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always-just-red · 1 day

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Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!” You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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wonhes · 2 days

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WARNINGS: ….. angst 😺👍 + cursing

☁︎ — JUNE 24TH, 2024 10:58 PM

blinking to try and comprehend what they heard, they all blankly look at each other as anton’s words continue ringing in their heads. trying their best to put into words what they were all thinking, they continue staring at each other in complete disbelief. shotaro is the first to break the silence by loudly scoffing at his younger friend.

shaking his head at him, he takes a step forward towards anton. bringing the back of his hand up, he smacks anton’s chest causing anton to let out a small “ow.”

“and what the actual fuck posessed you to say that?” shotaro asks, disapproval written all over his tone.

“it was a joke!” anton quickly yells back as he rubs his chest.

“look around,” eunseok states as he moves to point at the rest of the boys. “is anybody laughing?”

“i panicked, i’m sorry!” anton sighs, bringing a hand up to nervously chew on one of his fingernails. “i was just trying to lighten the mood,” he mumbles to himself.

“you said sohee was going to get a restraining order against her!” wonbin quickly yells back. “in what world is that funny?”

“okay, i did not say it like that!” anton immediately argues back, shaking his head at wonbin’s words. he doesn’t understand why everyone is making such a big fuss. anton swears he has jokingly told sohee that before and it didn’t result in him crying. he genuinely does not understand why him making that joke towards you led to you crying and locking yourself up in your room.

“if anyone should get a restraining order is yn but on this guy over here,” eunseok sighs shaking his head as he uses his index finger to point towards seunghan’s direction.

rolling his eyes at eunseok’s comment, seunghan brings a hand up to flip eunseok off; this instantly causing eunseok to flip seunghan back with both of his hands.

“she literally texts him everyday! i was just trying to be funny,” anton continued on defending himself, ignoring the two boys bickering.

“god,” shotaro sighs once more. “anton, do you not know how to read a room?”

“your sister is in love with sohee,” shotaro states. with wide eyes, anton quickly looks at your friends for confirmation. when getting the confirmation he needed, he awkwardly shifts in his spot.

“she texts him every day probably hoping he’s going to magically unblock her one of these days– she wants to work things out with him but he refuses to hear her out,” shotaro sighs, shaking his head at sohee’s way of handling the situation. “you told her he was out of town so that most likely caused her to believe you’re still in contact with him–” shotaro continues explaining. “you made a tasteless joke about sohee getting a restraining order against her so she most definitely believes that came out of his mouth.” shotaro finally concludes.

“do you now understand why your sister is crying or do i have to dumb it down some more?” shotaro speaks up once more causing eunseok to let out a small snicker at his choice of words.

“wait—” eunseok’s eyes immediately go wide. “yn,” he says, turning to his friends as they all instantly gasp and make their way up the stairs to go to your room and comfort you.

from up the stairs, eunseok turns back for a brief second and points down at seunghan. “and don’t you dare step foot upstairs,” he states before turning back to continue walking up the stairs.

rolling his eyes at eunseok’s comment, seunghan lightly pats both shotaro and anton’s chest to signal them to follow the rest up the stairs.

JUNE 24TH, 2024 11:13 PM

“baby, open the door,” wonbin sighs as he continues to knock at your door. turning back to look at sungchan and eunseok, he shakes his head at them.

“pretty girl?” sungchan tries now, jiggling your doorknob.

“sugar plum, please!” eunseok desperately yells out, wanting nothing more than to be there for you.

“baby? sugar plum? pretty girl? what the fuck?” seunghan mumbles to himself, confused on the sudden pet names you were receiving.

shaking his head at seunghan, wonbin couldn’t help but roll his eyes at him. “platonically, asshole.”

“you’re just mad yn didn’t like it when you called her pretty girl,” eunseok quickly shot back, turning to smirk at the shorter boy.

gasping at his words, shotaro and anton bring a hand up to smack their friend. “you called her ‘pretty girl’?” shotaro asks in full on disbelief.

“you fucking called my sister ‘pretty girl’?” anton angrily asks.

“ow–” seunghan states as he begins rubbing his head and arm. “sungchan just called her that and nobody fucking cared!”

“she’s my best friend!” sungchan quickly reasons back. “besides, it’s platonically. yours on the other hand was not.”

“eunseok, what else has he done.” anton asks as he continues to angrily eye his friend.

“oh, i’ll gladly tell you–” eunseok begins as he turns to look at seunghan’s panic figure shaking his head at him, pleading him to stop.

“yn,” shotaro randomly speaks up. at the sound of his voice, everyone shifts their attention towards him and watch as he brings a hand up to knock at your door.

“what the fuck are you doing?” anton whispers out towards his older friend.

“trust me,” shotaro quickly answers back before softly knocking once more. “i know you don’t know me like that but it’s shotaro,” shotaro quietly says.

“i’m really close to sohee,” he adds as he continues speaking to you against your door. “you-” at the sound of the door unlocking and swinging open he closes his mouth.

“i didn’t kiss seunghan,” you quickly state, looking up at shotaro with tears spilling from your eyes.

softly smiling down at you, he nods his head at your words. “i know,” he reassures you.

“please tell him that,” you desperately plea with him.

as you watch him shake his head at you, you feel your bottom lip start to quiver. looking up at him once more you try to plea once again.

“i’m not going to tell him because you are,” shotaro says, sending you a warm smile as he takes out his phone to text sohee.

“i’m going to text sohee and tell him i’m coming over so he’ll know to expect someone over,” shotaro tells you as he finishes typing on his phone. “but instead of it being me, it’ll be you.”

shaking your head at his words, you couldn’t help but let tears spill. desperately running to whichever one of your friends was closest to you for emotional support.

“oof,” wonbin softly says, taken back at the sudden contact. quickly snapping out of it, he brings his hands to your frame to hug you back.

“he’s going to get a restraining order,” you sob, hiding your head on his chest.

hearing your words, eunseok annoyingly turns to anton as he brings a hand to slap the back of his head. “you fucking see what you did?”

“baby, he’s not going to get a restraining order,” wonbin lightly laughs to try and reassure you. “do you know how silly that sounds?”

“sohee told anton,” you mumble, hugging wonbin tighter to try and calm yourself down.

angrily turning to look at your younger brother, it’s sungchan’s turn to slap the back of anton’s head. “you fucking see?”

“ow— it was a fucking joke!” anton whispers back.

“he’s not going to get a restraining order, i promise,” shotaro states, side eyeing anton in complete annoyance. “sohee never said that, i swear.”

“i can even show you our texts–” shotaro continues trying as he takes his phone out of his pocket. “he wouldn’t do that.”

“he wants to talk things out, trust me. he’s just hard headed.” the older boy tells you.

“very hard headed,” seunghan mumbles to himself, agreeing with shotaro.

discreetly nodding his head at their words, eunseok slowly makes his way to where you and wonbin were standing.

“move. my turn!” eunseok pushes wonbin off of you and quickly takes over, hugging you gently as he places a quick kiss on the top of your head.

“what the actual fuck is your problem, eunseok!?” wonbin groans, shaking his head at his friend as he dusts himself off.

“what? i’m just trying to be here for my best friend,” eunseok reasons, causing you to let out a small chuckle at their banter.

“okay! now, it’s my turn,” sungchan says, making his way towards you.

smiling at the sight of you no longer crying, anton begins walking towards you as well. “i’m sorry you have a stupid little brother,” he sighs as he sends you a sad smile.

“i got nervous and made a dumb joke,” anton admits to you as he nervously scratches the back of his neck. “i’m also so fucking sorry for the way i spoke to you the other day, you didn’t deserve that all.”

“i don’t know what i was thinking. i was just so angry and instead of taking it out on seunghan– like i should’ve– i took it out on you,” anton sadly states, completely ignoring seunghan reaction at his sudden words. “i-” anton continues once more but stops at the feeling of your arms wrapped around his torso.

“it’s okay toni,” you softly smile up at him.

“not trying to interrupt anything,” shotaro speaks up, taking a step forward as he looks down at his phone “sohee texted back.”

at the sound of sohee’s name, you instantly turn to look back at shotaro. sending you a small smile your way, he nods at you. “go.”

“go get your sohee.”

☁︎ — JUNE 25TH, 2024 12:26 AM

with a shaky breath, you close your eyes to try and calm yourself down before bringing a hand up to ring his doorbell. at the sound of his doorbell ringing you feel your heart hammer against your chest even faster— if that was even possible. now or never, you keep quietly mumbling to yourself as an attempt to calm down.

“taro-” sohee tiredly says as he opens his door. at the sight of you in front of him, sohee does a complete double take and stares at you with wide eyes.

“h-hi,’ you quietly mumble, nervously playing with your hands.

staring back at you, sohee couldn’t help but take notice on how red your eyes were. have you been crying? sohee sadly asks himself. he feels himself wanting to reach out for you to reassure you everything was okay. but instead, he quickly shakes his head at his thoughts, forcing yourself to snap out of it. you’re with seunghan, he reminds himself.

“go home yn,” sohee sighs as he tightly grips on the door handle.

“baby, can we please talk?” you desperately ask, taking a step closer to him.

“don’t-” he closes his eyes to try and calm himself down. “don’t call me that.”

“pretty boy-”

“is this funny to you?” sohee groans out as he steps outside while looking at you with tears in his eyes. “stop teasing me and go home.”

“i’m not-” you try but get interrupted by sohee’s scoff. “sohee, please.”

“yn, what do you want to talk about?” sohee asks, shaking his head at you. “if you wanted seunghan, you could’ve told me, you know?” he sadly states. “i would’ve backed off.”

“i don’t-”

“i heard you and anton talking that day,’ sohee cuts you off, not wanting to hear any of your lies. “god, i’m so fucking stupid.”

“baby, you’re not,” you quickly move towards him to comfort him causing him to take a step back, away from you. sadly looking down at the space between y’all, you try and swallow your tears despite your heart breaking by the second.

“please, go home.” sohee tries again, gesturing you to walk away

“i’m not going anywhere until you listen to me,” you firmly state, shaking your head at him. “bab-”

“don’t call me that!” sohee brokenly stops you. “you lost the privilege to call me that the second you decided you wanted my best friend,” he angrily brings a hand to wipe away his tears.

“i don’t-” you try talking once again but are once again stopped by sohee talking over you.

“i’ve been so fucking in love with and i thought-” sohee gulps. “i thought you were starting to feel the same way too. i thought it was finally mutual.”

“sohee,” you sadly say as you take a step forward to grab his hand. not having it in him to move once again, sohee lets you grab him. letting out a small sniffle, he brings his attention back towards you. at the sight of his tear stained cheeks you feel your heart break all over again.

“d-do you like seunghan?” sohee hesitantly asks as more tears begin to cloud his vision.

“baby, no,” you gently say, as you bring a hand to cup his cheek and wipe away his tears. “i like you.”

“then why did you kiss him?” he sniffles.

“i didn’t kiss him,” you begin, causing sohee to shake his head at your words and take a step back away from your touch.

“baby,” you desperately try to reach out for him. placing both of your hands on his cheeks, you try and get him to look at you. “look at me, please.”

listening to you, sohee hesitantly removes his focus from the ground and makes eye contact with you.

“the thought of you and seunghan together hurts me so fucking much,” sohee admittedly whispers out. shaking your head at his words, you bring a hand down and place it against his, intertwining his fingers with yours. “it hurts— it hurts so much,” he repeatedly mumbles.

“i didn’t kiss seunghan.” you reassure him.

“but, anton said-”

“i didn’t kiss seunghan but anton did walk in on seunghan trying to kiss me,” you hesitantly told him. processing your words, sohee finds himself letting go of your hand and creating distance between you two.

“baby, wait. please listen to me,” you say, catching his hand before it fully slipped away.

“were you gonna kiss him back?” sohee asks, looking down at you with watery eyes.

“no.” you immediately reassure him. “i only ever want to kiss you.”

“have you ever had feelings for seunghan?” sohee sadly asks, still trying to piece together the whole situation. “please don’t lie to me.”

☁︎ — JUNE 25TH, 2024 1:48 AM

sitting down on his bed, you nervously chew on your bottom lip as you wait for sohee to speak up. you were finally able to explain everything and he’s been quietly processing the situation ever since.

“why didn’t you tell me he was pursuing you?” sohee breaks the silence, looking at you with hurt written all over his eyes.

“i didn’t want to hurt you,” you try reasoning with him. “i thought i was protecting you—”

“bab- yn” sohee sighs. “that’s not protecting me, that’s leaving me in the dark.”

“my best friend was going after my girlfriend, don’t you think i would want to know that?” sohee bitterly laughs. “i would’ve loved to know that my girlfriend once had feelings for him too.”

“baby, it was just a tiny crush.” you quickly jump to your defense. “i was in denial—”

“you still should’ve told me,” sohee lets out one last sigh as he brings his hands up to rub his eyes.

“i should’ve,” you nod your head at him and shift your focus down to your hands.

“it’s getting late you should go-”

“that’s it?” you sadly ask, looking at him with wide eyes.

“are we still-”

“we can be friends,” sohee cuts you off, offering you a small smile. “i don’t think we should date.”

“ever?” you quietly ask. “never again?”

“c-can i fix this?” you hesitantly ask. scooting closer to him, you take his hand in yours. “i can fix this, i promise.”

“yn,” sohee mumbles, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

“this was all just a big misunderstanding,” you desperately plea with him.

“pretty girl, you still kept secrets from me,” sohee softly states. “i’m not mad at you,” he reassures you. “we can still talk but as friends— at least just for now.”

“friends,” you defeatedly state, scared that if you continue pushing he might completely pull away from you again.

not being able to help himself, sohee leans forward and places a gentle kiss on your forehead. there’s no denying that he still holds— and will always hold— strong feelings for you but truth be told, he’s terrified to try again. so, he’ll settle for a friendship instead, at least just for now. “friends.”

☁︎ — CLOUD 9

CHAPTER 44 — friends

summary !! after years of constant pining after his best friend’s sister, yn finally takes notice of sohee and sohee swears he’s on cloud 9. or in other words, loser sohee finally gets the girl.

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#sohee imagine #sohee fic #sohee scenarios #sohee scenario #sohee fluff #sohee smau #riize sohee #sohee x reader #sohee imagines #sohee angst #riize reaction #riize x reader #riize imagine #riize fluff #riize scenarios #riize imagines

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lyneira · 1 day

Text

-> "Your sweet boyfriend, Satoru Gojo, who pouts whenever you tease him, also secretly enjoys making you beg for his c*ck"

SMUT - MINORS DNI

satoru gojo x fem!reader | cw: fingering, oral, unprotected sex, teasing, begging

lyneira's (18+) mini event: Your Sweet Boyfriend!

@muli-wam 's result!

Gojo is a joker and a man full of audacity, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise when he pouted after you teased him.

He was "sulking" after you lightly jabbed him with a line.

"How could you be so mean, Y/N...? After all that we've been through... you wound me...", he'd whine with the expression of puppy who had just been kicked, and it would cause a vein to pop on your forehead. You knew he was just being dramatic like he always was.

You would scoff at his pouting. The man was a menace to everyone when it came to his jokes and small acts.

He was often a little shit, and unfortunately, that would apply to the bedroom as well.

He quite enjoyed it when the tables were turned in which you were the one pouting at him, and he would grin at your expression. He'd grin so smug at the whole situation, really.

At the current moment, you were underneath him, your cunt soaked with desire from all of his skilled touches, and from the way he used his tongue on you moments prior, his mouth still glistening with your essence.

You were more than ready to have his cock inside you. But, like the little shit he was, he wouldn't let you have it yet. Instead, he'd have two fingers inside you, slowly pumping in and out, knowing that you would rather have his thick cock fill your hole and absolutely wreck you. It was torture, and he would hum in amusement whenever he felt your walls trying to squeeze around his fingers, knowing so well that you wanted more friction.

He, himself, was feeling just as eager as you with the bead of precum currently staining his tip and his dick shot up so proudly. Yet, he wasn't going to give in until you begged.

So when he finally heard the sound of your voice calling his name, he was happily all-ears.

"S-Satoru...please...", you moaned weakly.

"Hm?" He leaned in close to your face while still having his fingers buried in your cunt. "What is it, Y/N? I couldn't quite understand you"

"Please...! I need it", you cried louder.

"Need what? You're gonna have to be more specific than that, sweetie", he'd whisper that last bit huskily, his grin growing wider and his fingers playfully swirling inside your pussy.

You could no longer take it.

"Your cock! FUCK...! I need your cock! I want you to fuck my brains out already! Satoru, please, please-ah..!"

Finally. Those were the words he loved to hear.

With that final outburst, he'd grant your wish at last, quickly removing his fingers and sticking his dick inside you. As he pushed himself further in, it deliciously stretched your walls with each inch before he finally buried himself balls-deep into you.

"Well, why didn't you just say so?", he smirked.

You'd have yelled at him for that last comment if he didn't then proceed to thrust in and out of you at a violent pace, making you moan instead. The rate at which he was fucking you had you digging your nails into his back and had you seeing stars already.

"Ahh...that's my good girl," he'd shakily breathe out. You're pussy embracing him so tightly like this felt like heaven to him. "Look how wet you are. You're sucking me in so well."

This, paired with the erotic sounds of skin slapping against skin and the gushing noises of your pussy with each thrust would be enough to make him come already, but the greatest jujutsu sorcerer would have to prove himself worthy especially after you've been so good for him and had begged him so sweetly. He'll ensure that his teasing would be worth it throughout all of the night.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #nene writes~♡#lyneira's spicy stuff~♤

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ewyuzu · 2 days

Text

mooncake festival with lads men 🥮🌙

a/n: late post but happy mooncake festival! wishing you all happiness, good health, and togetherness this mooncake festival. may the moonlight bring peace and joy to your heart!

- sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel and caleb x reader

sylus

the mooncake festival is alive with color and light. lanterns of every shape and size hang from strings above, casting a warm, golden glow over the streets. laughter fills the air, and you can hear the soft melody of traditional music playing in the distance. the night feels magical, but despite the excitement around you, it’s sylus’s presence beside you that holds your attention the most.

he walks quietly, his gaze sweeping over the festival, ever alert as always. but there’s a softness in the way he walks next to you, like he’s more relaxed than usual. his hand brushes yours occasionally, sending small sparks up your arm, but he doesn’t take your hand. not yet, anyway.

“you’ve been quiet tonight,” you say softly, glancing at him.

he turns his head slightly, those red eyes of his meeting yours for a brief moment. “just thinking,” he replies, his voice low and smooth.

“about what?” you ask, curious. sylus rarely shares his thoughts openly.

“about how different this is,” he admits, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “from… what i’m used to.”

you tilt your head, intrigued. “different in a good way?”

he doesn’t answer right away, but his gaze softens as he looks ahead at the glowing lanterns. “yeah,” he finally says. “in a good way.”

you walk together for a while, weaving through the crowd. despite the lively energy around you, there’s a sense of calm between you and sylus, an unspoken understanding. the two of you stop in front of a group of people dancing in the square. the music is slow, melodic, and the dancers move gracefully under the lantern light. you watch them for a moment, caught up in the beauty of it.

“do you dance?” sylus asks, breaking the silence. his voice is quiet, almost as if he’s testing the waters.

you blink, a little surprised by the question. “uh… not really,” you say, laughing nervously. “i mean, i can, but it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

he looks at you, his expression unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that makes your heart beat faster. “let’s see,” he says, holding out his hand.

your breath catches in your throat. you didn’t expect him to actually ask you to dance, especially not here, in front of all these people. but the way he’s looking at you, calm and confident, makes it impossible to refuse. you hesitantly place your hand in his, and his grip is firm but gentle, his skin warm against yours.

“sylus, i’m really not—” you start, but he cuts you off with a soft smile, the kind that makes your knees feel weak.

“i’ll lead,” he says simply, guiding you toward the quieter side of the square, away from the crowd but still under the lanterns. the music continues to play, and before you know it, sylus has placed one hand on your waist, the other still holding your hand, and he begins to move.

you follow his lead, your body unsure at first but quickly falling into rhythm with his. his movements are smooth, controlled, and it feels almost effortless dancing with him. there’s something about the way he holds you, the way he looks at you under the soft glow of the lanterns, that makes the world around you fade away. it’s just you and sylus, moving together in perfect harmony.

“you’re better than you let on,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “only because you’re leading.”

he tilts his head slightly, his red eyes never leaving yours. “maybe. or maybe you’re not giving yourself enough credit.”

his words make your heart skip a beat, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. the closeness between you feels almost overwhelming now, the way his hand rests on your waist, the way his fingers are intertwined with yours. you’re not sure how much longer you can hold his gaze without completely melting.

“i didn’t expect you to dance,” you say quietly, trying to break the tension.

“neither did i,” he replies, his voice soft, almost thoughtful. “but… something about tonight feels different. lighter.”

you smile up at him, your heart swelling at the rare glimpse of vulnerability he’s showing you. “i’m glad,” you whisper.

the music slows, and so do your movements, but neither of you lets go. you’re standing so close now, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. the air between you feels charged, like something unspoken is lingering just beneath the surface.

“sylus…” you begin, but the words die on your lips when he shifts closer, his forehead almost touching yours.

“stay with me tonight,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

your heart races, and for a moment, you’re not sure if he means here, at the festival, or something deeper. but before you can respond, he pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours.

“just… don’t leave yet,” he adds, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

you nod, unable to speak, and he smiles—just a small, brief smile—but it’s enough to make your heart flutter.

later, the festival becomes too much. the noise, the crowds, the constant buzz of energy—it’s overwhelming. you feel it creeping up on you, that need to escape, to find some peace away from the chaos. sylus notices before you even have to say anything. he’s always so attuned to you, as if he can sense your every thought and feeling.

“want to get out of here?” he asks quietly, his voice cutting through the noise.

you nod, grateful, and without another word, he takes your hand, leading you away from the lantern-lit streets and out into the quiet countryside. the night air is cool against your skin, and soon, the sounds of the festival fade into the distance, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle chirping of crickets.

you walk in comfortable silence until you reach a small lake, its surface smooth and still, reflecting the full moon above. sylus leads you to a large stone by the water’s edge, sitting down and gesturing for you to join him. you sit beside him, the cool grass beneath you, and breathe in the peacefulness of the night.

“this is better,” you say quietly, looking out at the moonlit lake.

“yes,” sylus agrees, his voice soft. “it is.”

he pulls a small box from his coat pocket and opens it, revealing two mooncakes. he hands one to you, and you take it with a small smile, your fingers brushing his as you do. there’s something intimate about the simple gesture, the way he thought to bring something just for the two of you.

“didn’t know you had a sweet tooth,” you tease lightly, taking a bite of the mooncake.

he chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “i don’t. but i figured you might.”

you raise an eyebrow, amused. “you’re thoughtful, aren’t you?”

“only sometimes,” he says, and there’s that rare smile again, the one that makes your heart do a little flip.

you sit together in silence for a while, sharing mooncakes and watching the reflection of the moon on the lake. the air is cool, but sylus’s presence beside you is warm, comforting. at some point, you lean back, your shoulder brushing against his. he doesn’t pull away, and neither do you.

“it’s peaceful here,” you murmur, glancing over at him.

he nods, his gaze still focused on the water. “it is. i could stay here all night.”

