#he makes my heart ache. but warmly.

[sunnibits]

(guy who has been hyperfixated on izzy hands for two years voice) hey guys you may not have known this but I actually really love izzy hands

[coffee-and-geto]

LET ME WARM YOU UP

summary: satoru comes home after an early morning when he went to the bakery to buy you some pastries, frozen to the bone by the biting early december cold. doesn’t he deserve to find you under the warm comforter where your warm presence hides?

cw: fluff, domestic, gojo has his nose pink from the cold, he’s silly, needy and so in love <3, i have put some pastries i know bc i’m french but ignore them if you don’t like croissant (what’s on ur mind) or pain au chocolat (i agree on this).

wc: 721

When Satoru enters the bakery — his body draped in a long coat, head wrapped in a knit cap, and half his face hidden behind a large scarf — the gentle chime of the entrance bell feels like a sweet melody mingling with the warm, sugary scent of the quiet, early-morning haven.

Behind the sparkling glass displays are heaps of pastries that make his mouth water. From chocolate croissants to apple turnovers, the variety of treats teases his senses as he approaches the kind, tiny baker, who barely reaches his chest.

“Good morning, young man,” she coos like a grandmother, tilting her head up to look at him. “Feeling like something sweet this early?”

Six o’clock in the morning — was it too early?

Satoru would camp outside the bakery if it meant sharing pastries with you.

He hums thoughtfully. “I’d like a brioche, a chocolate croissant, a croissant, an éclair, and a strawberry tart,” he says, distracted by the vibrant colors tempting him to buy out the entire bakery.

The baker grabs a bag and carefully places his order inside, smiling warmly.

“Will that be all, young man?”

Satoru nods.

“Alright.” She names the total price and hands him the large bag once he pays. “Are you planning to eat all of this yourself, young man?”

A smile capable of melting ice stretches across Satoru’s face, despite being hidden behind his scarf. “I’ll share it with my girlfriend.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you.” After he pays, the baker hands him a blue lollipop, the kind that colors your tongue. “A boy like you, who takes such good care of his loved ones, deserves this.”

Satoru accepts it with a word of thanks before heading home, where you’re unknowingly waiting for him, still tucked beneath the warm covers of your bed.

He enters the apartment silently, closing the door with care and removing his shoes and coat in near-perfect quiet. In the kitchen, he wastes no time arranging a breakfast tray, loading it with the pastries he bought and a cup of tea and coffee.

He performs the task with an adorably proud smile, humming cheerfully at the thought of sharing a warm breakfast with you under the blanket, where you’d thaw his December-chilled body.

With the tray prepared to perfection, he carries it to the bedside table and sets it down gently before slipping into the bed. The combination of the soft blanket and your warmth, still lingering in the sheets, begins to ease the cold from his body. His stiff, frozen arms wrap around you, rousing you from sleep.

“Toru?” you whisper, your eyes fluttering open as a yawn escapes your lips.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Satoru murmurs into the crook of your warm neck.

You shiver at how cold he feels. “Did you go out?” You turn to wrap your arms around him, planting a kiss on his nose, pink from the cold.

“Brought pastries,” he hums. “Wanna eat with me?” He blinks at you cutely, his snow-dusted lashes framing eyes as deep and blue as the ocean.

“You did?” The corners of your mouth turn down as you pull him closer. Satoru’s habit of buying things for you without needing to be asked makes your heart ache in the sweetest way. “Of course, my love.” You pepper kisses all over his face. “Love you so much.”

He grins so cutely you want to crush his head in your arms.

Minutes later, you’re both sitting up in bed, the makeshift tray perched on your shared lap as you indulge in a perfect breakfast.

Through the bedroom window, the first snowflakes of December fall onto the balcony, covering it in a white blanket that matches your lover’s hair. The sky, equally white, might’ve seemed dull and cold, but sitting beside Satoru, who is devouring almost all the pastries, brightens the weather.

Once your stomachs are full, Satoru burrows under the blanket, pressing his face against your pajama-clad stomach. A giggle escapes you, your chest shaking gently with the sound.

“What are you doing?” you ask, raising a playful eyebrow.

“Cuddling,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by the comforter.

“You look more like a whiny cat, you know.”

“If a whiny cat gets cuddles, then I am one.”

Your laughter bubbles over, warming Satoru, who nearly purrs as your fingers scratch at his scalp.

a/n: hello guys :)) i know it’s been like two weeks w/ anything but let’s forget that, hmm? so 1st december is the birthday of my bsf haha and sadly the end of fall for me... (i’m depressed bc of this). but, i’m in the mood to write everything fluffy, etc. (saying this while my brain is mentally preparing a big angsty fic for the coming weeks bwahahaha). hope you guys have a nice week and see you soon <33

likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422

@drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @cybersomniq @sanemistar

@monokaix

[mononijikayu]

think about things — fushiguro toji.

“I don’t want to mess this up, babe.” he finally admitted, the words coming out in a low, almost reluctant rumble. “I don’t want to mess him up. I don’t want to be like my father, babe. I wanna be a good father to him. I want to love him so much and I just….” Your heart ached at the rawness in his voice, at the vulnerability he rarely let show. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your cheek against his chest. For a moment, he stiffened. He always did, as though he wasn’t quite used to comfort—but then he relaxed, his arms circling around you. “You won’t mess him up, baby.” you said softly. “You love him. You won’t end up like your father. You love Megumi, he is our treasure. That’s why you love him. That’s what matters most. And you’re trying. That’s more than enough.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: intense fluff, romance, mild-angst, pet names (baby, babe, treasure etc), love, humor, light-hearted, parenthood, married life, healthy relationship, newborn baby, being in love, slice of life, domestic life, family, anxiety, emotional trauma, emotional suffering, self-doubt, encouragement, depictions of anxiety, depiction of healthy relationship, depiction of married life, depiction of parenthood, depiction of self-doubt, depiction of emotional trauma, mention of familial issues, mention of childhood trauma, mention of emotional suffering, mention of breast-feeding, husband! toji, mamaguro! reader, baby! megumi, normalize having a proud house-husband and father at home, ladies, gents and non-binary friends!;

WORD COUNT: 7k words

NOTE: after writing so much sad stuff, i knew i had to write something really cute and something relatively happy, for the most part. i asked my beta reader what they wanted to see from me - toji or gojo and they said toji. and well, here we are. the song this is based off from is called think about things by daði freyr.

also what megumi accidentally said was ゴミ which expresses waste/garbage, encompassing things made by human acts. precious little megumi intended to say ごま which is sesame. megumi is still only a few months old!!! he's still learning how to speak!!! in any case, i hope you enjoyed this. i love you all!!! see you in the next one <3

masterlist

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FUSHIGURO TOJI THINKS HE’S NEVER BELIEVED IN WONDER. From the moment he was born, such a thing did not exist. Not even his mother believed it. Not even when he was born. But he thinks that after her sufferings, he wouldn't doubt it that he too inherited such grief and pain too.

Even having grown up in a sorcerer clan, where he saw things that could make anyone go in awe — nothing about it had made him feel like there was anything worth the thought. Nothing about being a Zenin was worth wondering or for that matter, worth remembering. 

But everything after that, especially when you came into his life, did he think they were possible. That wonders did exist in this life and he could have it. He was worth having. He was worth giving such wonders to.

And everything about wonder, he had learned from you. Every sense of the word, the texture, the taste, the feeling. Everything started when he met you. Every good thing sprung into life, like spring, when he met you. 

Fushiguro Toji believed that each person has only truly had three special wonders in their lives, nothing more and nothing less. It was almost something out of a genie’s lamp. Three wishes, three gifts, three wonders.

And Toji likes to think that he’s used up all his three wonders. But he was alright with that. He liked to think that he was content with having used it up. Because everything about his life now consisted of those three wonders. 

The first was when he first saw you, and then smiled at him so warmly. The second was when you agreed to marry him and spend the rest of your life with him. And the third? Oh, nothing could ever beat the third. That day when you made him a father, the day when your precious son Megumi was born into this world. 

Toji couldn’t help but stay there for a moment, his large frame silhouetted against the soft light spilling in from the hallway. He didn’t dare move too quickly or too loudly, worried that even the smallest disturbance might wake his precious son Megumi. And yet, despite the quiet, his mind was anything but still.

He had fought the worst of the worst in life, faced death more times than he could count, and lived a life dictated by survival. But none of that had prepared him for this: the weight of fatherhood.

Not the kind of weight that came from responsibility or the logistical burdens of raising a child. No, this was heavier. This was the realization that he was holding the entirety of someone else’s future in his calloused, scarred hands.

When Fushiguro Megumi had first been placed in his arms at the hospital, Toji had frozen. The baby was impossibly small, a bundle wrapped in a soft blanket that felt foreign against his skin.

Toji had stared down at the little face, this precious little face and saw that little face be endlessly red and then pale. He saw that face turn red again as the features scrunched up and echo into those heart-wrenching fits of crying. 

For a split second, all he could admit to was his heart racing so fast against his chest. He was nothing but panicked. Toji never thought he would ever end up finding himself terrified of something.

He was terrified that he couldn’t stop his baby from crying. He was terrified of how small he was, and how big his hands could be to hold something as precious as this little boy. Just as fast, Toji had ended up thinking about all the things he didn’t know: how to soothe him, how to feed him, how to even hold him properly.

He didn’t know how to. How does a father look tenderly at his baby son and tell him it’s going to be alright? How does a father let his voice be the calmest and quietest comfort in the world? How does a father have soft kind hands with such scarred, brutish hands?

Toji couldn’t help it but he stood there, holding the most precious wonder in life and had just as quickly thought of all the ways he might fail — panicked and afraid, wondering if there was ever going to be a chance that he’ll end up doing well. That he’d end up doing right by this precious wonder, this precious treasure. 

But now, almost eight months later, Fushiguro Toji stood here watching his son sleep, something shifted.

His little Megumi’s tiny fingers twitched again, his expression relaxing into something peaceful. He was so precious in this way, Toji thinks. The world stops and becomes a bright wonder for his son.

Toji’s lips quivered into a crooked smile, a tender warmth spreading through his chest that he hadn’t known ever existed before he’d had his little boy, his precious treasure. He crouched down, resting his forearms on the edge of the crib, and let his voice drop to a murmur, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

“You’re so small still, hm?” he said softly, almost as if confessing to the baby. “Smaller than I thought. And yet you are growing so much. Even bigger than back at the hospital, when you were born. But... I guess it’s cos you’re a big boy already, aren’t you? Our Megumi’s already growing, huh? Doin’ everything you could to be stronger.” 

For a moment, he couldn’t help but hesitate as his fingers brushed against Megumi’s back. His little son moved slightly, against the touch. He must know his father was here. But Toji felt weary about waking his little son up.

He was up for a while, and only just fell asleep a while ago. But Megumi went back soundly to sleep. And Toji felt some relief. His precious boy is going to get some rest tonight.

“Hey ‘gumi. I’m gonna be here, okay? Not like my father.” His voice felt thicker at those words, despite the fact that  Every step of the way. I don’t know if I’m good at this... but I’ll try, kid. I’ll always try.”

The words came out unpolished, unpracticed, but there was a rawness in them that surprised even him. Toji never thought of himself as the sentimental type, but Megumi had a way of drawing things out of him that he didn’t even know were there.

Maybe it was the way your little son had come to look like you, or maybe it was the undeniable fact that your precious treasure named Fushiguro Megumi was part of him—a part he didn’t know he could love so much.

As he continued to watch, Megumi stirred again, this time letting out a tiny sound that made Toji’s chest ache. He reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering over the crib for a moment before finally brushing against the baby’s blanket-covered chest. It was a small, tentative gesture, but it felt monumental.

“I don’t know what you’ll think about the world, or me one day, you know?” Toji murmured, his voice almost a whisper now. “But I want to know. Someday, when you’re big enough to talk, I’ll listen. To every little thing. And until then... I’ll keep trying to figure this out.”

The baby’s breathing deepened, a soft sigh escaping him, and Toji let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He straightened, glancing down at Megumi. The truth was, Toji had never expected to live a life where someone else depended on him. 

He’d grown up in a world where strength was currency, where attachments were liabilities, and where survival meant keeping your guard up at all costs. That was how it was when you were born a Zenin. No ifs, no buts.

He had lived in the shadows of loss and anger for so long that the idea of something so beautiful and uncorrupted and pure, something as delicate and innocent as his precious treasure Megumi—felt almost impossible to comprehend. And for that pure existence to be born from him, because of him. 

Toji couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t real. That something with such a cursed existence as him could ever have something like happiness. And yet, here he was. His precious son, born out of love between you and him. And he could see him. 

Even now as he’s standing outside that room, chest tight with a strange combination of fear and determination — he convinces himself that his son was here, his precious son was here, because he loved him. Because he loved you. And he deserves this. This was the life he deserves. He always will. 

For a moment, he closes his eyes and takes a breath. Before long, he whispers a good-night to his little one and flees to the living room, just near his son’s room. If Megumi gets hungry, he’ll bring him some of your milk stock from the fridge. There was no reason to wake you. You still had work later.  

He goes to the couch and closes his eyes again. He had to go and get some rest here. If he comes back to bed, he might be too loud when he gets back in. And he’d want to be there quickly if Megumi needed anything. That’s what he was here for, as your loving house-husband. But he finds that he can’t sleep. 

Even now, he still can’t help but feel restless. What if he gets too much sleep and he doesn’t wake up? He had to make you and Megumi breakfast in the morning too. He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling before a soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Toji? Baby?”

It was you, standing a few steps away, wrapped in the oversized robe you always wore around the house. Your hair was slightly mussed, your face soft with the haze of sleep, but your eyes were sharp, focused. You must have noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched as though he was wrestling with himself.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, voice gentle but edged with concern.

Toji turned to look at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a small, almost sheepish shrug, he nodded. “Yeah. He’s asleep.”

You stepped closer, your hand finding its way to his arm. Your touch was grounding, and Toji found himself leaning into it without realizing. “You’re sure? You look... tense.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Tense, huh? Guess that’s not wrong.” He glanced back at the door, his voice dropping to something softer, more vulnerable. “I was just... thinking.”

“About?”

“About him.” His blue–green eyes met yours briefly before flickering away, as though the weight of his thoughts was too much to share directly. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, you know? I look at him, and... he’s so small. So... breakable. And I—”

He stopped, biting back the words, his brows furrowing. You squeezed his arm gently, waiting for him to find the rest of his sentence. You knew that your husband has had a lot of concern about being a father.

He’s told you some of what he’d experienced as a child, and sometimes about his father. But not everything. So, this was the first time you’ve heard things from him personally, this loud and this vulnerable. Your face contorts at his pain.

“I don’t want to mess this up, babe.” he finally admitted, the words coming out in a low, almost reluctant rumble. “I don’t want to mess him up. I don’t want to be like my father, babe. I wanna be a good father to him. I want to love him so much and I just….”

Your heart ached at the rawness in his voice, at the vulnerability he rarely let show. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your cheek against his chest. For a moment, he stiffened. He always did, as though he wasn’t quite used to comfort—but then he relaxed, his arms circling around you.

“You won’t mess him up, baby.” you said softly. “You love him. You won’t end up like your father. You love Megumi, he is our treasure. That’s why you love him. That’s what matters most. And you’re trying. That’s more than enough.”

He let out another shaky breath, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. “Trying doesn’t feel like enough,” he muttered. “Not for him. He deserves... more.”

“He deserves you, baby.” you corrected, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “The you who’s here, who’s holding him, who’s promising to be there. That’s all he needs. That’s all we both need.”

For a long moment, Fushiguro Toji just stared at you, his blue-green eyes searching your own bright orbs as though trying to find something he couldn’t quite name. Finally, he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible dip of his head. His face looked a little bit more relaxed, with your reassurance.

“Yeah…..” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. “Come on. Let’s get some rest. You’ll need your energy when he wakes up in the middle of the night.”

“Babe, I should stay here—”

“No, no. You have super hearing, baby. You can get up when he wakes up. Come on, stop being a helicopter parent already and let our son sleep.”

Toji groaned softly at your words, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he let you guide him down the hall. For now, he would take things one moment at a time. One step at a time.

Because for all the uncertainty, for all the fears that lingered in the back of his mind, one thing was clear: he had a family now. A real one. And for them, Fushiguro Toji would do anything.

══════════════════

YOUR MATERNAL LEAVE IS FINALLY OVER. So in a way, the house was quieter now. Quieter than Fushiguro Toji had expected it to be with a growing baby around, though the stillness wasn’t something he disliked.

And with how you’d gone back to work today, leaving him to take care of Megumi for the first time on his own. So Fushiguro Toji was certain, he was going to have all hands on deck. 

He’d joked about it before you left, tossing off some comments about how hard it could be. But now, standing in the living room with his tiny son in his arms, he was realizing it was more daunting than he let on.

He’d had you around the house for a long while and he had gotten used to it. He had become a rusty house–husband and more so, an already rusty father.

Fushiguro Megumi couldn’t help but fuss a little, with his little face scrunching up in that telltale way that meant a cry wasn’t far behind.

Toji sighed a little, looking softly at his precious boy as he shifted him gently, cradling him against his chest and bouncing on his heels like he’d seen you do a hundred times before.

“Hey, ‘gumi. Easy, okay?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I gotcha. No need to get all worked up.”

Megumi quieted, though his tiny fists still curled and uncurled against Toji’s shirt. Toji looked down at him, his expression softening. Tired as he was, he was always content when he looked at his son. Everything pays off.

It wasn’t often he let himself feel this—this quiet kind of contentment. But when he was holding Megumi, feeling his warmth and hearing his little breaths, it was impossible not to. Everything Toji does, everything you both do; it’s all for Megumi.

“Toji?” You’d asked that morning, lingering by the door as you prepared to leave. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Me?” he’d scoffed, smirking. “I’ve handled worse than a baby, you know. I’d be fine with our son, babe. Trust me.”

But now, hours later, Toji found himself pacing the living room, humming softly under his breath to keep Megumi calm. A melody came to him,something his mother used to sing. It was very rare for his mother to hold him for that long, that he’d remember. But she’d held him enough to hum melodies to him. Those were Toji’s first memories.

They weren’t overcomplicated tunes, if one was to hear it. If anything, they were the kind you don’t think about too hard—something simple, warm, and steady. But sometimes, he’d remember the lyrics. And Toji would find that those words would stir something in his little son, as much as they do for him, remembering his own mother.

Toji didn’t know if his voice was good enough to be heard, or to be enjoyed in a song. But Megumi seems to not mind his voice. If anything, little Megumi seems to be fond of his voice. And Toji relished that thought. He might not be the best in the world in singing, but he’s glad that at the very least, it comforts his son.

“When we are together….” he sang quietly, his deep voice surprisingly tender. “There isn’t anywhere that I would rather be.”

Megumi stirred, his dark blue–green orbs tiredly blinking up at his father, and Toji couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight. He kept rocking his little boy gently, the words of the song coming easier now, as though they belonged to this moment.

“Three birds of a feather…..” he continued, his lips quivering in a half-smile, memories of his mother flooding his mind. “I just hope you enjoy our company.”

His little son couldn’t help but gurgle softly at his words, and Toji took that as a good sign, his confidence growing. He walked to the large window overlooking the bright flourishing garden he had planted and let the beckoning sunlight spill over them both.

“It’s been some time and though hard to define, as if the stars have started to align…” He continued to sing softly. Toji looked down at Megumi again, his expression uncharacteristically gentle. “We are bound together, now and forever. And I will never let you go.”

His little baby boy cooed, his little hand reaching up to grasp at the fabric of Toji’s tight shirt. Toji stilled, staring at the tiny fingers that clung to him as though Megumi understood every word he’d just sung. He couldn’t help but snicker.

“Yeah, you and me, kid.” he murmured. “And mama, too. Never forget your precious mama, hm? We’re always going to be three birds of a feather, okay?”

The quiet stretched on as Toji carried Megumi back to the couch, easing down into the cushions while keeping the baby close. He thought about you, about how hard it must have been for you to leave this morning, even though you tried to hide it. He thought about how much you trusted him to take care of Megumi, how much faith you had in him to do right by your son.

