it wasn’t you.

It was his damned phone beside you in the bed, vibrating nonstop with incoming messages, so constant and steady that you had convinced yourself it was something else.

What the fuck—who the fuck was blowing up his phone?

It wasn’t your business. You knew that, and you tried to distract yourself so you could ignore the temptation. If he had something to hide, he never would have shared his screen on the FaceTime calls, nor would he have left his phone sitting so openly and invitingly on the bed for you to see.

But who the hell was messaging him? Who needed to get through to him so imminently on his days off?

Just a peek, you bargained. Just to assure yourself it was Josh being his normally overbearing and invasive self.

Just a peek.

What could it hurt, right?

Right?

You reached over, slowly grabbing his phone and bringing it closer to your face. You tapped the screen, immediately noticing the surplus of notifications. It wasn’t just from one person, but rather a flood of emails and texts combined. A momentary sense of relief washed over you, but you couldn’t pry yourself away even with the reassurance it wasn’t a secret girlfriend. Instead, your eyes scanned the words that you could read, seeing a lot of rescheduled meetings and chains from what looked to be labels and managers.

Wait, rescheduled?

You looked a little further, your stomach dropping when you gathered the main idea from the surplus of messages.

He had moved his entire life around, canceling meetings and rescheduling interviews that were supposed to be done today, yesterday, and the day before that.

He put his entire life on pause for you.

What should have been a sweet realization was instead evil, ugly, and cruel.

Six years later, you were doing the exact thing you were trying to avoid when you left in the first place. You were standing in the way of his career, and he was doing what he always had; putting you before everything else, no matter the consequences. Putting you before himself, before his dreams.

You left to ensure he wouldn’t do that, but you couldn’t stay away and ended up forcing his hand anyway. It was only a few meetings, an interview, but you knew him well and you knew it wouldn’t stop there. With you permanently in Michigan and him halfway across the world, he would only try harder to see you, and it would only get worse from here.

You couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t be the very thing that stood in the way of him and his entire life. You wished you found texts from another girl, from a girlfriend or a wife so you could be angry and upset with him for doing such a thing, but that wasn’t who he was, and it never would be. Jake would never let you down, and would do anything he could to make you happy. In doing so, he would sacrifice his own wants and needs, and you couldn’t be responsible for him disregarding everything he’d worked for his entire life.

God, he made it so unbelievably hard to stay out of love with him, even if you knew it was for the best.

Just as you were about to put the phone down, to bargain with your foggy mind and hurting heart, another chain of texts pulled your attention back in.

Amelie - 11:48am

Here’s that sneak peek you asked for. Saving the best for when you get back, so don’t even bother. 😉

*Attachment: 4 images*

“God, what the fuck does that mean?” You whispered to yourself, tossing the phone back on the mattress without even looking at the preview of the pictures as you tried to swallow back the panic you were feeling. It seemed like the world was mocking you for believing the two of you could be together, mocking you for believing that you could have someone as perfect as him.

Who was she, and what did she mean she was saving the best for when he got back? Why had he never mentioned her? Was she a girl he was trying to keep secret? She was close enough to him to have his phone number, comfortable enough to text him on his days off, and cheeky enough to send a winking emoji of follow. You didn’t know what it was, but you knew you didn’t like it.

Your mind was a mess, your chest aching and your head spinning. The message in itself wasn’t exactly incriminating, but you were so caught up in your own emotions from earlier that you wanted to believe it was, so your justification for running wasn’t because he loved you too much. You were jumping to conclusions, desperately grasping at strings to pull together an excuse to leave, but it had nothing to do with him rescheduling his meetings and the oddly worded message from the mysterious ‘Amelie’ (who sounded like a woman you could not even begin to compete with). It had everything to do with your own fear and your inability to see the brighter side of things.

You were doing everything you could to avoid getting hurt, and right now, you were already hurting. Instead of owning up to it and getting to the bottom of it with him by your side, you began to shut out the possibility of loving him in hopes of stopping the hurt before it grew any larger.

Caught up in a whirlwind of grief and a surplus of love, you did not even have time to straighten our separate the two before Jake stepped out of the bathroom, naked and beautiful as ever as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants from his suitcase. He slipped them on, his eyes trailing to you, expecting to see the smile he’d left on your lips when he walked away. Instead, he was met with an expression that told him nothing good, his palms breaking into a sweat and his stomach tied in knots as he tried to decipher the look in your eyes.

He had seen the look once before, and he spent the equivalent to a hundred lifetimes trying to rid the memory from his brain. He was praying it was different this time, that he had it completely misunderstood.

“Sunshine,” he warned, cautiously approaching the bed as he tried to defuse the bomb he knew was waiting to explode.

Afraid.