“me too,” you whisper, feeling a warmth spread through your chest.

the night stretches on, the two of you sitting side by side, saying nothing but understanding everything. in the quiet of the moonlit lake, it’s like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you, and for once, everything feels simple. everything feels right.

zayne

the festival is alive with vibrant colors, lanterns glowing in every direction, casting soft hues of red, gold, and orange across the crowded streets. laughter and chatter fill the air, but zayne walks beside you, quieter than usual. his gaze shifts around, observing the details with a thoughtful expression.

“there’s something i want to show you,” he says, his voice low but steady. without another word, he gently takes your hand, leading you through the crowd. your pulse quickens, feeling the warmth of his hand, and for a moment, the noise of the festival seems to fade away.

he brings you to a quieter part of the festival, where people are writing wishes on lanterns. they carefully attach their slips of paper to the lanterns, watching them drift upward, joining the sea of glowing lights floating towards the sky.

zayne hands you a small piece of paper and a pen. “it’s tradition to write down your wishes for the future,” he explains, his gaze fixed on the lanterns above. “then you let it go.”

you glance at the paper in your hand, the smooth texture between your fingers feeling heavier than it should. “do you believe in these kinds of things?” you ask, curious.

zayne shrugs, though there’s a softness in his eyes. “i don’t know if wishes come true this way, but… maybe it’s more about letting go. letting the universe know what you want.”

you watch him for a moment, his expression unreadable. slowly, you write your wish down, feeling the weight of the words settle in your chest. you glance at him, wondering if he’s already written his wish.

he hesitates, his pen poised over the paper. his eyes flicker towards you briefly before returning to his blank slip. “i’m not very good at this,” he murmurs, his voice almost too soft to hear.

you smile gently, nudging him with your elbow. “it doesn’t have to be perfect. just write whatever comes to mind.”

he lets out a quiet breath, and you see his hand move, writing something down with careful strokes. when he finishes, his fingers linger over the paper for a moment longer before he folds it and attaches it to his lantern.

you both stand there, holding your lanterns in your hands, the soft glow illuminating your faces. “ready?” you ask, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and vulnerability.

zayne glances at you, something unreadable in his gaze. “yeah. ready.”

you release your lanterns at the same time, watching them drift into the sky, their light growing smaller as they join the others. there’s a quiet moment between you, the festival noise a distant hum in the background, as you both watch the lanterns disappear.

after a long pause, zayne breaks the silence. “what did you wish for?” he asks, his tone casual, but there’s a hint of curiosity behind his words.

you smile, shaking your head. “i’m not telling. that ruins the wish, doesn’t it?”

he chuckles softly, a rare sound that makes your heart skip. “fair enough.”

you tilt your head, looking at him thoughtfully. “what about you? what did you wish for?”

his eyes meet yours, and for a brief moment, he hesitates. then, a small smile tugs at his lips, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “i think i’ll keep that one to myself,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

but the way he looks at you, the intensity in his gaze, tells you everything you need to know.

the night grows quieter as the festival winds down, but the sky above still dances with bursts of color from the fireworks. zayne leads you away from the busy streets, toward a quieter spot by the lake. the soft lapping of the water against the shore is a soothing contrast to the earlier excitement.

you sit down on a bench together, the cool night air brushing against your skin. the lanterns hanging from the trees reflect off the water, casting a soft glow around the two of you. zayne leans back, his arms resting casually behind him, eyes fixed on the sky.

“it’s peaceful here,” he says, his voice low, almost as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

you nod, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. there’s a calmness in his posture, but his gaze is distant, as if his mind is elsewhere. “you’ve been quiet tonight,” you say gently, hoping to draw him out.

he turns his head slightly, looking at you. “just… thinking,” he admits, his tone softer than usual. “about things. about the future.”

you tilt your head, watching him carefully. “what about the future?”

he’s silent for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the water. “sometimes, i wonder if i’m doing the right thing. if the path i’m on is leading where i want to go. or if i’m just…” he trails off, shaking his head. “i don’t know.”

you reach out, placing a hand on his arm, your touch gentle. “you don’t have to have all the answers right now, zayne.”

he lets out a quiet breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly at your touch. “it’s just… when i’m around you, i feel like maybe things could be different. better.”

your heart skips a beat at his words, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. “you make things better too, you know,” you say softly, your thumb brushing against his arm in a comforting gesture.

he turns to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “you really think that?”

you nod, meeting his gaze. “i know it.”

there’s a long pause, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence as the fireworks continue to light up the sky. the colors reflect off the water, casting soft hues across his face, making him look almost ethereal in the moonlight.

without warning, zayne reaches out, his hand covering yours. his touch is warm, steady, and the simple gesture makes your breath hitch. he doesn’t say anything, but the way his fingers curl around yours, the gentle pressure of his hand, speaks volumes.

“thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the moment is too fragile for louder words.

you smile, your heart swelling with an emotion you can’t quite name. “for what?”

he doesn’t look away from you, his gaze steady, almost intense. “for being here. for… everything.”

the night stretches on, the sounds of the festival fading into the background. and as you sit there, hand in hand, under the glow of the moon and the lanterns, you realize that sometimes, the quietest moments say the most.

xavier

the festival is in full swing, the streets alive with the vibrant colors of lanterns and the buzz of excited festival-goers. as you and xavier weave through the crowded pathways, he stays close, his presence steady beside you. the laughter and chatter of the crowd seem overwhelming, and you can’t help but feel a bit disoriented.

“stick close,” xavier says, his voice low but firm as he gently guides you through the throngs of people. his hand finds its way to your lower back, a reassuring touch that keeps you close to him.

you glance up at him, noticing how focused he is on making sure you’re safe. “thanks for staying so close,” you say, feeling a mix of relief and warmth at his protective gesture.

he meets your gaze with a soft smile. “it’s my job to look out for you,” he replies, his eyes reflecting the glow of the lanterns. “especially in a crowd like this. you never know what could happen.”

as you continue walking, you can feel the occasional bump from other festival-goers. each time, xavier’s grip on your back tightens slightly, his body subtly shielding you from any potential collisions.

“you’re really good at this,” you comment, trying to lighten the mood. “you could be a professional crowd navigator.”

he chuckles softly, a sound that feels warm and comforting. “well, i’ve had some practice. but honestly, it’s not about navigating crowds. it’s about making sure you’re okay.”

you feel a flutter in your chest at his words. “i’m fine, really. but it’s nice to have you looking out for me.”

xavier’s smile softens, and he leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “i wouldn’t have it any other way. i care about you too much to let anything happen.”

just then, someone jostles you, causing you to stumble slightly. before you can react, xavier has you firmly pressed against his side, his arm around you in a protective embrace.

“careful there,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing presence in your ear. “it’s easy to get bumped around in these crowds.”

you look up at him, noticing how his expression is a blend of concern and calm. “i guess it’s a good thing you’re here.”

he nods, his gaze meeting yours with a warmth that makes your heart race. “i’m always here, as long as you need me.”

you walk together, the crowd slowly thinning out as you approach a quieter area. xavier’s grip on your back remains steady, a comforting reminder of his presence. when you finally reach a less crowded spot, you both stop, taking a deep breath and enjoying the calmer surroundings.

“we made it through,” you say, glancing around at the more peaceful scene.

“we did,” xavier agrees, his hand lingering on your back before he slowly pulls away. “and i’m glad i could be here with you.”

you smile at him, feeling a deep sense of appreciation for his care. “thanks for looking out for me.”

xavier’s smile grows, a genuine, warm expression. “anytime.”

the festival has wound down, and the streets are quieter now, the earlier buzz replaced by a gentle calm. xavier leads you to a secluded corner away from the main crowd, where the soft light of the lanterns still casts a gentle glow. the air is crisp, and you feel a sense of tranquility settling over you.

xavier pulls out a mooncake from a small bag he’s been carrying. “i thought we could have a little quiet moment away from the hustle,” he says, handing you the mooncake with a grin.

you accept it with a smile, feeling the warmth of his gesture. “that sounds perfect.”

as you both sit on a nearby bench, xavier takes out another mooncake and breaks it in half, offering you the larger piece. “here, you take the bigger half. it’s only fair.”

you laugh softly, taking the mooncake from him. “you’re too kind. but i insist you have the bigger piece.”

he shakes his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “i’m fine. besides, i’m more interested in sharing the moment with you.”

you both take a bite, savoring the sweet taste of the mooncake. the silence between you is comfortable, the occasional sound of distant laughter and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze the only interruptions.

“it’s nice out here,” you say after a moment, breaking the silence. “it feels peaceful.”

xavier nods, his gaze fixed on the moonlit sky. “yeah, it is. sometimes, it’s good to step away from the crowd and just enjoy the quiet.”

you glance at him, noticing how relaxed he looks. “do you come here often?”

“not as much as i’d like,” he admits. “but whenever i need a break from everything, this is where i come. it’s a good place to think.”

you nod, understanding. “what do you usually think about?”

xavier looks thoughtful for a moment before answering. “a lot of things. my work, my goals… and sometimes, just how nice it is to be in a moment like this.”

you smile, touched by his openness. “i’m glad we’re sharing this moment together.”

he turns to you, his expression softening. “me too. it’s special to me.”

you finish your mooncake, feeling a sense of contentment. “what about you? what’s your favorite part of the festival?”

xavier takes a sip from his cup of tea, thinking for a moment. “i think it’s the way people come together, sharing these traditions. it reminds me of what’s important.”

you nod in agreement, feeling the connection between you deepen. “i feel that too. it’s nice to be reminded of the simple things.”

xavier’s eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you fades away. “yeah. and it’s nice to share those moments with someone who understands.”

you smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “i’m really glad we’re here together.”

xavier reaches out, his hand brushing against yours in a gentle, lingering touch. “so am i.”

the night continues, the festival lights now distant but the feeling of togetherness strong between you. as you sit there, sharing a quiet moment with xavier, you realize how much more meaningful these simple times can be.

rafayel

as the mooncake festival fills the streets with glowing lanterns and soft laughter, rafayel stands beside you, his usual calm demeanor present, but there’s something different in his eyes tonight. a quiet intensity, like he's carrying a secret.

“let’s step away for a moment,” he says, his voice soft yet certain. he gently takes your hand, guiding you through the crowd, away from the noise, until you find a quiet corner near a beautiful lantern display. the warm, flickering light casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the small, subtle smile playing at his lips.

“i have something for you,” he finally says, pulling a small, wrapped box from the inner pocket of his jacket. his eyes flicker to yours, almost nervously, before he holds it out to you. “i thought... it might be fitting for tonight.”

you take the gift from him, fingers brushing against his briefly, and unwrap it slowly, savoring the moment. inside is a delicately crafted lantern, but not just any lantern. carved into its surface is a symbol—one you recognize from lemurian culture, something ancient and meaningful.

“rafayel… it’s beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the symbol with your fingers. “did you have this made?”

he nods, his gaze steady but filled with something deeper, something unspoken. “it’s a symbol of protection,” he explains quietly. “i wanted to give you something that would... keep you safe. especially tonight.”

his words are understated, but the weight of them presses gently against your heart. he’s never been one for grand gestures or loud proclamations. this, however, feels more intimate than any words could express.

“thank you,” you say softly, looking up at him. “it means more than you know.”

rafayel looks down for a moment, almost shy, before meeting your gaze again. “i don’t usually give gifts,” he admits, a hint of awkwardness in his tone, “but i wanted you to have something... special.”

you smile, feeling the warmth between you both, not just from the lanterns around but from the quiet affection that rafayel often keeps hidden. you step closer, feeling the moment stretch between you, unspoken but deeply felt.

“i’ll treasure it,” you promise, holding the lantern close. rafayel gives a soft nod, a rare, genuine smile tugging at his lips, as the night deepens, the festival around you a soft backdrop to the intimacy you share.

later in the evening, after wandering through the festival and enjoying the sights, rafayel pauses by a quiet area where lanterns hang low, casting a golden glow on the cobblestone path. he looks at you with a thoughtful expression.

“sit for me,” he says, pulling a small sketchpad and a few brushes from his bag. “i want to capture you... right now, under the light.”

you chuckle, a little shy but flattered. “right here? now?”

he nods, already setting up his canvas. “the lighting is perfect. it’ll only take a few minutes.”

you settle onto a nearby bench, feeling the soft warmth of the lanterns overhead. rafayel’s focus sharpens as he begins to work, his hands moving with precision. the strokes of his brush are deliberate, and you can tell he’s completely lost in the moment, immersed in the way the light plays across your features.

“you’re really serious about this, huh?” you tease lightly, but there’s admiration in your voice.

“i’m always serious when it comes to my art,” he replies without looking up, though there’s a hint of a smile in his voice. “and when it comes to you.”

your heart flutters at his words, but before you can respond, something soft brushes against your legs. you glance down to see a small, fluffy cat weaving its way around your ankles. you stifle a laugh, knowing rafayel’s well-known fear of cats.

the cat, curious and bold, leaps up onto the edge of rafayel’s canvas, knocking his brush from his hand. he freezes, his eyes wide in alarm, completely thrown off by the unexpected intruder.

“oh no... a monster...” he mutters, his voice tense, as he tries to inch away from the cat without making any sudden movements.

you can’t hold back your laughter anymore. “rafayel, it’s just a cat!” you giggle, standing up to shoo the cat away. “it’s not going to hurt you.”

“i know that,” he says defensively, though his body remains stiff. “it’s just... i don’t particularly like them.”

the cat, seemingly sensing his discomfort, decides to settle right on top of his palette, smudging the paint in the process. rafayel’s expression is a mix of frustration and panic, but you can’t help but find it endearing.

“you’re going to have to include the cat in the painting now,” you tease, trying to gently lift the cat away, but it stubbornly remains on the palette, its tail flicking.

rafayel sighs, shaking his head. “i suppose i don’t have much of a choice, do i?” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking up despite himself.

“come on, pose with it,” he adds, his tone lighter now. “let’s make this a proper portrait.”

you sit back down, this time with the cat in your lap, and strike a playful pose. rafayel, still a little uneasy, starts painting again, but the moment has turned softer, funnier. you talk while he paints, teasing him about his fear, and he plays along, opening up more than usual as the night drifts on.

“you know,” he says quietly after a while, “i’ve never painted anyone like this before.”

“like what?” you ask, curious.

“someone who can make me forget everything else,” he murmurs, his eyes soft as they meet yours. “even the things i’m afraid of.”

the intimacy in his words, in the way he looks at you, warms you more than the lanterns surrounding you ever could. and as you sit there, cat in your lap, rafayel painting your portrait under the moonlight, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you, sharing a moment that’s as tender as it is unforgettable.

caleb

the soft glow of lanterns hangs in the air, the sky above skyhaven illuminated by the full moon. you and caleb sit side by side on a low bench, surrounded by the bustling energy of the mooncake festival. despite the crowd, it feels like it’s just the two of you, tucked away from the noise, with a plate of mooncakes resting between you.

caleb nudges the plate a little closer to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “think you can catch it if i toss it to you?” he asks, already floating a mooncake slightly off the plate with his telekinesis.

you laugh, shaking your head. “you’re just going to make it hover out of my reach like last time, aren’t you?”

“i promise i’ll be nice this time,” he says with a playful grin, though you’re not entirely convinced. the mooncake hovers in front of you for a moment, just close enough to touch, before it floats upward, just a little higher. you make a grab for it, but it drifts back, teasing you.

“caleb!” you protest, though you can’t help but laugh. “you’re cheating again!”

he chuckles, watching you try again, letting you get just close enough to almost catch it before pulling it back once more. “what, you didn’t think i’d make it easy, did you?” he teases, his smile wide and warm.

you roll your eyes, standing up this time to get a better angle. “you’re impossible, you know that?” you say, taking a playful swipe at the mooncake. this time, he lets it drift into your hands, your fingers brushing against its soft surface.

“there, see? you won,” caleb says, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “but i still had fun.”

you hold the mooncake triumphantly, though the look on his face tells you he let you win on purpose. you sit back down beside him, bumping his shoulder lightly. “you’re lucky i’m a good sport.”

as you take a bite of the mooncake, caleb shifts slightly, his hand reaching into his jacket pocket. you watch him curiously as he pulls out a small box, his expression softening. he opens it slowly, revealing a delicate necklace with a crescent moon pendant, its silver surface glinting in the lantern light.

“what’s this?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“it’s for you,” caleb says quietly, lifting the necklace out of the box with his telekinesis. it hovers between you for a moment, the moon-shaped pendant catching the light in a way that makes it seem to glow. “i saw it and thought of you.”

you can feel your heart skip a beat as the necklace floats gently toward you, stopping just above your chest. caleb’s gaze softens as he watches you, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more sincere, more intimate.

“caleb, it’s beautiful,” you whisper, your fingers brushing the pendant as it hovers in front of you. “you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” he interrupts softly, his voice low. “the moon... it always reminds me of the time we spent together, back in linkon city. this festival... it’s special to me, because you’re here.”

he uses his telekinesis to carefully place the necklace around your neck, the cool metal of the pendant settling just above your collarbone. the gesture is tender, almost too intimate, and you find yourself leaning a little closer to him, feeling the warmth of his presence beside you.

“you’re always showing off,” you say, teasing him gently, though there’s no malice in your tone. “but... i really love it. thank you, caleb.”

his lips twitch into a small smile, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. the quiet between you feels natural, comfortable. the lanterns above flicker softly in the evening breeze, casting a gentle glow over the two of you.

“you know,” caleb says after a while, “i always liked teasing you back then. it was the only way i knew to get your attention.”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “some things never change.”

he grins, leaning back slightly as his hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. the touch lingers for just a second longer than necessary, making your heart race.

“i guess some things don’t,” he murmurs, his voice almost lost in the sounds of the festival around you. “but i’m glad we have moments like this now. i wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

you smile at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “neither would i.”

as the night stretches on, the two of you sit in comfortable silence, the moon shining brightly above you, the delicate weight of the necklace against your skin a constant reminder of the quiet, unspoken bond between you and caleb.

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kingkat12 · 2 days

Text

hickeys (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, mentions of sex, softcore-y smut, tw!bullying, Roman using his powers for no good, he's being so weird about virgin!reader, angsty fluff lol

summary: after having sacrificed your friendship with Letha for Roman's limited understanding of love and affection, you suddenly learn the consequences of your actions...

word count: 7,406 (you know me, not sorry anymore)

a/n: this is part 4 of my series seven minutes in heaven! click here to read; part 1, part 2, part 3! enjoy!!!<33

Roman had a hickey right on the side of his throat. Thankfully, I knew who gave him that one-- me.

It dawned on me that I had never seen him with one before. Despite how easy it was for me to get lost in the feelings of joy, finding a sense of pride at being the only one allowed to do that to him, I remembered Roman hadn't always been open to these sorts of things. He had warmed up to it gradually, with everything starting as a small incident at my place a week ago.

We had been splayed out on my bed, my face buried in his chest as I took a casual mid-day nap on top of him. It had become a habit-- Roman would come over, we'd bicker about something, then make out for about an hour until he decided to take his smoke break on my balcony. But today was different; the both of us had just finished a rather hard math test, so we were absolutely spent by the time we hit my bed. Roman didn't even have the energy to smoke, and seeing how tired he was, I decided to be bold and cuddle up to him; however, I hadn't expected us to fall asleep like this.

Weirdly enough, he didn't resist my advances. He'd usually start feeling uncomfortable as he wasn't used to affection like this, but today, Roman had his arms around me as I laid with my head on top of his chest. I had been a little embarrassed to wake up to the sight of a tiny puddle of my drool on his sweater, and I tapped the spot with my fingers as though that would make it go away.

Roman awoke, groggy. He let out a low grunt as he raised his head, trying to get a look at what I was doing. "Is that what I think it is?--"

"No," My words barely came out louder than a whisper, now covering the spot with my palm as I looked up at him with a soft smile. "Did you sleep well?"

Roman, being the stubborn asshole he was, didn't even register my question. "Did you drool on me?"

Oh God, this was mortifying. I figured he'd find out anyway; I slowly removed my hand from the spot, sliding off him. "Sorry..." As I rolled over, my back against the bed, I could only sigh. Being Roman's unofficial official girlfriend was hard, especially now that I didn't have any friends to discuss it with.

However, there were moments where the hardships were worth it. Moments like these ones, where Roman now flipped over and unexpectedly snuggled up to me, his face hiding in the crook of my neck. "I've never been drooled on like that before," he said, his words muffled in my hair. "This is my favourite sweater."

With wary movements, I brought one hand up to his brown locks, gently stroking through them. I wasn't sure what the next sound from Roman was, but the closest thing would be a purr. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, my other hand running up and down his broad back. "Want me to buy you a new one?"

Roman huffed; "Don't be stupid. I'll just leave it in the washer here if you don't mind,"

"The washer?" My hands froze, no longer ghosting over his skin with gentle touches. "It will dry up in a second, Roman, get yourself together. And even worse, I might get the urge to wear it if you leave it here." I immediately regretted that joke the second it slipped past my lips-- in hopes of brushing over it, scared he'd climb off me and go back to being his usual self, I resumed running my fingers through his hair and up his back.

To my surprise, Roman didn't react much. The only thing I could notice was a rather shaky breath against my neck, almost as though he had just had a really tempting thought. Eventually, he spoke; "It wouldn't fit you very well,"

I did my best to shrug, although that was hard to do with someone on top of me. "That's not the premise," I huffed. "People usually wear each others' stuff when they're into one another. It's a cute thing."

"... So you'd want me to leave my sweater here?" Roman eventually propped himself up on his elbows, meeting my gaze. "Why? It's not like you'd be able to wear it anywhere."

It was in moments like these that I realized how little Roman actually knew about girls. He was supposedly very good in bed, but with feelings and affection? He was like a very aggressive puppy with gorgeous fur-- some men you simply have to train to be soft. "I'd wear it at home," I said, reaching out to brush his messed up hair away from his green eyes. "Especially when it's stormy outside and I'm doing my homework."

Something about my words seemed to be leaving small cracks in Roman's shell-- had I not been so observant, I wouldn't have noticed the way his pupils dilated or the way his features softened as he looked at me. "Would it be a one-way thing?" he asked; was I imagining things, or did he sound shy? "You get my sweater, and I get..." Roman propped himself up further, taking a quick glance around my room. It didn't take long before his eyes landed on the plain, black hair ties on my nightstand, and he wasted no time reaching for two in one go. "I get these."

Seeing him so serious about this exchange was too funny-- I couldn't help the giggle building in my chest, suppressing a rather obnoxious laugh. "Yeah, I think that's smart," I murmured, stroking my thumb over his cheek. "Your hair is getting a little long... Would probably make your life easier."

Roman rolled his eyes, huffing. "It's not exactly like you have anything else lying around here!"

There was no way in hell I was about to tell him that my room was this clean because I had predicted he'd come over. "Okay, but it still works," I reached for his hand, taking the ties into my palm before rolling them over his fingers, watching as the rubber bands now sat comfortably at his wrist. "There you go!" I exclaimed, beaming up at a rather perplexed Roman. "Sweater, please."