And as the baby drifted off to sleep in his arms, Fushiguro Toji felt it again—that strange, overwhelming sense of belonging. It wasn’t something he’d sought out, and it sure as hell wasn’t something he thought he deserved. But as he sat there, holding Megumi, he realized that this was it. This was everything.

When you returned home later that day from work, you were tired. But you couldn’t stop smiling. As you got closer inside you found them both on the couch. Your husband Toji was leaning back, his head tilted to the side, dozing lightly. Your treasure, little Megumi, was nestled against his father’s chest, his little hand still clutching at Toji’s shirt.

You stood there for a moment, your heart swelling at the sight, and whispered. “Three birds of a feather, all three of us. Just like you said, huh, baby?”

And though Toji didn’t stir, a faint smile tugged at his lips, as if he’d heard you all the same. You stepped closer, the quiet creak of the floorboards barely stirring the peaceful scene in front of you. Toji’s chest rose and fell steadily, his broad arms wrapped protectively around Megumi. 

Your heart swelled as you watched them, a moment of stillness in your otherwise chaotic world. It wasn’t a sight you’d ever imagined when you first met Toji, but now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Careful not to wake either of them, you crouched by the couch and reached out, gently brushing your fingers through Megumi’s soft hair. His tiny face was relaxed, his mouth slightly open in the kind of sleep only babies seemed to achieve. Your gaze shifted to Toji, his sharp features softened by the faint glow of the setting sun spilling through the window.

“Toji, baby.” you whispered, keeping your voice low. “I’m home.”

His bright blue–green eyes cracked open, the colors of his irises catching the light. He blinked slowly, as if pulling himself out of a dream, and then his gaze landed on you. He processed the world and it stopped when he looked at you. Like when he met you. A small, lazy smile crept onto your husband’s beautiful lips.

“Hey, babe.” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep. “You’re back. Welcome home.”

You nodded, your fingers still brushing over Megumi’s hair. “How was it? Your first day as the primary stay at home parent for the first time?”

Toji huffed a quiet laugh, shifting slightly without jostling Megumi. “Didn’t burn the place down, did I?”

You grinned, leaning your chin on the edge of the couch. “I don’t see any scorch marks at all, baby. I’d say that’s a win.”

He snorted softly, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his expression—something vulnerable. “He’s… a lot quieter than I thought he’d be. I’d always thought that young kids would be like that but….Megumi spent most of the day just watching me like I was some kind of puzzle he was trying to figure out.”

“That’s Megumi for you, you know?” you said, your smile softening. “He’s always been observant. Like someone else I know.”

Toji raised a brow, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he looked down at the baby in his arms, his hand shifting to rest against Megumi’s back. For a moment, he was silent, and then he spoke, his voice quieter this time.

“He’s a good kid, our little ‘gumi.” he said, almost to himself. “He doesn’t even cry much. Just stares at me like he’s waiting for me to say something smart.”

You laughed softly, careful not to wake the baby. “And did you?”

“Course not, babe.” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “But I… I talked to him. Sang, too.”

Your eyes widened slightly. You slowly smiled. You loved your husband’s voice too. And you were certain that your love for his voice was transported to your son too. “You sang to him, baby?”

Toji rolled his eyes, though a faint blush crept up his neck. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, babe. He seemed to like it, that’s all.”

Your heart melted at the thought of Toji singing to Megumi, his deep voice wrapping around words meant only for his son. You reached out, your hand covering his where it rested on Megumi’s back.

“You’re doing great, baby.” you said softly. “You know that, right? I’m so proud of you.”

He glanced at you, his expression guarded for a moment before it softened. “I’m just… figuring it out as I go. Don’t wanna mess this up.”

“You won’t, baby. I’m certain about your success.” you assured him. “Not with how much you care about him.”

Toji didn’t respond right away, but his grip on Megumi tightened slightly, as if to anchor himself. After a moment, he nodded, his gaze dropping back to the sleeping baby. He lets out a relieved sigh before letting a small smile echo on his lips.

“Yeah, I guess so.” he murmured. “We’re figuring it out. The three of us.”

“Three birds of a feather, you told me before.” you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could think about it. “We’ll figure it all out.”

Toji’s lips echoed into a bigger smile, and he glanced at you, his green eyes warm. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

As the sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the room, you stayed there by the couch, your hand resting over his. It wasn’t perfect, and it wouldn’t always be easy.

But as you looked at the two of them, your husband and your son, you felt the stars aligning. You were bound together, now and forever. And none of you would ever let go.

══════════════════

TODAY WAS A DAY OFF. So Toji had let you doze off for a little while longer. He thought that with how you were trying to still settle with balancing life as a new mother and also a career woman, it takes a toll on you.

And more than anything, you deserve a chance to have some chance to just relax. So, you hadn’t noticed how long you had actually slept until you saw the clock by your bedside table. 10:30 am. You sat up immediately.

The moment you stepped out of your room, you tried to be as quiet as possible. A smile echoes across your lips as you find yourself stopping and listening for a moment. You could hear Toji’s deep voice coming from the living room.

It had that playful lilt he used only with Megumi—low and teasing, with just a hint of childish mockery. You smiled to yourself as you moved toward the source of the commotion.

In the living room, you found the two of them on the floor. Your two boys had a little bubble of their own. And you suspect that they've had that bubble since before dawn. Megumi gets angsty and wakes up at that time, wanting some milk.

Your husband Toji was sitting cross-legged, Megumi perched in front of him on a soft play mat. Your son’s little face was scrunched up in what could only be described as a glare, his tiny fists clenched at his sides. Your husband Toji, still rather oblivious to the budding storm brewing in his child, was grinning like an idiot.

“Megumi, hey..... kid….what’s that look for?” Toji was saying, leaning down so their faces were at the same level. “What’s with that intense focus, huh? You pooping or what? You gotta let papa know, so he can prepare. Your poop goes nuclear, you know that? Papa smells it on his hands even after he washes, hm?”

Megumi let out a frustrated sound, his little glare intensifying, which only made Toji laugh harder. “Yeah, you’re definitely working on something, aren’t you? What’s it gonna be, huh? A big one?”

“Gomi!” Megumi suddenly blurted, his little voice sharp and determined as he glared daggers at his father.

Fushiguro Toji couldn’t help but freeze up. He found himself blinking in surprise. For a moment, the world stood still as he tried to process what his little son just said, as perhaps — his very first word.  

“What?” he asked, tilting his head like he’d misheard. “Did you just call me gomi?”

You couldn’t hold back your laugh anymore, clutching the wall for support as you doubled over. The absurdity of the situation, paired with Toji’s stunned expression, was too much.Your son was always so full of surprises. 

“Oh my god, baby…..he called you trash!” you managed between laughs.

Toji turned his wide-eyed gaze to you, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to figure out how to defend himself. “Hey, wait a minute! I don’t think he meant—”

“Gomi!” Megumi said again, louder this time, pointing a tiny finger at his father. His glare hadn’t wavered in the slightest, his baby cheeks puffed out in sheer indignation.

“I swear to the heavens above…” Toji said, now more flustered than you’d ever seen him. “I’m not gomi! What the hell, kid?!”

Still laughing, you finally found your balance from the laughing fits. You walked over and lowered yourself as you scooped Megumi into your arms, kissing his head as his tiny arms flailed indignantly. Your husband’s frown was evident frustration. 

“I don’t think our son’s not calling you trash, baby.” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “He’s trying to say goma. Sesame. He’s been seeing it in TV commercials when I feed him some milk these past few nights. He might have caught up with it and babbled it and…it just didn’t end up as translated.”

Toji stared at you, then at Megumi, who was now nestled against your chest, still glaring at him like he’d committed the ultimate betrayal. “Sesame?” Toji repeated, frowning. “Why the hell is he glaring at me, then?”

“Maybe because you keep asking him if he’s pooping, baby.” you said with a grin, bouncing Megumi lightly to calm him down. “Honestly, baby, would you want someone to do that to you?”

Toji groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Great. First real word he says to me, and it’s calling me gomi, babe. Kid’s already taking after you.”

You snorted, pressing another kiss to Megumi’s cheek. “Don’t blame me because he’s got taste, baby. Our son takes after his mother well!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Toji grumbled, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. He reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair, despite the baby’s continued glare. “Fine, kid. I’ll let it lose this time okay? You win this time, hm? But papa is not a gomi, got it?”

Megumi didn’t respond, but the glare softened just enough for Toji to let out a relieved sigh. “That’s what I thought. Just like your mama.” he muttered, before looking back at you. “Are you laughing at me the whole time?”

“Absolutely, baby.” you said with a grin. “And I’ll be telling this story forever.”

Toji groaned again, but you caught the corner of his mouth twitching upward, unable to hide his fondness as he watched Megumi settle back into your arms. Even when his son thought he was trash, Toji couldn’t help but adore him.

As the laughter subsided and your little Megumi relaxed in your arms, you couldn’t help but keep grinning at the ridiculous scene you’d just walked in on. It was like your husband found himself in outer space. And he was still debating whether aliens were real.

Fushiguro Toji sat back on his hands, still looking flabbergasted as his blue-green eyes darted between you and Megumi. HIs eyes narrowed for a moment and then a short breath releases from his lips. He shook his head, muttering under his breath.

“Unbelievable.” he grumbled, though there was a clear hint of amusement now in his tone. “First words. Gomi. What are the odds?”

You chuckled, bouncing Megumi lightly on your hip. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. He’s been trying to say goma all week, and you just happened to push his buttons at the wrong time.”

“Pushed his buttons?” Toji said, straightening up. “All I did was ask if he was pooping! That’s fair game when someone’s giving you that face!”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, glancing down at Megumi, who was still sporting a little frown but had mostly calmed down. “Maybe he’s tired of you questioning his dignity, baby.” you teased. “He’s got standards, you know.”

“Standards?” Toji repeated, narrowing his eyes at his son. “This coming from a kid who tried to eat his own foot this morning?”

“Gomi!” Megumi declared again, his little finger pointing accusingly at Toji, as if to double down on his stance.

You burst out laughing, nearly stumbling as you tried to hold Megumi steady. “Oh my god, Toji, baby. It's rough! you’ve been officially labeled. There’s no coming back from this now!”

Toji let out a long, exaggerated sigh, dragging a hand down his face before flopping dramatically onto his back. “This kid’s out to get me. This is just....ugh.” he mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. “First it’s gomi, next thing I know, he’ll be telling his teachers I’m a garbage dad.”

“You’ll survive, baby.” you said with a grin, moving to sit beside him on the mat. Megumi squirmed in your arms, reaching out toward Toji with his chubby little hands. “See? He doesn’t mean it. He loves you, trash talk and all.”

Toji sat up just enough to take Megumi from you, holding the baby in front of him at arm’s length as if inspecting him for further insults. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Megumi.” he said, narrowing his blue-green eyes towards his little boy.

Megumi stared back at him, his lips twitching as if he was trying to form another word. For a moment, both you and Toji held your breath, waiting to see what would come out next.

“Gooooo-ma.” Megumi finally said, his voice softer this time, and he clapped his little hands together as if proud of himself. "Go-ma!"

Toji blinked, his expression shifting from stunned to triumphant. “There it is! Goma! That’s what you meant, huh? Not gomi. Goma! Great job, ‘gumi!”

“Good job, my little treasure!” you cheered, clapping along with Megumi.

Toji puffed out his chest, grinning at you like he’d just won a major battle. “See? I told you the kid doesn’t think I’m trash.”

“Oh, don’t act like you weren’t sweating there for a second, baby.” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“Whatever.” he said, pulling Megumi closer and nuzzling his cheek, much to the baby’s delight. “This little guy knows his old man’s the best out there, hm? Don’t you, kid?”

Megumi giggled, reaching up to grab a handful of Toji’s hair. Your rather contently resigned husband snickered, taking a deep sigh and letting his son do as he wished.

You let out a small laugh, your heart warm. Life was great like this. And you were truly grateful, as much as you know Toji was, that this was your life day to day.

“Yeah, yeah, baby.” you said with a fond smile, watching them. “For now, at least. Just wait until he starts picking up on all your bad habits.”

Toji shot you a playful glare, but there was nothing but warmth in his eyes as he cradled Megumi against his chest. “Bad habits, huh? I’ll teach him the important stuff. Like how to dodge a jab and—”

“And maybe not how to taunt people until they call you garbage.” you cut in, smirking at your husband.

Toji groaned, but the sound was filled with affection. “Fine, fine. You win this one. But just wait. Next word he says is gonna be dad. Calling it now, babe. Third time’s the charm!”

“Whatever you say, gomi–kun.” you teased, unable to resist one last jab.

He shot you a look, but the soft laugh he let out was enough to tell you he didn’t mind. In fact, you could tell he was enjoying every bit of this—your teasing, Megumi’s growing personality, the quiet chaos of your little family.

And as you watched him hold Megumi, the baby now giggling uncontrollably as Fushiguro Toji playfully poked his chubby cheeks, you knew there was no place any of you both would rather be.

Especially your beloved husband. Even if Megumi decided to call him gomi again tomorrow. That all didn't matter. As long as you were together, happy and content.

══════════════════

epilogue 

The next morning, after breakfast and while you were doing the laundry, the air was thick with anticipation. The kind of anticipation that only a determined father can have when his child is on the verge of accomplishing a great feat—like calling him "oto-san" or "dad".

Toji, sitting on the floor cross-legged like he was preparing for a life-altering event, had a ridiculous amount of hope in his eyes. Megumi was seated in front of him on the playmat, his big bright blue–green eyes wide and serious, as if he understood the gravity of the moment.

“Oto-san.” Toji said, his voice impossibly soft, practically dripping with encouragement. “Say it with me, Megumi. O-to-san. You can do it, little man.”

Megumi, who was sitting cross-legged just like his dad (it was adorable how he tried to copy every little thing Toji did), looked up at him, his tiny face scrunched up as he processed the words. He was staring at Toji like he was decoding some ancient language, his eyes darting from Toji's mouth to his eyes, clearly focused.

Toji waited, leaning in a little closer as though the two of them were sharing a secret. “Oto-san. Come on. Say it.” Toji repeated slowly for his little son. “O-to-san.”

Megumi blinked once, twice, and you could practically hear the little gears turning in his mind, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was exaggerated. “Gomi!”

You couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing. The way your Toji looked completely deflated at the sound of the word—again—was too much. He had been trying so hard to do what he could since this morning and so far, Megumi hasn't been cooperating.

He slumped back onto his hands, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though you could see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite his best efforts to act annoyed.

"Not again, kid!" Toji groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m not gomi! I’m Oto-san! You’re really gonna call me trash again, huh?”

Megumi, blissfully unaware of the comedic frustration he was causing, grinned up at Toji. His tiny face lit up like a lightbulb, pleased with the attention, clearly proud of himself for having mastered the art of taunting his father in a single syllable.

“I swear, kid…..” Toji muttered, but his voice was full of affection. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You leaned against the doorframe, watching the whole thing unfold, utterly charmed by the two of them. Toji, the intimidating figure who was capable of single-handedly taking down enemies twice his size, now reduced to a pile of goo over his son’s simple interactions. 

And Fushiguro Megumi, with his wide, innocent eyes, staring at his dad like he was the most important person in the world.

“Let’s try again, okay?” Toji said, his tone shifting back to encouragement. “Come on, Megumi. O-to-san. You can do it.”

Megumi was still focused on Toji, his big eyes narrowed in thought, like he was really going to work for this one. And for a moment, Toji’s gaze softened, watching his son struggle so seriously with something as simple as a word. There was no trace of impatience on his face now, only patience and quiet joy at being in this moment with his son, who was so determined.

“O-to-san” Toji repeated slowly, the words rolling off his tongue like they were sacred, full of meaning. “O-to-san.”

Megumi blinked again and then, just as you thought the whole thing was going to repeat itself with another triumphant “Gomi” — your little treasure of a son did something that was rather unexpected, even for his own father.

He looked down at his little hands for a moment, and then, in a burst of focus, he looked back up at Toji. This time, his little mouth formed the word slowly, with effort. “O...to...san.”

Toji froze. His entire body stilled, as if the universe itself had shifted. He blinked, then blinked again, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Did... did you just say—” His voice was breathless, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Did you just say... Oto-san?”

Megumi’s face lit up with an innocent pride, a mischievous little grin spreading across his face as though he knew he’d just done something monumental. He reached up, patting Toji’s cheek, as if confirming what had just happened.

Toji, his heart swelling with emotions you didn’t even know he was capable of, immediately scooped Megumi into his arms. The baby squealed, giggling in surprise as he was lifted up, and Toji held him close, pressing his cheek against his son’s own chubby ones.

“You did it, kid. You really said it. O-to-san.” He repeated it like he was relishing every syllable. “Dad. Oto–san.” he whispered, almost in awe. “You said it.”

You couldn’t contain the warm laugh that bubbled up from your chest, a soft, happy sound that filled the room as you walked over to them. You bent down, brushing a hand through Megumi’s soft hair as he clung to his dad, who was still holding him in a vice grip, clearly elated.

“Oh my god, Toji, baby.” you said, grinning from ear to ear. “You did it. You’re officially Oto-san.”

Toji looked up at you, a grin breaking across his face, his eyes shining with joy. “You hear that? Oto-san! He said it!” His voice was practically vibrating with excitement.

You leaned in to kiss Megumi’s cheek, and he responded by beaming up at you, his tiny arms reaching toward both of you as if he was basking in the love that was flooding the room. "He’s got his first word," you said softly, holding him gently. “Oto-san.”

Toji’s expression softened, his hands tightening around his son as if he were trying to hold onto this moment forever. “Man, I never thought I’d get to hear that. First ‘gomi’ and then ‘Oto-san’... I’m already getting my father of the year award.”

“Definitely, baby.” you teased, sitting down beside them. “First he calls you trash, now he’s calling you dad. You’re on a roll!”

Toji grinned widely, holding Megumi up like he’d just won a trophy. “Yeah, well, I’m Oto-san now. All the ‘gomi’ in the world can’t take that away from me.”

Megumi, as if he understood the gravity of the moment, raised his hands in a victorious gesture, causing both of you to laugh. Toji’s joy was practically radiating off of him, and you could tell that, for him, this moment, this small, perfect moment—was everything to your husband.

As you all sat together, with Megumi snuggled between you and Toji, you couldn’t help but smile at the scene. Toji might have started this whole "Oto-san" lesson with a bit of desperation, but now, he was on top of the world. 

The way Megumi had slowly figured out the word, and the way Toji had been so patient—there was a deep love in the room. It wasn’t just about the word itself; it was about the bond they were building.

“I think he’s got it, baby.” you said, watching as Toji continued to whisper the word to Megumi. “Oto-san... your first real word. He’ll be saying it a lot from now on.”

Toji, still holding Megumi close, sighed happily, a sense of peace settling over him. “Yeah.” he said, his voice full of warmth and affection. “Oto-san. I’m good with that.”

And in that moment, with the three of you together in the warmth of your home, everything felt right.

[redeemingvillains]

obliviate - mattheo riddle

summary: when voldemort finds out about you and mattheo, he devises the perfect way to keep you apart.

word count: 5k

a/n: okeeey i know this is longer, but i actually adore it so much! kinda put my heart + soul into this one! extremely special shoutout to @pizzaapeteer's research on mattheo's favorite quidditch team, which provided a name i needed at the very end (hint hint!) ♡

warnings: angst (but also fluff, pls, it's me), use of the cruciatus curse, voldemort being voldemort.

soundtrack: dancing to the sound of a broken heart - galantis

OBLIVIATE (v.) -- To forget, to wipe from existence.

You noticed before he did.

It was early; the morning sun was just barely sneaking past the curtains in the window that fluttered gently in the autumn breeze, setting his bedroom in a deep golden hue. Your limbs were heavy with sleep and you were settled warmly in Mattheo’s arms, you could feel the rise and fall of his chest at your back, his warm breath on your neck. Normally this was your very favorite way to wake up, but something was off, something had made your eyelids flutter open, a feeling, a foreboding.

You didn’t want to wake him, gods knew he needed his sleep, so you squinted slowly around the room until your eyes rested on the very arms that were wrapped around you.

It was his dark mark, writhing against his skin.