That was the only thing you were, feeling it so violently and aggressively as you shied away from his outstretched arms, silently pleading with you to reconsider. You were afraid of being hurt, afraid of hurting him, afraid of holding him back and standing in his way. You were terrified of everything, and most of all, unable to comprehend how dearly you loved him. You longed to be a teacher, spent years with your nose buried in a book and working so hard to get a degree so you could help someone else understand better. Not knowing was hard, and not understanding something was your biggest downfall, because you had made a life out of facts and working constantly to make sense of challenging things.

This didn’t make sense, and you couldn’t make it appear clearer. The longer you thought about it, the more confused you became, and it was killing you.

You pulled your legs to your chest, feeling tears shine in your eyes as you looked over his face. He was so beautiful, so perfect and so kind, which is why you had to walk away. He was too good, and you weren’t ever going to be enough. Back then, when you went your separate ways the first time, he took the sacrifice of losing you so you could follow your dreams. You were moving too fast, chasing after a life you couldn’t find in Michigan, and he stepped away to allow you to take the leap without worrying about him.

His actions were valiant, completely selfless and done in an attempt to ensure your happiness, and done without a single care about himself or his own breaking heart.

You had to do the same for him. You couldn’t hold him back or drag him down—he deserved someone in control of their life, certain and calculated with every move they made, stable and fun loving with a carefree spirit, and that would never be you.

Maybe someday, but certainly not now.

“Don’t do this. Not yet.” He sat on the edge of the bed, knowing what you were thinking before you said a word. “Let’s talk about it, please. We have to talk about it.” He was right, but you didn’t want to. The longer you talked about it, the worse it felt. You didn’t talk to him last time because it hurt too bad, and right now as you stared at him, facing the same situation as you did when you were eighteen, you understood that leaving Jake would always be the hardest thing you could ever do.

“This was a mistake, Jake.” You blurted out, immediately realizing the extent of your words when a pained expression crossed his beautiful face. You never wanted to be the reason behind his pain, and in that moment, you knew you were causing all of it.

“A mistake, huh?” He raised his hand to his face, his thumb and forefinger closing around his cheeks as his palm pressed against his chin. Deep in thought and clearly bothered by your choice of words, he could no longer look you in the eyes. “You said you loved me.” There was a slight snide drawl in his words, like he was fighting every part of himself so he would not respond with the hurt he was feeling.

“No, Jake, that’s not—“ you cut yourself off, feeling your chest tighten with panic as you raised your hand to his arm. The gentle touch pulled him out of his internal brooding for long enough to look back in your direction, to see how much hurt you were suffering from too. “You are not a mistake. Loving you is not a mistake, and I do. I love you so much that it hurts, and I could never feel this way about anyone else. I don’t want to love anyone else, Jake.”

“Then what is it?” He asked, reaching out and cupping your cheek in his palm. His stare was overwhelming, so much emotion in his gaze that you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “If you love me, and you don’t want to love anyone else, why are you trying to leave?”

“I just…” you started, losing your composure as the million reasons flooded your mind. Your voice cracked, your eyes falling to the pristine threads on the comforter as they welled with tears. “Six years, and nothing changed. We’re still in the same situation, trying to love each other and knowing it won’t work.”

“Who’s saying it won’t work, sunshine? I would do anything to make it work—“

“That’s the problem, Jake!” You cut him off, closing your eyes tightly to stop the tears from falling. “Anything. You would do anything, even if it meant throwing the rest of your life away!”

“What? What does that even mean?” He argued, his temper growing as you continued to raise your voice at him.

“Did you really have all this time off, with nothing to do? No meetings, no interviews, nothing to attend to?” You asked, watching his face as his expression faltered ever so slightly. It was barely noticeable, but it answered your question without him having to say a word. “You moved your entire life around just to come and take me to dinner, Jake. Without a promise of anything, without even knowing if I would say yes. If we keep this up, I can’t help but feel like I’m going to get in the way of everything you worked so hard for.”

“You’re not getting in the way of anything, sunshine. I chose to do that. I wanted to do it.” He tried to get you to see his point, to get you to understand that it wasn’t you forcing his hand on the matter.

“That’s the problem, bug.” Your cheeks were damp as you drowned in your own sorrow. “You would give up everything, just like you would have back then. That’s why I had to go. I had to leave so you wouldn’t waste your life chasing after me. Look at what you’ve accomplished since I left. Look at the life you built, all on your own.” You pleaded with him, begging him to see reason. “I’m going to take away from that, distract you from the only thing you’ve ever wanted. I can’t be responsible for that.”

“It’s not the only thing I’ve ever wanted!” He snapped, stronger than he intended to. Still, he continued on, desperate to be heard after six years of silence. “You are the only thing I’ve ever wanted. You are the only thing that’s ever mattered. You sat and listened to me talk about this life, encouraging me to chase after it, made me believe I could do it. It means fuckin’ nothing without you there beside me.”