It took a few seconds for him to react-- his eyes fixated on the black rubber ties around his wrist, and before I knew it, I saw slivers of pink appearing on his cheeks. I had never seen him react to anything like this before, and I had no idea why Roman was suddenly unmistakably blushing. "Fuck," he breathed. "That's cute."

To hide his blush, he quickly wried his sweater off his body, throwing it away on a chair nearby before burying his face in the crook of my neck again, putting his whole weight back on me. "Promise to use it for dirty stuff too," he grumbled, probably to save face, before pressing a kiss to my neck.

I was happy Roman didn't see how brightly I was smiling-- I would've been told off immediately, and he'd most likely retract right back into his shell. It was unusual for him to accept any sort of affection, and I wondered whether he had let anyone this close before. The more I got to know Roman, the more he was sleepy and babbling around me, I realized that I had to gradually ease physical kindness into his life to make our weird whatever-ship work.

The whatever-ship I had sacrificed everything for.

And I would've spiraled deeper into thoughts about it, but the sudden pressure I felt against my neck made me snap out of it-- I realized he was giving me a rather hefty hickey, a familiar tingling sensation coursing its way through my body. I let out a satisfied sigh, my fingers burying themselves deeper into Roman's hair as he moved elsewhere on my neck to make a second one. "These will go well with the sweater," he purred against my skin.

I held back a shiver-- The hate I had once felt for him had quickly turned into whatever this was. All I knew, was that it felt good enough to distract me from the guilt that kept gnawing at me after betraying Letha the way I did. ｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The next day at school actually marked a month since the last time Letha and I had spoken on the bleachers. A month of staring at her longingly from afar like a kicked puppy and asking our mutual friends how she was. It didn't take long before they all heard what had happened between Roman and I, and they suddenly became Letha's friends only.

I didn't know how lonely I would be after I chose Roman, and it was slowly breaking my heart. Being blacklisted by nearly all the girls at school was tough, to say the least.

So as I rummaged around my locker, getting ready for my next class, I didn't expect Letha to approach. There was no way I could imagine she'd do that, especially after the way she had been denying all my attempts of reconciliation. But here she was, blonde hair styled to perfection, and her green, stern eyes meeting mine the second I closed my locker door.

I stared right back, at a loss for words despite opening my mouth to speak.

Letha cleared her throat, pressing her books tightly against her chest. "It's been a month," she tried, something about her softening with the weight of her words. "I think I might be ready to... talk."

My heart jumped up like never before, immediately thrown into a feeling of ecstatic victory. "What?" I squeaked, unable to stop my beaming look of joy. "Are you serious?"

Letha shrugged, biting the inside of her cheek to suppress her smile. "I think it's time to try, at least?--" Her words came to a halt the second I turned to face her fully, and her green eyes immediately found my neck.

My hair had moved to behind my shoulders as I turned around, revealing the hickeys I had tried my best to cover with setting powder and foundation. It didn't take long before Letha's softening look became one of horror as she took a step back, clearly repulsed.

I immediately went into panic, piecing it together. "No, Letha, wait!--"

There was no stopping Letha before she turned on her heel, bolting down the corridor with heavy steps.

I turned back towards my locker, pressing my forehead against it. There was no way in hell I'd let everyone see me cry in public again. It felt as though Letha had dug her hand into my chest and ripped out my heart, now squeezing it until it finally popped. My breath hitched as I stepped away from the locker, sniffling as I felt a sob build.

Just as I was about to leave and get to class somehow, the familiar scent of cinnamon entered my system. "What did Letha want?" Roman asked, his hands tucked into his pockets as he approached. His brows were drawn together in a disapproving look as he watched Letha disappear down the hallway in unmatched hurry, and I got a good glance at him when I finally turned around to face him. How long had he been watching me from afar?

Roman's glare quickly faded away when his attention shifted and he noticed the way my eyes had glossed over. His whole tough look disappeared within a sliver of a second, and I was unsure whether he noticed it himself. "... Nothing good, I see?"

I shied away from his gaze, my eyes darting down to my shoes. "She wanted to make up all until she saw... well," To demonstrate, I turned a little, showing Roman the once blank canvas which was now covered in about six hickeys that I counted last night. It was clear to me that my attempt at hiding them had failed.

Roman could only sigh, an infuriating grin now spreading across his face. "I'm going to say sorry now, but know that I don't fully mean it because... the sight of you like this is so damn hot," He leaned down, pressing his lips against my forehead as he took my face into his hands. I couldn't help but notice that he was still wearing my two black rubber bands just as my breath hitched at the loving gesture.

Something about the kiss made my heart skip, but another part was ripping at me; Roman clearly cared more about the fact that he had marked me than how upset I was. I hummed in response, not knowing what else to say before much later; "Don't do that,"

"Do what?"

"Don't kiss me like that," I mumbled, pressing my back against my locker to make as much space between us as possible. "Just... Don't."

Roman's first reaction was on display with a stunned expression, up until his brows drew together in what I could only read as annoyance. "Fine," he said, teeth gritted. His hands fell down at his sides, trying to save face as he took a step away from me; "I'm just trying to make you feel a little better, it's not that fucking deep." In true Godfrey fashion, he also proceeded to storm down the hallway, clearly flustered after being shut down.

I had to take a long breath-- this was a lot to take in for one day. Roman being in denial about his feelings also didn't help much. I wanted to run after him, grab his hand and tell him that he could do absolutely whatever he wanted with me, that I'd love for him to kiss me like that once more, but I knew I couldn't.

It was hard to believe how badly I had fallen for a guy who could barely regulate his own feelings. Someone who insisted on making it apparent to everyone that I was his without actually wanting to put a name to it. I let out a sigh, watching Roman get further and further away. Something told me I maybe should've followed him, at least asked him whether he wanted to come to my place later and sleep next to each other, but my plans quickly fell apart when I witnessed the one thing I hated seeing most in the world.

In the midst of his angry storm-off, Roman managed to turn his head to allow for his eyes to follow a girl with an exceptionally short skirt passing him by.

I wanted to throw up-- the hungry look in his eyes made me nauseous. Everything about Roman looking at someone in the way he usually looked at me made me want to burst into tears all over again.

No matter what I felt for him, one thing would never change; I hated Roman Godfrey. I hated him and the way he made me feel like a stomped bug. Hated the way he'd look at me after he'd make me cum around his fingers, the way he'd stroke my hair away from my forehead with the gentlest touch as I fell asleep, and the way he'd insist on driving me everywhere just to spend some extra time together.

I hated him. I hated this feeling, and especially what it had done to me, my friendships, and my reputation.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

... Thoughts of my reputation went out the window now that Roman was back in my bed. Nothing suggestive, of course-- he was currently half asleep next to me. Even more heartwarming, was the fact that he still wore my two hair ties around his wrist, and I could get a proper look at him now that he was resting. I loved this feeling; we were both wearing the items we had exchanged.

"It looks good on you," he mumbled, tugging me closer with the arm he had around me. "My sweater. I thought I would hate seeing you in it, but it's not so bad."

My body was halfway on top of his, and I couldn't help but giggle as he pressed me closer to his chest. "Why did you think you'd hate it?" I adored the feeling of being completely engulfed in Roman-- the lingering scent of his perfume stuck to the gigantic sweater I was in, and his big arms around me made all my pain feel worth it.

All up until Roman hummed, eyes still closed as his hands raked through my hair; "You wearing my stuff makes it real... Like you're mine. I don't know whether I want that responsibility,"

I could only sigh, unsure whether I should let my heart sink just yet. Sometimes, it was best to dig around in Roman's mud of a brain before settling for the version he wanted me to believe. "So you would be okay if I was with someone else?"

Roman opened one eye, glancing down at me as he raised a brow. "Are you with someone else?"

"... No,"

"Would you want to be?"

What an odd question; one he didn't need to know the truth of. "Would you care if I did?"

Roman opened his second eye, now scouring my face to check for cracks in my facade. Something told me he wasn't buying it, but that he wasn't about to take any chances. Eventually, he scoffed, rolling his eyes before closing them again; "Fuck off,"

"Fuck off yourself," I mumbled, burying my face in the crook of his neck. I tried to dull out the fact that his arm automatically wrapped itself tighter around me before I spoke once more; "Answer the question."

"Why?" Roman shifted, pulling my whole body on top of his, letting out a satisfied sigh now that all of my weight was laid on him. "It's a stupid question. Why can't we just enjoy this moment?"

He had a point, sure-- I just didn't deem it enough. "I hope you remember that I have a lot on the line here," I placed my hands next to his head, pushing myself up to get a proper look at him. Roman eventually opened his big, green eyes, and they quickly rounded out as they met mine. Everything about looking into his eyes made me want to squeal and pepper him with kisses; this was dangerous territory. I knew had to pull myself together; "I have, like... zero friends because of this. Because I chose you. And you not wanting to take on that responsibility or whatever it was that you called it, makes me feel like crap. You make me feel like crap."

It was clear that Roman was holding his breath without thinking about it. He stared up at me, unsure what to say; "... All the time?"

"What?"

"Do I make you feel like crap all the time?"

That was certainly a way to spin it-- taken aback, I furrowed my brows as I pondered the question. "Not... all the time, no,"

Roman hummed; he seemed content with that answer. "I know you're upset about the whole Letha thing," he said, his big hands traveling down to grab at my hips as he shifted me to sit in his lap. "I also see that I'm not exactly helping the situation, but... you can't keep blaming me for your decision."

"... Okay," His request was simple enough-- I was ready to adhere to his wishes. "But then you have to say it out loud."

"Say what?"

"That you like me,"

I watched as Roman's eyes widened, his grip on my hips tightening. His whole body tensed up, unsure whether to speak or not. It was clear that he was conflicted about how to tread forward, and I held my breath the second his plush lips parted. Roman sat up, his back now supported by my headboard. Like this, I was sat in his lap with my arms draped around his neck, and he connected our foreheads with a sigh. Roman's words eventually came out like a slow, warm whisper; "I don't know what I feel,"

It felt as though my heart had lodged itself into my throat-- what? I was about to start arguing with him, cursing him out for dragging me through the mud for nothing, all until Roman suddenly reached for my hand. He placed my palm over his heart, his eyes finding mine as he steadied his breathing. "I don't know what I feel," he echoed. "But I know that looking at you makes my heart beat faster. Feel how hard it's going?" He pressed my hand further up against his chest, something about his touch giving away the sincere nature of this gesture. I hadn't seen Roman doing anything this romantic before, and everything was practically perfect all up until he opened his dumb teenage mouth; "I'm serious. It usually only beats like this when I look at pictures of Sydney Sweeney in a swimsuit."

That's it-- I groaned and ripped my hand out of his grip. "Okay, that's enough. You need to leave, it's almost midnight," In an attempt to climb off him, I almost made it out of his lap before his hands grabbed my hips once more, forcing me back down as I yelped. My eyes widened as they met Roman's, watching his signature smirk spread across his lips.

"Where do you think you're going in my sweater?" he purred, suppressing a chuckle. "My sweater, my rules. Give me a kiss before I leave, at least."

I huffed as I snaked my arms around his neck, feeling his hot breath against my lips. "And why should I kiss you?"

"Because you want to?" Roman didn't care to try to suppress his grin, gently nudging my nose with his as his grip on my waist tightened. His voice dropped, getting airy as he whispered against my lips; "You want to so bad."

Everything about him made the butterflies in my stomach flutter-- it didn't help that his hair was tousled in a classic heartbreaker look, along with how ridiculously soft his lips suddenly looked.

Roman definitely noticed the reddening of my cheeks, concluding why I had gone mute. "Don't be like that," he teased, not doing a good job with hiding his amusement. "Just kiss me first, for once. Have you noticed that you never initiate anything?"

I held my breath-- "I just... don't know what I'm doing," My confession was unexpected, but it felt nice to get it off my chest. "I don't want you to think I'm clueless."

"But you are?" Roman's chuckle was one of mischief as his hands shamelessly trailed down my body, now grabbing my ass as he pushed me closer to him. "It's not a bad thing. Just means I can program you to my liking."

I didn't even act as though I wanted his hands off of me, giving in to his antics. Something about the way he was holding me made me feel awfully warm-- maybe it was time to take off the sweater? "Tell me what you like, then," I purred, putting my hands on his chest. I figured that if I had gone down this route, I'd continue my path with conviction.

Roman's smirk only grew, letting out a breathy laugh against my lips as he gave my ass a firm squeeze. "That's my girl," he cooed. "We'll start simple." He nudged his nose against mine once more, his lips parting before his words came out in a hot whisper against mine; "Kiss me."

His words were too alluring to deny-- I leaned forward, my hands carefully laying against his broad shoulder as I kissed him. A sigh of satisfaction escaped Roman, who immediately dug his hands into the flesh of my behind to tug me closer. Everything about the way he was reacting to me reminded me of our first date, and the way he had held and kissed me in the alley when we were hiding from Letha.

The kiss was slow, almost lazy; something about the moonlight hitting us was making it more intense. It mostly consisted of small, loving pecks, and many pauses to simply smile against one another. I wondered whether he had ever kissed anyone like this before, with a softness I didn't see in him very often.

It was hard to believe that this was the same guy that had me running around scared for him to prick me with needles. The only thing pricking me right now was the hardening of Roman's cock beneath me. With every twitch, every time his hands dug into my hips in an attempt to grind me against him, I could only grin into the kiss. There wasn't exactly anything sexual about this kiss, but he would always get hard from the smallest little things-- I couldn't help but find pride in it. At least this was another confirmation that he wanted me.

Roman eventually grew frustrated, now trying to rut up against me just for any sort of friction. With that, I grabbed the headboard, raising myself with my knees so that he wouldn't succeed. As he groaned, I had to bite down on my growing smile; the look on his gorgeous face was too damn thrilling.

Roman's eyes were round, his chest sinking with a shaky exhale as a rosy flush lingered in his cheeks. "Anything," he breathed. "Just give me anything. I'll take it."

"Anything?" I wasn't quite sure what he was getting at; "What do you mean?"

His hands grabbed at my waist, signalizing that he wanted me to sit down on his arousal once more-- perhaps that felt like a relief in itself? Roman stared up at me through his brows, his fingers digging into my flesh. "I'm not asking you for sex. I'm being nice. So I'm saying I'll take anything you'll give me... Even the smallest thing," He leaned forward, pressing a wet kiss against my neck which had me losing my breath within seconds, now whispering against my skin; "Just touch me." Roman's needy kisses trailed up my neck, jaw, and cheeks until his breath was hot against my ear. "However you want. Don't be shy, try it out."

Something told me that Roman was secretly into me being a virgin, after all this time of making fun of me for it. However, I wasn't about to say no to the opportunity to explore with the Roman Godfrey, and I eventually sat back down on his arousal, my cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red at the sound of his muffled grunt.

My hands went up into his soft hair, pressing a kiss against his temple as my fingers stroked through his locks. "There's one thing I might want to try..."

Roman turned to nip at my jaw, his hands traveling back down to my ass. "Go for it,"

I didn't want to give him time to change his mind; my hand in his hair tightened, pulling him away from me with an unexpected roughness. I was about to apologize until I noticed the way Roman closed his eyes, and the way his lips parted in what looked like pleasure. It suddenly dawned on me that he might be the type to like a little pain, not only cause it. However, I wasn't ready to explore that at the moment-- I had another thought to attend to.

Roman's head lolled back against the headboard as I leaned down to kiss his neck, and it was clear to me that he was enjoying himself. It was only when his fingers dug themselves back into the flesh of my behind that I got the confidence to pull through with my original plan; I sucked down on a particular spot, hard enough to leave a mark.

I didn't need to see his face to know that Roman's eyes were wide open with the realization of what was happening. I was ready for him to push me away, tell me off, tell me to stop-- but his arms only wrapped around me, pulling me closer in a swift motion that had me grinding up against his hard cock, and Roman let out a sigh of pleasure as he let himself be marked with a blooming hickey.

Something told me I had to be somewhat special for him to allow me to do such a thing, and it quickly dawned on me that I had never felt this happy with anyone before, despite his shortcomings.

I liked Roman more than I had ever liked anyone before, and I had an inkling that he felt the same. Who knew something so simple could feel so incredibly good?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Knowing I had Roman wrapped around my finger, despite him not being able to properly say it out loud, had me floating around in my own little bubble. Everything concerning Letha suddenly felt irrelevant, and it wasn't taking up as much space in my mind as before. All I could think about was the way Roman had smiled at me as he passed me in the hall, the red hickey on the side of his neck peeking out past his shirt. The cherry on top of it were the two hair ties he still wore around his wrist-- he was enjoying this, wasn't he?

However, I was yanked back into the absolute shitshow I had caused for myself concerning my girlfriends later that same day.

My previous friends had never done anything more than glare at me from across the hall. Maybe the occasional overdramatic huff when they passed me, an extra eye-roll my way, and so I did my best to not pay it any mind.

Which is why I was so shocked when the proceeding followed.

It didn't bother me to sit alone at lunch-- not anymore, at least. I wasn't about to reach out to Roman to ask where he was and whether I could join him either; but just as I picked up my phone, ready put away my nerves and text him, my gaze was diverted from the screen and to the three girls that sat down in front of me.

I held my breath, my eyes widening with the realization that my previous best friends were staring at me with the nastiest looks I had probably ever seen.

Oh no.

Breathing deeply, I did my best to harden my gaze and keep my guard up. "What do you want, Jasmine?" I asked, putting my phone down on the table as I stared down the girl in the middle. Jasmine was the one I had liked the least in our friend group, and I wasn't surprised that she was the one to take action-- the rest of the girls always followed her like dogs, and it had always made me sick; especially now that they were sititng by her like docile animals.

Jasmine cleared her throat, leaning further over the table in an attempt to intimidate me; "We're just here to make you aware of something,"

"Which is...?"

Taken aback by my lack of reaction, Jasmine's eye twitched just slightly as the girls next to her grew more and more uncomfortable. "Letha told me what she saw on your neck this morning. And sitting this close to you, I see it too... Do you not understand how it makes you look?"

There was no way for me to hold back my sarcasm; "How does it make me look? Do indulge, Jas," I couldn't even hold back my grimace at this point. "Why does it even matter to you?"

Jasmine's eye twitched once more, and she slammed her hands against the table with a loud thud. "What upsets Letha, upsets me! I'm just glad I found out what kind of person you truly are, and it brings me immense joy to realize everyone is starting to catch on to the truth as well!"

Despite how hard I attempted to stay neutral, unaffected, and unfazed, I couldn't do anything about the way my heart sunk. I couldn't even muster up anything to counter Jasmine's words, taken aback by the bluntness of my previous friend.

"Letha really wanted to reconcile, do you know that?" Jasmine continued, an evil snicker building in her throat. "But it's fucking disgusting that you walk around like you're proud to be fucking Roman Godfrey, especially when you know how much you've hurt her. Fucking traitor!"

Before I could protest, she reached for my phone which I had left unattended. There was barely any time to pry it out of Jasmine's hands before she stood up and smashed it into the table, the rest of her posse scurrying away from the table before the pieces of glass could hit them. I didn't have to look to know that the whole cafeteria was watching this scene play out; it was only when I heard gasps coming from around us that I truly realized the extent of what had happened.

As the glass from my phone had bounced off the table, the sharp pieces flying in every direction, I had covered my face with my hands. So, when I slowly pried them away from my eyes, turning them around to identify where the stinging of my skin was coming from, my eyes fell on the three pieces of glass lodged into the back of my hands. It wasn't too deep, not enough to scar or cause real damage, but damn-- it burned like crazy.

With tears in my eyes, I watched as Jasmine snickered, clearly unaffected by the fact that she had caused me physical harm; "We're ready to make your life a living hell," she hissed. "That'll show you. Fucking whore."

Something inside me broke. Usually, I would've fought back, I would've said something-- but I froze. Completely. I had never felt anything like this, the mix of both physical and mental pain turning me to stone.

Fuck. Was this truly how everyone saw me? Nothing more than one of Roman's countless whores?

I knew this would haunt me for the following weeks to come, and I couldn't fight the way my mind shut down. The need to get away overcame me; with shaky steps, I got up from my table, realizing I was about to leave school despite the day not being finished.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I had avoided Roman like the plague for the rest of the day-- I was almost as broken as my phone. I held the pieces in my hands under the dim lights of my desk in my room, nudging the glass around on the table. My phone had completely shattered, now just a heap of technology I held onto for the sake of nostalgia in a deep state of shock.

I kept glancing at my hands, my fingers ghosting over the three thin cuts that had parted my skin. They were thankfully not that grotesque to look at, and I was quite sure I could play it off as a scratch from a particularly large cat if anyone asked.

Or... so I hoped.

I wondered whether Letha knew about what had happened. Did she condone it? Had she been the one who ordered Jasmine and her gang to mess with me? Everything about this situation made my head spin-- Choosing Roman might've been the wrong decision. I kept thinking about an alternative universe in which I had never asked him to kiss me in the first place, or one where I had told Letha about my feelings for her cousin before it was too late.

It dawned on me that I had mostly likely made the wrong choice-- how was I supposed to deal with this?

Just as I was about to toss the remnants of my phone into the nearby bin, I heard a few knocks at my window which made me turn towards the sound. There he was, the last rays of today's sunlight making the bronze hues in his hair shine through; Roman tapped against the glass once more, eyes round with an emotion I couldn't piece together from afar.

I walked towards the window and opened it, leaning against the frame as I spoke; "What are you doing here?" My tone was sharper than expected-- seeing him didn't exactly make me feel any better.

"You haven't answered my messages," Roman didn't seem to be in a hurry about getting off my roof, making himself comfortable by sitting down by the window. "All day. Radio silence. I'm not really used to that from you, so... just checking to see whether you're having a stroke or something."

I did my best not to roll my eyes; "A stroke?"

"I don't know?" Roman shrugged, his green eyes never leaving mine. "What other explanation is there for a girl not answering me?"

I grimaced as I watched his expression. It was impossible to push down the intense feelings of frustration when I looked at him, all my love for him manifesting back to its usual hate-- I wouldn't have been in this situation if I hadn't met him. This was technically just as much his fault as mine.

Why did he look so confused? It suddenly hit me that he was being dead serious; he didn't get it at all. He genuinely couldn't find another reason for my absence. "Oh," was what I managed to say, clearing my throat as I sat down on the window sill. "Have you not heard?"

Roman blinked twice, clearly lost as he looked up at me. "Heard what?"

My eyes darted down to my hands, which I had covered with the sleeves of Roman's sweater without even thinking about it. "I thought everyone would be talking about it," I mumbled. "I guess that's a relief, then."

"What are you talking about?" The green of his eyes nearly swallowed me, and I found a tiny trace of genuine concern behind them, so miniscule I could barely notice it. "What happened?"

I wanted to disappear into a heap of nothing; it was so embarrassing that I had let this happen. My pride was definitely trying to choke the life out of me. "My phone broke," I breathed, automatically reaching for the hem of the sweatshirt out of nervous habit-- I felt my cheeks flush, nervous to be revisiting the moment that had haunted me all day.

Roman's brows furrowed, unsure how to react; "You made it sound like something really bad had happened. I could buy you a new one, no problem," He watched me pick at the sweatshirt, now reaching out for my hands to stop my destructive fidgeting.