No— you thought, but in an instant, Mattheo jolted awake, breathing heavily like he was coming out of a nightmare, or coming into one, and within a moment he was pulling his arms out from around you and you immediately felt cold for their absence.

“Matty” you whispered, turning to face him and reaching out for him, but he was already up and out bed, pulling his clothes on haphazardly.

He turned at the sound of your voice, looking longingly at you for the briefest moment, tangled in his sheets, perfect in the morning glow, your eyes begging him not to leave.

“Stay?” you asked quietly, and his stomach lurched. Fuck if you didn’t have the ability to bring him to his knees with just one word; but his arm burned and ached with impatience… He wouldn’t be kept waiting much longer and Mattheo could only come up with so many excuses as to why he was always late without exposing the truth, desperate to protect you.

“I have to…” he started, but he didn’t finish the statement, didn’t want to say what exactly he’d have to do and thank the gods you never asked.

“I know” you sighed.

“I love you” he said, leaning forward to kiss you sincerely, his fingers brushing your jawline, taking one last piece of humanity and goodness with him.

“I love you more” you whispered as his form disappeared in front of you, leaving you alone.

Mattheo knew the moment he arrived that something was deeply deeply wrong.

He recognized his surroundings at once: the Riddle family manor. The halls echoed with a silence so familiar to him and his childhood it felt like his heart stopped beating so as not to make a sound. Besides silence, though, he also felt the other hallmark of his childhood: loneliness. He was alone; not one in a mistakable mix of followers that he could slip into undetected, he was home, and he was alone, and he felt an uneasiness, a sickness settle over him as the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise and he turned to see his father stepping out of the shadows.

“Twelve minutes” he said by way of greeting, avoiding Mattheo’s eyes as he approached him like a predator would its prey.

“Twelve minutes. From the time I summoned you, until now. What, pray tell, was so pressing, so urgent as to cause your delay?”

Mattheo’s mind swept quickly over the image of you in his bed, your hair splayed on his pillow, the smile on your lips and your soft whisper as he’d apparated, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

“S’early” he said, kicking himself for how his voice waivered in its reply.

Voldemort nodded in mock understanding, like he was considering this, drawing out the silence between them, painfully so.

“So not only are you late, but you are also lying” he said, emphasizing the last word, spitting it like a hiss, his black eyes snapping to Mattheo’s in way that caused him to jolt in reply, an automatic defense mechanism against the only living being capable of scaring him as Voldemort stormed towards him, entering his personal space as his voice rose.

“Do you remember what happened to Alexei Donovan when he lied to me?” he asked.

Mattheo’s eyes shifted between his fathers, swallowing, vividly remembering watching Nagini devour Donovan limb from limb.

“ANSWER ME!” his voice boomed.

“Y-y-yeah” he stuttered.

“Yes, my Lord” Voldemort corrected him.

“Yes, my Lord” Mattheo repeated.

And then Voldemort’s tone changed completely, as he took a step back and a smile spread across his inhuman face, which was somehow more disturbing than the alternative.

“But I am a merciful Lord, aren’t I?” he asked, his head cocked, daring Mattheo to disagree.

“Yes, my Lord” he said.

Voldemort nodded in approval.

“Yes, I am. And what a relief that must be to Ms. YLN at this very moment, hmm?” he asked, his eyes clocking Mattheo’s reaction as the blood drained from his face, his eyes blew wide and his shaking hand reached for his wand.

You watched the empty space where Mattheo had apparated like he might change his mind and come back, perhaps willing him to, before you laid back down, settling for his lingering warmth and his smell against the sheets when you heard footsteps outside the door.

You sat up, excited...naive you would think later, so fucking naive with the hope that he had returned, only to feel the blast of the door getting blown off of its hinges as you moved to cover your face from the flying debris.

Mattheo was breathing erratically, his chest visibly rising and falling with pure, unadulterated rage mixed with a fear so palpable it was like he could taste it on his tongue. He was desperately trying to rein in his emotions and failing miserably as his mind catapulted over every worst case scenario.

He spoke, finally, conjuring the only thing he could think to say as his brain continued in overdrive.

"Don't" he said firmly, threateningly, his voice level for the first time that morning.

His father smiled broadly without an ounce of kindness behind his eyes as they narrowed.

"You never learn… What did I tell you? What have I always told you? This—" he said, gesturing to Mattheo's body shaking in fight or flight mode "—is weakness. Look at you!" he said with disgust, with disdain, "You're worthless. You can't decide what to you, your mind is divided when it should be focused; you're thinking of her when you should be thinking only of yourself!"

Mattheo heard every word he was saying, but all he could think about was you, about how to get back to you, how to stop whatever had already begun; but it was like chasing a train on foot that had long since left the station, no matter how badly he wanted to jump in front of it, it was far too late.

"So, one question remains" Voldemort said, circling him again. "You...Or her?" he asked, sneering.

Mattheo's eyes flicked darkly to his father. "Me or her what?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Surely you understand that I can't allow this relationship to continue with the way it's destroying you, and while the Carrows provided me with a lengthy list of ways we could enforce that" he said, smiling, letting the threat of his most devoted followers linger. "I have something much simpler in mind." He stopped pacing, snapping to face Mattheo fully, his robes flourishing around him.

"I will have your memories" he said proudly. "And one of you will forget their feelings for the other... forever" he whispered as Mattheo felt weak in his knees, like they'd buckle beneath the weight of what had been said.

"So, whose will it be?" Voldemort asked.

You felt excruciating pain in every limb, every tendon, every bone, and when you opened your mouth to scream, the Carrows took your words.

All you could do was watch them through the tears that poured out of your eyes in your silent struggle, willing, praying for Mattheo to come back, pleading with him in your mind; please, please, please you thought even as you felt your resolve and strength waning.

Mattheo's mouth had run dry and there was bile in the back of his throat at the impossible decision before him: Either forget the brightest light in his life, perhaps the only thing keeping him steady in an ever-spiraling world, forget the way your skin felt under his fingertips, the smell of your shampoo, how tightly you squeezed him when he hugged you, or the sound of your laugh, the way you listened sincerely to him with your full attention or rubbed his back when he couldn't sleep; forget the only and most sincere feeling of love he’d ever experienced.

Or worse, meet your eyes and not see a light behind them, the way they'd twinkle with adoration for him, watch you forget him completely and live life instead as your friend, a bystander, maybe even watch you fall in love with someone else... His stomach lurched.

...But in a way, isn't that what you deserved? To live a life free of all of this, free of him and the pain he caused you, constantly, every time he had to leave, every time he had to live this second life. You were meant for more than this, you deserved to be loved by someone who could give you everything in return.

"Hers" he spluttered. "Take her memories" he said quickly before he could change his mind.

Voldemort nodded obligingly before waving a hand, dismissing him.

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in your four-poster bed, a soft smile on your lips as you saw the morning sun just barely sneaking past the curtains in the window that fluttered gently in the autumn breeze, setting your bedroom in a deep golden hue.

Your limbs were heavy with sleep and you were settled warmly in your sheets. You felt refreshed, though you had the smallest echo of a headache that you attempted to rub away as you got ready for the day.

You made your way down to breakfast, settling in amongst your friends.

"Good morning!" you said cheerfully as you took your usual seat between Pansy and Blaise.

"Good morning, babes!" Pansy chirped as the boys nodded, waved, and greeted you in various acknowledgements. You grabbed a pastry and pressed closer to Blaise to help him with the crossword puzzle in the Daily Prophet. You were deeply focused on the black and white print when Mattheo wandered in, sliding onto the bench across from you. His movement caught your eye and you glanced at him and offered a small wave before returning your attention to the paper.

And that was all he got.

A glance, a smile that he tried to hold on to, to see if there was even a glimmer of recollection behind it. But there was nothing.

The spell was strong. It had tied up every lose end. Your things were gone from his room, your pictures together wiped clear by the time he returned, even your hair tie had disappeared from his wrist. And when he crawled into his bed, and realized your scent was gone from his sheets, he pulled his pillow over his head to mask his muffled sob.

Now not even his friends remembered your relationship, he realized, as he looked around at them, all totally unphased by the fact that you weren't glued to each other's side. At once he craved the way Theo complained incessantly about your PDA, and Blaise teased him for being whipped. He would give anything anything for something other than the complete ignorance in front of him.

He'd never felt so alone.

A few days later, you noticed Mattheo was...off. Even moreso than usual. You were used to him being standoffish, reserved, a total closed book, but you sensed something different about him. You had never been close, but something about his demeanor kept catching your attention.

"Are you okay?" you asked him that weekend at the Slytherin house party.

You'd had to raise your voice to be heard over the crowd and the loud music and his eyes snapped to yours, almost in shock, before they began intently searching your face.

You looked back at him, confused, waiting for a reply.

"M'fine" he said finally, taking a long drink from his cup in an effort to occupy hands that desperately wanted to pull you into him and lips that desperately wanted to tell you a truth that didn't exist anymore.

"Lighten up, Matty!" you said, gently shoving him on his chest as you walked away, and he nearly choked on his firewhiskey, because there was only one person in his life that had ever called him that, and it was you, beginning the night you'd first time told him you loved him.

He watched you walk away and fade back into the crowded party, wondering, daring to hope that there was a way to get you back.

After that night, Mattheo’s attention on you increased tenfold. The following morning he'd squeezed his way next to you at breakfast, nearly knocking Blaise off the bench as he slid you your favorite coffee.

"Oh!...Thank you?" you'd said, surprised as you peered over his shoulder at Blaise and then looked down at the latte. "How did you—?"

"—Can I walk you to class?" he asked eagerly, a smile on his face.

"Suuureeee" you said hesitantly.

Then, he wanted to walk you to every class, and he'd even offered to carry your books. It was kind, endearing even, but it felt misplaced, so out-of-the-blue that it caught you off guard and confused you.

"Mattheo, I really want to thank you for everything you've been doing for me" you said finally as you walked out of your potions class to find him waiting for your eagerly, like a puppy, a smile on his face. Your eyes shifted to the classmates that walked by, eyeing the two of you together. "I just want you to know, I'm not really looking for anything serious. We're friends, that would be a little...weird, you know?" you said gently.

A moment.

And then he felt a chasmic split in his heart that he didn’t think he’d live through once, let alone twice. It had never occurred to him that there was a world in which you wouldn’t fall madly in love with him again as your words brought a memory rushing forward...

"Is this going to be weird?—" you asked, breathless, until his lips cut you off again, crashing to yours as his hands pulled you further against him in the broom closet. "—Darling, I could not care less" he murmured against you, and you laughed as your fingers tangled into the curls at the base of his neck and he felt your tongue against his own. “Mmm our friends are going to lose their mind” you whispered, grinning wickedly at him.

"Matty?" you asked, concerned at the look on his face, pulling him out of the memory, even as he tried and failed to hold on to it.

His eyes refocused on yours as his face darkened.

"Why are you calling me that?" he asked abruptly, his eyes narrowing.

"What?" you asked, taken aback at his tone.

"Matty. Why are you calling me that?"

"I—" you started before looking up at him, confused, feeling the dull ache of one of your more frequently occurring headaches coming on. "I-I don't know" you said quickly, a blush rising to your cheeks as you pushed past him.

He turned and punched the wall forcefully, feeling his knuckles crack in response.

Weeks went by. Every second in your existence was a painful reminder of what he would never have again, and yet he refused to distance himself, desperate for your laugh even if was for someone else, your smile, even if he wasn't the one to put it there.

Sometimes he swore he saw the slightest recollection in your eyes; he'd catch you looking at him, and you'd smile when he caught your eye, but it was always friendly, never like the look you used to give him, with the glimmer of something sinfully mischievous beneath it that had the two of you tumbling into his bed between classes.

The whole situation was setting him on edge, making him more anxious and fidgety than he'd ever been. But, of course, no one seemed to notice, his friends either chalking it up to his normal idiosyncrasies or bewitched to ignore his unusual behavior.

Now he was staring at the book in his lap, reading the same line over and over and over again, his mind running ragged as you sat beside him. At this distance he could smell your perfume, could feel your warmth radiating next to him and his heart ached at your proximity.

He hadn't realized he was doing it at first, but his leg was jiggling incessantly between the two of you, his jitters working at the pace of his mind, his body's panicked response to being so tantalizingly close to you, so desperate for you and not being able to have you. Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his leg, resting there gently as fingers began to trace a familiar pattern on his thigh, causing his jittering to slow along with his heart, which had now dropped into his stomach.

He glanced sidelong at you, afraid to move an inch, terrified that you would stop. He noticed you hadn’t broken your concentration on your book, perhaps hadn’t even realized you were touching him, it was like your body was moving on autopilot to comfort him in the very way you used to, tracing hearts on his thigh before nuzzling into him or pressing a warm kiss to his cheek.

He held his breath with the hope that this might mean something deeper, that there was a piece of you that remembered him as he closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the pattern of your fingers, the simple touch nearly bringing him to tears as he tried to let himself live in the memory of you.

You were right at the very best part of your book, the plot finally taking off, when you felt the familiar ache in your head that very quickly turned to a throbbing that brought you back to the present moment, and made you realize your hand had been resting on Mattheo’s thigh.

“Oh, gods!” you said suddenly, pulling your hand back quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—” you started until you saw the pained expression on his face, his eyes closed, his head hung as his hand carded through his hair. Your headache was pounding in full now, enough to make you wince and touch your temple. His eyes fluttered open, looking at you with concern.

“YN—?”

“—S-Sorry!” you said quickly, gathering your things and beelining for your room.

“Have you noticed anything… different with Mattheo recently?” you asked Pansy that weekend.

You were laying on your stomach on your bed, flipping casually through a magazine as she sat next to you, admiring her nails as she painted them a deep emerald.

You’d tried to ask as nonchalantly as you could, but she looked up at you with an eyebrow raised in question.

“I don’t know he’s been so… strange with me. He’s wanted to walk me to class, and carry my books, he wants to hang out all the time and he somehow knew how I liked my latte…?” you trailed off, leaving out the way your hand had ghosted over him, the expression on his face, and your recurring headaches that didn't feel like a coincidence anymore, flaring up every time you were around him.

A moment passed but Pansy didn’t reply and when you looked at her you saw that her expression hadn’t changed; she was staring blankly at you, not saying a word, which was extraordinarily odd to put it mildly.

This was the type of gossip that would usually have her on her feet, screaming, spiraling, devising a messy plan to get two of her best friends together, but you were getting nothing in return, less than nothing.

“Pans?” you goaded, prompting a response.

Her head tilted slightly, abnormally in a way that was starting to creep you out as her blank stare continued and you slowly pulled yourself upright and away from her.

“Let it go” she said flatly. “You’re imagining things.”

You were taken aback and started to respond before she interrupted you.

“—I mean, you can’t think that he’s into you or something, do you? He would never go for you… what would he see in you? What could you possibly have to offer the Dark Lord’s son YN? He’s got girls lined up out the door for him.”

You felt tears sting your eyes as you sat up fully now. Never once in your almost ten years of friendship had she ever said anything like that to you before. You were hurt, but you also couldn’t help but feel like something was very very wrong as fear fluttered in your heart at her dark words and unnatural expression.

Suddenly, your mind snapped black for a moment to another time you felt foreboding, felt fear in your bones, screaming silently with no one to hear you and you stumbled to your feet, wiping the tears from your eyes as your head throbbed so hard you were afraid you were going to be sick.

Pansy looked up at you, and smiled, unphased by the way you were shaking or swiping at your running mascara as she smiled. “Want to go to dinner babes?” she asked cheerful again, like she had forgotten everything she’d just said to you.

“I-I’ve got to go” you said quickly, as you made your way for the door, desperate to find the person you sensed was responsible for this all.

You made your way to the common room in slow motion, like one of those dreams where you’re running but not actually going anywhere. You felt flushed and feverish as your body began to tremble and the room felt like it was distorting itself. You looked around frantically and found Mattheo walking in your group of friends on their way to dinner.

“YN!” Blaise cheered, noticing you approach as Draco and Theo turned in concert, smiling widely at you with uncannily happy expressions.

But the minute Mattheo’s eyes landed on you, his smile dropped to concern and he quickly approached you, closing the distance between you.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately, reaching for you before pulling his hands back awkwardly.

“Can I talk to you?” you winced as your headache intensified “Please?”

“Yeah, of course” he said eagerly, motioning to his friends, “I’ll catch up with you” he said, nearly ignoring them completely as he led you back towards their now empty room.

He shut the door behind you both and you swayed on your feet before moving between the four poster beds and sitting on the edge of his.

There were five identical beds in the room and he tried not to read too much into the fact that you’d known which was his, even though in this reality you’d never been here. And then he tried to calm the erratic beating of his heart of you being here, alone with him, in his room, shaking the thought from his mind quickly as he took in the pained look on your face, your eyes pinched closed as you rubbed your temple

He came quickly to you, kneeling in front of you, moving to place his hands on your legs and pulling back, never knowing what the fuck to do with them anymore around you.

“What’s going on—” he started.

“—What did you do to me?” you whispered harshly, your eyes fluttering open, your face scrunched angrily in accusation.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Mattheo, something is very very wrong, and you can’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He stopped breathing. It couldn’t be.

“Our friends aren’t normal, people around us aren’t normal, and I feel like my insides are on fucking fire” you said, grimacing. “And it only happens when I’m around you. I’m not an idiot, Mattheo, is this because I turned you down?”

For his part he looked like he was about to cry, he didn’t look threatening or guilty, just enormously sad as he looked up at you with his amber eyes and your headache split to a nearly debilitating degree and tears flowed from your eyes in pain.

“My head” you said in a muffled sob.

You felt his warm hands rest on your legs, the first time he’d let himself touch you in months and you felt another flash in your mind, him smiling down at you with a lopsided grin in a way you’d never seen him look at you before, with adoration, with longing, with love, but it didn’t feel weird this time, it felt normal, so familiar…

“YN?” he whispered and your eyes fluttered open to see his transfixed on you, scanning your every feature, his expression full of concern. “Please hear me when I say I would never ever hurt you.” A lie he realized too late as he looked at you now.

“I-I know that?” you said shakily. “Somehow I know that but I don’t know how else to explain this or how I’m feeling” you said, sniffling.

“Fuck!” he muttered in frustration as he stood up and started pacing, running his fingers through his hair. He was certain that something was happening and yet he had no idea how to help you, the image of you crying in pain on his bed making him physically ill.

You sniffed again and said the next sentence so softly he swore he'd dreamt it.

“You have a scar on your shoulder, here” you said, gesturing over your own shoulder blade, tracing the same pattern of the raised skin on his back.

“You take your tea with milk and two sugars” your voice wobbled but was gaining strength as you kept speaking and he turned to look at you.

“You write left-handed but play quidditch right handed.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, words tumbling from your mouth now, like a broken dam.

“You always wanted a dog growing up and if you’d had one you would have named him—"

“—Zoryn” you said simultaneously. He moved to approach you, crouching in front of you again as he stared at you in awe, unable to believe what was going on.

Your eyes opened at his voice.

“After my favorite quidditch player” he said. “YN you’re the only person who knows that.”

“Why do I know these things?” you asked, pained.

He opened us mouth but nothing came out.

“Matty” you were practically beginning him to help you understand but he was too scared to be wrong, too scared to tell you the truth.

“...I’m the only one that calls you that” you whispered, and he nodded encouragingly.

“Yeah, you are” he said quietly, gently.

You reached out tentatively, your hand trembling and touched his cheek and he let his head fall against the palm of your hand, nuzzling into you as his eyes fluttered closed. You sniffed again.

“It’s okay, love, I’m here” he said tenderly.

“B-But you weren’t there” you said, breathing heavily all of a sudden, panicked. “I-I was scared and I wanted you there and you weren’t there…” and just like that your eyes blinked to his and memories came like an avalanche as you stood and he rose his feet beside you.

The first time he kissed you, the feeling of his warm palm in yours, tangling your fingers in his curls, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest in bed, the way he’d pull you onto his lap at breakfast and everyone would moan about it, him nuzzling into your neck, his arms around your waist and his hand at the small of your back in the corridor between classes. His lopsided grin as his amber eyes twinkled down at you and he whispered “Gods, I’m crazy about you, darling”

“I remember! I remember!” you said finally looking up at the real Mattheo standing in front of you, his face somewhere between sheer panic and shock and suddenly the inches between you were too much as you flew into his arms, wrapping yourself around him as he lifted you off the ground.