“Jake, listen to yourself.” You cried, your head pounding and your chest tight as you tried to draw in a shaky breath. “You stepped back, you took that burden when I left and tried to make a name for myself. You didn’t want to stand in my way, and now you have to let me do it for you. I’m the one stuck in Michigan, not knowing what I’m doing or where I’m going. It won’t work, and you know it.”

“Don’t use that against me, Y/N.” The lack of a nickname was like a stab straight to the stomach, making you understand that this was more serious than it was when you were kids, because you were still hurting from it. It was all coming out at once, the fear and the anger and the regret. It was mixing together with your current situation, making for a deadly conversation that the two of you would carry with you for the rest of your lives. “Don’t use that as an excuse to leave now, because it’s the stupidest thing I have ever done. I’ve spent six years regretting it, Y/N. Do not make it seem like it was some courageous sacrifice—it was stupid and wrong, because I was afraid and I was hurt.”

“Jake—“

“No.” He cut you off, calm and collected with a grievous look in his eye. “I let you leave. I didn’t fight for you. I was eighteen and stupid, and I thought it was for the best at the time, and I know now that it was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. I am not letting you leave without fighting for you, Y/N. I’m not losing you again. I waited this long to get you back. This can’t be it. I won’t let this be it.”

“You think I don’t regret it?” You exploded, overwhelmed with the memory of the last time you saw him. “You think I enjoyed driving away, watching you sit at the end of my driveway waving goodbye with tears in your eyes? I didn’t want to, Jake. I hated it, and I hated myself for it. I cried that whole fucking drive, and then three days later I had to tell you to stop texting me because it only ever made it harder to move on. Guess it never would have mattered, because I never did, anyway! Six years later I sat in that bedroom, sorting through that box that held memories from the best three years of my entire life, and I had to swallow the fact that it will always be you, even if I don’t want it to be!” A grimace crossed his face, his heart aching at the harshness of your words.

“I hated looking for you in every man I’ve ever met, wondering if they could even come close to the boy I left at home. I hated staying up at night, listening to the same eight songs and wondering why we couldn’t be the ones who ended up together. I hated coming home and back to that house, just to realize that you were the only thing that made it feel like home in the first place! You weren’t here Jake, you moved to Nashville and you were traveling Europe, touring the world and playing music for thousands of people. You made it without me, and I drowned without you. I ended up here, back in the house I swore I’d never live in again in a town that’s missing the only good thing it ever had. You made it, Jake. You did it, and I will not drag you down again. I love you too much to hold you back. You have to let me do this for you, because you’ve done everything for me!” You finished your rant, barely able to see straight from the tears blurring your vision. Your throat was raw, your voice shaking as you tried your hardest to keep it together for long enough to make him understand.

“Sunshine,” he took your face between his hands, wiping away tears with his thumbs. “This isn’t doing anything for me. You leaving isn’t helping me, and staying won’t hurt me. Loving you is the only thing that I know how to do, and the only thing that I need. You give me everything just by being here.”

“Baby, please.” You closed your eyes, the pain in your chest only worsening as you stared at him.

“No, Sunshine.” He shook his head, holding your face tightly so you couldn’t look away. “Please, don’t do this. I just got you back.”

“Jake, I can’t.”

“That’s it?” He asked, his voice cracking as tears filled his own eyes. “It’s over? We’re done, just like that?” He tried to blink away the pain, but it only worsened his feelings on the matter. “After everything we talked about over the last few weeks? After everything we said last night? That’s it?”

“No!” You cried, shaking your head against his hold. “I guess so? I don’t know, Jake! I don’t know what to do or how to make it better. I'm trying to do the right thing. This happened so fast, and I didn’t have any time to think about it, but now that I have, we both know it won’t work! You’re going back to Nashville and I’m stuck here. You’re going to travel the world and meet so many people, ones that are way better than me and have so much more to offer. I'm going to tie you down and hold you back, and you’re going to realize it too, and I can’t get hurt like that. Not again.” You bit down on your lip to stifle the sobs begging to escape.

“You don’t get it, sunshine. There is nobody else; only you, and it’s always been that way.” There was a quiver in his voice, his cheeks wet with his own tears and he pleaded with you to see reason.

“I have to, Jake. I don’t even know if this is where I’ll stay. I could be halfway across the country again by this time next year. I don’t know, and I can’t force you to change everything because I’m still a mess.”

“I want to, sunshine. I love you.” He whispered, breaking under the weight of his grief. You shook your head again, too overcome with emotion to speak but still as stubborn as you’d always been. “I can’t lose you again.”

“Just not right now Jake. I’m not saying never, but not now.”

The words were worse than a slap in the face, making him choke on the fact that you would never be his, but he would always be stuck on your hook with nowhere else to go.