I let out the breath I had been holding the second our fingers intertwined, feeling the roughness of his hands against mine. My eyes rested on the black hair ties he still wore around his wrist, a blooming warmth igniting in my chest and wading through all my anger. I was so swept up in the moment, comforted by the way he squeezed my hands twice, that I didn't catch the moment the sleeves of the sweater bunched up and revealed the cuts on the back of my hands. "You don't need to buy me a new phone, don't be ridiculous," I said, watching a single strand of his brown hair slowly fall over his eyes as he glanced down. "I'd feel bad--"

"What's this?" Roman's grip around my hands tightened, now bringing them up to his face.

It felt as though my breath had gotten lodged in my throat as I watched Roman's widening green eyes scan the surface of my hands. His brows drew together once more, thumbs swiping over the unhealed wounds. The touch made me hiss, attempting to get out of his grip, but to no avail. "It's the neighbour's cat," I tried. "I bent down to pet it, and--"

"This is not from a cat," Roman's gaze darted up to meet mine, suddenly a lot more intense than usual. "I'll ask you again, what happened?"

I tried to squirm out of his hold once more; "It's not important, Roman... Forget it, please. Actually, I'm going to have to ask you to leave--"

"Tell me,"

"No, seriously, drop it! Can't you just go?!--"

Roman's grip around my hands tightened further, almost to the point of making me wince. "Tell me," His pupils widened at an eerie rate, transfixed on mine. It felt as though his words were echoing through my head, and it didn't take long before I suddenly felt as though my inner monologue froze over.

And before I knew it, my mouth had a mind of its own; "They broke my phone,"

"Who?"

I really, really tried to fight it. Getting Roman involved in this drama was certainly not ideal, and I did my best to push away the urge to tell him; why was it so strong, all of a sudden? It almost felt as though he was controlling my mind, but it was ridiculous to even think so-- that was obviously impossible. Right?

I eventually got around to answering; "Jasmine,"

"... Who?" Roman was beginning to sound like a really confused owl.

"Jasmine," I echoed. "Letha's friend. She brought a few girls over to my table and smashed my phone. Called me a whore."

Roman was silent for a few seconds, his face going unnaturally blank. "These cuts are from your phone?"

"Yeah,"

"And she did it because you're with me?"

"... Yeah," Did he just insinuate that we were together? I held my breath, unsure why my mouth wasn't adhering to my orders-- I so desperately wanted to point it out, but I physically couldn't. What on earth was happening?

Roman hummed, his grip around my hands loosening. "What else did she say?"

I blinked several times in an attempt to get out of the trance-like state I found myself in, but nothing seemed to be working as long as Roman's gaze was locked on me. "She said she's gonna make my life a living hell," As I sniffled, I realized tears were pooling in my eyes. I squeezed them shut, shaking my head to try to snap out of it once more. "I- It's fine, though." It dawned on me that the trick was to not look at him-- I finally started feeling like myself again. "I just need to talk to Letha and check out the options for a truce, or whatever."

As I dared to open my eyes, I watched his blank face. Something about the lack of reaction was unsettling, on the border of uncomfortable, and it almost made me want to squirm. It was in this silence that a thick, red drop of blood suddenly made its way down Roman's nose, and he didn't react when it met his lips. It was almost as though he had frozen to his place on my roof, and I couldn't remember the last time he had blinked.

My eyes widened, concern filling my body. "You're bleeding," I breathed, trying to get my hands out of his. "Let me get something for you, Roman, it's gonna run down to your shirt!--"

Abruptly, he got up with a quickness I hadn't seen in him before, still not saying a word. Suddenly, I couldn't help but notice it-- the hickey on the right side of his throat. One he wasn't even trying to cover up. Despite how much Roman kept denying wanting to be with me, here he was, getting up to do God knows what whilst quite literally baring my mark on his skin.

I watched him, my brows drawing together in complete and utter confusion. "Roman?" Calling out his name didn't seem to do anything; he let the stream of blood run down his chin, now dripping down onto his shirt. I could only look up at him, unsure why he was acting like this.

Finally, Roman spoke; "Living hell, you say?" His voice was low, threatening-- it was suddenly clear to me that he had gotten a very dark idea.

These sorts of proclamations coming from a guy who had an affinity for pricking girls with needles genuinely concerned me. I got up from the window sill, ready to climb out onto the roof to join him. "Come on, Roman, let's just talk!--"

It was as though he was on auto-control, rushing to the edge of the roof before turning around to climb down. My heart beat hard in my chest as I nearly lunged out of my window, hoping to reach him in time. "Hey, where are you going?!"

I didn't make it-- Roman had already managed to land on the grass beneath him, his long limbs an apparent advantage, and he was now storming down my lawn towards his car.

"Roman!" I yelled, crouching down on the edge of my roof; this was definitely not looking good. My mind kept racing as I gave up trying to catch up to him, burying my face in my hands.

I was screwed. I was so screwed.

(a/n: check out part 1, part 2, and part 3 if you haven't!! thank you for reading, more to come!!<33)

#roman godfrey #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #x reader #bill skarsgård #fanfiction #oneshot #bill skarsgard #fanfic #angst #toxic relationship #ARGHHH THIS SERIES LMAOOOO ROMAN IS A MENACE

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222col · 22 hours

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second best | part two

★ patrick zweig x reader ★ you're after revenge, wanting to give patrick a taste of his own medicine, the question is, how long will it last? ★ 5.3k ★ 18+ | cw: smut: unprotected sex, choking, spanking ★ an: part one | take a shot every time u see the word thwaccckkkk

"you gonna win for me tomorrow?" patrick mumbles against your skin, his lips against your neck, arms around your waist as his hips buck up into you. you'd made it to the final of the tournament, your first final of a slam, in only your second pro season. biting down on his earlobe, legs wrapped around his waist, groaning into his ear. "yeah? gonna be a good girl and win for me?" he repeats, causing another moan from you. "you're so beautiful when you play, can't wait to watch you." it's as though the only time you and patrick are truly honest with each other is when you're fucking each other, drunk off the sex, too fucked out to play along with any games that exist between you. you can barely form words to respond to patrick, not that you'd need to, he can understand you without them. he mumbles more praise into your ear as he finishes inside you, panting against your skin. "my perfect girl." he whispers, placing open mouth kisses to your shoulder. my perfect girl. you're not even his girl, not really. immediately sliding off him, starting to get dressed as he attempts to pull you back onto the bed with him. "i need to prepare for tomorrow." you mumble, pulling your t-shirt over your head. "why are you being so bitchy these past few days?" he pokes, leaning back on his palms. "you've barely looked at me if i'm not literally inside you." you're biting back your words, holding in your anger that's so close to bubbling over. waiting desperately to chew him out, curse at him, scream every word you can think of at him, but you don't. you simply stand, walk over to the door, and tell him goodbye.

you'd vowed to yourself that your time in new york was the end of your time with patrick, as soon as the us open was over, so were you and him. you'd come to your senses after getting home the night of the quarter finals. you wanted revenge. you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, make him sweat. show him what he was doing to you was wrong, that you deserved better than second best. it might be slightly immoral, but patrick had pushed you past limits you didn't know you had. you knew the easy thing would be just telling his girlfriend, but that was almost too easy. you wanted to see him worked up, wanted to see how far he'd go denying his feelings for you. how long he could go before snapping.

6-3. first set. 5-4. second set. you were one game away from lifting the trophy. one game away from your first grand slam title. 40-15. one more point. thwaccckkkk! the ball bounces onto the other side of the net and straight past your opponent, feeling yourself fall to the ground as the crowd erupts. letting a scream fall from your lips, pulling yourself back up to your feet. patrick's the first you see, stood with your team, wide grin plastered on his face as you walk over to shake your opponents hand. after you collect your trophy, doing all your press junkets, you head into the dressing room. seeing patrick sat there, on the bench waiting for you. "congrats, champ." he sits there smirking at you as you drop your bag to the floor. you walk straight over to him, standing between his legs as he wraps his arms around you. "i'm all sweaty, get off." you mumble, despite his grip only tightening. "no, i love it." he grins, his face pushing into your stomach, kissing the fabric that clings to your skin. "so proud of you." he whispers, inhaling your scent as his hands move down to your ass, underneath your skirt, massaging the flesh through your shorts. his face turns up, looking up to you as you stand before him, ripping your tight top off your body. breathing in deeply, before patrick stands, letting you peel his t-shirt from his body. pushing you up against the wall, his lips attaching to yours. his hands roaming your body, pushing your skort down your legs as you move your feet out from the pool of fabric. "let me look after you, winner." he mumbles into your skin of your neck, undoing his jeans and pushing them down his legs.

it's messy, desperate, the speed in which yours and his underwear are thrown behind you. his big hands lifting you up, laying you down on the bench, his legs either side of it. spitting in his hands, wiping it up and down his length. his hands gripping into your hips, pulling them up to meet him as he pushes himself into you. your back arched at the sensation, choking back moans as he fucks himself into you. his signature smirk across his face, seeing you squirm under his touch. his nails digging into your skin, skin slapping against yours. your already weak body losing more energy, letting patrick take complete control of you. "that's my good girl, let me take care of you." he hums, biting his lip, keeping his groans stuck in his throat. his eyes are glued to you, watching yours roll back into your head as he lifts your hips up even higher. "feel so fucking good baby." he mumbles praise, bringing your legs up to rest against his chest. pressing wet kisses to your ankles. your hands gripping the wooden panels of the bench, head flung back as a loud whimper leaves your mouth. "shush," patrick hums, chuckling almost. "you're gonna get us caught, princess." he leans forward, contorting your body as he moves one of his hands over your mouth. your brows are furrowed, looking up into his eyes as he pounds into you harder. your mouth agape under his calloused hand, his fingers tight on your cheekbones. his grip on your hip moves to bring his hand to your cunt, smirking as he watches you squirm once his thumb starts circling your clit. he loves you like this, a whimpering, sweaty mess under his touch. it's his favourite sight in the world, watching you unravel under him. all his over thoughts disappear the second you're alone with him. he'd live in his state if humanly possible.

your body jolts, writhing under his touch as you fall over the line. moans slipping through his fingers as he works you through your high. his head flinging back, shooting his load into you as he feels you clench around him. "holy fuck." he groans, gripping onto your ankles as he lets his cum drip down from you. both whimpering at the loss of sensation as he pulls out of you, letting your legs drop down to your sides. "jesus, that was fucking insane." he mutters, chuckling slightly. "i know." you smile back, walking over to the shower to clean yourself up as he gets dressed. walking back out in a new skort and matching top, zipping up your jacket as you pick up your bags. "that was the last time." you state, lips flatlined as you look to his position by the lockers. patrick's brows furrowing, kicking himself off the metal lockers to strand up straight. "what?" he questions, his mouth slightly agape. shrugging your shoulders as you open the door to the dressing room. "i'm not second best." patrick's speechless, watching you leave. his body slumping down onto the floor, his head flinging back into the lockers with force. "fuck!"

it's a month before you see patrick again, at the next tournament you're both competing at. a stream of unanswered texts flood your phone, along with a collection of drunk voicemails left by him. swept away by the attention winning your first slam, your focus on your tennis for the time being. half way across the world, you check into your hotel, readying yourself for the players mixer being held. walking into the hotel's function room, the hall already awash with players as you strut over to the bar. "will you just fucking talk to me?" you hear the familiar voice in your ear the second he reaches you. "fuck off, patrick." you murmur, before ordering yourself a drink. "you're killing me." he groans, his voice needy. "why won't you reply to any of my texts?" he questions, as you stand by a table, holding your drink in your hands, not looking to him. patrick's following you around like a puppy, desperate for you to just look at him, let alone reply. when you finally do, look at him, his breath catches in his throat. your eyes are soft, despite the rest of your face being utterly unimpressed by him. "i told you. it's over, patrick. leave it alone." you grumble, your words like knives to his chest. "go cry to your girlfriend." you spit, bringing your glass up your lips, looking away from him. "i don't have a girlfriend." he returns, leaning on the table, facing you. he's drinking in every move you make, every time you blink, inhaling your scent after a month away from you.

that was a new development. you bite back any form of reaction to patrick's words, just placing your drink back down on the table. he opens his mouth to speak again but he's cut off by another player entering the conversation. "hey, i'm jack. can I buy you a drink?" he smiles to you, leaning on his elbow to face you. patrick rolls his eyes, watching your body contort to face the voice beckoning you. "she's already got one." patrick mumbles, before you cut him off and nod your head to the brunette on the other side of you. "yeah, i'd like that." patrick grumbles, rolling his eyes as he watches you walk over to the bar, leaning his back on the table, glancing down to your half empty drink left beside him. he thought things would be easier, seeing you again. thought you'd come running back into his arms, especially now he'd dumped his girlfriend. but you don't. you spit at him, crush him more than the month of unanswered texts did. he sighs, picking up the remainder of your drink, downing it all as he watches you laugh and lean into the guy you're with. he spends the night sulking, drinking, watching you. pushing away the people who attempt to talk to him, too focused on watching your interactions. you're hanging onto jack's arm by the end of the night, letting him lead you upstairs, to his room. all patrick can do is watch. watch you slip further away from his grasp, while drowning his sorrows in more alcohol, that he won't be thankful for tomorrow during the first round of press.

patrick's there, always there, wherever you are the whole weekend of press and promo. following you around, just to see you. even if it means seeing you flirt and shower men that aren't him in your attention. he's lost, dumfounded on how to act if you aren't with him. desperate just to hear your velvety voice, see your lips upturn in reaction to his words, not someone else. he's consumed with need, attempting to distract himself with his tennis, not that it's working. he's panting, sweat dripping from his body on the practise courts when you walk out. seeing jack on the other side of you, carrying both sets of racket bags. throwing the ball down onto the floor a few times, breathing in before serving it across the court, met with a nod of approval by his coach. his eyes coast over to you, setting up your things, ready to play against jack. you've replaced him. you're doing everything you used to with patrick, but with another man. you don't need him anymore. it doesn't help patrick's ego that jack's ranking is much higher than his own. patrick attempts to carry on with his training, ignore the distraction of you only two courts away, but he's struggling. "get it together, patrick. c'mon." his coach presses, shouting over instructions as balls keep flying his way. it's almost impossible to concentrate on anything that isn't you. especially when he hears your grunts as you hit the ball over the net. trying to snap himself out of it, out of the very impure thoughts he's thinking. thwaccckkkk! patrick serves the ball with all his frustrations, receiving eyes on him as he does. "not bad, zweig." you half smile to him across the courts. he swears his heart stops beating.

you'd both made it through the round of 32, you're sitting in the recovery pool a couple hours after the match when patrick walks in. you don't notice the door open, only noticing his presence when his smirk forms in front of you, slipping into the small pool, sitting opposite you. "i see you're enjoying the tournament." patrick teases, his arms spread over the edges of the pool. "it's only just started." you return, pulling your legs closer to your body, away from his. "i meant more the company." he pushes, that signature smirk not leaving his lips. he wants to push you, tease you, how you're pushing him. "not that it's any of your business." you scoff, titling your head over to where he sits in the water, trying to read his expression. his hands raise in defence as he sucks on his teeth. "are you gonna be like this with me for the rest of the tour?" his tone becoming more serious as he gulps. his heart rate quickening, realising how close your body is, in such little clothing. he hadn't been alone with you for over a month, his teeth chewing on the inside of his cheek, holding back his urge to reach out and touch you. you don't respond, just rolling your eyes and looking away from him. "tell me you don't want me and i'll leave you alone." the words leave patrick's lips before he can even realise what he's said. his stomach in knots the second he realises what he's proposed, he wouldn't be able to stay away even if you did tell him that. "i don't want you." the words hit his chest before his ears, his gaze on you intense as his bottom lip is moves between his teeth. patrick's brows furrow, just looking at you as his body floods with emotion. "you don't mean that." he chokes out. all you do is stare back at him, your face unreadable as you do. the water splashes onto your chest as patrick abruptly exists the pool, wrapping the towel around his waist as he looks down to you, your eyes lifting to look up to him. your gaze still soft, as it always is with patrick. "whatever." he mumbles, pushing the door open as he scrambles out of the room.

you distract yourself with tennis, or attempt to. lying to yourself that you don't want patrick. that you don't want to run to him, to be with him, to be his. if it wasn't tennis you used as a distraction, it was jack. he knew your head was elsewhere, so was his, so it worked. you were making your way through the tournament, into the round of 16, as was patrick. a lot of eyes obviously on you after winning the us open, your ranking moving up as well as the media circus that followed you. 'new tennis power couple?' was the article you were sent, with pictures of you and jack attached. rolling your eyes as you scrolled mindlessly through the so called news site. laughing about it with jack as you joined up with him for lunch, hearing the whispers around the hall as you sat together. patrick sat alone, pushing around the food on his plate, seeing the updates come out about you and jack. he should have known not to believe it, he knows how the media can be. you're barely even touching jack in the pictures, he doesn't know you like patrick does. but it doesn't stop the pit in his stomach as he watches the two of you together. it's only when he's alone in his hotel room that he texts you, adding another message to the number of texts he'd sent over the course of the month.

patrick: i know i said i'd back off but just tell me it's not true

sighing at notification on your phone, the bright screen lighting up the empty room. you try to fight off the urge to reply, knowing exactly what he's referencing. eventually, your head wins, turning the phone off and going to downstairs to the hotel lobby, your next match wasn't until the day after tomorrow. the read receipt highlighted on patrick's phone as he sits on the chat. throwing the phone across the room after a while of sitting there waiting. after throwing a shirt on his body, he wandered down to the hotel lobby. you're already down there, sat alone with a drink in hand. patrick quietly orders himself a drink and sits down across from you. "please, just talk to me." he sighs, leaning closer to you over the table. "patrick, i-" your defences are down, too tired, too frustrated. "i know i hurt you, okay? i'll never forgive myself for that, but i miss you." he babbles, his hand inching closer towards yours. "i'm so sorry, i want you, okay, just you." he whispers, his words coming out more like sobs than fully formed sentences. you're about to open your mouth to reply, when jack appears in front of you. you'd texted him to meet you down here. looking to patrick before back up to jack, standing up to kiss his lips. it was a low blow, you knew that, but patrick deserved it. he'd ruined your self-respect, you earned your right to serve his karma to him. patrick doesn't say anything, just watches. watches your hands wrap in his hair, watches your body melt against his, watches his heart get ripped out of his chest. you make eye contact with patrick as you push jack away towards the elevators, his face emotionless.

it was fate. horrible, twisted fate that patrick would draw jack in the quarter finals. everyone was backing jack to win, he was on paper the better player. more pragmatic, less chaotic than patrick. but patrick knew he had a point to prove. his eyes immediately found you in the stands at he walks out onto the court, his smirk present as he sets down his things. you're sat with a few of the friends you've made during the tour, barely able to focus on the conversation around you, eyes darting between patrick and jack sitting before you on the court. thwaccckkkk! your nails are half bitten off by the end of the first set, your heart in your chest at the end of the second. 6-2, 6-4. one set each. patrick was playing more erratically than usual, his curls slick to his forehead, sweat dripping down his chin. thwaccckkkk! patrick's eyes dart to you. "game, set, match, zweig." patrick's body slumps to the floor, his arms resting on his knees, catching his breath before walking across the court to shake jack's hand. his eyes dart up to you again, to your empty seat. his eyes search for you, catching a glimpse of you exiting the stands. slumping down onto the floor again, thinking how it didn't mean anything. his win, to you, met nothing.

it's 10pm when you hear the knocking on your hotel door, jumping up from your place on the bed, opening the door to patrick. ready to close the door on him before he barges in. "i fucking won, and you just leave?" his voice already raised, facing you as you close the door. "so what?" you scoff, arms crossed against your chest. "i won, i beat him." his tone angry, his chest already pounding. "i didn't realise you were playing for my attention." your words are sharp, cutting through to him. "of course i fucking was!" patrick shouts, his body only two foot away from your own. "everything i do is to get your attention." his voice still raised. your lips are flat, just staring at him, but eyes still soft. "you are killing me." he almost whispers. "patrick, this was never going to end well, just look at how we started." your voice starts to increase in volume, fed up of this wounded puppy display patrick is showing. "i don't want it to end at all." you're both shouting now, not caring about who can hear through the hotel walls. "this is fucking ridiculous, i'm not your girlfriend, never fucking was." you spit your words out, arms dropping to your sides. "i'm not the only one who was cheating, you know? or did you forget that when you jumped on your high horse?" patrick's words are pointed, his body stepping closer towards you. "yeah, but i actually dumped my boyfriend! for you, patrick!"

he doesn't know how, he doesn't remember telling his body to move, but he definitely doesn't mind that it did. his hands are cupped around your face, his lips smashed into yours. you push yourself off of him, looking into his eyes before immediately crashing your lips back onto his. it's messy, tongues slipping over each others, your hands grabbing at the fabric around his waist. "tell me you want me." patrick mumbles into your mouth, his hands moving to grip at the hairs on your scalp. a grumble falls from you, your tongue pushing further into patrick's mouth before he pulls your head away by your hair. forcing your eyes to look to his, his fist balled around your hair. "tell me you fucking want me." you want to punch the smirk off his face, your breath heavy as you stare into his half-lidded eyes. "i want you." he pulls your head back further. "tell me again." your mouth agape, a quiet whimper escaping you. "i want you." you moan out, his grip loosening as his lips attach to yours again, only parting to pull your t-shirt over your head. "good girl." he whispers, as your fingers pull his shirt off his body. it's moments before patrick reaches down, hooking your thighs under his grip, lifting you up and walking over to the bed. his lips only detaching from yours when he throws your body down onto the mattress. patrick's eyes are dark as he crawls over your body, his lips kissing up from your stomach before he reaches your neck. propped up on your elbows as his mouth nips and sucks at the base of your neck, quiet hums of pleasure from you rush to his ears like it's the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. "missed your skin." he mumbles against your jaw, wrapping his lips around your earlobe. "shut up." you groan, your head angling to expose more of your neck to him.