“Fuck baby” he said as you felt him shaking beneath you. “I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry. He made me. M-made me choose, your memories or mine and—“ he choked up as hand came to rest on the back of your head, holding you closer to him “—I didn’t want you to live a moment in any reality thinking I didn’t love you.”

“It’s okay, Matty, it’s okay” you murmured against him, clinging to him, to the moment.

“None of this is okay” he said back.

“It’s ok now” you reassured him.

He made to pull back but you squeezed him tighter, afraid.

“I don’t want to forget” you mumbled into his neck.

“You’re not going to” he said through a laugh, the first time the sound had left his lips in months.

“Let me guess” you sniffed against him, fighting the knowing smile on your lips, “because you’re unforgettable” you grumbled at his cocky humor.

“Well, yeah” he said, laughing genuinely now, even as you pinched him.

“But more importantly—” he said as he took a step forward to lay you down on his bed so he could look at you, could finally see the sparkle of recognition in your eyes that he had been craving. You were looking back at him like you were committing his every feature to memory, your stomach flipping at how beautiful he was, at how you could ever forget it, tracing the scar at his eyebrow, his flushed cheeks, his lips and noting the twinkle in his eyes.

“—You’re not going to forget because the most powerful wizard alive already tried to make you, and it didn’t fucking work.”

You smiled at him, resolutely. “I could never forget you.”

“That’s right, baby” he said as he leaned down to brush his lips against yours, lingering for just a moment, savoring it like it was the first time all over again.

taglist: @dustie-faerie, @urfavfrenchgrl, @darlingshecried, @thegoddessofnothingness, @kenjikishimotoswifey, @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @sectumsempraaa

[dioll]

୨ 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝑑𝑜𝑙𝑙 — 엔하이픈 형들 ୧

𓂅 𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 ・（𝑓）𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𓍢 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ⊹ 𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𖥔 𝟧𝟢𝟤 ┊ 𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑣𝑒 ࿐ | 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾

𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗋，𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎.. ♡

𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 — 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗌

wearing heels is a blessing and curse. feeling like a pretty princess, until your feet start aching.

you and heeseung exit from a cafe. making your way to his car, to go to your next destination, which is the park. you can feel your feet pulsing with pain, cursing yourself for your poor choice of footwear.

heeseung is quick to notice your discomfort, picking you up and carrying you to his car. he gently places you onto the passenger seat.

“let me guess, your heels?” he asks whilst his arm rests on the door of the car.

“yeah, it’s okay though. don’t stress.” you say as you give him a light smile.

“give me one second.” he says before he opens the trunk of the car, walking back to you with a pair of soft slippers in his hand. he bends down to remove your heels, sliding your new shoes on your feet.

as he gets up, he places a soft kiss on your forehead before gently closing the door.

rest under the cut ^_^

𝐉𝐀𝐘 — 𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌

jay adores your hair. regardless of the length, style, or texture, you’ll always have him caressing and playing with it.

head laying on jay’s lap as he detangles your hair with his fingers, moonlight reflecting on your face through the open sunroof. the ambiance is perfect.

he opens a large box, filled with hair accessories.

“do you want a bow or a plain clip?”

“bow, please.” you reply politely as you slowly rise from his lap, allowing him to wrap the bow around the strands of your beautiful hair.

“my pretty girl.”

𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 — 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌

your eyes are extremely sensitive to sunlight, which results in you carrying a pair of sunglasses everywhere you go.

and of course you forget to carry it on your drive with jake. the sun-rays beaming onto you, making you to cover your eyes with ur hands.

jake glances at you, before single handedly opening the compartment in front of him, reaching out for a pair of prada glasses, with your name engraved on it.

he hands them over to you whilst his eyes remain fixated on the road ahead of him. you smile and thank him whilst setting the glasses on your face.

it’s the way he never fails to melt your heart.

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 — 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍𝗌

there’s one thing that your body can’t handle. that being, the cold winter atmosphere. often getting sick due to any type of frigid temperature, you always make sure that you’re dressed warmly, in hopes that you don’t freeze to death.

today, was one of those ultra-cold days. nothing could’ve prepared you for the subzero-like climate. even though your clothes were layered, goosebumps and shivers remained on your skin. nose leaking, knowing that you’ll have to deal with being sick for the next few days.

fortunately for you, sunghoon gently wipes away the mucus from your nose, before grabbing a thick blanket from the backseat. he secures the blanket around your figure, also ensuring that his car heater keeps you warm.

maybe you wouldn’t get sick after all.

♡・ @copyhanni @jwsdoll @flwrstqr @cupidhoons @moknu @onlyjjong @jlheon @lcvclywon @junislqve @amouriu @jjunae @hyeinism @nishislcve @luvlyhee @ohmydollie @jongocat

[koralcove]

prompt: for 800 years, rafayel has waited for you. and now, it's your turn to get a taste of decades of longing and frustration. but he wouldn't make you wait that long. maybe only for 800 minutes. contains: edging, begging, praising, dumb fucked, rafayel calling you various pet names, oh, and did i already mention the absolutely indescribable blue balling for the both of you?

a/n: help, y'all be panicking and asking that "who be fucking for that long, damn?" it's a build up. so no, they have not been fucking for 13 hours long. there's a build up of it throughout the day. i just wrote the particular scene where they be fuckin, just to clarify. my dumb ass just wrote this when i listened to too much spicy audios, so i got too excited and just went out with it. (and 13 hours of sex is a different kind of marathon sex now.)

---

"a-ah! fayel, please-!"

"ooohhh, miss... i'll treat you so right. so good. you won't want anything else."

the snap of his hips makes your mind delirious, squirming under him, all red-faced and teary-eyed. your body magnets his as he presses himself against you, as if any lick of skin of his won't be satisfied without your full touch.

"rafayel- hah! fayel..." you beg hoarsely at him. your clit aches with every snap of his pelvis against yours, so sensitive, yet also so numb. minutes, hours, time, or even infinity pass by as he continues to pound into your pussy relentlessly. the tight ball in your core never snaps, and he keeps teasing and pistoning into you without any sign of stopping. only when he feels the tightness of your walls going snug around him with your thighs pressed desperately on his waist does he will himself to do so.

"want you so bad. want all of you. need you. need to be in you. fuck- cutie, i don't wanna leave you. need to be in you. forever... haaaaah!" he babbles into your neck, the words caressing hotly in your ear and spinning your mind into a heated and mindless frenzy. rafayel doesn't know how he's still going, doesn't know how he can still stop when your gummy insides hug him so warmly, so invitingly. and yet without fail, he does.

the heat and pressure grow impossibly fast, coming into you like a big tidal wave that's about to wash over you.

"pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, fayel-"

and then he does it again. cruelly stops just as you're about to reach that heaven that you've been craving for hours. it rips out a sob of frustration out of you, eyes glossed with mourning over the loss of your euphoria. a hand comes to gently take your arm out of your wet face, cooing so softly at you that you think he would've felt sorry for you. and he is. but his cruelty runs as deep as his love in this moment, and he revels in the perfectly pink flush of your skin, wanting to etch that colour into his mind and recreate it into a canvas.

"shhh, shhhshhhshhhshhh. pretty girl, don't cry. don'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry. i know it hurts. i know it does, sweet pearl. but you're doing so good. doing so so great. didn't cum yet, just like i said."

he feels your body tremble, walls spasming so deliciously around him that it spills a raw guttural moan out of his pretty pink lips. and his cock aches hard. so hard, that he's doing the best he can to breath evenly. to not fucking come inside you like he knows you deserve, that you want. but you don't now. not yet.

"breath for me, cutie. need you to breath for me." he swipes away the stray strands clinging on your sticky forehead. though he's just as wrecked as you — pupils blown so wide that the flecks of purples are practically swallowed by it, heart racing and reverberating from his chest in rapid breaths, skin glistening with a glossy layer of sweat, and thighs quivering from the exertion of fucking into you for hours while denying himself as well.

somewhere along the throes of the heated moment, rafayel had decided to play along with holding off his own end as well. he's already had his share of his own release, his sticky essence coating your thighs and the insides of your pussy with your juices that his studio was filled with nothing but the lewd noises of your skin slapping and rubbing against one another for hours. and, god, did it hurt. it hurts so good that his abdomen strains with ache from the denial. his cock so fucking swollen inside of you that it almost hurts to even keep on pounding into you with how your velvety walls stimulate him so beautifully into madness. but the pained look of pleasure on your face eggs him, and he has to hide himself into your neck so he wouldn't end up getting off immediately just from your expressions alone.

"been so long... too long. please. wanna cum, rafa. wanna cum so bad, it hurts." you hiccup. you've been straining for hours physically and mentally. the seemingly innocent brushes and low whispered promises of earlier piling up in your body throughout the day like coal, blazing into a fiery pit of his doing. how foolish of you to think that you could withstand it, thinking he'll give in to you. but no. seeing his control and dedication to withholding through this challenge was something you've never expected from him. rafayel, who aches and seeks your touch. he, who was always so pliant under your hands from your searing caresses. but now, he was the one in control. and he was damn good at riling you up.

your back arches slightly, body strung up so tight that even just the smallest stir of his cock or the slightest shift of his mons brushing against your clit would send electric shocks through you and probably push you to the edge. and rafayel was very aware of this, fighting to keep still in you, trying so hard to keep his hands away from caressing and groping onto your skin when it practically burns for you. sometimes, it gets so hot that you think that his evol is acting up.

"shh, it's not yet time, lovely. you know how long you still have to wait."

you honestly lost track of time of how much time you still have to endure this hellish circle of your body crescendoing to a high only for you to be pulled down so roughly from it. sniffles rack your body as you taste the saltiness streaming down your face. rafayel kisses it away.

he coos gently at you, whispering soft and reassuring words like one would to a timid shaking animal that needs to be calmed. you retort back with mindless babbles of whines and cries of him being so mean, incoherent words filled with empty bitterness at the situation, of how cruel this test was to you. he only answers with a nuzzle to your neck, pressing light kisses on your neck, catching the salty taste of your skin and desperation. distantly, he thinks that he knows that feeling all too well. the longing and aching, the desperation and desire of having something so close only to be tugged away from your grasp the moment it becomes too good to be true when it nears you... he lives and breaths with that feeling all too well.

the soothing caress of your hair and his frustrating resilience of keeping still in you eventually calms your body. you could only sniffle as you are left powerless from his skilled hands, grounding you from the high that he so deliciously almost took you to, but also pulled away from. your face turns away from him, an image of silent defiance from a petulant child who was denied the toy they wanted. but he takes his time with you with a patience that you didn't know was capable from the bratty man-child that you know.

when the buzz of your body dies down, you only lay in silence now. rafayel's head rests just beneath the beat of your heart, an instrument that soothes his own desires. he absently traces mindless shapes just above your breast, and your eyes take in the gradient hues of the sky. his eyes follow to where your gaze is, and he sighs lightly, breath fanning against your cooled skin.

he sits up slightly, tilting your head to meet his eyes that are only ever full of devotion to you. you can't help but melt from the sight. he's always so expressive yet so unreadable that he becomes a mystery to you at times. but when he looks at you with those eyes, full of fondness and longing that's incomprehensible to you, you can't help but mimic the affection.

he sweeps down for a kiss, tender and sweet, before he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours. when he intertwines his hand into yours, you brace yourself for what's to come.

a slow, sensual gyration of his hips, making sure to not overstimulate your poor clit too much, and a few small thrusts test your sensitivity. you can't help the hitched gasp that leaves your mouth, squeezing his hand as his pace is steady. but you know it's only a matter of time before that changes.

your ears pick up his voice, but not the words of his native tongue. but they sound sweet to you, until it eventually changes into breathy gasps and desperate whispers as his hips slap hard against yours. the gentle squeeze of his hand in yours turns into a dull pain as your nails dig into his knuckles, feeling the slow heat of euphoria build into you once more.

your mind reels at the thought of him thrusting into you violently, the squelch of your fluids mingling into the dusk air. he'll take you higher again, body moving with a frenzied fashion that will mush your brain into only thinking of wanting and needing more. and then he'll stop again as you come closer to your peak, kissing your tears away. and then he'll do it again. again and again and again and again, ruining you and building you back up.

you still have 160 minutes left.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Something soft and sweet for john to make up for the pain yesterday’s simon drabble caused lol)

You are a single mom taking your child out for her first halloween. It’s been a rough couple of… years, honestly, and leaving your horrible ex behind wasn’t easy and taking care of a child all alone was one of the hardest thing you’ve ever done but you did it and by god, you will make this a wonderful first halloween for her.

Except, the halloween spirit of your neighborhood is practically dead. Most don’t even open their doors, others have no candy put out and no lights on.

This will be the last house, you tell yourself, sad and dejected but doing your best to remain optimistic for your kid. This house is right beside yours, but from what you’ve heard the man who lives in it works in the military and is rarely home but tonight, he even has some… gnomes put out? Ugly ones; why are they in military outfits, one has a mohawk, another a skull mask, and the other with a cap?

None of my business, you decide. You just hope he’ll have something to give to your kid once you knock on the door and wait, swinging your child’s hand to get some happy giggles from her.

When the door opens and you meet the most handsome bear of a man you’ve ever seen, eyes crinkling when he smiles at your kid and calls her a tiny, adorable cub and holds out a bowl of candy for her to take, you take a moment to thank the halloween god for this miracle.

Before reality crashes back in as your child eagerly dives into the bowl, picking her favorite treat. The man glances up at you, his smile softening but not fading.

“Happy Halloween,” he says warmly, his voice deep and calm, sending a pleasant shiver up your spine. There’s something disarmingly kind about him, something steady, and it catches you off guard.

“Thank you,” you manage, feeling oddly bashful under his gaze. “You really saved the night. Not many houses are…participating this year.” You gesture vaguely down the empty street, hoping you don’t sound as defeated as you feel.

His brow furrows slightly as he looks out into the neighborhood, then back to you and your child, who is now carefully showing him her candy haul with a proud grin. “That’s a shame,” he murmurs, crouching down to their level. “Halloween’s meant to be special for little ones, isn’t it? I’m John Price, by the way. Apologies for not introducing myself earlier.”

Your heart tugs as you watch him interact with your child, his big hands surprisingly gentle as he adjusts her slightly crooked bear hat, smoothing the adorable little ears. “You’re quite the brave trick-or-treater, aren’t you?” he teases, and your daughter beams, nodding enthusiastically.

You laugh quietly, the tension of the evening starting to melt away. “It’s her first Halloween,” you explain. “I was hoping it’d be a bit more… lively.”

John stands back up, thoughtful. “First halloween, eh? Can’t have it ending like this.” He steps back into his house briefly, calling over his shoulder. “Wait here a tick.”

When he returns, he’s holding a small pumpkin-shaped lantern, a box of sparklers, and what looks like a half-eaten bag of mini chocolates. “Tell you what,” he says, crouching again to your child’s level though he’s speaking mostly to you. “Why don’t we make this Halloween a bit more fun? Got some sparklers here, if your mum’s alright with it.”

You blink, stunned by the unexpected kindness, but your child is already bouncing on her toes, looking up at you with wide, hopeful eyes.

“I… I think that’d be wonderful,” you say softly, feeling an unfamiliar warmth bloom in your chest. Freely given kindess has become almost unfamiliar to you. “If- if we are not bothering you, of course.”

And so, in the quiet and under a sky full of stars, you watch as John lights sparklers for your child, his gravelly laughter blending with her delighted squeals. The sight makes your heart ache in the best way, though you ignore it; it’s silly to get so… attached this fast. Silly and stupid and dangerous.

When the sparklers are spent and your daughter is yawning, John hands her the little pumpkin lantern. “Something to remember your first Halloween by, cub.” He says, his smile kind and genuine.

You thank him again, your voice quiet but heartfelt, and he nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, warm. “If you ever need anything,” he says. “I’m right next door.”

When you decide to bake him a sweet dessert the next day, it certainly has nothing do with the butferflies that flutter in your stomach. It’s moreso because your daughter wants to visit him again and you don’t have the heart to refuse her.

John’s smile when he sees you two at his doorsteps again is still very much welcomed. As is the hand he puts on your lower back, warm and steady.

[sttoru]

cuddling with choso after sex? :(

tags. choso x female reader. fluff, suggestive. not beta read. reader gets called ‘baby, pretty’ \\ wc. round 400.

“fuck. . .” choso curses under his breath. his chest is heaving, his body sweaty and aching. his weary eyes instantly find yours—even when exhausted, that man knows you’re the number one priority.

he catches the way your legs are still spasming. the aftershocks of your climaxes have yet to wear off. choso reaches out to gently cup your face in his hands, “hey, baby.”

you can barely make out his worried expression due to your watery vision. you’re trying to focus on getting your breathing under control, though that seems to be quite the challenge.

“deep breaths,” choso reminds you tenderly. his voice is a bit shaky, as are the warm hands holding your cheeks. his thumb brushes over the skin—gentle caresses that keep you sane.

you nod in confirmation and follow choso’s instructions. he smiles warmly at the adorable sight of you trying to copy him, “hah, you’re so pretty like this.”

his eyes widen for a moment after he blurted out that last comment. he can’t believe he let himself get distracted by your beauty when all you need in that moment is some comfort and proper aftercare.

“ahem, sorry,” choso mumbles embarrassedly. he clears his throat and shakes his head lightly, trying to snap out of it, “d- deep breaths, yeah? in. . . and out.”

you try to focus on doing as told, but seeing your lover’s red cheeks and flustered expression makes you giggle. choso huffs and pouts—he knows just why you’re laughing.

there’s no hiding it when he’s with you. you bring these expressions of love and joy out of him. ones that he cannot keep out of sight.

“come here,” choso chuckles lowly and pulls you up onto his chest so you could rest there. he squeezes you to his muscular body, making you groan softly.

you accept your fate almost instantly and relax. you close your eyes and listen to choso’s heartbeat; it’s going fast. super fast.

that pace is normal for him whenever you’re around.

“you okay?” you decide to tease your flustered lover. you tilt your head back and kiss his jawline slowly and softly. you place your hand right on his chest before cocking your head to the left with a grin, “your heartbeat is going wild, y’know.”

choso’s grip around your waist tightens. he knows you’re playing with him, though he doesn’t mind it. you look adorable when you try to fluster him (and you succeed each time).

he shrugs with a light hearted laugh, his eyes softening. choso pinches your sides lightly to make you squirm as revenge, “can’t blame my body for reacting like that when i’m with the prettiest girl in the world.”

choso’s witty comment gains him a smack to the chest. which he - again - does not mind at all. in fact—he enjoys messing with you whenever he’s feeling playful. your reactions are what he does it all for.

[loserboysandlithium]

Let’s Play Pretend: ex boyfriend Eddie one shot

Minors dni, angst, I haven’t done any angst in a while so I’m sorry if this is shit 😂 I needed a good practice run and hopefully someone will enjoy it 🖤🖤🖤

*******

Okay, I can do this. Just breathe.

Thanksgiving. Your mom expected Eddie to be there. He’s been there by your side for the past three years. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her about the breakup. It was too hard. You still couldn’t truly wrap your head around it. How did we end up here?

Eddie pulls uncomfortably at the collar of his sweater, borrowed from the one and only Steve Harrington, as you both stand at the door of your mom’s house.

“You didn’t have to wear that.. she knows you Eddie.” you speak for the first time since he picked you up.

“Just wanted to look nice, ya know? Not like the asshole who broke your heart…” Eddie’s voice trails off as his gaze falls to his feet. His big black combat boots a stark contrast to his cream colored sweater. How does he manage to pull even this off?

“We said we weren’t gonna talk about it, Eddie. You promis-”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I’m sorry. I just- this is weird okay?” he mumbles.

He’d agreed, semi reluctantly, to play pretend for one night. Put on a happy face for your mom. Just one night. One dinner. Surely you could make it through, right?

You hear footsteps behind the door and take a deep breath as you reach over, sliding your hand into Eddie’s. The simple gesture making your heart ache. His calloused fingers, the chill of his rings, so familiar to you once. You hear the top lock click just as Eddie’s brown eyes meet yours.

He gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ready, pumpkin?” he whispers, his old nickname for you suddenly sending you into a spiral. Fuck, pull it together. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

The door swings open, revealing your mother and you smile big, probably too big in an attempt to hide your true emotions. Your mind is swirling, flashbacks of you and Eddie filling your thoughts as you try to push them away.

“Are y’all ready to eat?” Your mother’s sweet southern accent easing your racing thoughts just a bit. You nod, releasing Eddie’s hand to embrace your mother.

“I know my boy is ready, and I made your favorite.” your mom smiles warmly as she takes Eddie in her arms next. You watch as he hugs her, squeezing tight. He’s always loved your mom. Always felt right at home. Soaking up the attention she gave him every time he was over.

“Thanks, Ma.” he answers softly, clinging just a little tighter than usual before pulling away. His eyes look glossy. Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He swallows hard, glancing your way once more before he excuses himself to the bathroom, the tear falling down his cheek only spotted by you.

Your mom ushers you into the kitchen as you begin to grab the dishes, carrying them to the large wooden table in the dining room. She’s rambling as usual, “I’ve missed you, baby.” “How are things?” “Eddie looks handsome as ever.” “Is that Steven’s sweater?” “Anything new?” Her last question hits hard as she wiggles her ring finger playfully.

You give her a small smile and a fake giggle as you shake your head no. “Mom, stop.” you groan.

“It’s gonna happen, baby. I just know it.” she reassures, leaning down to kiss your cheek. There was a time where that was all you wanted. You thought about it constantly. What ring would he get? How would he propose? The fantasies had run rampant in your mind. He was the one. He was supposed to be the one.

“Everything looks incredible.” Eddie’s voice appears suddenly from behind you shaking you from your thoughts. Then you feel his touch. His hand resting on your lower back as he pulls you into him slightly.

It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend.

He’s so close. You can smell his cheap cologne mixed with cigarettes and weed. Your favorite combo. You allow yourself to lean in a little closer, your eyes shutting softly as you brush against his chest.

His heart is fucking pounding.

The oven beeps and your mom claps her hands excitedly as she announces that the turkey is done. She disappears into the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“You doing okay?” he whispers, gently titling your head to look up at him.

No.

“M’ fine.” you reply instead. You can’t look away. His eyes drawing you in as always. His pretty lips. His brow furrowed slightly. He’s so fucking close.

“I’m not, if it makes you feel any better.” he says bluntly, his eyes still on yours.

“Eddie..”

“Okay kiddos. Time to eat.” your mom sings, placing the small turkey on the table as you all take your seats.

****

You spend the night playing along. Eddie making his usual jokes, your mom smiling and laughing, talking about memories of the past few years. Eddie’s hand rests on your thigh under the table, making your body tingle.

“God, I remember that.” Eddie chuckles, his genuine laugh something you haven’t heard in so long. Now when you talk, it’s always a fight. Screaming and crying. Or just another hate fuck. But it was never just that. And you both knew it.

You look over at his pretty smile, his eyes look light, his body relaxed. Everything felt almost normal again. But it isn’t real. None of it is real anymore.

After dinner, you hug your mom goodbye. Eddie kissing her cheek softly as he promises to see her soon.

Then you’re in his van. The light atmosphere fading back into your bleak reality as he drives you home. He tries to make small talk. Even tries to keep the earlier conversations going. Memories of your good times. They were the best times. But you have to stay strong.

He pulls into your drive, shutting of the van, landing you in a uncomfortable silence. “I should go.” you say quickly before he takes you off guard, leaning down to kiss you. You shove him off, doing your best to control your emotions.

“I just thought maybe we could..”

“I can’t, Eddie. Not tonight. I’m sorry.” you mumble, grabbing your bag from the floorboard of his van.

“Yeah.. yeah okay. Only when you want some dick, right?” he grumbles, his response making all of your feelings from the night explode out of you.

“Did tonight mean nothing to you? Did you not feel it? Do I mean nothing to you?”

“Of course I fucking felt it! My heart feels like it’s being ripped in two. Do you think that was fun for me? Playing pretend? A happy fucking family? I miss you. I miss us. You know that!” Eddie shouts, running his fingers through his dark curls.

“That isn’t fair.” you grit your teeth, begging for the tears to stay in place but it’s too late. They stream down your face in little rivers, blurring your vision as you try to compose yourself but it’s no use.

“I know I fucked up…” he starts and you just shake your head.

“I can’t do this Eddie. Please don’t do this.” you beg, your heart already shattering into a thousand pieces.

His firm hands cup your face, forcing you to look into his eyes. Those pretty eyes. His face matches yours, heartbroken, tears falling onto his chest, silently begging you to give in. To take him back. To forgive and forget.

You close the gap in between you, pressing your lips to his, tasting the salt from his tears as you kiss him gently.

He was supposed to be the one.

You pull back, resting your forehead against his for just a moment before wiping your tears.

“I can’t, Eddie. I’m sorry.”

[f1byjessie]

SUGAR, SPICE, AND EVERYTHING NICE ━━ FA14.

being the wife to a formula one driver is hard, especially when they're far away.

( fernando alonso x wife!reader )

━━ one shot.

When you were ten, you baked with your grandmother for the first time and fell in love. With the flour up to your elbows, an apron two sizes too big looped twice around your waist, and your grandmother's sweet voice crooning along to Sergio Endrigo, she taught you the differences between a teaspoon and a tablespoon, that a pinch sometimes means two, and when it comes to cinnamon you can never have too much.

“My angioletto,” she called you, her little angel, “it doesn’t have to look pretty when it’s done. When I was younger, I made my husband, your nonno, the ugliest cookies you could imagine. But I put my love in it, and he loved me very much, and he ate every single one and for the rest of his years claimed they were the best cookies I ever made for him.”

She’d lifted you onto the stool at the counter, so you could peer down at the mangled mess of cinnamon rolls. “It may look odd on the outside, but it is just as delicious as the others, and you know what? It’s even more special because it was made by my granddaughter.”

She’d wrapped you up in her arms then, pressing a kiss to your forehead and laughing loudly and warmly when you tried to squirm out of her arms with a giggle of your own.

“One day, my angioletto, you will find someone who loves you with their entire heart, and it won’t matter how pretty your baking is, because they will eat it, and to them it will taste like heaven.” She’d pulled apart the cinnamon roll, looked you in the eye, and smiled— “Until that someone gets here, I will stand in.”

You ate the whole pan together, and neither of you cared that it ruined your appetite for supper or gave you a stomach ache a little while later.

She’d driven you home that night after the sun had set, and when you got to the little shop on the corner of the market square, a little storefront overgrown with ivy, she’d slowed to a cruise and pointed out where the old sign used to be— where there was just an off-color splotch where the walls around it had been bleached by the sun.

She had regaled you with another story of her time as a girl in the kitchen baking bread with the owner, as she did every morning before school in exchange for a few dollars a month, and then she told you, as she always did, that one day she’d buy it for herself and turn it back into the best bakery Italy had ever seen.

When you were twenty— a law school dropout, struggling to find your place in a world that didn’t seem to have any room for you— you bought the small shop on the corner of the market square, turned it into a bakery, and named it after your grandmother.

It was all on a whim, a result of what you're pretty sure was some quarter-life crisis brought on by feeling as lost as you were. Still, you were living out the lingering ghost of a pipe dream from your teenage years that your father's harsh words and mother's disapproval had shattered to pieces, and following in the footsteps of the woman who inspired your passion for creation.

You’re nearly thirty now, and you still don’t regret buying the bakery. It’s your home away from home now— your home when your heart is halfway around the world and waking up as you go to bed. You love what you do, and you feel grateful that you’ve lucked out in being able to spend your days doing something that makes you so genuinely happy.

But that doesn’t mean that every day is easy.

Today is one of those hard days. Valentine’s Day is just a week away which means orders are coming in like crazy, and on top of the hecticness it’s also the thirteenth anniversary of your grandmother’s passing. Even though you’ve made it these thirteen years without her, the reminder of her legacy— her dream, which you now live for her— is no easier to deal with now than it was all those years ago when you’d just lost her.

The smell of fresh bread from the kitchen and the deep lull of Sergio Endrigo over the bakery’s speakers do nothing but remind you of her and the afternoons you spent in her kitchen, kneading dough and icing cookies. You feel like a little girl again, laughing over old stories of your mother and flushing bright red when she’d bump her hip against yours and ask if there were any boys at school that had caught your eye.

You’d give anything to hear her talk about her days at the bakery one more time, have her guide you through another recipe, or listen to her sing along to old Italian classics.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Beatrice asks. She’s a young American woman you met a few years back when she was studying abroad. She hadn’t known much Italian back then, and you were the first person she’d met who could speak English, so she’d asked you for directions to the nearest bus station and you had walked her there to make sure she wouldn’t get lost, which had led to you both talking, trading contact information, and eventually you offering her a job at the bakery when she announced to you months later after continued talking that she’d be staying for the foreseeable future.

You wipe your hands against your apron and offer her a smile. It doesn’t come as easily as it normally does, and you feel like it shows. “Just being a bit nostalgic today,” you admit, turning your gaze to the picture of your grandmother that hangs on the wall across from the display case.

There are other pictures hung up with her— you in front of the bakery on the day you bought it, the bakery back when your grandmother still worked there nearly sixty years ago, you and your husband the day you got married, and Beatrice with her three dogs to list a few, all things and places and people you love and want to remember.

“My grandmother, who I named this place after, have I ever told you about her?”

Beatrice hums, thinking back to the many conversations you have both shared you imagine. As she does so, she reaches for a cloth to start wiping down the front of the display case. “I don’t think so,” she finally answers, rounding the counter to the glass front. “I knew the bakery was named after her, and that she taught you to bake, but not much else. You don’t really talk about her much.”

You frown, “I guess I don’t.”

“But it’s okay,” Beatrice adds quickly. “I know family can be a touchy topic. If you’d rather not talk about her, I understand. I’m not very fond of talking about my brother, to be honest.”

The only time Beatrice does talk about her brother is when she’s drunk, which she usually tends to be when the two of you sit down over a bottle of wine and gossip about the happenings of your lives. You’ve heard plenty of stories about him, and thinking back to the most recent one in particular startles a laugh out of you.

Beatrice seems relieved when you glance back over to her with a soft smile.

“My grandmother was the greatest woman I ever knew,” you start. “Do you mind if I talk about her?”

Your employee— your friend— smiles gently at you and continues polishing away the smudges on the display case. “I would love it if you talked about her.

“She used to call me her little angel…”

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yourusername i’ll leave a piece just for you, nonna.

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user that looks delicious!!

user it’s actually my dream to visit y/n’s bakery 😍

↳ user no cuz literally same, idk anyone else who makes smth as simple as bread look so amazing

↳ user it’s like how irl some foods don’t look that good but somehow in cartoons they make it look like it’s the most appetizing thing in the entire world i would actually cut off my own arm and leg just to get to try a single bite

user così carino!! ❤️❤️

user how is it possible to make food look heavenly 😳

user every time she posts food it makes me want to marry a husband that can bake bc there’s no way i could ever do this myself but i do in fact want to live a life like this so very badly

↳ user FELT THIS OMG

user what a beautiful way to remember someone 🫶

user she’s gorgeous aND SHE CAN BAKE???

↳ user she’s really the most wag of all wags 😩

↳ user fell down a rabbit hole of wag interactions throughout the years and y/n’s introduction into the group is so iconic bc she baked them all cookies and brought them when she first met them all

↳ user i read that in an interview that she knows all their favourites and tries to make them all throughout the season when she goes to races

↳ user she’s actually such a sweetheart irl too, i visited the bakery before i ever knew who she was or what f1 is and if i hadn’t already seen that ring on her finger i would’ve shot my shot no joke 😔😔

↳ user what’s alonso’s secret??? where can i find me a wifey like that???

user this is gorgeous

user using food to celebrate a loved one is one of the most loving things a person can do in my opinion. so much love goes into food, but especially baked goods which take time and patience and practice. this is a really touching and beautiful way to honor someone, and i hope she’s watching down on you and thinking the same thing ❤️

↳ user didn’t think i was gonna be crying today but here we are ig 😭

fernandoalo_oficial mi vida, she would be so proud of you 💛

↳ yourusername i hope so, i am who i am because of her 💛

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yourusername arrivederci 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial and may it be soon, mi vida 💛

user obsessed with the way fernando is obsessed with his wife

↳ user the fact that he calls her mi vida every time he addresses her has me walking into oncoming traffic 🙃

↳ user “my life” in spanish 😭😭 i literally fucking can’t when is it my turn to get a man that loves and cherishes me like this

↳ user honestly i think it’s just time to accept we’ll be alone forever cuz if he don’t treat me the way fernando treats his wife then i don’t want him

user for the ppl asking, arrivederci means until we meet again in italian, it’s a pretty common way to say goodbye in italy

↳ user AND FERNANDO SAID AND MAY IT BE SOON OH I AM ILL

user when will he return from the war…

↳ user it’s only february the season hasn’t even started yet so why isn’t he with her??

↳ user aston martin’s hq is in the uk and fernando has to be there for the car reveal, testing/sims, training, promo content, etc. it’s the logistical pr side of formula 1 that makes the season start a lot earlier than what ppl might think

↳ user AND OVER VALENTINE’S DAY TOO??? 😭😭😭😭

user mama y papa

user i want to grow old with someone and have pictures of our vacations to look back on and remember and i don’t think that’s too much to ask for

user she’s posting like he’s dead or smth 💀

↳ user i mean i would be too if my husband was missing valentines day bc of work tbf 🤷‍♀️

user i can’t believe fernando alonso bagged a baddie who ain’t even 30 yet

↳ user i can have you SEEN fernando alonso?? 👀👀👀

↳ user have you SEEN y/n?? 👀👀👀

↳ user two baddies bagged each other guys there’s not a lot to try and comprehend

Fernando being gone has never really mattered to you much. You miss him, of course. He’s your husband and ideally, you would be able to travel the world with him on a whim without needing to worry about who’s in charge of the bakery, but despite how perfect your life seems with Fernando by your side, there are a lot of things that don’t go according to plan and Fernando’s hectic work schedule is one of them.

The constant traveling across the season is exhausting for both of you, even though you’re not the one doing the majority of it. You attend his races when you can— usually when Beatrice forces you to, which is more and more recently as of late, with the logic that you should get the chance to see the world while you’re still young and while Fernando is still racing— but even when you’re home in Naples, the worry that you feel for Fernando as he flies around the world and races in a dangerous car takes its toll.

You wouldn’t even think of ever asking him to give it up, but not being by his side is hard and you cannot afford— for the sake of the bakery— to follow him wherever his sport takes him. So for now, you will always worry and stress about the toll it all takes on him as well.

You honestly hadn’t given much thought that he’d be missing Valentine’s Day this year, but it occurs to you now as you scroll through the comments on your post.

It’s by far the first time he’ll be gone for the holiday, but something about this year just feels different. Maybe it’s the stress of the extra workload you’ve taken on at the bakery to make up for the extra orders this year and the employees that have had to call out, or maybe the anniversary of your grandmother’s passing is hitting you harder this time than it has in the past, but whatever it is, the idea of Fernando not being here to celebrate with you has your eyes filling with tears as you sit curled up in bed.

Alone.

As you have been for the last few weeks now.

Fernando is in Silverstone, preparing for the launch of the new car and getting back into the swing of things before the new season starts, and this is part of the job you understand. You’ve been his wife for many years now. The racing may start in March, but the real season begins much sooner, and to a certain degree it never truly ends.

There’s always a push to be staying in shape, eating healthy, and staying up to date with all the up-and-coming news. Fernando has worked hard to try and find the middle ground, to enjoy his break while he has it, and take a step back from the Formula One world if only to de-stress from the sport’s particular brand of pressure.

And you’ve worked hard to accept that he will always be thinking like a race car driver.

Nonetheless, though you have enjoyed the interview clips and photographs of him being posted around on social media, and you love even more the pictures your husband’s teammate has been sending you and you alone, you can’t help but want to be selfish. You want to have him with you, in your home, cuddled up beside you instead of 1700 kilometers away in another country.

But that’s the way of things.

You’re about to turn off the lamp and, maybe, cry yourself to sleep while ignoring the very cold and very empty other half of a bed that’s too big for one— a bed you haven’t slept in the middle of since before you ever met Fernando, too used to occupying one side and finding another body on the other— when your phone lights up with an incoming call and his contact image flashes across your screen.

It’s late in Italy, nearing midnight now, and the UK isn’t too far behind. With the strictness of his daily schedule and the importance of a full night of rest, he should already be in bed by now. He should’ve already been in bed hours ago, if you remember correctly from past seasons.

“Fernando?”

“My love,” he greets, soft and sweet and sounding like just hearing you say his name has left him breathless. You can practically hear the smile in his voice. “I am sorry that it’s so late. I hope I did not wake you up, but I am calling because I simply could not bear to fall asleep without hearing you.”

You sniffle, wiping away at the tears in your eyes, but the quiet noise must’ve been enough for him to hear because he makes an inquisitive sound.

“Mi vida,” he calls to you, concern seeping into his words. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

“Mhm,” you hum back to him, shifting around in bed to face the window and the scenic view that lies beyond. You can see the ocean from your home— the dark water pulling in and pushing out and glittering with the reflected light of the moon, and the boats docked at the marina, still, silent, asleep. The moon’s glow paints the cityscape in an ethereal haze, like something from a fairytale. “I’m okay. Just a bad few days. I miss you, Fernando.”

“I know, my love,” he coos. “But we will be together soon. Do you remember what I told you when I left?”

As if you could possibly forget. The morning he left, a fog had rolled in from the sea and you’d swathed yourself in a shawl to chase away the early, damp chill as you stood on the stoep to see him off.

Fernando had wrapped you up in his arms, an embrace so warm and safe that the feeling had lingered for hours afterward still, and he’d whispered in your ear that he would move mountain and sea to get back to you if you ever needed him.

“But I always need you,” you’d teased. He’d chuckled and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, a promise, and then pulled you in even closer, tucking your head beneath his chin and letting his fingers run through your hair and comb through the remaining bedhead tangles.

You would similarly move earth and sky to be with him again now, just to feel his arms around you, or in the bed beside you.

“I meant what I said,” he says over the phone, drawing your attention back.

You hum again, “I know. But sweetheart, you have a job to do. It’s a very important job, too.” You curl the blankets around you tighter. “Pay no mind to my musings, okay? It’s just been a rocky start. The bakery has lots of orders to get through for Valentine’s Day, and I am short-staffed now.”

“What has happened?”

“What hasn’t?” You joke, heaving a sigh. “Rodrigo broke his hand in a biking accident this past Sunday, and the doctor says he’ll be out for a month at least. I can have him work the register and do minor cleaning chores, but we really need him in the kitchen because Andrea hasn’t yet been trained to use the equipment. I am trying to have Beatrice help with that, but it will take time we don’t have. On top of that, Samuel’s wife is having her baby so he has taken paternity leave, and Gemma has gone back to France for her mother’s birthday.”

Fernando makes a noise of understanding. “You are so stressed, mi vida. I wish there was more I could do. I am sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have no reason to. In fact, I should be thanking you because I’m feeling so much better just hearing your voice,” you answer. Feeling the tears dissipate as your husband’s joyous laughter trickles into your ear from the phone’s speaker.

“And I am better just hearing yours,” he says. “But I will leave you to sleep now. It’s too late for you to be awake. Te amo, mi esposa.”

“Ti amo, marito mio.”

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lance_stroll i’m really only here to take pictures for his wife

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fernandoalo_oficial the heart is for her only

yourusername and i appreciate you very much for it lancino 🫶

↳ lance_stroll at least someone cares about the work i put in 😔

astonmartinf1 Breaking News: Aston Martin’s Lance Stroll challenges Aston Martin’s social media admin for their job

↳ lance_stroll thanks but i think i’ll stick to driving fast cars. it’s less stress.

user FERNANDO MAKING FINGER HEARTS FOR HIS WIFE 😭😭😭

user if you look closely you can actually see me about to jump off the roof in that last picture 🫠

↳ user real

user why is the first one so cute??

user lance is really just fernando and y/n’s kid at this point, he’s the disgruntled son who reluctantly takes pictures of his dad to send to his mom, and he complains about it, but he secretly loves doing it

↳ user i mean have you SEEN what y/n does for his birthday each year??