“So what, friends?” He scoffed at the word as if it were ridiculous, scowling as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Yes.” You whispered, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. “I want you in my life Jake. I always have. It’s horrible without you here, but the time still isn’t right. I need to get my life figured out. Give me some time to be what you deserve.” He watched you, his eyes casted down upon your saddened face as he digested the words he never wanted to hear again.

How, after so long and so much suffering, could the time still not be right? How could you still not see it?

But, he loved you, and in that moment it seemed like the worst curse of all. He was willing to do whatever would make you happy, even if it meant agreeing to something that would be equal to torture.

“Fine, sunshine.” He breathed, unable to resist you with you so close to him. He could never say no to you, anyway, no matter the distance. “If that’s what you think is right, I’ll be your friend, but I’ll never stop telling you how wrong I think it is.” A small smile tugged at your lips despite the pain begging to kill you.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You joked, tears still free falling as you breathed him in for what might be the very last time.

“I’m going to suck at being your friend.” He warned, still holding you close while he still could. “I’m never going to stop loving you.”

“I’m not going to stop, either.” You promised.

“Which is why this whole thing is stupid.” He tried again, desperate for you to understand.

“You’ll understand, bug. Maybe not right now, but you will. I promise.” You whispered, fighting every urge to kiss him.

“If you say so, sunshine.” He muttered, too far gone within his misery to worry about hiding it anymore. “Can I kiss you, one last time?”

“I might not be able to stop.” You confessed, feeling the gravitational pull forcing you towards him, the universe doing everything it could to force you into his arms forever.

“Could think of worse things.” He hummed, his hand sliding backwards as his fingers tangled in your hair.

“Me too, bug.” You whispered, closing your eyes and leaning forward.

You closed the gap between you, the kiss soft and sweet, the saltiness of your tears lingering on your lips as you did all you could to savor the moment with him. He dropped one hand to your waist, pulling you forward and into his lap without parting from you. You accepted the new position, melting into his arms and letting your guard down one last time. The warmth of his body surrounded you, and you wondered how you could ever give up the feeling of peace that came with his company. He felt like home, more comforting and inviting than anything else in the entire world, and you wished you could hold onto it forever.

Eventually, you broke free from the kiss, but made no move to leave. Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, resting your head on his shoulder as another, more aggressive wave of sobs racked your body. The smell of his cologne surrounded you, his gentle hold comforting despite knowing it would be the last time you had him in such a way. He always made everything feel better, even if the hurt came from the love he gave in the first place. He held you tightly, his strong arms making it harder to convince yourself to leave. You calmed down enough to rest comfortably with him, only the occasional tear leaking from your eye as he rocked you gently to calm your mind. Then, so softly and so quietly, you heard the soft melody that tore your heart in two all over again.

He was humming, not singing, but carrying the tune enough that you would notice and understand why he was doing it.

There were no lyrics, but you could hear them clearly in your head as you clung to him and wondered why you would ever even think about letting him go.

‘Peace came upon me

And it leaves me weak

So sleep, silent angel

Go to sleep

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you

Sometimes, all I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you.’

His shoulders shook as he tried his hardest to keep the tune, tears falling down his face as he did his best not to imagine you walking out the door. You felt ridiculous, completely idiotic as you cried and listened to him, wondering how the hell you were in the same position now as you were when you were eighteen. Back then, he put the song on the mixtape to tell you how dearly he loved you, so you could hear it from someone else’s tongue instead of his own. Now, he reinvented the song with a heart just as heavy, hoping it was enough to make you stay this time.

There was no need to retell the story, to recount all of the mistakes you made that led you to the fourth song so long ago, because you had done it just the same that day. You woke up that morning with love delicately intertwined in every aspect of your life, happiest with him by your side, and you would leave him behind with the same love in your heart, just the same as you did six years ago.

When you were eighteen, he loved you. He sat before you at twenty-five, still as desperate to show you how strongly he felt, but you still weren’t ready to receive it. You loved him the same, but you were too foolish to accept it and too fearful of enduring the same hurt. Instead, you convinced yourself that it was for the best to walk away, that the pain now would spare you from worse in the future, even if it wasn’t true.

No matter the time in between the two stupidest versions of yourself, one thing remained true even after all of the pain and all of the years; you loved him the same, just as unapologetically, completely and as wholly as he loved you.

All you needed was the air that you breathed and to love him. Sometimes, you didn’t even need the air and could survive solely off the latter. You spent all your life searching for him, wandering aimlessly while he was gone and wondering when he would come back, just to find the quickest way to throw the opportunity in the garbage as soon as it presented itself to you.

Why were you so eager to walk away when you had been awaiting the day he would return?

Why were you so keen to suffer when he was right in front of you, promising to make it all better?

Worst of all, why, if it was supposed to be the right thing to do, did it hurt so fucking bad?

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