"oh, you wanna be a little brat do you?" his evil smirk shows again, fingers digging into the sides of your wrists as he pins them up above your head. he manoeuvres to capture your wrists with one of his hands as the other pushes your shorts down to your knees, slipping his hand into your panties, groaning as he feels your wetness. using his knee to push your legs apart, your shorts bunching at your ankles as you free your feet from the pool of fabric. "so wet for me already." he teases, his fingers sliding through your folds as he starts circling your clit. patrick's mouth sucking on the skin of your collarbone as you struggle trying to free your arms from his grip. all he does is push your wrists further into the mattress, his fingers digging into your skin. his eyes glare into yours as he watches every expression you make, not daring to look away as the pace of his fingers speeds up. "mmm, so close," you mumble, your back arching before patrick rips his fingers away, letting go of your wrists at the same time. "what the fuck." you grumble, a slight pout on your lips, only causing an evil chuckle from patrick. "you don't get to cum until i'm inside you." he smirks, ripping your panties down your legs before standing up to pull his shorts down his legs along with his underwear. "you're so fucking annoying." you continue complaining as patrick crawls over your body again, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "why are you so desperate to fuck me then?"

your mouth opens to reply, words inching out as patrick's hand wraps around your throat. "shut the fuck up." he smirks, his fingers digging into the sides of your neck as you fight for breath. your hand moves to grip as his wrist, watching as patrick lets a glob of spit drip from his mouth down onto your cunt. sitting himself up on his knees, your thighs resting against his as his free hand drifts to rub his cock against you. smearing his spit into your wetness, teasing your entrance as he pushes himself in an inch. your head pushing back into the mattress, eyes fluttering closed as you attempt to ask him for more. "look at me." he orders, his eyes dark and half-lidded as you eventually look to him. "good girl." he groans as he slides himself in fully. patrick finally removes his hand from your throat, moving to squeeze the flesh of your thighs as he fucks you without mercy. his nails cutting into your skin as moans echo around the room, his body falling on top of yours as you clench around him. his forehead pressed against yours, open mouthed kisses pressed to your jaw. your arms wrapped around his body, clawing at his shoulder blades as your legs move to trap his body against yours. sucking bruises onto patrick's neck as his hips smash against yours repeatedly. he groans as he slides out you, flipping your body over and pulling your ass up against him. barely being able to register what's happened by the time his cock slides into you again, scrambling to prop yourself up onto all fours. thwaccckkkk! the sound of his open palm against your ass sends a shiver down your arching spine, as loud moans escape your throat. patrick spanks the flesh of your ass again before grabbing a handful of your hair, pulling your chest up closer to his body. patrick's grunts fill your ears as the hand on your ass reaches below you, his fingers drawing circles against your clit. his teeth nipping at the skin on your shoulder as he pulls you closer, your back flush against his chest. patrick can tell you're close to the edge, feeling the way you clench around him and the volume of your moans getting louder.

"cum for me baby, be a good little girl and cum for me." patrick mumbles against your skin, licking the skin of your neck. his words force you to let go, an almost scream leaving your lips as your body nearly crumbles at the sensation. patrick's grip on your hair keeping you upright, humming into your neck. he lets you ride out your high before pushing your chest down into the mattress, his big hands gripping at the sides of your body under your arms as he fastens his pace. your face near enough buried in the mattress as you turn to try and look up to him behind you, patrick groaning louder as you do. "so fucking pretty like this." he murmurs, nails digging into your flesh as he slams his hips against your ass once more, filling your insides with his load. "jesus fucking christ." patrick groans as his body falls flat on top of you, panting as he places sloppy kisses to your back. feeling his load start to drip down you as he slides out and falls to the side of you.

your bodies are bruised and scratched, staring into each others eyes as you both attempt to return your breathing to a normal pace. patrick leans over, kissing your lips sweetly as you manoeuvre onto your side. "i take it that means you and jack aren't a thing, right? or did you just cheat on another boyfriend?" patrick almost laughs at himself, as you swat his arm. "you're such an asshole." you laugh, shaking your head at him. this is what he'd missed. your laugh, the way you looked at him, you being the only person in the world who could put him in his place. the way you put up with him, how you always knew what to say. moving to brush his curls off his forehead, letting your fingers rest against his cheek, slowly caressing his skin. "i meant what i said, that i just want you." patrick whispers, his hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer to him. "i know." you smile, your thumb still rubbing back and forth on his face. the silence is comfortable, eyes locked on each other, peaceful. waking up the next morning, it's as though everything has fallen back into place. patrick joins you training, returns to his regular position opposite you on the practise courts. there's no conversations about your relationship, patrick's too scared to ask. too scared to question, he doesn't want to risk pushing you away again.

thwaccckkkk! sitting in the box with patrick's coaches and the rest of his team, watching patrick play in his first final of his professional career. you'd unfortunately been knocked out during the semi-finals, meaning the rest of your time during the tournament was spent helping patrick prepare. you could tell patrick was nervous, despite no one else picking up on it. to the average eye, he was calm, playing as chaotically controlled as usual. sweat was dripping from every inch of his skin, his black tank stuck to his chest as he rolled the racket between his hands. patrick was a set up against his opponent, he'd won six games to four. his eyes glance over to the box, listening to his coach's advice, letting his eyes wander to you as he does. the silence is almost eery, not that he wasn't used to it during matches, but the silence before serves is when he really considers his surroundings. he's in the final, his first final. he's a set up, he could actually win this. you're a wreck, anxiously watching from the stands as patrick wins another game. a smirk rushes onto your face, watching patrick hit a tweener, to win the match. jumping up to your feet with his team as the crowd erupts. it's as though patrick doesn't register it, until he looks at you. his racket drops from his hands, falling onto his knees, letting the wash of emotion rush over him. he shakes his opponent's hand before security bring him through the crowd to his team. engulfed in hugs by his coaches, shouting how proud they are of him before he escapes their grip. moving down to you, his arms wrapping around you as he lifts you up to the air. "i knew you'd win." you giggle into his ear as he places you down onto the ground, his teethy grin not leaving his face. his hands stay wrapped around you as his lips crash into yours, in the middle of the crowd, in front of cameras from every angle. "i can't believe you just did that." you smile, blush creeping onto your cheeks as you feel every set of eyes on you. "what? i can't kiss my girl after winning my first title?" patrick chuckles, hands pulling you flush against him. "oh, your girl, huh?" you laugh, hands snaking around his neck, his lips grazing yours as he speaks. "you know you're mine."

#challengers #challengers fic #patrick zweig #patrick zweig fic #patrick zweig x you #patrick zweig x reader #patrick zweig smut

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writersmess · 3 days

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DEATH WISH LOVE | EVAN BUCKLEY

gif credit

Pairing: Evan Buckley x fem!reader

Summary: Buck never thought he could love someone like that. Especially not someone with the same death wish love as him.

Warning: Anxiety crisis, near-death experience, hospital, crying, ansgt.

Word count: 2.5K

a/n: My God, I can't believe it's taken me over a year to get back. I missed this place so much. It's been an intense, crazy year. I finally got my dream job at the best hospital in Latin America. I'm so happy, but at the same time it's demanded everything of me, working long shifts almost every day, but its the price I have to pay. I hope you like this one, it was based on the song Death Wish Love by Benson Boone, which as soon as I heard it I immediately imagined something with our dear Buck. I confess I thought I'd do something angsty, but I don't think I have that capacity, he already suffers so much that I just wanted him to have a happy ending this time.

Masterlist

................................

You were the new firefighter in 118, and also new to the city. In order to follow your dreams, you left your hometown with everyone and everything you knew. You craved for bigger things, you wanted the big city, you wanted Los Angeles.

The team welcomed you with open arms, which was unusual to you. You weren’t used to this or neither known by your affectionate gestures, but apparently everything was an excuse for a hug at the station. It was a bit hard to get used to all this affection, especially when you came from a place where you were always by yourself.

That was one of the main reasons you became a firefighter, you have walked through fire every single day of your life, why not make it your profession?

You were a source of curiosity between the team, always so quiet and so resistant to everyone's affection. It was hard to win you over. Especially because you had a rather difficult personality, you were fearless at work, you weren't afraid to go into the fire to save lives, you did it without thinking twice.

To Bobby you were a cause for concern, and sometimes the reason why he was having trouble sleeping. He knew this personality very well. It was the same one he had struggled for years to learn to deal with, the one he had to fight with so many times, he was very familiar with this death wish love, it was the same as Buck’s.

The blue-eyed man on the other side, couldn't understand why he couldn't take his eyes off you. Ever since you arrived a few months ago, your image has been running through Buck’s mind. You've become a challenge for him. But not in a bad way, he wanted to get to know you, he wanted to understand you. But you didn't make things any easier for him, especially when today was the first time he'd seen you laugh.

"You're drooling" he snapped back to reality when he heard Eddie mocking next to him.

"Shut up" Buck said, turning his gaze back to you playing with his niece.

You had a beauty he couldn't explain, an angelic one. You had this steely gaze and looking at you felt like suicide. He would fall to his knees if you asked him to. How could someone so delicate also be so dangerous?

The way you were reluctant to follow Bobby's orders, you'd walk into the fire without a second thought. You would take risks without thinking about your own safety, just thinking about everyone else. He saw how hard you worked, he saw how mad Bobby got when he ordered the building to be evacuated and you were always the last one to leave. You were intriguing and he was fascinated.

It was so strange for you. Being in Maddie's living room, with everyone gathered together like a big family, laughing and telling funny stories. The team met once a week, with all the families together, the children running around the living room, the smell of food in the air, the voices, the laughter.

You accepted the invitation after a few months of refusing, and now you spent the week looking forward to the moment when you would be together again.

Sometimes when you got home from a meeting, you cried. You cried because you never had that, you never had anyone who cared about you. You were an unexpected pregnancy, your parents didn't planned you, they didn't want you and that was never a secret to anyone.

And that's why you were surprised when one day you arrived early at the station and Hen had a cake for you that you had once said reminded of what your grandmother used to bake.

Or when another one Eddie handed you a drawing that Chris made specifically for you. Of the two of you playing together.

Or when Maddie sent you, through Chim, the cookies you said you loved one day while you were having coffee together.

Or when Bobby invited you to have lunch with him and Athena on a Sunday ‘cause he knew you were going to do it alone.

Or when Buck gave you a book he'd heard you say was your favorite during a conversation.

It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday. Your hands were shaking, your heart pounding. The words your father had once spoken echoed in your mind. "You will never be loved". But you were at a table with 118's entire family, and you felt loved. Maddie told you about the gossip from her work. Karen hugged you from the side every time you passed by her. Hen included you in every conversation. Athena calmly answered all the questions you were curious about her work. So why did you feel like an imposter? Why was your father's voice echoing inside your head? Why were you on the verge of an anxiety attack?

"I'll be right back" you muttered to the girls, but you realized how shaky your voice sounded. You were pathetic.

You barely made it to the bathroom, your legs buckled and you sat down in the corner of the room. You could hardly breathe, it was hard to pull in the air. Tears streamed down your face. Your heart was racing. Your hands were shaking.

You heard your voice being called from outside. Damn. You couldn't calm down, your hand was on your chest as if it could make the pain go away.

"Hey, hey. I'm here. Calm down, I’ve got you" it was Buck.

His voice was just a whisper in your ear. You let a sob escape your lips. Pathetic. You felt his arms around you, until you were all wrapped up in his arms. Why was he doing that? Why did he care?

He stayed there until you stopped crying. You were still in his arms, and it was so warm, so safe. Sighs came from your lips, and you couldn't imagine what a mess Buck's head and heart were in. He wanted you in his arms, not just now.

"I'm sorry," you whispered and tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let you, so you stayed.

"You don't have to talk about what's going on in there, but the day you feel like you need a hug to cry into, you've got mine" your eyes filled with tears again. "And don't ever apologize for it"

The smiles on your lips were becoming constant. And it was Buck's favorite image. You were letting people through your armor, you were letting your guard down, and it felt good. You now baked pies and cakes for the station on your days off, recipes learned from the girls after a few long afternoons of chatting and coffee.

Your laughter was contagious, and the boys would always crack little jokes to get them out of you.

Your eyes were now looking out for a pair of blue ones, all the time, everywhere. Eyes that were always looking back at you. Your hands were always looking for an excuse to bump into Buck's, just to feel that shiver run down your spine every time. And he would find any reason to text you, until the excuses became routine. You woke up every day with a good morning message and went to bed with a good night one. The little touches now became big gestures, Buck loved to brush your hair out of your face and tuck them behind your ear. And you loved to run your hand over the birthmark above his eye. You loved when his warm lips traveled up your neck to your lips. You loved when his hands ran over your body always so slowly and so gently, bringing goosebumps wherever they went. You loved making love with him. How he worshiped your body, how much he worshiped you. The way he made you feel loved.

You had a hold on Buck, and you didn't even know it. He had become attached to you, attached to the idea of having you by his side. The nights with you were the ones he could truly rest in, the mornings where he woke up to your soft kisses on his face, were the ones he would keep forever in his mind.

But he could feel that you were still resisting his feelings, and he was terrified of losing you. Buck was in love with you. It took months for him to realize that, but he did it. He loved you.

But one thing has never changed. And as Buck followed the loud murmurs coming from Bobby’s office, where he knew you were at, he kept in mind the danger you were in at every call. He couldn't lose you.

"Hey, what happe-" he couldn't finish the sentence when he saw you walking out the door, since you brushed past him, bumping into his shoulder, without even looking him in the face.

Buck made his way to the room, where he saw his captain wiping his hands across his face, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"She'll end up dead if she keep acting like this, Buck"

"I know"

"After the last call, if she doesn't change her behavior, I'll be forced to suspend her."

"I know."

Buck couldn't lose you.

You couldn't talk to Buck yet, you were so nervous after your conversation with Bobby. You were trying your best, how could he tell you that you had a death wish love? You were saving lives, and it didn't matter if it cost you your own. You didn't care.

A new call ecoed through the station. It was something big. A fire in a shed. People were working at the time, so there were many likely victims. You were anxious, just as you were before any call, but you were ready for it. You were born ready.

"Be careful," Buck told you before you got off the truck and you nodded. You were always careful "I love you"

You turned surprised to Buck, you'd never said that to each other before. It disconcerted you.

"Buck, I-"

Before you could say anything, you heard Bobby calling you to give instructions and you had to run.

I love you.

The words echoed in your head as you entered the burning building. No one had ever said that to you. You didn't even know the weight those words carried.

"Sir, follow this path and the fireman will take you to the exit."

It was so hot. You'd already lost count of how many people you'd pulled out of the line of fire. Your head was heavy. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Evacuate the building now," you could hear Cap saying over the radio. Everyone agreed and gave their location. You were about to respond when you heard something.

It was a call for help.

You could have sworn it was a call for help.

"Captain, I'm in the east side, I hear someone screaming for help. I'm close, I can get them out"

"Negative, the building will collapse at any moment. Get out immediately"

Your vision was blurred.

I love you.

You couldn't go out and leave those people to die, so you went ahead. The way to the door was difficult, there was a lot of rubble, and when you opened it, you froze in place.

It was empty. The fire danced in front of you, mocking you. But the cries for help... you've never been so wrong before.

I love you.

“It’s empty” you murmured at the radio.

Bobby was shouting your name from the other end of the radio. You turned around, but it was so hard to breathe. You tried to find your way back, but everything was spinning. Buck was now calling your name.

I love you.

His words were running through your head. Your steps were now slow. The way out, you couldn't find the way out. You could hear the fire laughing at you. Stupid. Pathetic. You heard an explosion behind you, and it threw you off balance, bringing you to the ground. You'd been walking through fire all your life, and now it would finally take its place back. Your siren buzzed in your ears. That would be the end of you.

I love you too, Buck.

The moment Buck came out of the building and didn't see you outside, he tried to go back. But hands held him in place.

This couldn't be happening. No, no.

Bobby called your name on the radio and you didn't answer. It's empty. That was the last answer they got. You weren't answering. An explosion. On the east side, where you were.

Buck's knees gave way, and he went down. All eyes were on the exit of the building waiting for you, waiting for a miracle. But it never came.

Buck screamed, and he would scream until his lungs gave up.

Time seemed to stop. Buck's screams were the only noise to be heard. And another explosion. Tears rolled down trough some faces. No one could believe it. This couldn't be happening.

Buck couldn't lose you like this.

"We found her" some voice echoed over the radio.

Buck's heart could stop any second now.

But the building was collapsing.

He broke free from his friends and ran into the building, dodging all the fallen and burnt obstacles, and he saw you. You were in the arms of a fireman. He ran up to you and carried you out of the building. As soon as you stepped onto the sidewalk, the building collapsed. Buck held you in his arms with all his strength and ran, feeling the debris fly past you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" was the first thing that came out of your lips when he put you on the stretcher and he shut you up, pressing his lips to yours.

Buck analyzed each of your wounds alongside Hen and Chim and you could see the tears streaming down Buck's face, the ones that were also streaming down your own.

You were still struggling to breathe, every inch of your body ached, and you felt on the verge of losing consciousness. Until you succumbed to the darkness that was calling your name.

You woke up a few hours later in hospital. Your hands were being squeezed and you could feel something wet running down over them. Tears.

Buck had his face in your hands, he had never felt so afraid before. And when he heard your voice calling him, it was as if he could finally breathe.

"I'm sorry, Buck, I-I don't know what happened-"

"I almost lost you today"

Your heart broke into a million pieces. You did this to him, your recklessness, your impulsive behavior. It was your fault.

"I'm sorry"

Tears were now streaming down your face and he moved closer, running his hands gently down your cheeks.

"I was terrified of losing you. I'd die if I do."

"I would never leave you"

"Promise?"

"I love you, Buck. And I'll love you to death"

"Please don't let it be soon"

You smiled. No one had ever loved you like that.

"It won't."

#911 imagine #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #911 fanfic #buck x reader #buck imagines

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rafecameronssl4t · 19 hours

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is reader close to her siblings in forced marriage? do they even like rafe? does rafe like them around? are they more big fans of the arrangements than reader? (sorry so many questions lol)

There’s a very interesting dynamic with reader and her siblings for sure. In case your forgot from oldest to youngest: William, Astoria, Edward, Charlotte, and Reader. (Sorry theres a lot that I’ve written but it is important for you to understand the different dynamics)

Reader is somewhat close to her siblings in the sense that they share a common upbringing and understanding of the expectations placed on them. However, this closeness may not extend to deep emotional bonds, as her siblings, particularly William, Edward, and Astoria, seem more aligned with the family’s realistic and business-oriented outlook. They accept the marriage and even support it more than reader does, even encouraging her to see the “benefits” of the arrangement.

There is rivalry between the siblings and this extends to their views on the arranged marriage, with William and Edward (more William) acting superior, thinking they understand what’s best for the family. They see reader resisting her duties, while they uphold theirs, causing friction. This dynamic intensifies reader’s feelings of being trapped in a marriage that her brothers—who are are the most influential between all the siblings—support more than she does.

William, as the oldest, carries the weight of family expectations more heavily. He’s more rigid and traditional in his views, holding the family name and prestige above all else. William pressures reader the most to fall in line with the arranged marriage, seeing it as a necessary duty. His approach might come off as stern or even condescending, expecting reader to prioritise the family’s reputation over personal happiness. His relationship with Rafe is sort of very much too faced, keeping up an appearance in the public eye and surprisingly in private but he is polite—he respects Rafe’s social standing and business acumen, but he might also quietly disapprove of Rafe’s flaws and temper.

Edward, on the other hand, is more level-headed and pragmatic. While he also supports the arranged marriage, he is less forceful about it, understanding that reader may have mixed feelings. Edward adopts a more measured approach, offering advice and reasoning instead of pressure. He’d recognise the practical benefits of the arrangement, but he would also empathise with reader’s internal struggle, making him the more approachable of the two brothers. His interactions with Rafe is neutral, seeing Rafe’s usefulness but not being overly fond of him either.

When it comes to readers sisters, Astoria and Charlotte, the family dynamic gains more depth. Reader’s relationship with them has its own unique complexities, possibly with shades of rivalry similar to what exists with William and Edward.

Astoria maintains a distant yet caring presence (in her own very unique way) in the family, strictly adhering to traditions and societal expectations. She is quite vocal and snappy, often expressing her opinions bluntly, which can come across as abrasive. While her underlying concern for the reader is subtle, her words often reflect a detached attitude, shaped by her values and the weight of family expectations. Astoria has a composed relationship with Rafe, treating him cordially and respecting the marriage’s social importance, but an unspoken distance remains. Rafe finds her sharp demeanor frustrating, feeling pressured to meet her standards, with her pointed comments creating an atmosphere where he feels constantly evaluated or compared.

Charlotte, on the other hand, is much closer to reader. She shares a more intimate bond, offering emotional support where reader feels misunderstood by others in the family, making her a confidante. Charlotte’s closeness to reader creates a stronger sense of loyalty, leading her to side with reader more often than not, even if she doesn’t entirely rebel against the family’s expectations. Unlike Astoria, her interactions with Rafe may is more direct, as she expresses concern for how he treats her sister. This dynamic leads to subtle tension between her and Rafe, as he feels that Charlotte is protective of reader in a way that interferes with their relationship.

#forced marriage au q&a #rafe cameron x fem!reader forced marriage au #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks #rafe cameron x you #drew starkey

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schoenpepper · 1 day

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Mwah!

Intro: Your way of love is spontaneous and loud, and your boyfriend is probably dying (affectionate).

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread

A/N: Sup. This is a request. K bye.

edit: totally forgot to tag mb i thought this was anonymous haha @fsh1

Masterlist

“What’s this?”

You glance at the large circular item in your hands. Sure the cake is a bit burnt, and the strawberries were a little more geometric than the hearts you had tried to shape them to be, but it’s not unrecognizable, is it? “It’s a strawberry shortcake,” you answer with a smile, “you like these, right? I made it myself.”

Riddle hesitantly accepts, but not without another question. “What is it for?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s the occasion?”

You laugh and move closer to him, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. He’s bright red, clearly flustered, and he shyly looks away as he raises the plate up to cover his face. “Riddle,” you whisper softly, “I don’t need an occasion to show my love for you.”

The housewarden of Heartslabyul cannot deal with random acts of love very well.

Especially if you do it in public.

He’ll reprimand you with a blush and claim something or the other is against the rules.

And as such, the best way to deal with him is to do all those things in the confines of his or your room. Somewhere away from the eyes of the public.

Unfortunately for him, that doesn’t exactly fall under “spontaneity”, does it?

Well, if you insist…

He’s a bit too whipped, for lack of a better word, to actually stop you.

Your hands cup his cheeks so lovingly while you’re seated on his lap, peppering his face with butterfly kisses. Try as he might, Azul can’t find it in himself to push you away. He’s almost shaking in embarrassment with the way you’re acting…

And because the two of you aren’t alone.

From another corner of his office, the twins are snickering and whispering among themselves, whereas his “client” is nervously averting his gaze from your scandalous behavior in between the eels. Azul puts his hands on your shoulders and asks with a trembling smile, “My dear, we’re quite busy here. Is there anything you require of me?”

You grin and shake your head, “Nope! I just missed you, that’s all.”

Your words are punctuated with another kiss to his lips.

Have you ever seen someone so embarrassed and shy that they physically collapse?

Dear, you will soon if you don’t stop barging into his meetings and flirting with him as if there was nobody else there.

Please have mercy on this poor soul.

His right hand man has gathered enough blackmail to last a lifetime.

(Jade wants you to continue, please, don’t stop on his account or his camera’s)

Azul isn’t very used to such flashy, random displays of affection.

But if it’s you…he supposes he can try to adapt. He’d rather not change you or your wondrous nature.

“Hold still, darling.”

You can’t follow Vil’s words—you follow the rush of adrenaline that zips through your veins and you move to kiss him, smearing the lipstick he’d just applied to your freshly moisturized lips. Your boyfriend looks at you exasperatedly while his vice housewarden (whom you did not know was in the room with you) is clapping and spouting nonsense.

“And which part of hold still did you not understand?” Vil raises an eyebrow.

“All of it,” you reply cheekily while wrapping your arms around him, “I feel like kissing you lots today. Is that bad?”

He huffs and rolls his eyes, but the slightest hint of a smile creeps up on his lips.

You’ll have to be a little more restrained, paparazzi’s always breathing down his neck and he can’t have the two of you be some after-dinner talk for others.

But in more private locations where he’s absolutely sure you’re alone, he’ll indulge you readily.

You can’t exactly control your PDA though, so Vil gets himself accustomed to magical disguises for outings.