↳ user no????

↳ user she specifically learned how to make bannock and a bunch of other traditionally canadian desserts and baked goods for him

↳ user i bet lance’s trainer hates that lmao 😂😂

↳ user you all are talking about them like y/n isn’t just a few years older than lance himself is 💀

↳ user leave fernando and his controversially young wife alone

↳ user guys?? he’s literally only 42?? y/n is almost in her 30s, it could definitely be worse. at least they’re both well into adulthood

user nobody talk to me for the rest of the day this is all i can think about now

user HE MAKES LANCE TAKE PICTURES TO SEND TO HIS WIFE PLS OH MY DAYS

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fernandoalo_oficial throwback thursday, as they say, except it isn’t thursday and i just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife. te amo 💛.

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yourusername i love you more mio carissimo 💛

↳ fernandoalo_oficial impossible, i love you the most

user adding “posts me just bc he can” to my list of standards for men

user SCREAMING CRYING SOBBING

user “just wanted a reason to post my beautiful wife” oh my god fernando alonso the man that you are… 😩😩

user guys he’s the blueprint

↳ user she’s so lucky

user WHEN IS IT MY TURN???? CAN I NOT BE HAPPY TOO????

user she’s actually so beautiful omg 😳😳😳

↳ user they’re such a power couple

↳ user super excited for y/n to be back in the paddock this year (fingers crossed it happens more) cuz she’s actually so stunning and her outfits are always very classy and fun to look at

↳ user is there a reason she doesn’t go to many races?? they don’t have kids iirc, so idk why she wouldn’t be able to attend more 🤔

↳ user she owns and runs a small bakery in italy, which means she can’t just travel for 9 months out of the year. she shows up when she’s able to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s definitely less frequently than some of the other wags

user gen imagine being fernando alonso’s wife

↳ user i think i would cease to exist

user cuando es mi turno 😭

Valentine’s Day arrives and with it comes the added stress of knowing you’ll be stuck in the bakery all day helping last-minute patrons sort through pastries and treats for their partners. This in and of itself is not a problem, you’ve always liked helping people and baking is your passion after all, but the idea of rising before the sun and being on your feet until long after it sets is not the most appealing, and even worse, your usual happiness is still overshadowed by the cloud of gloom that’s been following you since last week.

Ever since his first late-night call, Fernando has been good about making sure to ring you in the morning before he heads into the factory, and at night when he leaves. It’s helped, certainly, but nothing ever compares to the real thing and that thought makes you feel guiltier every day that you think it.

He has a job to do, a job that he loves. Neither of you should be forced to give up your passions, and that just means needing to make a few sacrifices every once in a while.

He doesn’t call you that morning, however, and though you hide it behind as much of a cheery grin as you can manage, it stings and you’re disappointed.

But throwing yourself into your work is always something you’ve been good at, so you focus instead on kneading dough, mixing pastry filling, and icing cupcakes.

Beatrice finds you back in the kitchen an hour before the bakery is scheduled to open, and the look on her face tells you she knew it’s where you would be.

“You shouldn’t be working today,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

You shrug, sliding a pan of bread from the oven. “We are too short-staffed for me to not be working today. Plus, what would I do anyway? Sit at home alone pretending that I’m not? At least in the bakery, I can put myself to use and be distracted.”

All she does is sigh.

The morning goes well. There’s a bit of a rush when you first open, the most notable of customers is a disgruntled older gentleman who you consider to be a monthly regular. He explains a long-winded story about his daughter’s boyfriend breaking up with her over text last night, and needing something to help cheer her up. He leaves with a box of cannoli, and an extra loaf of bread you threw in for him on the house.

Near the afternoon is when it starts to pick up, but in a lull between customers just after lunchtime, Beatrice corners you in the back. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her eyebrows are furrowed, and her mouth is set in a line.

“Go home,” she orders.

You huff. “Beatrice, I am the boss. Not you.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“I am not going home! The rush will get busier later this evening and we are short-staffed—”

“Rodrigo’s coming in to work register in—” she checks the watch on her wrist, “—fifteen minutes. I ran Andrea through kitchen duty the other day and I’ll be supervising her the entire time, and Marco and Silvia both said they could pick up a shift. I also have a text from Samuel’s wife saying if we need even more help she would gladly get her husband out of the house if it means he’ll stop hovering over her, and I’m prepared to take her up on that offer should the need arise.”

You blink at her. There’s a reason she’s the one you leave in charge when you travel, but whenever you’re reminded of just how good she is at managing the bakery you’re always left a little shocked. She orchestrated everything in the span of a morning and you didn’t even notice.

“Why do you want me to go home so badly?” You ask her, shoving your hands down into your apron’s pockets. “Nothing is waiting for me there anyway. Even if we weren’t short-handed, I would’ve still been here.”

“You sure about that?” Is all she says before turning on her heel and exiting back into the front of the bakery.

You don’t pretend to understand what she’s talking about as you hang your apron up and head for home. Beatrice shoots you a wink as you wave goodbye, and it feels like some sort of foreshadowing for whatever awaits you.

Nothing, however, looks any different than it had when you left. You park your car in the empty driveway, collect the newspaper from the stoep, and unlock the door.

Your keys and the newspaper are both tossed onto the counter just inside the kitchen as you toe off your shoes. You hang up your jacket on the dining room chair as you make your way into the living room, and then you pause.

There, resting on the couch is a stuffed toy bear and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. In the bear’s arms is a little sign, and the handwriting is already enough to have your eyes filling with tears.

“Fernando?” You call out to the silent house.

You check the ground floor and find no other sign of him, so you take to the stairs and begin the ascent up to the next, continuing to call out the many different pet names you have given to him throughout the years.

You peek into the bedroom, “Mia vita?”

Stood in the center of the room, a big grin on his face, is your husband. Fernando looks mighty proud of himself, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s had this planned for a while and he’s smug that he’s managed to keep a secret from you. He opens his arms wide when you just continue to stand in the doorway, and like a flip has been switched, you rush into him when a sob of happiness.

He wraps himself around you, and the feeling of his arms holding you so firmly in his embrace is warm and comforting, and everything you had missed in the weeks he was gone. Your face is pressed into the crook of his neck, and the smell of his cologne has you sagging even further against him, sinking as far as you can into his hold.

He presses a kiss to your head and sways the both of you back and forth.

“Mi vida,” he murmurs. “I’m here, my love. I’m here.”

“I didn’t know you were coming home,” you cry against him, voice muffled from where your face is still pressed against him.

He runs a hand through your hair, scratching his nails against your scalp in the way that always calms you down, and hums. You feel it in the vibration of his chest more than you hear it. “I wanted to surprise you after you told me how stressed you were. I told you, no? I would move mountains and seas to be with you whenever you need me.”

“Ti amo,” you whisper against his skin.

“Te amo,” he whispers into your hair.

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yourusername to the luce dei miei occhi, i love you more than life itself 💛

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fernandoalo_oficial mi vida i'll love you in this life and the next, until the very end of time itself 💛

↳ yourusername ti amo mia vita

user LUCE DEI MIEI OCCHI = LIGHT OF MY EYES

↳ user oh my days 🫢

↳ user i’m actually ill that is too cute

user they ARE that couple and they have every right to be

user WAR IS OVER

user i need them to adopt me right tf now it’s not a want it’s a need

user GUYS HE WAS JUST IN SILVERSTONE LIKE A DAY AGO??? FOR THE CAR LAUNCH??? THAT MEANS HE FLEW ALL THE WAY TO ITALY LAST MINUTE JUST TO SEE HIS WIFE FOR VALENTINES DAY

↳ user fernando alonso once again proving why he’s the best husband on the grid

↳ user i’m obsessed with them a totally normal amount

lance_stroll every time i saw him he was talking to someone about how he had plans to surprise his wife, i’m so surprised he didn’t end up ruining the secret somehow

↳ fernandoalo_oficial have more faith in your padre

↳ lance_stroll well i’ve seen my “padre” make the most cartoon heart eyes at a picture of baked goods so i don’t think faith is really gonna cut it. you’re whipped man 🤷‍♂️

↳ yourusername lancino you must put up with so much from this old man

↳ lance_stroll you know what? i really do

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @pear-1206

━━ a/n: this is the longest fic i've ever written, coming in at a whopping 5.4k words! and it's also the first request i've written for! so, cheers to that. this is my little valentine's day story, because i'm actually a big sap and i really do love good fluffy romances, so writing this distracted me from the fact that i'm actually very alone at the present haha! anyways, hope you all enjoyed! i also wrote this in under 24 hours, and it's a lot, so if there's any editing mistakes please ignore them, i genuinely could not bring myself to re-read all of this looking for every single mistake.

[dorabellingham]

First day of school

warning: none

characters: jude x mom!reader x baby boy

summary: when it's your child's first day of school but you're very attached

request: yes

may contain spelling and translation errors!

It was a day of mixed emotions at the Bellingham house. Benjamin's first day of school had arrived, and you were ready to accompany the little boy to school in Madrid. Ben, only five years old, had a look of doubt and fear on his face. He understood a few words in spanish, since he had contact with the language on a daily basis, but his natural language was English, and this barrier only made him more apprehensive.

The morning began with careful preparation. You chose Benji's favorite backpack, with dinosaur characters, and Jude prepared a special snack with your son's favorite snacks. However, the expression on the little boy's face remained the same: he was not at all excited.

When you finally left the house, with the little boy holding the hand of each of his parents, Ben looked at you with a pleading look, as if trying to say without words: "Why are you doing this to me?". On the way, you and Jude exchanged encouraging glances, knowing you were making the right decision, but also feeling your hearts ache.

As soon as you arrived at the preschool, Jude got down to Benji's level and explained.

—Benji, you're going to make lots of little friends here. Mommy and daddy will be waiting for you at the end of the day, and I promise that if you're a brave boy, we'll go to the Bernabéu on Saturday. How about that?

He tried to sound as enthusiastic as possible, hoping that would cheer up the little boy, but he just looked at his father with those big, sad brown eyes, clutching his backpack tightly.

You also got down next to your husband and caressed your son's little face.

—It'll only be a few hours, my love. Mommy will be here before you know it. And look, you'll get to play and learn new things! Remember how you always ask about things? Here you'll get lots of answers.

You gave him an encouraging smile, but your little boy didn't seem convinced.

—I don't want to stay, mommy. I don't want to.

He repeated softly, while holding his parents' hands tightly.

The teacher, who was watching patiently, approached, smiling warmly.

—Hola, Ben! Mi nombre es Carlos. ¿Te gustan los dinosaurios?

He asked, pointing to the boy's backpack.

Benjamin looked at him suspiciously, but nodded slowly. He understood a little of what the teacher was saying, but he still felt lost.

—¡Genial! Tenemos juguetes de dinosaurios aquí adentro. ¿Quieres ver?

The teacher continued in spanish, trying to gain his trust.

You gave your son a gentle push to encourage him, but Benji was still hesitant. Jude, noticing his son's anguish, gave him an understanding smile.

—You'll do great, champ. Just a few hours, and then you can tell us everything you did, okay?

After a few more attempts at convincing, Benjamin slowly let go of your hand and followed the teacher with small, uncertain steps. You felt a lump in your throat as you watched your son enter the preschool for the first time without you or Jude around, while your husband lightly squeezed your shoulder in support. It was a big step, both for Benji and for you.

However, as you began to walk away from the entrance, you could hear Benji calling.

—Mommy! Daddy!

He had tears in his eyes, holding a toy dinosaur that the teacher had given him. Your heart broke when you heard your son’s call, and you looked at Bellingham with a look of despair.

Jude took a step towards the entrance, but then turned to you and spoke softly:

—We have to trust that he’ll be okay. It’s the first step, remember?

You nodded, your eyes full of tears, but took a deep breath and waved to your son, smiling and blowing kisses from afar. Benji looked at them, confused and sad, before being taken back by the teacher, who was distracting him with the toys.

——

At home, you tried to distract yourselves, but you both found yourselves looking at your cell phones, waiting for any updates from school. For you, every minute felt like an eternity.

—Babe, I can’t take it anymore...

You murmured sadly as you rested your chin on his shoulder.

—Can we pick you up earlier, sweetheart? —Jude said, his large hands caressing your back. —I feel like they took a part of me.

Bored, you walked around the house, tidying up your son's toys and checking to see if his room was in order, as if that would help you feel more connected. Jude, on the other hand, kept himself busy with training videos, but with each notification, he quickly checked his phone.

Finally, after hours that seemed like days, the phone rang, and the school informed him that Ben was fine, although he had cried a little at first, which was normal for the first day. He had gradually fit in with the other children and was starting to feel more comfortable. You looked at each other, both sighing in relief.

—He's my son, it would be very difficult not to become popular on the first day.

The man gave an almost correct wink, he was finally learning.

—It doesn't even seem like you were crying half an hour ago, Jude Victor.

You said, laughing softly, but the feeling of relief was so gratifying.

When they went to pick up Benji, he ran into your arms, and Jude immediately picked him up, hugging him tightly.

—How was it, champ?

Jude asked with a smile, while Benji snuggled into his father’s chest.

—It was… weird. —Benji replied, still confused, but he seemed less sad. —The kids spoke differently.

You stroked your son’s curly hair and smiled.

—But you’re learning to understand what they say in spanish, aren’t you, my love?

Ben nodded slowly, looking a little more confident.

—The teacher gave me a dinosaur.

Jude laughed and looked at you.

—See? You even got a new dinosaur! You know, we’re going to the Bernabéu this weekend, like I promised. How about it?

The mini copy of Jude smiled a small but genuine smile when he heard that. He loved the stadium and the idea of ​​going there with his father always excited him. You crouched down next to Jude and looked into your son’s eyes.

—We’re so proud of you, Benji. You were so brave today.

You kissed his forehead, and he smiled back, finally relaxing.

As you walked to the car, Ben held his parents’ hands tightly, and you and Jude exchanged knowing, happy looks. You knew there would still be challenges, but that first day was the beginning of a new phase for your family.

[eclipseslayer]

STILL HATE ME?

• Toji Fushiguro x f!reader smut oneshot

• SUMMARY: Toji comes over your house uninvited, well, your ex does, and makes demands you're hardly able to meet.

• CW: ruined orgasm, penetrative sex, cunninglingus.

• WC: 2.3k

A scowl is etched onto your face, while narrowed eyes stare at the man in your kitchen, while your right hand clenches around the doorknob to your apartment.

Your ex, rather, hated ex, stands in the kitchen with the fridge door open. His tall stature leans over, and he scratches his back while he searches for something inside the refrigerator.

The audacity of this man—standing in your home, searching for something to eat in the fridge, as if he didn't just barge into your home without your permission.

You slam the door shut behind you and you cross your arms after locking it.

"Toji Fushiguro."

You say his name with a bite to it, and you wait for a reaction to come from him, but he remains unbothered.

"Goddamn, woman, where is all of your food? It's empty as hell in here," he grumbles. He pulls out your milk carton and shakes it, and huffs when he hears hardly any liquid sloshing around. He puts it back into the fridge before closing it.

"Toji Fushiguro."

This time, Toji turns to face you. He crosses his arms over his broad stature.

"Care to explain why you don't have any food?"

You narrow your eyes.

"Don't play games with me, Toji. Why are you here? Why did you come into my home, uninvited?"

This time, Toji looks like he's taking you more seriously. He sighs, and shoves his hands into his pockets of his sweatpants before making his way over to you.

He towers over you, just as he always did, and looks down at you with those scorching emerald eyes. His eyes rake over your features, and he furrows his eyebrows as if contemplating something.

"Need a place to sleep. Was in the neighborhood, and I saw your apartment so... here I am."

You narrow your eyes again, and you plant your hands on your hips. "What if I kick you out?"

Toji lets out a low chuckle; as if he were mocking you, he plants his hands on his hips, too.

"You can't."

With that, he shoves past you, simply, and makes his way to your bedroom.

You let out a groan, because you realize that he's right. For one, you literally cannot kick him out because of his sheer size and stature, and two, maybe it's because a part of you wants him here, despite how much you hate him for breaking your heart so suddenly.

Still, despite your aching heart, you progress, marching right after Toji into your bedroom.

"Toji!" You yell, but your efforts fall onto deaf ears when Toji suddenly starts grabbing onto the hem of his shirt.

He pulls his shirt swiftly off of his body, revealing his taught, toned muscles which makes your stop in your tracks.

Your gaze lingers, devouring the sight in front of you as your eyes take in every single scarred, chiseled feature of his back. You swallow thickly, feeling your body suddenly become so tense as you watch him slowly turn around to look at you.

"I'm already here. I'm not leaving," he remarks, and a slow grin crawls onto his lips when he sees your gaze eating him alive. He tosses his shirt to the side and he approaches you, slowly, until he's standing right in front of you, towering over you.

"And it seems like you don't want me to leave." He crosses his arms; his biceps bulge over his thick chest, and it makes you swallow thickly.

As much as you hated your ex, goddamn, he was so fucking attractive, and it made you hate yourself because you fell for this. This type of thing where Toji gets all cocky about his looks and uses them against you.

Incredulous bastard.

However, your thoughts are broken when suddenly he reaches out, and with his calloused hand, he caresses your face, warmly.

"C'mon, sweetheart."

Fuck.

"Just let me share the bed with you, yeah?" His voice is low, and it rumbles while he steps in, closing the gap between the both of you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Your resolve crumbles in an instant, and your eyes soften while you look up at the tall man. You nod slowly.

"Yeah. Okay."

You're mindless at this point—just going on with whatever Toji's saying.

Of course you are. Who could resist such a tall, broad, muscular, scarred, man with dark hair who stands in front of you, touching you?

You feel your knees go weak, and Toji grins at your weak state.

He knows he's won.

Then, to push your buttons some more, he leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead.

Ugh. Fuck me.

"C'mon, why don't we go to bed?" He suggests, and his voice is low while a slight smirk creeps onto his lips.

You're boneless and thoughtless at this point. It's what he does without even knowing that leaves you like this. It's his smirk, and that scar that twitches whenever his lips curl up. It's his sheer size that leaves you in a puddle on the floor—it's his green, sharp emerald eyes that bare into you. It's everything.

Still though, this man is your ex. You hate, no, loathe him. You need to put up a fight, no matter how much effect he has on you.

"Toji, you're still an uninvited guest, I don't want—"

Toji scoffs and rolls his eyes. He points toward the bed.

"Get on it."

You're shocked at his tone, with eyes wide, you huff. You push past him and climb onto the bed, crawling onto it like a reluctant toddler as you slowly move your limbs, one by one, onto the bed until you plop down onto it with your arms crossed.

Toji grins once he sees you on the bed. "There. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"It was," you snap back, and Toji raises an eyebrow.

"Don't catch an attitude with me, little girl." He approaches the bed, slowly, and slowly crawls on top of you. His omnipotentence overwhelms you, finding it hard for your heart to stop pounding from under his large presence.

"I'm not catching an attitude—" You're quick to reply, but Toji is quicker. He leans in and he kisses you, deeply, and you can feel yourself slowly starting to give way underneath him.

"There we go..." Toji murmurs into the kiss, shutting you up quicker than you could've snapped back.

Though, inside, you still want to fight, no matter how nice this feels, you still want to put him in his place.

"Toji—"

Toji groans and rolls his eyes, pulling away from the kiss, he makes his way down to your neck where he starts kissing. His tongue pokes out every now and then to lick along your skin before pulling your skin taught between his teeth to suck, which earns him a gasp.

"Ah—"

"Just be quiet. Learn how to shut up, alright?" He murmurs between kisses, and you whine in protest.

"But, Toji, you're my ex. We're not supposed to do this. I hate you."

Toji laughs almost incredulously. "Hate me?" He pulls away and looks at you with an arched eyebrow. His hands find purchase on the hem of your shirt, and pulls it off of you, and groans when he sees your tits. "You sure don't sound like you hate me, gasping and moaning whenever I touch you."

You scoff, and as much as you want to retort, he's right, as much as you hate to admit it.