Something about his favorite shade of lipstick makes you want to smudge it with a kiss.

It’s smudge proof, but keep trying.

Vil rarely gets flustered, but catch him when he’s super off guard and you can do it.

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twisted wonderland #gender neutral reader #x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #vil schoenheit x reader #vil x reader #vil schoenheit

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 days

Text

Invitation

Inspired by this post, I miss my precious vampire but schl work says no bg3 for me

Astarion stares at the closed tent flap in front of him, at a loss of what to do. He didn't think the argument the both of you had was that serious, but the silent treatment he was receiving right now said otherwise.

You'd stormed off in a huff, retreating into your tent and hadn't come out since, not even for Gale's cooking. That had made the others worried, and Jaheira had advised him to talk to you, but that was proving to be harder that he thought.

He pokes the flap of the tent, watching as the fabric caves beneath his fingertip and then bounces back. He knows you can see the fabric caving inwards, you're not blind, and yet he can hear no movement coming from inside the tent.

Why are so you so mad at him? It was a harmless joke, nothing more than one of his usual quips, yet you didn't react how he thought you would react. He'd rather die again than admit it but he was genuinely very concerned that this argument had broken your relationship. He didn't want to lose what the two of you had, he enjoyed it, enjoyed the moments it had given him, enjoyed the fluttering feeling in his chest it had given him.

Still, the words "I'm sorry" remain buried beneath the honeyed words he's used to saying. Apologising never meant anything good back under Cazador's thumb, and he's uncertain saying those words will do anything to quell your anger. For all he knows, you could react like Cazador, dealing pain and punishment despite his apologetic pleas, but maybe you won't. You haven't laid a hand on him yet, only giving him the silent treatment and stalking off to your tent. He continues to wait outside your tent, fiddling with his thumbs until he gathers the courage to say something.

"Darling? I know you miss me as much as I miss you. We can forget any of this happened, put it all behind us." He laughs nervously. He wants nothing more than pretend nothing happen, to erase the argument if it means you'll continue adventuring with him, continue protecting him. Still, there's no movement from the tent, no indication that you've put the argument behind. Worry gnaws away at him as the silence grows longer, but just as he is about to head back to his tent, the flap to your tent opens and you peek your head out.

His heart soars, chest fluttering with hope at the sight until you duck back into your tent, leaving him all alone outside once more. His shoulders droop and he turns away, crestfallen, but not before pawing at your tent in a last ditch attempt to grab your attention.

Your head pops out of your tent again, an annoyed look on your face. "Make up your mind about whether you want to come in or not."

Astarion blinks. "You'll have to invite me in first if you crave my company, darling."

"I don't believe I have to invite the vampire who isn't burned by sunlight and can stand in running water into my tent," you snort. "But if you sorely want an invitation, I can extend my dearest vampire Astarion Ancunin an invitation into my humble tent."

Astarion's cheeks flush, dusting them a light pink as he wordlessly ducks into your tent, settling on your bedroll out of habit. You seat yourself next to him, a good sign, and watch as he wrestles with what to say. A small smile creeps onto your face as he fumbles with his words, carefully picking them out so as to not offend you while being as genuine as possible.

"I forgive you." Your words are simple, but they cut right through.

His eyes widen, taken aback by the ease with which you say it. You smile softly, reaching for his hand but he pulls away, shaking his head.

"How…how can you forgive me so easily? What do you want from me in exchange? What can I do to earn your forgiveness?" The words tumble out of his mouth unbidden.

"Earn? After I gave it to you?" You tilt your head in confusion.

"I know forgiveness isn't freely given, but I don't understand what it is you want me to do. You don't want to sleep with me, you don't want me to serve you, so what exactly do you keep me around for? Just to pick locks? I'm confused by you and what you want from me!" Astarion nearly screams in frustration, then shrinks, anxiously babbling an apology.

He shies away as you try to move closer to him, his body trembling. His hand move to shield himself, reflexes honed over centuries of torture kicking in. You move backwards, giving him some space and he shakily looks up at you, confusion written all over his face.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Astarion. I will never hurt you, I swear." You upturn your hands, showing him that you pose no threat and he slowly relaxes.

"I…" He mumbles, picking at his nails nervously.

"It's alright, you don't have to say or do anything." You wave your hand. "Take your time."

He quietly sits there, contemplating his next move as you busy yourself with fluffing up the pillows and neatly arranging the bedroll. He silently watches you, his chest fluttering weirdly when he realises you're preparing the bedroll for him as well. This sort of affection…was a rare occurrence and even if it did occur, it was never to such a degree. Astarion lets out a sigh, and decides the best course of action is to address the argument the both of you had.

"Y/N…about the…little argument we had earlier…"

"Mmhm."

"I…want to apologise for what I said. I didn't…realise it would affect you that much." He takes a deep breath, forcing the next words out.

"I'm sorry."

You smile, reaching over to rest your hand gently on his. "I know, and I forgive you. I can't seem to bring myself to even hate you."

A laugh bubbles from your chest and you give his hand a squeeze. He squeezes back, the tension within him dissipating as you continue laughing, and soon he finds himself smiling. A fuzzy warmth envelops him and he shifts closer to you, wanting more of the warmth and light emanating from you. You tentatively wrap an arm around his waist and he leans in, indulging your need to be in physical contact with him. He lets your hand rest on his cold cheek, relishing in your gentle touches.

"Next time, invite yourself into my tent, Star." You press a chaste kiss to his lips, grinning cheekily.

"As you wish, my dear. Don't you regret saying it." He pulls you into a full kiss, hungrily devouring your lips.

"Never."

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #astarion romance #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #tavstarion #durgestarion #astarion #astarion fluff #astarion fanfic #astarion fic

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hildadoll · 3 days

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Understanding Awareness and Reality Shifting

Awareness, at its core, is simply the state of being—a condition where you observe everything without attaching to thoughts, feelings, or sensations. It is often described as pure consciousness or being; a realm beyond the ego and identity. However, when we consider this concept in the context of reality shifting, especially in relation to the five senses, it becomes more practical rather than an abstract idea.

To put it simply, the awareness you're referring to is the ability to observe both internal (your imagination, thoughts) and external (your current reality) things without judgment. In the understanding of Advaita (non-duality), it means realizing that everything exists within this awareness, and there is no real separation between you and the reality you experience—you're not "in the world"; the world exists in your awareness.

So, what does this mean for shifting?

When it comes to how aware you are in your current reality, it’s because your consciousness is focused on the sensory inputs of your present—your body, environment, time, and space. However, when you shift, you’re redirecting your consciousness from these inputs (your current reality) to another input (the reality you desire). The awareness remains the same, but it’s like tuning a radio to a different frequency. Shifting isn’t about creating or reaching something external—it’s about adjusting what you’re aware of.

Regarding who succeeded using the five senses method, yes, they likely practiced awareness actively, even if they didn’t call it that. By focusing their five senses on the desired reality, they redirected their awareness there, which is why it worked for them.

Now, about focusing on your imagination and not being able to see it manifest, this is a key point. Awareness involves not just "seeing" it in your mind, but fully immersing yourself in that version of reality. It’s not just observing, but your belief system also needs to align with that reality. The combination of being aware of something and believing it to be as real as your current experience brings about change. The reason you might not be able to "see" your imagination as clearly as your current reality could be due to still holding onto some belief in the rigidity and permanence of your current reality.

When shifting, practicing awareness means consciously focusing on your desired reality, feeling it, using your senses to make it tangible, and embodying it as if it is already happening. The more you do this, the more your awareness naturally aligns with that reality.

From this point on, we can develop a deeper understanding of what awareness really is and how it can be applied to shifting. Awareness is not merely a passive state of observation; it is an active process of directing your attention towards the desired reality. In other words, you need to consciously focus and use your five senses to exist within that reality.

The question of why you might not see the reality when you focus on and observe your imagination is likely related to not fully "embracing" that reality. It is not enough to simply imagine a reality; you need to feel as though you are experiencing it, to live within it. The point at which you accept that what you imagine is as real as your current reality is when your awareness aligns with that reality.

Many people, consciously or unconsciously, apply this awareness while shifting. For example, those who shift by focusing on their five senses add a layer of conscious awareness to the process of experiencing a new reality. Those who truly shift do not merely imagine the reality; they accept living within that reality. It is not just about observing a scene but about taking part in that scene.

The Relationship Between Awareness and Belief:

In shifting, awareness is not just about observing; it also involves believing in the reality you observe. For awareness to fully manifest, you need to feel as though you are there both mentally and emotionally. Simply paying attention and observing is not enough; you must believe in and internalize that reality.

This means: If awareness perceives what you observe as temporary or imaginary, it does not change your perception of reality. However, when your awareness accepts that the imagined reality is as real as your current one, then shifting occurs. Thus, awareness is a mixture of consciously directed attention and belief.

When you combine this process with a method, it might become clearer how to use your awareness in the desired reality. For example, by selecting a method and focusing your five senses on that reality, consider it not just as visualization but as a genuine experience you are living. Accept the reality as if it were a moment you are present in, not just a scene you are observing.

Awareness is a mental transition. The more you immerse yourself in the new reality both sensorially and mentally, the more your awareness integrates with that reality.

Let's delve into a deeper analysis of reality and awareness. In our current discussion, we focus on the role of awareness in the shifting process. This is a mental and spiritual journey where we aim to understand concepts of existence and consciousness. However, the most crucial aspect here is to set aside these theories and transform them into an understanding you can truly experience.

What is Awareness and Why is it Important?

Awareness is often something overlooked because it is always with us. Yet, we are lost in what we are aware of—whether it be thoughts, emotions, or even external objects. Take a moment to pause and simply notice that you are aware of everything around you. Your thoughts, body, senses… Yet none of these define you; they are merely what you are aware of. This point is critical: You are the observing entity, not the observed.

This is the same for shifting. Your current reality is simply a scene you are aware of. However, as long as you accept this scene as “real,” you remain attached to it. Transitioning to another scene (shifting) is merely about shifting your awareness to a different reality.

Now a deeper question: How does Awareness Form and How Can It Be Managed?

To be aware of something, there are two fundamental elements:

Attention – The direction of your awareness.

Belief – The acceptance of the reality of that thing.

These two elements are crucial in the shifting process. The reason you are aware of your current reality is that your attention is focused here and you accept it as real. However, when you direct your attention to the desired reality and accept it as real, your awareness shifts to this new reality.

How Can We Practice This Process?

It is essential to move from being a passive observer to an active creator. Consider these two important stages:

1. Directing Attention

By focusing your attention on a specific reality, you can move your awareness into that reality. This is a critical step in shifting. Your mind constantly directs attention to a point, which determines the direction of your awareness. Once you clarify the reality you wish to achieve, you must direct your attention to it. The five senses method comes into play here. Experiencing the sounds, smells, and textures of the reality you imagine—these are ways to focus your attention on that reality.

2. Integrating Belief

Once you direct your attention to that reality, the second step is to accept it as a real experience. People often struggle here because the mind continues to believe that the current reality is more real. However, when you combine attention and belief, your awareness fluidly transitions between the two realities.

Let’s explain this:

You are visualizing a scene you want to create. When you fully observe it, you direct your attention to it. But if your awareness isn’t fully there, you will only see it as a thought. To truly shift, you must believe that the scene is real. Mentally and emotionally accepting this new reality leads to your awareness shifting there.

The Harmony of Awareness and Belief:

Here lies the secret of shifting: the combination of awareness and belief. Awareness is not just about observing but about believing in what you observe with your entire being. The scene is no longer a thought in your imagination; it becomes your reality. This reverses the concept of “seeing is believing.” When you believe, your awareness begins to see that reality.

Returning to your question:

“Why can’t I observe my imagination as I am aware of it?”

The reason might be that when you merely observe the scene, your awareness might still be tied to the current reality. However, when you accept the scene as real, your awareness transitions to this new scene. At that point, “imagination” is no longer a thought but a part of your existence.

Ultimate Question: Awareness or Belief?

Shifting is not just about observation but about combining belief with awareness. The more belief you add to what you observe, the faster your awareness shifts there. Therefore, awareness is not just about watching but also about existing within that reality through belief.

Returning to the question: Is it just being aware or adding belief to what we observe?

The answer is: Both. When you add belief to what you observe, your awareness fully transitions to that reality.

This is the deep secret of shifting: the intertwined dance of awareness and belief.

Philosophical Foundations: Existence, Awareness, and Reality

The Nature of Existence and Awareness:

At its philosophical core, shifting is rooted in the nature of awareness and the essence of existence. Awareness is a fundamental force underlying all experiences. We are constantly aware—whether consciously or unconsciously, it does not matter. Our existence is made possible by being aware. You are aware of the world around you, your thoughts, and your feelings. But here’s the intriguing part: you feel like you are the observer, not the creator of what you observe, as if you are separate from them. Yet, when we delve deeper, we realize there is no distinction between the observer and the observed. This understanding is particularly grounded in nonduality philosophy. You and the world you experience are two aspects of the same awareness. Therefore, shifting can be perceived as moving from one aspect of existence to another. The true realization is that awareness contains every reality, and wherever you direct your awareness, that reality emerges.

The Flexibility of Reality:

Many philosophical teachings suggest that reality is neither rigid nor immutable. Particularly in quantum physics, concepts related to the observer's role reveal how consciousness affects reality. This forms the basis of shifting. Whatever we focus our awareness and attention on becomes our reality. In other words, there is no solid world; there is only a field of experience that flexes based on the focus of awareness and changes when we shift that focus. Thus, shifting is about consciously directing this focus to a different reality.

The Role of Belief Systems:

A common topic in philosophy is how our belief systems shape reality. Plato’s "Allegory of the Cave" is a prime example: people chained in a cave see only shadows on the wall and accept them as reality. However, when they step outside and see the light, they realize that their perception of reality was entirely an illusion. Similarly, we live in our inner caves, constrained by our beliefs. The essence of shifting involves breaking this belief structure to step into a new reality. The core of this practice is for awareness to move beyond beliefs and orient towards a different reality.

Practical Application: How to Implement It?

Understanding the philosophical foundations is the first step; applying this understanding in practice is the next. The practice of shifting is a way to materialize theory into action. This process can be applied step-by-step mentally, emotionally, and consciously.

Managing Awareness:

The first step in shifting practice is to become aware of where your attention is. In daily life, your awareness often automatically stays within your current reality. However, consciously directing your awareness to the desired reality is the first step in shifting.

Calming Awareness with Breathing Exercises: Start with breathing exercises to clear your mind and distance yourself from the hustle and bustle of the current reality. Take deep breaths and bring your mind to the present moment. Focus your awareness on your current bodily sensations, as this strengthens the foundation of your awareness.

Focus Exercise: In the second step, begin visualizing the new reality you desire. Use your five senses to feel what that reality is like. Here, imagination and awareness come together. This practice enhances your ability to manage awareness.

Transforming Belief Systems:

Belief is a critical element of shifting. Your mind may be tightly bound to the current reality because you subconsciously accept it as more "real." At this point, it is essential to form a belief in the new reality.

Recognize Your Inner Resistance: When imagining a new reality, you might notice resistance from beliefs about the current reality. Questions like "Is this possible?" are signs of inner resistance. Once you become aware of this resistance, remind your subconscious: "Reality is flexible and changes according to the direction of my awareness."

Affirmations: Use affirmations aligned with your desired reality. Powerful statements that remind your subconscious that the new reality already exists will help restructure your belief system.

Sensory Experience and Manifestation:

Instead of just visualizing the desired reality in your mind, make it real with your senses. This allows your awareness to fully integrate with that reality.

Experiencing with the Five Senses: Instead of just thinking about the reality you imagine, experience it with all your senses. Consider the feel, smell, sound, and even taste of the things in your imagined reality. Experience the scene in your mind not just as an image but as a complete sensory experience.

Embodiment of Reality: At this step, you should not think of the reality as just imagination. Immerse yourself completely in the scene you’ve created. Feeling as if you are living in that reality and moving, feeling, and acting as if you are there makes your awareness integrate with that reality.

Deepening the Practice:

Connecting with Meditation: Meditation is a powerful tool for managing awareness and consciously directing it to the new reality. Sit quietly, calm your mind, and then consciously direct your awareness to the desired reality.

Using Dream States: You can combine shifting with dream states. Lucid dreaming practice allows you to delve deeply into your subconscious and begin experiencing your desired reality there. This strengthens the connection of your awareness with the new reality.

In summary, the philosophy and practice of shifting are interwoven twofold processes. Philosophically, understanding that awareness is an unlimited and reality-shaping force allows you to materialize this in practice. Managing awareness and integrating belief are the fundamental elements of shifting.

Who Manifests the Manifestation?

Manifestation is often linked to the individual's ego and its desire to produce a particular outcome through the "I" consciousness. However, in deeper spiritual understanding, the ego is seen as an illusion; thus, the idea of manifestation is considered an extension of this illusion. From this perspective, true liberation means there is no individual desire left, and thus no need for manifestation efforts. In other words, there is no "I" behind the manifestation.

At this point, the "natural flow of life" comes into play. A liberated being is in harmony with the rhythm of life without ego. As a result, actions arise without great effort, and this state of harmony may be misunderstood by others as "manifestation." However, this is not a manifestation of desire but a result of pure awareness and alignment with life. Therefore, no one actively manifests; life simply flows, and awareness witnesses this flow.

The "Neti, Neti" Practice

The concept of "Neti, Neti" (Not this, not that) plays a crucial role in spiritual inquiry. As Nisargadatta mentioned, this method is aimed at finding the non-subjective reality behind all perceptions and understandings, beyond both the mind and the senses. Theoretically, "Neti, Neti" involves setting aside all forms of thought, belief, and awareness to reach the remaining pure awareness. Everything is seen as transient, disposable, and ultimately a means to reach the final nature.

This leads us to the question: "Who practices 'Neti, Neti'?" Questioning who is applying this method leads to a state of awareness where the concepts of mind and self dissolve. The mind attempts to go beyond itself, but paradoxically, it is the mind itself that is doing this. Thus, although the mind cannot ultimately transcend its own boundaries, true awareness emerges.

States of Samadhi and Liberation

Samadhi, while a significant experience on the spiritual path, is not the final destination. These states play a crucial role in dissolving the individual's mental constraints but are still tools for achieving self-realization. Samadhi is a state where the person transcends the mind and reaches conscious awareness, surpassing the limits of the ego. However, even this state is transient; true liberation is beyond surpassing all these states. In other words, samadhi is a mirror, but identifying with the mirror is still a trap.

The Paradox of Transcending the Mind

Ultimately, transcending the mind and achieving liberation begins as an effort of the mind, but this effort itself continues until it is understood to be futile. As Nisargadatta said, effort must be made, but this effort will not take you anywhere. The mind believes it is a solution, but ultimately, the mind itself is an illusion. Thus, transcending the mind requires a complete understanding of its structure and nature.

The phrase "the mind is devoid of mind" summarizes this paradox. The mind only produces thoughts and concepts; pure awareness is beyond these. In the end, shifting, manifestation, and awareness—all these are concepts perceived through the mind. True self-awareness is beyond all these, a state of silent and pure existence.

In this context, concepts like shifting or manifestation can be seen as mere "shadows" of ultimate awareness. They are reflections of the mind's operation, but true liberation is about going beyond these reflections.

Understanding the Connection Between Shifting and Non-Dual Awareness

Understanding the connection between shifting and non-dual awareness can help in grasping how conscious experiences and levels of awareness function. Shifting typically involves moving one's conscious existence from one "reality" to another, while non-duality implies returning to a state of pure awareness. Both concepts share a similar foundation from different perspectives: both involve consciousness and question the perception of reality.

Connection Between Shifting and Non-Duality

Conscious Awareness: Non-duality is based on the "awareness of consciousness." Consciousness is not an object of its own awareness; it simply "is." Shifting also relies on changing the level of consciousness to experience existence in another reality. In this sense, the essence of shifting is actually non-dual consciousness, which is always present regardless of which reality is being experienced. The essence of shifting is to move awareness through a particular "state" or "reality," but this awareness is always there.

The Illusion of the Self: Non-dual awareness points to the notion that the self is an illusion and that pure consciousness exists. During shifting, the concept of identity or personality is dissolved to allow pure consciousness to be experienced in a different "place" or "reality." This shows that the self or identity is not fixed; consciousness can shape any experience. While shifting, the realization that the conscious mind is an illusion allows consciousness to step beyond this illusion and enter a new reality.

You Are Already There: The phrase "you are already there" is frequently used in non-dual teachings. This applies to shifting as well. The key to successful shifting is realizing that you already contain what you are seeking. Changing your reality is simply about experiencing different aspects of consciousness. Therefore, shifting means becoming aware that you are "already always there" and expanding consciousness in that direction.

Awakening in Consciousness: The essence of non-dual awareness is maintaining conscious awareness. Shifting requires directing this awareness to another state of consciousness or reality. Practices such as meditation and mindfulness can help sustain this awareness in consciousness and make the shifting experience easier.

Practical Approaches

Focus on Consciousness: Observing conscious awareness is crucial in both shifting and non-dual practices. During meditation or preparation for shifting, observing pure consciousness and questioning "who you are" can lead to a deeper state of awareness during shifting.

Concentration on the "I-ness" Feeling: In non-dual awareness, suggestions like Maharaj's observation of the "I-ness" feeling can also be applied during shifting. Creating awareness around the question "Who am I?" and focusing on this feeling can serve as a bridge for directing consciousness to the desired reality.

Liberation from Concepts: In non-dual teachings, freeing oneself from the concepts created by the mind is important. During shifting, it's necessary to transcend the conceptual framework that shapes the current reality. This means removing the boundaries created in your mind to develop the ability to exist in a new reality.

#hogwarts dr #living in the end #loa tumblr #master manifestor #reality shifting #shifting #shiftblr #shifting community #shiftingrealities #void state #^#non dualism #nonduality #nondualism

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tragedy-of-commons · 15 hours

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"are you crying?" + blade + platonic/familial (found family father figure blade with teen!reader) please :3

"Are you crying?"

Oh no.

Blade's question - if you can even call it that, considering he says everything in that deadpan tone of his - hangs in the air for a stagnant minute and then some.

Maybe if you don't make a peep, don't move a muscle, he'll give up and go back to minding his own business. It's not too far-fetched! Despite how savage and brutal he is in combat, he's surprisingly calm (and daresay gentle at times). Maybe he'll read the room, absorbing your aura wordlessly like Kafka can.

He grunts your name, an edge present that wasn't there before.

...or maybe not.

You break your silence, whirling around to face him, plastering the hugest, most saccharine smile on your face. It doesn't matter if there are tears rolling down your cheeks and a bit of snot sticking to your upper lip (ew). You have to try to get him off your back before something worse happens.

"Crying? I'm not doing that, no, never. You see, Firefly was in here chopping onions earlier," you chirp, rattling off lies like it's your second nature. Well, it is, that's why you got roped into joining this questionable team in the first place - but that's neither here nor there!

Blade looks at you.

You look at Blade.

Deflating and dropping the act, you swallow, trying to retain some of your cheery tone while you sniffle. "Okay, you win. I just... it's been a rough day, I'm sure you know how it is."