Toji leans down and licks a line of saliva down your chest until he reaches your nipple. He swirls his tongue around it and then pops it into his mouth, sucking onto your nipple intently, leaving you to moan.

"Toji..." you gasp, and your hands quickly find his hair, where you grip onto it tightly.

His tongue starts to lap at your nipple, sucking on it quite fervently, he laps at it like a dog drinking water. He groans as he does it, finding your tits so sweet.

"Missed these pretty girls," he says and his rough, calloused hand finds your other breast and begins to grope it, massaging it.

"Fuck," you sigh, and your hands tighten into his hair.

Toji sucks on them some more, making you whine and claw at his hair, before pulling away with a lewd pop.

"Fuck you, Toji," you grunt, breathless, as Toji grins with a mouth covered in his own spit. He chuckles and wipes off his mouth before pulling away.

"Stop complainin' and get on all fours," he says with an eyeroll. Though, as you're about to resist, he grabs you by your hips and does the flipping for you, making you let out a scree h as you're flipped onto all fours.

"Toji—!"

"Shuddup." He grumbles, and with a large hand, he stuffs your head into the pillows. He huffs and, with his other hand, he reaches and pulls your skirt down, revealing your cute little panties you've got on. Toji groans at the sight before hooking a large finger underneath your panties, and pulls them down, leaving your wet folds a sight to behold.

"No, I'm not going to—ooooh..."

You're quick to retort, but your thoughts are interrupted by Toji inserting a thick finger into your sweet, sopping pussy, and he curls it, right into that spot that you crave the most.

"Oh... fuck," you breathe, and your chest falters from taking a shaky breath.

"Fuck, your pussy's s'wet," he mutters, and he leans in and licks a long stripe down your folds, over the softness of your labia, and then, with his other hand—he removes from your head—he spreads your pussy lips apart and circles his tongue onto your clit, leaving you begin to tremble.

"Wet because of me, right? So clearly you don't hate me," he says with a smirk but you roll your eyes.

"Whatever," you grumble, and he chuckles.

He doesn't leave you so grumpy, though, as his tongue soon dives in, swirling around your clit over and over again while his finger begins to pump in and out of you, curling at the last second to give you that bit of an edge—something to cling onto for each time he pumps his finger in and out.

"Tooooji," you whine, as all of the pleasure is beginning to mount, but Toji is relentless, as he suddenly adds another finger and begins to suck on your clit.

He sucks, fervently, making you yell from how good it feels. You yell his name out of pleasure, and Toji simply keeps going. The sound of it is sloppy, as he slurps your pussy to death.

And his fingers, God, the sound isn't even any better as the squelching of his fingers pumping in your pussy fills the room. They're so wet, and the lewdness is embarrassing as you feel your face flush hotly from how embarrassing it is.

You're covering your face with your hands as you listen to the lewd cacophony of sounds fill the empty room, and your breathing gets heavy as Toji's thick fingers bring you close to a release.

"Close, Toji," you whine, but—

Oh fuck.

Toji rips his fingers away from you and pulls his mouth away from your pussy, just in time so you don't cum.

"Toji!" You curse and you furrow your eyebrows, wondering why in the hell he'd ruin your orgasm.

"That's what you get for saying that you hate me," he tuts, and his hand slaps your ass, making you yelp.

He then reaches down and pulls his sweatpants down, followed by his underwear to reveal his thick, erect cock. You look back at him to curse him out, but instead are met with the view of how big his cock is, and you let out a whine.

Fuck. You've missed his cock.

"Missed it, huh?"

Your face burns, and you huff, turning your face away from him.

"No."

Toji chuckles at you continuing to insist that you hate him, so, he thinks it's time to have some fun and make you rethink your ways.

He swipes his tip over your puffy, wet folds before slowly pushing himself in.

You and him let out a moan immediately, and instantly, your brain is turned into mush.

"Ohfuckk..." you mumble into the pillows, moaning at how full he makes you feel.

His cock is just so big, that it fills you up, leaving no room for complaints.

He groans and his other hand comes to rest on the globe of your ass cheek, and then, wham, he snaps his hips making you mewl as he suddenly pushes all of himself inside of you.

"Toji!" You screech, making him chuckle.

He doesn't leave you enough time to argue with him as he snaps his hips again, and again, and again—until he's going at a rough, punishing pace, shoving his cock inside of you over and over again, making your brain turn into a dumb fog.

"Ah, ah, ah!" You moan with each snap of his hips, and he chuckles again, finding this state of yours amusing.

He keeps going, relentlessly, pounding into your as you keep crying out from how good he feels inside of you, and how he keeps hitting that spot so deliciously, over and over again, until you're crying out his name.

"Toji!"

"Yeah? Like that?" He huffs, and he plants a foot on the bed and yanks you toward him, changing his position so his hips can move even faster.

"Yes, fuck, yes!"

Soon, you feel that tightening in your belly, and you cry out, "Toji! 'M close!"

With a few more snaps of his hips, Toji has you cumming as you grip around him tightly, and you shake and claw at the pillows as you release your orgasm.

"Fuck, gonna... cum..." then, with one final snap of his hips, he finishes and pulls out of you, finishing onto your stomach.

You're both breathless afterwards, and, when Toji finally grabs a breath, he says,

"Still hate me?"

[mononijikayu]

immortal sukuna who — in your third life (2).

immortal sukuna masterlist

immortal sukuna who doesn’t know how to get close to you after all these lifetimes apart.

immortal sukuna who stands silently under the cherry blossoms, their petals falling like the years that have passed between you.

immortal sukuna who hadn’t seen you in a hundred years, and once more, he is till forced to wait.

immortal sukuna knew that it cannot be, not right now. for you were a married woman, a happy one at that. and it was not with him. not in this life.

immortal sukuna who keeps thinking about how he wants to see you again at court, but you were always away if your husband was not there to keep you company.

immortal sukuna who on days you were there at all, could not keep his eyes off you at any moment.

immortal sukuna who even if you are no longer his to have keeps on loving you from afar.

immortal sukuna who hates how the space between you feels vast, even though your bodies are but a few steps apart.

immortal sukuna who he can sense it: the bond that once held you two together has been severed. you belong to someone else now.

immortal sukuna who still wants to be close to you, who aches to bridge the gap between your worlds, watches as you smile, but not for him.

immortal sukuna who with his immortal heart, yearns to for his heart to beat warmly by your side again.

immortal sukuna wonders how he could do it, for you are no longer the person you were, and he is no longer the man you loved.

immortal sukuna who quickly realized that like before you adored the wonder of prose and poems.

immortal sukuna who remembers the tender way your fingers traced the lines of forgotten texts in the temple gardens.

immortal sukuna remembers the way your eyes lit up when you found a new verse to cherish. it was something simple, something human. so he began to write.

"perhaps...." immortal sukuna murmured to himself one night beneath the moonlit sky, "if i give her what she loves, she'll allow me near once more."

immortal sukuna who now spends nights in his quiet temple chamber, penning poems with the hope that they might find their way to you.

immortal sukuna who knows that his words are filled with longing, with the memories of a time when you were both lost in each other’s worlds.

immortal sukuna who writes about the heartache of a god aching from eternity, the weight of time, and how not even immortality could save him from the pain of losing his beloved.

one day, as your lord husband is away serving the emperor, immortal sukuna approaches your garden. you are seated on a bench, the warm afternoon sun casting light upon your face. you look so peaceful, so distant from the life you once shared with him.

immortal sukuna hesitates, unsure of how to begin, but then he speaks, his voice low and almost hesitant. "i wrote this... for you."

you glance up, startled, but you accept the folded piece of parchment immortal sukuna offers.

"i know what it is like to be....lonely." sukuna continues, watching for any sign of recognition in your eyes. "i thought... perhaps this might reach you with some solace, my lady."

you unfold the poem slowly, reading the words immortal sukuna has labored over for so long. his heart races as he watches your reaction, every moment stretched into eternity.

immortal sukuna who still can't stop wanting you, who doesn’t know if his poems will ever be enough to close the chasm between you, stands silently.

immortal sukuna doesn't expect forgiveness for the past. he doesn’t expect love. but maybe, just maybe, he can still offer you something — even if it’s only the words he writes in the quiet of night.

"i don't expect anything in return, my lady." immortal sukuna whispers, his voice barely audible. "i just wanted to give you something that might make you....smile. at least."

for the first time in forever, you smiled softly, but it's a smile for the poem, not for immortal sukuna. and yet, he hopes it is for him. even if that's a lie.

"thank you, lord general." you whisper to him in the most tender voice. "i....i appreciate your kindness towards me. this is the first time i had ever received such a thing."

immortal sukuna's brows furrowed. "does your lord husband not do such a thing for you, my lady?"

you giggle and then become somber. "i may love my husband, my lord general....but he is a serious man. he is not much a man for prose."

immortal sukuna does not know what to say. but all those times when you both would sit together in your lives together, he had always made sure warm, loving words got to you — from him to you.

immortal sukuna who feels the pain of it all, knowing that you love someone else, stands there, watching the way your eyes trace the lines of his poem.

immortal sukuna who can’t help but wonder if the man you married truly knows the depth of your heart, the way your soul craves more than what mere words or fleeting moments can provide.

immortal sukuna who thinks that the thought eats at him, knowing that your husband could not give you all the universe — not the way sukuna wishes he could, with every star and whisper of the wind built from the love he still holds for you. a love he could never fully describe.

immortal sukuna who shifts slightly, the ache in his chest a familiar companion by now, smiles at you, but it is a smile tinged with centuries of regret and longing.

"then, my lady..." immortal sukuna's voice is soft, almost a murmur, "let me write you more poems... if you should like them."

you look up at immortal sukuna, surprise flickering in your eyes. the tension between you softens just a little.

as though for a moment, you allow yourself to forget the passage of time, the life you have now, the life immortal sukuna no longer belongs to. you say nothing at first, but he sees something — a small glimmer of acceptance.

"would that please you?" immortal sukuna asks, his voice filled with a quiet yearning he can no longer hide. "even if it's all i can offer, i would give you the world in words if it meant you’d smile for me again."

immortal sukuna who waits in silence, wondering if his words can still reach you, if the poems he writes could ever bridge the unbridgeable.

immortal sukuna who knows you belong to another, yet some part of him clings to the hope that maybe, just maybe, you will welcome the small pieces of himself that he is able to give.

you finally nod and then smiled softly. but then you looked away from sukuna. your focus returned to the poems.

and though it is a small gesture, it is enough to keep immortal sukuna's heart from shattering completely.

immortal sukuna who hides the storm of emotions behind that immortal smile, vows to write you more, even if every word reminds him of what he’s lost — and what he can never have again.

[midnightcrw]

Crying

Pairing: Dad!Simon Ghost Riley

Summary: Taking care of his crying daughter

a/n: This really isn't my best work, but I still hope you all will like it. By the way, I've become a bit obsessed with Jason Todd lately, and I'm thinking about writing something about him (only if you all are interested, though)

"Come on, angel. Don't cry," Simon whispered softly, cradling Daisy in his arms. She had a fever, and it wasn't getting any better.

Daisy's face was flushed with a light pink hue as she continued to cry and wail, but Simon held her closer, his heart aching for his little girl.

"Shhh... Calm down, Daisy," he cooed, gently rocking his daughter, trying to ease her distress.

"Hey, look at me. It's gonna be alright. I'm here," Simon assured her with a comforting tone, his face filled with sincerity.

Daisy's cries started to quiet down, though she still whimpered. You weren't at home, leaving Simon and Daisy all alone in the house.

Simon planted a soft kiss on Daisy's forehead. "That's my girl. You're so strong..."

"How about I call Price?" Even though he knew she probably wouldn't understand him, he still said it out loud as he reached for his phone.

Price was the one person she adored. Whenever he was around, Daisy would become calm and content.

As he dialed the number, Price's face showed up on the screen, slightly off-frame as he struggled to get the right angle, but he was there.

"Did something happen?" Without a formal greeting, Price spoke, knowing Simon wouldn't call him unless it was urgent.

In an instant, Daisy's cries ceased, and she began to coo quietly. Her face was still red, but she was noticeably calmer.

"So that's what makes you stop crying?" Simon mused in a gentle voice as he watched Daisy's eyes fix on the screen, eager to see Price.

The moment Daisy saw Price on the phone, her face lit up with delight.

Simon chuckled at the heartwarming sight and moved the phone closer to his daughter. "Here, Daisy, say hi to your Uncle Price."

The moment the phone was within reach, she grabbed it. Her tiny hands held the phone tightly as she gazed at Price's face, while Simon smiled warmly.

Daisy held the phone so close that only her eyes and her little forehead were visible, making Price laugh.

Being a father had its challenges, but moments like these, seeing his daughter smile, were his reason to keep moving forward in life.

After all, he wasn't alone. He had the TF141, and he had you.

That's all he needed.

[stuiie]

Don’t Cry No Tears Now, it’s Christmas, Baby

༊*·˚ Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Christmas is all about spending time with your favorite people, laughing, sharing stories, and enjoying the little moments that make the season special. But nothing could have prepared you for the kind of love that shows up in so many shapes and forms. From the warmth of a quiet hug to the sound of laughter echoing through the room, or even just sharing a mug of hot cocoa in the quiet snowfall, it’s the kind of magic that sneaks up on you and makes everything feel right.

Tags: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Special, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Established Relationship, Romance, Love, Domestic Fluff, Friendship, Set in the future The Color of You.

Words: 7,3K

Authors note: I’m a little stuck on the main story right now, and then I heard Snowman by Sia (if you haven't heard it I recommend listening to it), and I couldn’t resist writing this little Christmas piece. It’s set in the future of The Color of You, but I really hope you’ll enjoy it. Sorry for being a bit sappy, I’m just feeling a little blue these last couple of days.

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The air was thick with the warmth of Christmas, every breath infused with the scent of gingerbread and mulled wine. It wrapped around you like a soft blanket, tugging you deeper into the comforting magic of the season. From the doorway, you caught sight of Natasha and Wanda in the kitchen, moving together in a silent, intimate rhythm. They danced around one another—hands brushing, laughter quiet but alive—as they prepared the Christmas dinner. For a moment, you simply watched, your heart swelling with a mix of affection and awe. The scene was theirs, so tender it felt like a secret you didn’t want to disturb. Smiling softly, you turned away, slipping back into the living room.

Yelena’s cackling was the first thing you heard as you flopped down onto the couch beside her. On the TV, Home Alone played in full volume, and Yelena, unable to contain herself, flung a fistful of popcorn at the screen. You groaned dramatically at the mess, shooting her a look she ignored entirely. Muttering under your breath, you knelt to pick up the scattered popcorn, knowing full well that Wanda would have a fit if she saw it.

It had been Wanda, after all, who had greeted you earlier with almost childlike excitement. She had covered your eyes the moment you stepped through the door, chuckling warmly as she guided you inside. “No peeking,” she had teased, her voice bright and warm. When she finally let go, the gasp that escaped you was entirely genuine.

The Christmas tree stood in the center of the living room, towering and radiant. Its branches were adorned with gold and red ornaments that shimmered like jewels under the soft fairy lights. A ribbon of gold and red spiraled from top to bottom, its edges catching the light as if dusted with stardust. It wasn’t just a tree; it was magic.

You had drifted around the room in quiet awe, taking in every detail—the stockings hanging above the crackling fire, the wreaths laced with twinkling lights, the faint scent of pine that blended perfectly with the warmth of the room. It was all so beautiful it made your chest ache. And just as you reached out to touch one of the ornaments, Natasha’s arms had wrapped around you from behind.

“Mistletoe,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your cheek before tilting your face toward hers for something softer. The warmth of her lips lingered, leaving you breathless. But before you could respond, laughter filled the air, and you turned to find Wanda holding the mistletoe high above you both, her smile so fond it made your heart flutter.

“My turn,” Wanda teased, stepping closer. She tilted your chin gently with her fingers and kissed you—soft at first, then deeper, as though drawn in by a force neither of you could fight. Her slender fingers slid through your hair, slow and tender, as her tongue teased yours, sparking something that made your knees weak. It left you dazed and full of wanting, your selfish heart already begging for more. Somewhere deep inside, you wondered if their love would ever feel less overwhelming—if you would ever feel worthy of it. But in that moment, surrounded by warmth and wonder, you didn’t care.

“Earth to idiot.”

Yelena’s shove snapped you out of the memory, and you tipped sideways into the cushions with an indignant noise. You shot her a glare, but she only grinned wickedly, entirely unapologetic.

“Come on,” she said, tugging at your arm as she stood. “We’re going out. Fresh air will do you good.”

“Yelena—”

“No arguing!” she called, already halfway across the room. “Nat, Wanda! We’re heading out for a bit!”

You hesitated only a moment before following her out. The air was crisp and bit at your cheeks, the kind of cold that left you feeling wide awake and alive. A soft hush had settled over the neighborhood, the quiet broken only by the crunch of snow beneath your boots. The streets were blanketed in white, the snow glimmering faintly under the glow of streetlamps.

For a while, neither of you spoke as you walked toward the park. The world felt impossibly still, as if you had stepped into a snow globe—a perfect, fleeting moment suspended in time. You let out a breath, watching it mist in the cold air, and glanced at Yelena, who walked with her hands shoved in her pockets, a content smile tugging at her lips.

Yelena grasped your hand and tugged you toward the small market, her excitement spilling out in a constant stream of chatter. She rambled about everything—the crafts she wanted to see, the ridiculous sweater someone was wearing, and her plans to get the best hot chocolate in the market. Her energy was infectious, and as you listened, your chest filled with a familiar warmth. You stole a glance at her rosy cheeks, glowing from the cold, and at the way the twinkling market lights reflected in her bright, carefree eyes.

The line for hot chocolate was long, but Yelena didn’t stop talking, her enthusiasm like a balm against the chill of the late afternoon. You felt yourself smiling, a rare kind of peace blooming in your chest as you stood there with her, your boots crunching in the snow. Finally, with steaming paper cups filled with hot chocolate in hand, the two of you began wandering through the market, weaving between clusters of people.

The stalls were filled with handmade crafts: delicate wooden carvings, candles with cinnamon scents, and beautifully knitted scarves you admired but didn’t dare touch. Yelena pointed out the more peculiar items—like a hat that resembled a chicken—and cracked jokes that had you doubling over in laughter. Every so often, the scent of roasting chestnuts or spiced pastries would curl through the air, making the moment feel all the more magical.

Eventually, you found yourselves on the bridge, its old stone dusted with snow and worn smooth by years of stories. You slowed to a stop, instinctively lingering there. It was just a bridge, but to you, it had become something more. So much had happened here—quiet talks, shared tears, and promises whispered into the night. It was a place where time felt a little less fleeting.

You clutched your hot chocolate and watched families gathered below, their small children tossing bread crumbs to eager ducks. Their laughter carried up to you, soft and bright against the crisp evening air. A pang of nostalgia washed over you, pulling you back to when you and Yelena were that small—when the world felt bigger, and magic was something you never questioned. It wasn’t that life wasn’t magical now; it was just... different. Softer, quieter.

Yelena bumped your shoulder, snapping you out of your thoughts. Without hesitation, you leaned into her, resting your head against her shoulder. “Thank you for this,” you murmured, the words barely escaping in the misty cold.

Yelena didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. Instead, she shifted ever so slightly so that her shoulder fit more comfortably beneath your head, a silent reassurance that you were always enough for her, just as she was for you.

On the way back, the silence was easy and familiar, broken only by the sound of your boots crunching in the snow. As you reached an open patch of untouched white, Yelena grinned and dropped to the ground, flailing her arms and legs to make a snow angel.

“You’re ridiculous,” you teased, but before long, you joined her, the two of you lying side by side, laughing into the sky as snowflakes danced down to kiss your cheeks.

Then, just as you stood up, brushing snow from your coat, Yelena’s smirk deepened. “Uh-oh,” she said, examining the imprint you left behind. “Pretty sure you made that snow angel in dog poop.”

“What?!” Your heart leapt in panic as you scrambled to inspect the snow beneath you.

It took only a second to realize Yelena’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter, her lips pressed tightly together to stop herself from bursting. “You should’ve seen your face!”