If there's one thing you know about your ancient colleague, it's that he can't make small talk for the life of him. You don't think it's his fault, really. Silver Wolf let it slip that he's lost pieces of himself to mara over the years - some days he can't hold functionality beyond a weapon without Kafka's pacifying mind tricks.

So, trying to keep up casual conversation with Blade is akin to yapping at a brick wall. You've gotten used to it, sure, but the way he's looking at you right now - with a pinched brow and somewhat of a snarl - is starting to unnerve you.

Does crying piss him off? You understand it's not a pleasant thing to deal with (not that you expect him to). But seeing him this angry outside of battle makes you want to run and drop off the grid for the rest of your life, abandoning your very important Stellaron Hunter duties and Blade in the process.

You swallow, wiping your face with your sleeve. You can't seem to stop miffing him, because he stalks over to you completely in two strides while you freeze up in muted terror.

Is he going to execute you?! Has he decided to circumvent Elio's rules just to shut you up? Is your pathetic sniveling really going to be your undoing? Will the others have to scrape your remains off the walls and floor, your life forever immortalized as a reminder to keep the waterworks under contro--

He all but shoves something into your limp hand, closing your fingers around it a little too tenderly before sidestepping you like he's been scalded by boiling hot water.

It's soft, and you eventually realize it's a handkerchief. It's the darkest navy can pass without actually being black, embroidered with neat red stitching and obviously made with love. You don't know why he even has something like this - it's not like he ever cries - but you let the train of thought go in favor of soothing your frayed nerves.

You don't think twice before bringing the cloth to your face and wiping the remnants of your sadness away, trying to find your words in the process. Your coworker is now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with you, all traces of perceived anger gone. The foot or so between you and Blade isn't a wide berth, but it's still too far.

"Oh," you manage dumbly, now sporting a considerably drier nose.

Unimpressed, he replies. "I know."

"What?"

Okay, you sense his frustration this time. Blade sighs and wrenches his head in your direction for just a moment, exasperated and tense. "I know... how it is. Like you said."

You tighten your grip on the handkerchief wadded up in your hand. It's strange to hear him converse with you willingly, let alone try to comfort you (at least, you think that's what he's doing). Even so, his admission strikes a certain chord in your heart that's dusty from neglect. You sneak a glance at his figure, and when you meet eyes of burning coal, he returns to glowering at the wall.

Everyone on this ship has been through so much, especially him. You're certain that Blade does know what it's like to have some shitty days; he's probably had thousands of them.

You shrug. "Yeah... um, I figured. Nothing much I can do about it though. Bad stuff happens to everybody."

A lengthy pause stretches on until Blade takes up the mantle.

"You can't do anything about it," he repeats, statement curtailing into a dangerous drawl, "...but what about someone like me?"

Someone like him. Dread and something like fondness washes over you at the implication. The type of person he is - an eponymous sword and scabbard that slaughters on command - cannot fix the type of anguish you're dealing with. He's offering to help in the best way he knows how, you realize slowly.

The fact that he's even offering to shed blood in your name is a bit scary - not just because murder is wrong or whatever, but because he's actively trying to care about you.

No one's ever done that before.

"Alright, who are you and what have you done with Blade?" you joke, grinning genuinely this time, even if lingering moisture clings to your lashes. "Kidding. As nice as the offer is, I don't think your, um, solution... will help either."

You don't think it matters anymore - you're already starting to forget what got you so down in the first place. Perhaps you haven't given him enough credit, because by the way Blade's posture relaxes, he also notices this. No murder necessary tonight.

"Stand tall," he commands, pointedly not meeting your eyes as he pats your head. Before you have any time to process that, he disappears quickly down the adjoining hallway, likely slinking off to shred some training dummies.

You fly into a double-take, jaw practically on the floor.

Seems like you'll have to interrogate the old man whenever you get a chance to wash and return his handkerchief.

As you open up your messages app to text Silver Wolf all the details (with a concerning amount of stickers), your day doesn't seem so rough anymore.

"Thanks, Bladie," you whisper secretly to no one but yourself.

🏷️: @akutasoda, @aviiarie, @lowkeyren, @https-sourlimes

a/n: i finally got it done! so psyched to work on another platonic/familial prompt and it's BLADE i'm so sick. thank you for this request! :D

event post here

#[200] everybody talks!#—stellaronhvnters.#blade x reader #platonic blade x reader #hsr x reader #platonic hsr x reader #hsr platonic x reader #blade hsr x reader #hsr blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #platonic honkai star rail x reader #platonic hsr #platonic honkai star rail #blade fluff #blade & reader #anonymous #✧ my musings

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lets-try-some-writing · 3 days

Text

Emergency Protocols: To Preserve A Legacy

Optimus Prime has fallen, and now everyone must deal with the after effects of his sudden and horrific death. Knockout, unlike the rest of the Decepticons, has taken grim inspiration from the loss.

Part 1 here.

(Warning for robogore)

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

“This is an order! Every mech will travel in a group until further notice!” Megatron’s order rang out on the bridge, earning frantic nods of understanding from every single Vehicon present. Starscream in particular seemed keen to obey an order for once and almost instantly grabbed a few Vehicons to stay by his side.

Knockout watched quietly, his optics never once leaving the screen above Megatron’s helm.

“I don’t care what you are doing or what your orders are. If I catch anyone alone, there will be consequences.” Megatron all but growled as he glared down at every one of his soldiers. Knockout’s optics cycled in quiet interest at the sight, but he refused to look away from the screen and the beginnings of grotesque suffering playing on it.

“The Autobots have begun to fall. We cannot risk such a fate ourselves.” The warlord’s words were frighteningly shaky as a video played on screen. It was a recording obviously taken by Soundwave, or perhaps Laserbeak. Whatever the case, it projected a scene of true horror.

Optimus Prime wailed in agony, his frame tearing itself apart as buds began to form all over him. One on each limb, and two great ones on his chassis and jetpack. He tore himself to pieces, ripping off armor and frantically screeching as his frame cannibilized itself to produce six new lives. That was a new record, at least in modern documentation. The largest recorded budding only produced five newbuilds. How very Optimus of him.

“Prime succumbed, and if a mech as mighty as him fell, any one of us is just as likely to suffer a similar end.” The recording zoomed in on Optimus’s expression of sheer agony as he tried to crawl on mutilated limbs. If things were different, Knockout might have gagged as he watched the Prime convulse, wheeze, and then fall still while whatever remained of him was consumed by his unwanted offspring.

As it was, Knockout found himself more intrigued than afraid, especially as the recording showed the six that came from the fallen Prime. Five of them were flight frames, an incredible oddity considering Optimus was, up until his reforging, a grounder. The sixth was the one that really caught his attention. The newbuild had Optimus’s structure, tapered waist, and overall build. But they had an interesting series of differences, a few of which felt vaguely familiar.

“Be wary! And never find yourselves alone! Until we can confirm that none of our number are liable to succumb to this brutality, this ship is on lockdown.” With a final wave of his servo, Megatron marched off, likely to hound Soundwave about something or other. The Vehicons filed off eventually, most huddled in groups of five or more to limit their fear. A few attempted to gather around Knockout, but he waved them off.

He didn’t want companionship. He had other plans.

Making his way back to the medical bay, Knockout quietly shut the door behind him and locked it. He settled at his console, tapping the device thoughtfully as he pulled up the recording of Optimus Prime’s final moments all over again. He really should have been disgusted or upset with what he was going to be seeing, but after so much loss, it was more interesting than anything else. Eventually, the Decepticons would have someone end up budding. After all, one budding meant that the situation was dire. Dire circumstances induced panic, and panic tended to make budding happen in other subjects even if their numbers were acceptable.

Stress was bound to get to them. After all, activation of the protocols needed for budding only required a deep sense of loneliness and isolation. If the crew felt that they were alone, those who were capable of budding were likely going to begin expiring one after another. The Vehicons would be fine, largely since they were the result of budding and cold forging. Empurata victims were incapable of budding since the entire section of their processor devoted to registering emotional distress was deactivated, so Shockwave would be fine. Beastformers tended to take longer to start budding, meaning that Arachnid would be alright on her own for a while. The same went for the Insecticons and the Predacons.

That left high command of both the Autobots and the Decepticons. Optimus had already keeled over, and considering how traumatic and sudden it was, Knockout didn’t doubt that someone else would follow after him. Probably Ratchet or the Prime’s unofficial ward.

One by one, the shock and horror would get to all of them, regardless of faction.

They were well and truly slagged. Sooner or later, all the big players in the war would combust into several smaller and inexperienced idiots who would, inevitably, end the war at some point. Be it through extinction or peace, it wasn’t really important. Knockout personally had no desire to live in a world or on a restored Cybertron with a bunch of framewalkers who looked far too similar to old friends and foes for his liking. It all seemed so pointless.

He was tired. That was the only way he had to describe the sheer apathy burning in his spark. Breakdown, his other half, was gone, taken by enemies who were now long dead and dispersed. There were no more victors to join, not when everyone would quickly be put on even ground once old grudges joined their holders in the grave. There was no point to all of it anymore. What did he have to gain from trudging ever onward? A restored homeworld? Sure, that might be nice for a grand total of five kliks, but it wouldn’t be the same without proper closure or Breakdown.

“If we’re all doomed anyway, we might as well make the most of it.” He grumbled, taking great care to not rub his face and ruin the polish, even though exhaustion weighed on him. They were all going down, so why not try and make it somewhat meaningful? Budding was a process that had not been properly studied since the Quintessons ruled. It either happened in private or it was so sudden that no real documentation could be made. Case point: Optimus’s spontaneous and gruesome death.

If he was going to die, he wanted to leave something behind and perhaps even secure his legacy with something important.

“Show me what you’ve got, sweet rims.” He pressed play on the video, leaning back in his chair as he sighed and observed Optimus’s final moments. He had to watch it three or four times before he became desensitized enough to actually start making note of things of interest, but he got there after a few sessions of wretching into his disposal unit.

Optimus’s early symptoms began with itching and, from the looks of it, twitchyness and emotional turmoil. That seemed about right overall. Then it seemed that as the budding began, tearing off armor was an instinctual response meant to allow the buds to grow without hindrance. The spine tearing out of the back appeared to just be a side effect of one of the buds developing in that location, as bones and other skeletal structures also tore free where buds developed on the Prime’s body.

The malformation didn’t appear to be a necessary part of the process, but one that Optimus unfortunately endured due to the sheer number of buds on him. The buds themselves sucked protomatter right out of their host by liquidizing the host’s internals. A lot was lost, as evidenced by Optimus quite literally being dismeboweled via his innards turning to goo and oozing out of him. Frankly, it seemed that the process was largely streamlined. Optimus was just an unfortunate victim of Primely fertility.

If he were back on Cybertron, he might have broken the record again by producing more due to his increased mass prior to their arrival on the mudball they currently called their battlefield.

“Noted. More buds equals more pain.” He tapped the console methodically, watching again and again as Optimus wailed and endured a fate far worse than most other forms of death. Knockout took notes meticulously, observing with silent interest as he watched the buds develop over and over again. The biggest of the lot caught his attention more than the others. That one was obviously a powerhouse in the making, having Optimus’s overall frame structure. But there was something about the new build—something unique.

Once he recorded everything he could from the video, Knockout turned to the database. His digits flew across the keys until he pulled up Optimus’s record. A few passwords later, and he was looking at sensitive data that was only tenuiously confirmed. The Prime’s history in the archives, embarrassing and noteworthy developmental milestones, but most importantly, his relationships.

Optimus only had one confirmed romantic partner. The depth of their relationship was not recorded, but there were enough indicators of a spark merge having been involved for Knockout to feel fairly confident calling them Conjunxes. With that in mind, he pulled up the video again on his second screen, zooming in on the largest of the newbuilds hovering around Optimus’s battered corpse.

He looked at Elita-One’s picture and then at the newbuild. The similarities were obvious. The frame shape, the kibble placement, even the newbuild’s optics. All of them were similar to Elita. Had the spark merged influenced the budding to produce a newbuild that possessed Optimus and Elita’s traits?

“A spark merge affecting a newbuild... it’s certainly not impossible.” He tapped the console with more frequency as he considered the possibilities. If all of high command was going to keel over, Knockout most likely included, why shouldn’t he research the process? Why shouldn’t he make the most of it? For Optimus and Elita to have produced a bud that carried both their traits after what might have only been a single spark merge...

He stood up sharply, his optics widened as he glanced over at the single piece of Breakdown’s armor he’d taken from the corpse as a keepsake. It sat innocently on his shelf, a reminder of the loss and now a symbol of possible hope.

“One merge. It only took them one merge.” He reached out to collect the piece of armor, a dark plan forming in the back of his processor. He didn’t necessarily want to die, but it was going to happen anyway. Sooner or later, he’d drop dead and spawn something that was but an echo of himself. Why not die on his own terms? He could study the process of budding and, if things worked out, preserve Breakdown’s legacy as well.

He’d keep his reputation as Cybertron’s finest medic through his research, and he’d be able to honor his fallen partner before joining him. It saved him from having to go on endlessly without the mech he loved most, and it meant that all his loose ends would be neatly tied up. He wouldn’t have to live in a world not his own with mecha mimicking the dead.

It would be painful, but he could limit that to a certain extent.

"Well, Breakdown, it seems I’ll be seeing you soon enough.” A grin wormed its way onto Knockout’s features as he laughed and carried the piece of plating over to his workbench. There was much to do, and considering the panic amongst the crew, very little time.

“Lord Megatron, I’ll be performing a little analysis on some sensitive material over the course of the next deca-cycle or so. Don’t worry if I’m unavailable; my research will prove quite useful, I’m certain.” He sent his message to Megatron with quiet glee as he settled at his workbench. He had preparations to see to and he couldn’t afford an interruption. Not now.

“All alone now. It’s just us, Breakie.” Tapping the piece of plating, Knockout laughed again before gathering his determination to drop the piece into a vat. He placed the vat into one of his extractors and stepped back, looking over himself and his medical bay. While CNA was being extracted from Breakdown’s plating, Knockout could begin his real work.

He spent a whole cycle thinking through Optimus’s fate and preparing for every eventuality. He methodically, albeit with much chagrin, removed his outer armor. He would rather not endure the pain of ripping it all off in a frenzied madness and so opted to skip that step altogether. Once that was all removed, he began preparing various painkillers of different doses. Too much at one time might have a negative effect on himself or his spawn, so a gentle ramping up of the solution would be necessary. The finished solutions were left near the medical berth, ready to be used.

For good measure, he adjusted the straps on the medical berth to activate the moment he laid down and to deactivate once his vitals dropped beyond a certain threshold. He couldn’t risk the buds, not when they were going to be so vital to his goals.

“As much as I pride myself on my finish, I do think you’ll forgive me this once for not sporting the red you adored so much.” Knockout found himself laughing more and more in the quiet of his medical bay by just the second cycle of work. He had gone to great pains to continually keep himself from heading out for any reason, and so far it seemed to be working. He could feel a faint tingle underneath his plating.

He wasn’t quite sure if it was nerves getting to him or not, but as he handled a full vial of Breakdown’s CNA, he reassured himself of his goal. He was going to do this and document the whole affair.

This was fine. He was going to be fine. He wanted this. He’d get to see Breakdown again.

Right?

“Breakdown, I hope you aren’t going to be too upset. I’m doing this for both of us.” He spoke into the open air, quietly and with more than a little hesitance. It took all of his mental fortitude to keep it together when Megatron called him.

“Knockout, what in the Unmaker’s name are you doing?” The warlord’s glyphs were harsh and layered with over a dozen vaguely fearful undertones. Knockout would have grinned, but he couldn’t blame Megatron for being afraid. Optimus was dead. The Prime of Cybertron was not only gone, but the first to have perished. In a way, Knockout envied him. To be the first meant Optimus didn’t have to watch everyone crumble around him.

“Lord Megatron, as I stated in my previous message, I am working on something of incredible importance. Don’t worry your pretty little helm about it. The experiment shall conclude in a few cycles, just as planned.” He kept up his usual attitude of cockiness as he stared at scans he’d taken of his frame. According to what his machinery was gathering, his frame was starting to swell in places, small pockets of protomatter less than an inch in side, all forming one by one all over him like organic skin pores.

It was rather disgusting to think about it in that light.

“Do you have assistants with you? I will not risk this vessel’s only medical expert offlining.” Knockout fought back a scoff as he held the vial of Breakdown’s extracted CNA. He fiddled with the container, smiling as he replied.

“Of course. I have my most trusted assistant right by my side.” Megatron made a noise of agreement before shutting down the comm link. Knockout leaned against his console, fondling the vial a while longer as he looked up at his scans.

Soon. Very soon.

The cycles wore on, and as they did, Knockout dutifully documented the changes. His need for fuel had drastically decreased, a sign of his frame preparing for something or other. Additionally, he was recharging more and more often and for longer periods of time. A certain level of lethargy hung in his limbs, making it difficult for him to continually make note of his circumstances and not leave his medical bay despite how much base instinct tried to get him to move and go toward where he knew there were others.

Megatron bothered him every now and then, but Knockout was quite skilled at keeping his tone even. The warlord suspected nothing, just like Knockout wanted. This was meant to be special—just him and Breakdown. He didn’t want his boss to come kicking the door down in an attempt to stop what had already begun and ruin the significance of it all.

“Till all are one... you know, Breakdown, I never really believed in that lovely quote from the Primacy. But I think it makes more sense now that we’re going to make something beautiful together.” He was tired, so very tired. But looking into the faint blue glow of the vial containing all that was left of his other half, Knockout found something akin to peace settling in his spark. His frame ached, but soon everything would be better.

“I miss when you held me in your arms and complimented my features. I don’t think I ever told you that the reason I kept up the red was because you liked it so much.” Leaning back in his chair, Knockout held the vial to his chassis, closing his optics in order to pretend that somehow, through some miracle, Breakdown was with him. He imagined firm servos on his shoulders, massaging tense cables and helping him unwind after a long cycle.

Fond memories supplied him with a cheerful laugh filled with nothing but adoration as he and Breakdown playfully bantered, exchanging gossip like there wouldn’t be consequences if they were caught distracted. He recalled all their frantic couplings, never daring to risk taking too long to be one in mind and spark for fear of punishment. He wished he’d taken more time back then. He wished he’d savored the protective warmth of his companion’s spark brushing up against his own in the most intimate of kisses.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them from taking you.” Coolant gathered in his optics as his frame began to heat up in response to his unsettling emotional state. He felt the drops roll down his cheeks, but he didn’t wipe them away. He merely held the chilled vial close, desperately longing for a spark signature that was long gone. It was clinical, so very clinical... and there was no warmth to be found.

“I’m sorry, I’m too weak to go on without you. I know… I know you’d want me to live life to the fullest in your absence, but I can’t.” His composure cracked as he looked up at the ceiling, trying not to gaze around his medical bay in the vain hope that his beloved might still be there, gathering supplies or sorting through datapads on his behalf.

He could hardly vent; it hurt so much.

“Not without you.” Primus was cruel to take a mech as good as Breakdown so soon.

The itching started around the fifth cycle of his isolation. It was faint at first, but then it grew more and more difficult to ignore. It felt like he was bloated, almost as if he had a series of microscopic tears in every single one of his fuel lines. He scratched without meaning to more often than not, and more than once he had to set his door to lock automatically to keep himself from running out.

Itching, itching, itching.

He wished Breakdown were there to caress his frame, chasing away the discomfort with loving touches and soothing words. For such a big mech, he was so very kind.

But Breakdown was gone. He’d been gone for months now. All Knockout had left was a vial of his CNA. His forever’s final gift and remnant.

By the sixth cycle, taking decent notes was all but impossible. He settled on setting up a camera just above the medical berth for when he inevitably met his end. He was fidgety, itching, and nervous in a way he’d never been before. Sometimes he found himself pacing, muttering nonsense that he only managed to stop through sheer force of will.

The itch never stopped.

Emotional codes became tangled and out of place. Priority calculations shifted and left him paranoid, leading Knockout to try and perform manual labor more than once before realizing he was out of his designated role. His protocols were blaring all the time, drowning out his vision with demands for him to find a group and to get to safety. He screamed at some point, clutching his helm and whimpering at how overwhelming it all was.

How had Prime dealt with it all before death all but snuck up on him?

On what he assumed was the seventh cycle, the itch turned to an infuriating burn. Clawing at his protoform and base armor wasn’t enough. It hurt, so much so that he could hardly see straight, much less make any logical decisions. All he had the strength to do was jab and IV with his painkillers into his arm and inject himself with Breakdown’s precious CNA before he collapsed onto his medical berth, the straps clamping down on his limbs.

The vial was discarded on the ground, empty, and used. Despite the fact that it no longer had anything of Breakdown left in it, Knockout wished he could hold it, if only to comfort himself as the pain increased.

Panic set in not long after the straps finished tightening. His venting hitched as the burn worsened. For a moment, he regretted every life decision he’d ever made, including his idiotic choice to go down in flames like he was taking one for the team. When had he ever been a team player? What the frag was wrong with him?

“Slag. This is going to hurt.” He winced, biting back a cry as he felt the first tears begin to form along his protoform. Optimus had skipped this part entirely, going straight for bone obliteration and internal shredding. Knockout almost wished he could do the same as cracks began running along his limbs, the angle of the medical berth letting him see how energon and protomatter started to swell in the wounds.

The painkillers were his salvation as he watched in grim fascination, observing as his very protoform bubbled as if an inflamed fuel line was growing and threatening to burst right beneath the surface layer of his very being. He bit his lower derma as his protoform continued to bulge, finally bursting in his legs and in his right arm. He didn’t dare cry out, instead forcefully silencing himself for as long as possible.

Screams would draw attention. Sound would ruin this precious moment between himself and what he was going to make. This was a family matter, his and Breakdown’s last gift to the world. It couldn’t be interrupted.

Cables burst, spurting energon that trickled down the medical berth and pooled on the ground beneath him. Wires and various connectivity tissues pulsed and all but slithered as the buds started to take shape. It hurt like slag, but it wasn’t as bad as it likely would have been without painkillers. The scene itself was still a work of horror, especially as the small mounds began to grow, their mass pushing aside everything else.

“Looks like at least one of these buds is going to turn out just like you, Breakdown! They’ve got your size already!” Knockout laughed, lost in medically induced mania as the bud on his left leg swelled and caused the entire limb to bloat. His pede shifted, deforming before snapping off entirely to allow the bud to consume the stump. Knockout did end up screaming as his bones snapped under the weight of the thing, every pain receptor in the limb activating in hot waves of agony.

The bone stuck out from his leg, jutting at an odd angle and glittering blue as if Primus himself had thrown some sort of polish on it. Knockout could see every single micro-connector within the broken skeletal structure, still pulsing with charge. The medic in him screamed, demanding he heal the wound. But he was well aware of his doom. The metal around his abdomen was already graying, a sign of severe energon loss.

There was no stopping it now.

The chorus of suffering was only added to as the two other buds performed similarly. The smaller one on his right leg bulged and crawled up his limb like mold, eating away at his plating with acidic effects that revealed delicate circitry that sizzled and popped as they were corroded. Knockout couldn’t have possibly predicted that outcome with how the bud on his left leg was acting. The one on his arm hurt the most, surprisingly. Knockout could hardly see through the coolant, causing his vision to become hazy, but he did note his digits doing the same thing that Optimus’s had before his death. They increased in size, the plating oozing with protomatter before cracking and all but exploding to make way for the bud.

The remnants of his digits were nothing more than thin skeletal bones connected only by tender ligaments, which had quickly begun to lose their strength.

He shrieked as the painkillers were overridden by the sheer amount of torment assaulting him. There was no comfort to be found as he started to flail, composure fleeing him as he cried out for anyone to help him. He was sure he screamed for Breakdown most, but at some point he must have cried for someone else as well, because he started to hear murmurs outside his medical bay. A Vehicon must have noted his wails.

“Breakdown-!” He sobbed against his restraints, hardly able to watch as more and more parts of his very frame tore themselves apart. The buds did not climb higher than their sectioned limbs, but they consumed, ripped, and tore. There was so much blue. So much blue...

Crack after crack, cry after cry. It blended into a meaningless babble.

At some point, the agony almost entirely ceased as weight dropped off Knockout like a heavy burden long forgotten. The straps holding him came undone, leaving him to lay there, bleeding out and struggling to keep his fans running. The relief he felt was palpable as he reveled in the lack of pain. Although the chill that crept into what remained of his frame did little to comfort him.

Once he’d cleared the coolant from his optics, he mustered the will to look toward the ground where the three buds floundered. The sticky mounds convulsed, thin stick-like limbs jutting out in almost spider-like fashion before more living metal could wreath the limb in musculature and mass. The things looked horrifying as faces tore themselves from the masses, gaping intakes and lightless optics appearing half melted before they convulsed a few more times and finally booted online.

Knockout’s venting slowed as energon loss began to set in. The painkillers were finally doing their slagging job, giving him a half-decent look at his spawn as they stood up one by one, looking over their frames with the innocence of the newly forged. The newbuilds were so very fascinating, so very... Breakdown, each in their own way.

“You are not supposed to be alive.” The biggest of the bunch, a heavy-set newbuild with a rounded helm structure and bright headlights already in formation, addressed Knockout quietly. There was no mockery, no insults, merely an observation. This was like him. Knockout could see it in the red optics that met his own. They were modeled just like Breakdown’s.

“Just had to make sure... that you lot carried Breakdown... in your CNA as well.” His voice came out as little more than a pitiful wheeze, but Knockout didn’t have the presence of mind of care as the other two stared at him. The smallest of the ground was also quite a bulky thing, another of Breakdown’s traits. They shone with gold optics, so reminiscent of his beloved.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, originator.” The smallest one looked him up and down, likely assessing the horror that was Knockout’s devastated frame. He managed a grim laugh at that, even as his senses started to dull.

“You look just like him.” Knockout coughed up energon, his spark flaring painfully in remembrance as the last of the newbuilds waved to him shyly. The newbuild was blue and orange, looking almost exactly like his other creator in all but accenting paint and digits. He had Knockout’s claws, a fact that brought him no small amount of pride.

“You’ve done well, originator. Return to your Conjunx. We will take over from here.” The biggest of the newbuilds touched Knockout’s helm, caressing his helm crest and audials in a fond manner. His venting hitched again, this time in loss as he looked over all three of his spawn.

Breakdown would have been thrilled to meet them.

“Your… designations?” His vision started to fail him as he stared at the three. They shared a look, and then all of them smiled.

“Flatline of Knockout and Breakdown.” The largest answered first, bringing more tears to Knockout’s optics as he heard both his and his beloved’s designation. They were both honored here.

“Quickmix.” The smallest replied curtly, but they were kind enough to touch Knockout’s shoulder in their form of a silent goodbye. They reminded Knockout of himself when he was young. At least this one would have siblings to help them along.

“Wildbreak... of Knockout and Breakdown.” The last of the bunch uttered their name quietly, but with a hint of awe. Knockout couldn’t help but smile as his vision failed him and the touches of his three creations lingered on his frame.

This... this had been worth it.

“We did it… Breakdown.” His voice was lost as his hearing started to putter out. The last thing he heard was his door crashing down and the booming voice of Megatron echoing in his medical bay.

“KNOCKOUT-!”

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peachesofteal · 1 hour

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Simple Math / Part Seventeen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 4K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. PTSD, references and descriptions of domestic violence , grooming, manipulation, pregnancy. Simon's back story. Trauma. Bun opens up a bit more. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt. Simon is a nervous dad. Emotional confessions.

“It’s Beth.” Simon wipes the countertop, chasing little dirty fingerprints with a wet cloth, before fixing a hesitant set of eyes on yours.

“That’s pretty… I like it.” There’s something odd about his expression, something haunted almost, a deep, dark well filled to the brim with rancid, stagnant water. You sense it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

He motions to the chair and slides your mug into your waiting hands. “Sit.”

“Simon?”

“It was my sister in law’s name. My brother’s wife.” Was. Your throat goes dry, muscles tensing.

“Was?” He pulls your fingers into his, cradled in the palm of his hand, thumb rubbing circles into your skin, over and over on a loop. A mechanism of comfort, connection. A thread stitch into the fabric between your heart and his.

“They died, sweetheart. My family… I lost them.” Grief, a shared experience you know now, froths in the pit of your heart. You tremble, he holds you steady, though it should be the other way around.

“What… what happened?” He sighs, dragging your palm to his lips.

“Let’s sit down on the couch.”

He holds you as he talks, diaphragm rumbling against your ear. You’re laid on his chest, unable to see his face, watch his expressions, but for this, you don’t feel the urge to dissect each one.

You’re content against him. Listening. Mourning.

There’s a swath of silence afterwards, and then he clears his throat. “So, I was dead. Dead until I met Johnny, I think. And then everything changed.” Johnny’s words from weeks and weeks ago make more sense, Simon’s actions and reactions rapidly gaining clarity. “When we found you, I saw it, the look in your eyes. It was the same one that used to haunt my mother’s.”

“You saved her.” He burrows his face in your neck and shakes his head.

“I did what I could to piece them back together. Helped get Tommy clean and on his feet, got rid of the old man for good, but the damage… the way she suffered, it was irreversible. The best I could do was be there as much as often as possible.” You comb through his hair, short strands of silk like Penny’s, and hold him close. “I promised myself, when I met Johnny, when we fell in love, I’d do better by my own family. For him, and then by Penny. And now you. Promised I wouldn’t become him.” Your heart clenches, squeezing in on itself. “Violence may have been a part of my job, but it wasn’t a part of me.” His fingers dance along your spine until they reach your chin, tilting you back to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. He doesn’t need to ask for your trust, he already has it.

“Johnny thinks I’ve got a bit of a savior complex now, but I want you to know… that’s not what this is, bunny.”

“I know,” you clear your throat, fighting through the thick of emotion building there, accumulating in heaps, “I know that.”

“But we do need to talk about him, you know that?” Darkness creeps along the wispy, dream-like cocoon the two of you built on the couch, and you push it away, try to banish it, basking in the comfort of his arms instead.

“I can’t, I… right now it feels like I’m in a dream where nothing hurts and nothing can scare me or hurt me, and I don’t-“

“You’re not in a dream, bunny. That’s your reality. This is real. Nothing can, or will, hurt you, scare you. No one will ever touch you again.”

“I need more time. Please.” Simon sighs, but doesn’t push, and the two of you lay there, together, suspended in comforting silence. For another moment, your world is a dream. A safe, beautiful dream, where happy endings are real, where love stretches on for eternity, unconditional, limitless, unbreakable.

You’re so different now, stark changes shocking to the girl you once knew, the one who doubled back on her routes to and from work, the one that walked everywhere with her hackles up. Little pieces of black rot now turned a blinding white, a brilliant beam seeking to shine on the whole of your life.

It’s a dream.

One you won’t easily surrender.

“I was really young.” It comes during a lapse in conversation, practically a blurt, an interruption pushing heat to your cheeks. Expelled from your mind, your body without choice, cracks appearing in the preservation that you’ve so defiantly clung to. You have to tell them, eventually. You have to break it all apart, let them see. Johnny’s mouth opens, and Simon’s hand darts to his wrist faster than a snake could strike, a clear signal. Don’t speak. “Obviously now, looking back on it, I realize I was groomed, or I guess, easily influenced. He was older, and I graduated early, started college early. I was in my second year when I turned eighteen. My mom,” the lump in your throat nearly chokes you until you swallow it down, “my mom busted her ass for me. I went to college on scholarships and her hard work.” Metal clanks against ceramic, forks settling on the edges of plates. “Anyway, everyone always thought I was a know-it-all and pretty awkward. We weren’t officially like, together right away but it was pretty serious from the day I met him. Eventually… he started to change me. Change my goals. He even manipulated my career path.”

“What did you go to school for?” Simon asks casually, head tilted.

“Bioscience. I wanted to be a doctor, so I thought it would transition well for med school. Thought I could become a surgeon.” You were a girl then; you know that now. Naïve, misguided by a hand that sought to control you, not love you as you hoped. It’s embarrassing, baring this, showing these broken bits and pieces to them, shattered shards of a mirror never glued back together.

“What happened?”

“He did.” Johnny squeezes your hand. “Made it to pre-med but ended up leaving and starting a nursing program instead. It’s what he wanted, and by then, I couldn’t say no.”

“But ye didnae want it, to be a nurse.”

“No. I didn’t. I love my job now, of course, and I’m happy in it, but originally, I wanted something else. He tricked me, in all honesty. Showed me something that wasn’t real, reeled me in, and then revealed his true colors.” You shudder. “The first time… the first time it happened, I shook it off, forgave him. I-“ the memory is still so strong, it stuns you. The blood from your busted lip is fresh on your tongue, sting on the side of your face turning to a blooming ache.

“Bunny?” Johnny’s grip moves to your elbow, strong, but not too tight. An anchor. You shake your head.

“Sorry.”

“Ye’re alright, ye can stop if-“

“No, I… I want to share these things with you. It feels like I’m supposed to, like you should know me… like this.”

“We already know you, sweetheart. Don’t push yourself.” Simon’s tone is serious, and you nod.

“It’s embarrassing, looking back on it and realizing how bad it was, how bad I let it get. How I let him cut me off from everyone, change my career, squash me like a bug.” You laugh, but it’s empty.

“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” Johnny’s lips press together, muscles in his jaw straining, “was never yer fault.” You don’t answer, just trace the woodgrain of the table, texture moving beneath your fingers. The conversation is draining you, leeching light away like a horizon swallowing the last of the sun.

“He’s rich. Like, fuck you money rich. Rich like make problems go away rich, and his job…” your head shakes again. It’s the most you’ve ever said, heavy buried secrets finally dug up, resurrected, the truth trembles through your bones. “He has resources. Has chased me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I know you’ve said you’re not really sure, but did he ever tell you what his job entails?”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.” Johnny shifts in his seat, antsy, and you shrug. “He kept that part of his life very, very private. There was even a room in the house that was always locked.” Your head is heavy, lead upon your shoulders, and Johnny tucks his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“I know this is hard bun, but ye’re so brave for us. Lettin’ us know ye this way. I’m proud of ye.” He murmurs, lips to your forehead, and you fully relax, wrapping around his middle.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, eyes closing, and he rubs your back.

“Let’s get ye to bed then.”

“Your child is too big for me to carry!” You announce, hand on your hip, little backpack straps looped around your arm. Simon closes the door behind you, chuckling, and Penny plops onto the floor. She goes to a nursery day program now a few days a week, something that was a contentious subject in the house for far too long, opinions and arguments ping ponging over your head until the decision was finally made.

“It’s not safe.”

“Ye cannae keep ‘er locked up here forever, love.”

“Why not?” Simon bounced Penny against his chest, unimpressed look on both their faces, so alike you almost busted out laughing.

“Because she’s a child. She needs to be w’other children, not just us.” Johnny brings his free hand to his lips, squeezing Simon’s wrist. “I know ye’re scared.” Simon’s not the only one who’s scared, you thought. Phillip lurked at the edge of your mind, worry that he might find Penny plagued you, even though they both assured that wasn’t their main concern.

“She’s too little.”

“Simon. We agreed on this,” Johnny gives him a sharp look, “do yer research, find the best one. Ye know this needs to happen, for her. She needs to make friends, learn how to interact with kids her own age. Ye know this.”

“Fine.”

“She cannae be, not m’wee lamb.”

“She is.” You rub your shoulder. “Sheesh.” Penny’s stomach gurgles at your feet, and Simon grimaces.

“There’s a bug goin’ around the kids, teacher told me today.”

“Not surprising. Nurseries are little petri dishes.” You straighten your back, rolling your shoulder, and wince.

“Hurts?” Simon’s thumb digs into the soft spot there, and your lashes flutter.

“Maybe ye need a hot bath,” Johnny suggests, and Simon ushers the two of you up the stairs.

“I’ve got Pen. Go relax.”

“This is nice.” Johnny soaps your back, lavender and vanilla steam swirling around in the bathroom as you lean against him, his chest to your back.

“Aye.” The cloth drags across your chest, teasing your nipples, and you revel in his touch, soaking in every second he gives you, the brush of his cheek against yours, his lips on your neck. “Like havin’ ye all to myself sometimes.” You blink.

“Does it bother you? When we’re not all together?”

“No. Ye have a relationship wit’ me, and wit’ Simon, and we have a relationship all together. No one is the same. I like it.”

“Me too.” You settle again, loose and tender in the bath, soaped hands running up and down your back, kneading your shoulders, releasing the tension coiled in your bones. You groan.

“Feel good then?”

“Yeah.” He presses a hand over your heart with a deep breath, before he takes another.

And then one more.

“What’s wro-“

“I love ye bun. Wholly. Think ‘ve loved ye since the day I opened my eyes to ye leaning over the bed in hospital.” You turn, twisting to face him, and he dabs your nose with his thumb. “I dinnae have any expectations of ye, or yer feelings, but I had to be honest. I had to tell ye.” The confession fights its way forward, begging to be let out, to be freed.

Tell him. Tell him the truth. Tell him you love them, that they’re your light, that they’ve chased the darkness away and replaced it with the sun.

You can’t.

Instead, you rest your forehead against his, syncing your breathing, sharing the moment, holding onto him so tight in case he slips away.

“I can’t say it.” You whisper, and he nods. “But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’m just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“An’ that’s okay. I’ll wait, I’ll wait for ye as long as ye need.” There’s no pressure, no demands, just Johnny and his arms, his understanding and patience, his love.

You blink back tears and crash your lips to his. “Thank you.”

Your stomach is what wakes you.

Something it in is burning, tossing bile around, the sensation strong enough your lips curl, and you try to draw a deep breath through your nose.

You wriggle, trying to pull free from where you’re tangled up in Simon and Johnny, carefully and slow, hoping to avoid waking them though you know even in their dreams, they sleep with one eye open.

Still, you manage to make it to the bathroom before feet are padding across the carpet on your heels.

You sink to your knees in front of the toilet, stomach bubbling, sending the scorching remnants of dinner up your throat.

The door clicks open. “No, get out. I don’t want you to see-“ you gag again, tap turning on at the sink, a cold washcloth folding over your neck.

“Shhh,” Simon murmurs, rubbing your back, “get it all out.”

“Oh god,” another wave swells, and your muscles tense, body expelling bits of bile and not much else.

“That’s the way, good girl.”

“This is gross.” You gasp. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’ve seen way worse than you puking, sweetheart.”

“She alright?” Johnny half yells from the bedroom and you groan. The guilt of him having to maneuver himself out of bed, still not one hundred percent healthy, still not back to full strength, draws a shiver from your spine.

“I’m fine, don’t come in here!” Your stomach pitches, fingers tightening against your thighs, but nothing comes up, again and again, until everything settles and you’re breathing deeply, steady, back straight.

“Let’s get you some water.” There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s going to do what he wants to do when it comes to taking care of you, you know that now. It’s painfully clear as he tries to help you drink from the glass, and then puts toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“I’m fine.” You assure weakly, but he only watches you, concerned.

“Think it’s the nursery bug?”

“Probably.” You sag, energy drained completely, and he steadies you, cupping your cheek. His touch is cool, and you lean into it, savoring the reprieve it brings against your throbbing temples.

“Want to go back to bed?”

“What if I throw up again?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll jus’ clean it up.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You glance up at the timid mouse of a nurse, brand new, fingers clutched around a tablet like she’s drowning and it’s her life vest.

“What’s up?”

“Can you… can you look at these orders for me?” She looks terrified, and it tells you everything you need to know. She’s probably caught a mistake.

Baby nurses begin their careers in a delicate position. They’re overwhelmed, fresh off a whirlwind of orientation, overloaded with policy and procedure, and depending on their preceptor, either somewhat prepared or completely lost. Pitting a baby nurse against a provider, even a first-year resident, is like sending a lamb in to confront a lion. The result is usually tears.

She hands you the tablet and you spot it immediately. Incorrect dosage.

“Good catch.” You reassure, coaxing a small smile, and she nods.

“What do I do?”

“We go find the provider and clarify the dosage.” You’re not going to leave it up to her, alone, hang her out to dry and probably get run over by whatever moron ordered it in the first place, who happens to be-

Marshall.

Your eyes couldn’t roll any harder. “The pharmacy is also very on top of seeing errors like this, but it’s good you’ve noticed too, for the patient and yourself. Liability for things like this can be very tricky.” She nods again, trailing behind you, brand new squeaky sneakers echoing your own steps.

You can’t stop the sigh that escapes you when you find him, leaned up against a wall, arms crossed, smirking, cocking his head at your companion. “What’s up?”

“Can you take a look at this for me?” You purposefully zoom in on the meds tab, practically painting a bullseye around his error. He scoffs, defensive immediately, dismissive, before he takes a closer look, jaw clenched.

“That’s my mistake.” You blink. Marshall rarely ever takes responsibility so gracefully. Your eyebrow lifts.

“Care to fix it?”

“Of course.” His agreement is punctuated with a smile, though it’s off kilter.

“You can go,” you nod to the nurse, “good job.” Her eyes dart between you and Marshall, and without another word, scampers off.

“She’s new?” His usual interest in new nurses is less enthusiastic than ever.

You hate Marshall. He’s a scumbag. But he’s also been your coworker since day one, and you can’t help yourself. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never owned up to a mistake that quickly, and you didn’t even make some smart-ass remark. Or berate her. Or give me an attitude.” He winces.

“It’s nothing.” But it doesn’t seem like nothing. It seems like something is wrong, like he’s sad, or depressed, and try as you might, your bleeding heart can’t walk away.

“What’s wrong.” You phrase a statement, a demand, instead of a question, and he blows a frustrated breath.

“It’s… I’m seeing someone.” Your eyes go wide.

“Who?” Please don’t say a nurse, please don’t say a nurse, please-

“Anna. From radiology.”

“Oh my god. The cupcake girl?” Anna was a fan favorite. Not only was she kind, but she was also quick with her reads, and baked cupcakes for the entire floor almost once a month. As far as radiologists go, she was better than most.

“Yeah.”

“Okay…”

“I really like her but… she’s always been aware of my reputation and is trying to take it slow. Too slow.” You could lecture him with a million reasons why she’s in the right, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got the resolve to handle it.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s dragging her feet. Doesn’t want to hang out more than once a week, rarely stays the night. I’ve been to her place a handful of times, but that’s it.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two months.” You laugh.

“That’s it?”

“It’s a long time for me!” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Two months is no time at all. Have you discussed the… reluctance with her?” He seems uneasy, and for the first time, you’re not sure if you enjoy watching him squirm.

“Yeah. She says she’s happy, but isn’t trying to jump into anything,” his air quotes carry a whiff of the condescending asshole you know too well. This conversation couldn’t be timelier, and you think back to what you told Johnny the other night.

“Just because she’s taking it slow doesn’t mean her feelings for you aren’t there. You have to respect that. If she’s still putting up with you after two months, I’d bet she’s just being cautious. Getting hurt sucks.” He nods thoughtfully. “Give her the time she’s asking for, and don’t give up.”

Don’t give up.

The sentiment twists a knife lodged deep in your heart. Is that what will happen to you? Will they give up? Get tired of waiting for you to spill all your secrets, get tired of waiting for you to take the final step? To tell them you love them?

Get tired of waiting for you to let them use your real name?

“I didn’t expect her, didn’t expect to feel this way.” The mask comes down, revealing a hopelessly lovesick heart, the depth of it shining in his eyes.

“I don’t think anyone ever does expect it. That’s the surprising thing about love, I guess.” You sway, a palm pressed to the wall as your hand flattens over your stomach.

“You alright?” Marshall’s voice is far away as you breathe through your nose, trying to fend off the nausea tightening your throat.

“Sorry, I’ve been a bit under the weather. Think I’ve got a bug or something.” Your stomach roils in warning, and you barely grit out an apology before dashing away.

Just in time to toss your breakfast up in the toilet.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you in the toilet. You didn’t sound fine, and you shouldn’t be working if you’re sick.” Your manager shakes her head like she’s disappointed, and you glare. You both know if you had called this morning talking about a stomach bug, she would have told you to suck it up unless you were actively vomiting.

“Look around. Do you see an excess of nurses on the floor?”

“We’ll manage. Or call someone in.” You shake your head.

“We’re already way past policy ratios.” You bite your tongue when safe nearly slips out, not wanting to piss her off. That’s the union’s job.

“At least go sit down or something. Take a break. Come back in twenty minutes and let me know how you feel.”

Your closet is cozy, and for once during the day, unoccupied. The nausea has subsided, for now, and you shoot a text to the guys, asking about Penny. If you feel like this, you can’t imagine how she feels.

You curl up and imagine you’re home instead, maybe in bed with a sleeve of crackers and some soda, warm chest at your back, a hand stroking over your hip. Maybe you’d have some soup, maybe the three of you would watch a movie after Pen went down for bed. You start to drift in the domestic fantasy, sleeping curling itself like a blanket over your shoulders, until you’re startled by the vibration of your phone, foot kicking forward in a jolt against a shelf.

A box falls to the floor.

HCG strips.

You stare at it for a long time, numbers and dates and weeks mashing together, calculations getting lost in the fray.

You’re not…

No.

Ridiculous. Not even possible. You’re on the pill. Religiously.

You have the nursery bug that Pen brought home. Get a grip.

Still…

You use the fifth-floor bathroom, one of the only single occupant toilets in the whole damn hospital, nausea now coming from a completely different source.

The timer on your phone is incredibly slow, or maybe it’s just time itself, the world turning in slow motion, every second elongated into turbulent silence, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much of everything to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Panic.

Sadness.

Grief.

It’s grief that is the strongest. Grief for something that Phillip stole, mourning for something that was once so close, so real, and then gone in an instant.

If you close your eyes, you can still feel his boot in your stomach. The press of a steel toe, jammed beneath your ribs, wild, deranged eyes staring down at you in a rage.

But-

Buried so, so far beneath the crushing weight of it all, there is a bright little pocket of sunshine. A small little sliver of light, beams of hope stretching for the sky, warmth spilling over until your hands tremble with the conflict warring inside you.

Nothing has changed, but everything could.

The timer goes off with a shrill chime, and you lean over the sink to where the small strip sits on top of a cup.

A bold pink line.

And then another, more faint, but certainly there. A simple equation, one plus one equals two. Simple math.

Tangible. Present.

Pregnant.

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