“Yelena!” you shouted, a mix of relief and outrage bubbling up as you scooped a handful of snow. She bolted with a laugh, her boots kicking up little puffs of white as you chased after her, pelting her with snowballs.

By the time you reached the house, both of you were breathless, your cheeks flushed, your coats dusted in snow. Yelena collapsed on the steps, breathless with laughter, and you couldn’t help but grin as you flopped down beside her. The stars above seemed to twinkle in time with your joy, and as you sat there together, you knew—this moment, as simple and silly as it was, would linger in your heart for years to come.

When you finally stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloped you like a well-worn blanket, but it was immediately clear that the guests had arrived. The soft hum of chatter and the faint clinking of glasses carried from the living room, but your attention was drawn to Wanda, who stood in the entryway, arms crossed and an amused yet stern look on her face. Her gaze swept over you and Yelena, taking in your snow-dusted coats, flushed cheeks, and tousled hair. She shook her head fondly, though the sharp arch of her brow told you she wasn’t entirely pleased.

You gave her your best sheepish smile, cheeks still pink, but she didn’t budge. Before you could say a word, Natasha appeared around the corner, a wide grin spreading across her face as she took in the sight of the two of you. “Well, well, look at this pair of snow gremlins,” she teased, her tone dripping with mockery.

Yelena grumbled and started wrestling with her jacket, but Natasha, with the grin of someone who thrived on chaos, moved to block her path. “Here, let me help you,” Natasha cooed innocently, tugging at Yelena’s sleeves with just enough force to turn it into a proper struggle.

“Nat, stop,” Yelena growled through gritted teeth, her arms halfway out of the coat as Natasha cackled, unhelpful as ever. The two of them twisted and stumbled around the entryway like overgrown children, Yelena’s curses mixing with Natasha’s gleeful laughter. You bit your lip, determined not to laugh, as you fought to remove your own jacket, gloves, and hat without getting caught in the chaos.

Natasha’s teasing escalated, tugging Yelena this way and that until—

“Natasha,” Wanda’s voice rang out, cool and sharp enough to cut through the madness.

Natasha immediately let go, her smirk still firmly in place, while Yelena staggered backward, cursing in Russian as she finally shrugged off the jacket and sent Natasha a sharp glare. With all the grace of someone who didn’t know when to quit, Yelena flipped her off, a wild scowl on her face, which only made Natasha grin wider.

You couldn’t help it—you broke. A burst of laughter escaped you, loud and bright, filling the space like sunlight. Wanda turned her gaze on you then, unimpressed and unamused, though there was something in her eyes that betrayed her fondness.

“Sorry,” you managed between giggles, stepping closer to her. To soften the blow, you leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. “Forgive me?” you whispered, your breath brushing against her skin.

She sighed, her expression softening just a little as her arms fell to her sides. “Go get ready before I change my mind,” she muttered, her voice half affectionate, half exasperated.

“Will do,” you chirped, stealing one last glance at Natasha and Yelena—who were still bickering under their breath—before heading upstairs.

In Yelena’s room, the world seemed quieter, the sounds of the house fading behind the closed door. You peeled off your snow-damp clothes, shaking your head as Yelena flopped dramatically onto the bed with a satisfied sigh.

“You’re insufferable,” you teased, earning only a shrug in response.

“I’m charming, and you know it.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you rifled through the closet for something to wear. Yelena eventually sat up, humming along to the Christmas songs now streaming softly from the speaker. She watched you thoughtfully for a moment before standing. “Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to the chair in front of the vanity.

“What? Why?”

“Because you need to look cute, and I’m in the mood to help,” she replied, digging through your makeup bag.

You rolled your eyes but complied, settling into the chair as Yelena set to work. It wasn’t long before she was singing along to the Christmas music, her voice louder and more off-key than necessary. You couldn’t help but smile as she swayed to the beat, brushing powder across your cheeks with dramatic flair.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” you said, raising a brow as she grinned at her reflection in the mirror.

“Obviously. You’re like my little art project.”

Despite her teasing, Yelena’s touch was careful and gentle as she worked. You watched her in the mirror, your heart swelling as you took in her playful expression, the flush in her cheeks from earlier, and the way she still hummed along as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

When she finally stepped back, admiring her work, she beamed. “Perfect. You’re a masterpiece.”

You laughed softly, meeting her eyes in the reflection. “Thanks, Lena. For everything.”

She rolled her eyes as though it was no big deal, but her grin softened into something quieter, more genuine. “Anytime,” she said, nudging your shoulder. “Now let’s go before Natasha eats all the good food.”

Together, you stood, the warmth of the moment lingering between you as the music played on.

When you joined everyone downstairs, the hum of laughter and conversation welcomed you like a favorite song. The room was alive with a glow that went beyond the soft lights and garlands—it was the kind of warmth that came from family, chosen or otherwise.

Val was the first to spot you, her face lighting up as she strode over. She pulled you into a firm side hug, dropping a soft kiss to the crown of your head in that way only she could—casual, yet grounding. “About time,” she teased gently before turning to Yelena. She hugged her tightly, ruffling Yelena’s hair like an older sibling might, earning a dramatic groan of protest.

As you stepped further into the room, your gaze fell on Agatha and Rio lingering by the window. Agatha, always sharp-tongued and full of sarcasm, was mid eye-roll at something her wife had said. Rio, unbothered and clearly amused, slipped an arm around Agatha’s waist and pulled her close. For a moment, Agatha’s familiar air of indifference cracked, softening as she allowed Rio to press a tender kiss to her lips. It was intimate and unguarded in a way that made you look away with a faint smile, as though you’d stumbled on something private yet precious.

Your eyes scanned the room and landed on Pepper, who stood across the way chatting with Maria. They both raised their glasses in your direction in greeting, their smiles easy and genuine. You nodded back with a wave, your heart swelling at the sight of so many people you cared about all gathered here.

Feeling the pull of a familiar presence, you slid over to Natasha, who was standing near the dining table with a glass of wine in hand. You hugged her side, and she turned to you with a wide smile that lit up her face. Without hesitation, she tugged you closer, dropping a kiss on your forehead.

“There you are,” she said softly, her voice carrying a note of fond relief.

“Here I am,” you replied with a grin, feeling a little more at home with her arms around you.

As dinner was served, the room buzzed with warm chatter and the clinking of glasses. You found yourself seated between the Romanoff sisters, and the sense of belonging was enough to bring a lump to your throat if you let it.

Yelena nudged you playfully with her elbow as she stole a roll from your plate, while Natasha gave her a look that could have frozen fire. “Really?” Natasha drawled, but you couldn’t miss the glimmer of affection in her eyes.

“What?” Yelena grinned innocently, chewing shamelessly as she kicked her boots out under the table.

You just laughed, shaking your head as you broke off a piece of bread for yourself. Around you, the air was alive with a harmony of voices—Val joking with Pepper, Agatha and Rio trading sly remarks, Maria’s laugh ringing out above the rest, and Wanda’s voice mingling with it all like a melody you never tired of hearing.

The table was a sea of warmth and color: flickering candles reflected in wine glasses, bowls of roasted vegetables passed from hand to hand, and the occasional clang of utensils as someone reached too enthusiastically for a dish. It was noisy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect.

For a while, you just let yourself soak it all in—the sight of Natasha leaning in to tease Yelena, the sound of Agatha’s exaggerated scoff, and the way Wanda’s laughter curved through the air like a ribbon of light. This was what you had always longed for, though you hadn’t known it back then: a place to call home, and people who made you feel as though you were enough just by being there.

Wanda caught your gaze from across the table then, her eyes soft and searching. She smiled—small, almost private—and you returned it, your chest blooming with a quiet kind of joy.

After dinner, everyone chipped in to help with the dishes, laughter and conversation filling the kitchen as plates were passed and glasses were rinsed. Yelena, predictably, turned drying the dishes into a contest, boasting that she could dry faster than anyone else, only to drop a fork mid-spin and claim she was “letting you all win.” Natasha rolled her eyes, but her smirk betrayed her amusement, while Val and Maria exchanged knowing glances as though long accustomed to Yelena’s antics.

Once the kitchen was back in order, the group moved to the living room. The Christmas tree glowed softly, the twinkling lights throwing a warm shimmer over the room. The familiar sounds of Christmas music drifted from the speaker, low enough to leave space for the soft hum of chatter and clinking glasses.

Wanda, who had claimed a cozy corner of the sofa, caught your gaze and beckoned you over with a small wave of her hand. You couldn’t help but smile as you walked toward her, wine glass in hand, and let yourself settle against her. Her arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer as you leaned back into her.

Her fingers began combing lazily through your hair, a soothing motion that had you melting into her touch. “You’ll never believe it,” she murmured softly, her voice a gentle hum above the music. “I’ve been asked to create a sculpture for the new hotel downtown—the one opening next spring.”

You tilted your head slightly to look at her, your lips parting in awe. “Wanda, that’s incredible.”

The corner of her mouth tugged upward, though she tried to appear nonchalant. “It’s nothing too extravagant, just something to sit in the lobby. Modern but striking, they said.”

“It’s everything,” you said firmly, your heart swelling with pride. “I don’t know why you’re acting like it’s just another day. That’s amazing. You deserve it.”

Wanda’s hand stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle rhythm, her smile softening into something that reached her eyes. “You always say the right things, you know that?”

“I mean them,” you replied quietly, squeezing her arm lightly before resting your head back on her shoulder.

As the night wore on, the room settled into a peaceful rhythm. Wanda began humming softly along to the Christmas songs, her voice a low, melodic hum that matched the gentle sway of her arms as she held you. You felt the rise and fall of her breath, the quiet hum of contentment that radiated from her, and it wrapped around you like the warmth of a fire on a cold night.

On the other side of the couch, Natasha and Val had taken up their usual banter, their voices playful as they bickered over whose turn it was to top up the wine. Val gestured wildly, her face dramatic, while Natasha’s smirk only grew sharper as she leaned back, clearly enjoying the game.

Wanda’s toe suddenly nudged Natasha’s leg, drawing her attention. Natasha paused mid-sentence, looking over with a raised brow and a teasing smile. But when her gaze shifted to the two of you—Wanda holding you close, her fingers combing through your hair—her expression softened.

Wanda met Natasha’s gaze and gave her a small, knowing nod before glancing toward the tree. Natasha’s eyes brightened instantly, and her grin returned full force. She clapped her hands together, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Alright, people!” Natasha announced, her voice carrying over the chatter. “It’s time to swap gifts before Yelena falls asleep and pretends she doesn’t want any.”

“Hey!” Yelena piped up from where she sat sprawled on the rug, halfway through a gingerbread cookie. “That only happened once!”

“Three times,” Natasha corrected, earning a glare and a muttered insult in Russian.

Around the room, people began shifting, leaning forward to grab bags and boxes, and the chatter rose again, filled with excited murmurs and teasing jabs. You couldn’t help but smile as you sat up slightly, Wanda’s arms lingering around you for just a moment longer before she let go.

You thought you knew what to expect as everyone handed over their gifts with wide smiles and laughter that curled warmly around the room. But as the wrapping paper began to tear and presents were unveiled, you realized you hadn’t truly prepared for the chaos that would follow.

It began when Agatha unwrapped her gift with all the elegance of a queen—only to pull out a strap without the faintest shred of shame. “Well, would you look at that,” she purred, twirling the harness casually around her fingers as though it were a party favor.

“Agatha!” Wanda groaned, shaking her head with an amused exasperation.

Across the room, Rio grinned, unrepentant and clearly proud of herself. “Don’t act surprised. You know she’s going to wear it.”

Agatha shot Rio a sly look, her voice dripping with mock affection. “You spoil me, darling.”

The exchange was topped off with Val, who leaned back on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, looking pleased as ever. “Told you it would suit her.”

The laughter bubbled louder when Rio, unwrapping her gift, pulled a whip from its sleek box. She held it up for all to see, the leather swaying in her grip like a threat—an elegant threat.

“Practical and pretty,” Agatha echoed wryly while Val mouthed, you’re welcome, in Agatha's direction making it clear who was responsible for the gift, earning a grimace from Yelena.

Wanda’s chuckle vibrated against your back where she sat with you tucked comfortably between her legs, her arms draped loosely around your shoulders. Her laughter, rich and amused, sent warmth curling through your chest.

Then Yelena, sprawled on the floor, groaned dramatically, flopping onto her back as though the whip alone had sent her into an early grave. “Why are you all like this? This is Christmas, not… not—”

“Not whatever you think it is?” Val quipped, smirking as Yelena shot her a glare.

“Exactly.”

Before Yelena could say anything else, Maria and Pepper began unwrapping their presents, the room’s attention shifting. You tried to maintain your composure as Maria held up a piece of crimson lingerie with an appreciative smirk, Pepper laughing beside her as she showed off the delicate necklace she'd received.

“Balance,” Maria teased, holding up the jewelry and the fabric in each hand.

“Very elegant balance,” Pepper added with a wink, her smile easy and unbothered.

Then it was Val’s turn. She unwrapped her present eagerly, only for her expression to freeze mid-smirk. A moment later, the small box went sailing across the room, hitting Natasha squarely in the shoulder with an audible thud.

“What the hell, Romanoff?” Val barked, but Natasha was already laughing, one hand rubbing her shoulder.

Your gaze dropped to the floor, where the box of Viagra now lay. Your eyes widened in shock before a loud, unapologetic laugh burst from you, echoing Wanda’s quiet snickering behind you.

“That’s for future Val,” Natasha quipped with a grin.

“Future Val is going to kick your ass,” Val shot back, still glaring, though you could see the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

“Please stop,” Yelena groaned again, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t take any more of this.”

“Then let’s move on,” Natasha announced smugly, picking up a box and tossing it to Yelena.

Yelena looked almost relieved as she ripped off the wrapping, and the moment she spotted what was inside, her face lit up. It was the bomber jacket she’d been not-so-secretly wanting. “No way!” she gasped, her grin stretching from ear to ear. She immediately launched herself at Natasha, pulling her into a hug before pushing you unceremoniously aside to get to Wanda.

“Move,” Yelena ordered, practically shoving you with her elbow.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, glaring at her dramatic display as you settled back into your spot between Wanda’s legs.

“Let her have this moment,” Wanda murmured, brushing her lips against the top of your head.

Yelena dropped back onto the floor and grabbed the final box—yours. You held your breath as she tore the paper with her usual reckless enthusiasm, but her hands stilled when the gift revealed itself.

Her expression softened instantly, and for a beat, the room seemed to quiet as she ran her fingers gently along the edges of the book. She opened it carefully, her movements uncharacteristically delicate. Inside were the photos you’d spent so long collecting and arranging—snapshots of your childhood together. Days of scraped knees, shared birthdays, and mischievous grins frozen in time.

Yelena’s lips parted slightly, her gaze fixed on a photo of the two of you, tangled in a heap of blankets on the couch when you were small. Her thumb brushed the corner of the page, and you watched as a quiet emotion passed over her features—something soft, something undeniably tender.

She looked up then, her green eyes shining with something deeper than words could express. “You made this?”

You nodded, your voice suddenly caught in your throat. “Yeah... I, uh, thought you’d like it.”

Yelena didn’t say anything. She just reached forward and pulled you into a hug—gentler this time, no shoving or teasing. It was the kind of hug that said everything she couldn’t put into words.

“Thank you,” she whispered against your shoulder, her voice quiet and sincere.

You smiled softly as you squeezed her back, Wanda’s hand brushing comfortingly over your arm from where she sat behind you.

As the night settled deeper into stillness, you made yourself more comfortable against Wanda, her arms wrapping around you like a second blanket. The couch seemed softer with her behind you, her warmth radiating through the room like a quiet fire. Her fingers had resumed their slow, absentminded path through your hair, each touch sending a calming wave through you.

You sighed contentedly, stealing a glance at Natasha, who sat stretched out in the armchair across the room. Her glass of wine dangled lazily from her fingers, the sharpness of her usual demeanor softened by the glow of the Christmas lights. Your heart warmed as you thought about earlier that morning when you’d exchanged gifts in private.

The painting Wanda had made for you—a breathtaking swirl of color that somehow captured both serenity and fire—already hung above the bed. The fact that she had spent hours, days even, creating something so perfect for you left you speechless. Wanda had insisted it wasn’t a big deal, brushing her fingers over your cheek when she gave it to you, but you knew better. That painting was a piece of her soul, and now it was yours to keep.

Natasha, in her typical Natasha way, had managed to surprise both of you with an upcoming getaway. “Just the three of us this time,” she had said firmly, pointing a finger at you as Wanda watched with amused affection. “Swear it. No ‘oops, I invited everyone’ like last time.”

You had smiled shyly, your cheeks warm under her gaze. “I promise,” you’d murmured, and the rare smile Natasha gave you in return had felt like the sun breaking through clouds.

Your own gifts had been simpler but no less heartfelt—handmade books similar to the one you gifted Yelena, pieced together with love and care. The pages were filled with photos and memories of the moments you shared with them, every snapshot holding a story: lazy Sunday mornings, playful smirks exchanged across rooms, quiet evenings spent in soft lamplight. For Wanda, you’d left empty pages, spaces for her to fill with her drawings. When she’d flipped through the book earlier, her fingers tracing the pages, her eyes had shimmered with unshed tears.

“This…” Wanda had whispered, pausing as though the words wouldn’t come. She looked at you then, her expression raw and tender. “This is beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

The way she had held you in that moment—like you were something precious and fragile—made your chest ache in the best possible way. You’d leaned into her embrace, letting the weight of her love settle around you, filling every corner of your heart.

Now, as the night moved along, the house gradually grew quieter. Maria, Pepper, and Val were the first to leave, their goodbyes punctuated with tired laughter and lingering hugs. Pepper promised to call in the morning, while Maria winked and whispered something to Val that made her chuckle as they stepped out into the cold night air.

Not long after, Agatha and Rio followed. Agatha, despite her perpetual sarcasm, hugged Wanda with genuine warmth before leaving. “You’re lucky I like you,” she teased, earning a dry laugh from Wanda as Rio waved at you all over her shoulder.

With their departure, the house grew quieter still, leaving only the four of you: Natasha, Wanda, Yelena, and you. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the Christmas tree casting a golden glow across the room. The music had shifted to something softer, a slow instrumental rendition of an old carol that carried through the space like a whisper.

Yelena lay sprawled on the floor near the tree, her legs propped up on the edge of the couch as she absentmindedly hummed along to the music. Natasha sat nearby, a rare contentment softening her sharp features as she sipped the last of her wine.

Wanda shifted slightly beneath you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as she continued running her fingers through your hair. “You tired, Sweetie?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, though your eyelids were starting to feel heavy. “Not yet.”

Natasha caught Wanda’s eye and smirked knowingly. “She’s lying.”

“I’m resting,” you protested, though your voice lacked any conviction.

Yelena snorted from her spot on the floor, reaching out to spin a forgotten ornament dangling near her fingers. “She’s probably dreaming about the dog-poop snow angel.”

You groaned, hiding your face against Wanda’s shoulder as laughter rippled through the room. Natasha leaned back in her chair, with a fond smile.

The teasing faded after a while, leaving behind a softer, gentler quiet. The four of you sat together, wrapped in the glow of the lights and the gentle hum of the music, the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled with words. Natasha and Yelena bickered softly about something inconsequential, but their voices were low and affectionate, as though neither wanted to disturb the peace of the room.

Wanda’s arms tightened subtly around you, and you tilted your head to look up at her. Her gaze was soft as she met yours, her green eyes glowing faintly in the firelight. “Merry Christmas,” she murmured.

Your heart swelled as you smiled up at her. “Merry Christmas, Wanda.”

Natasha wandered over to where you and Wanda were nestled together on the couch, her playful smirk giving you only a second’s warning before she draped herself over both of you. “Natasha!” Wanda protested as the redhead covered you with her body, pinning you between them like a human blanket.

Natasha grinned wickedly. “What? You looked too cozy.”

Before you could respond, she blew raspberries against your neck, the unexpected sensation making you squirm and erupt into laughter. Wanda released an exasperated huff beneath you, her hands pushing halfheartedly against Natasha’s side.

“Do you mind?” Wanda muttered, though the fondness in her tone gave her away.

Natasha only leaned closer, pressing you down further as you giggled breathlessly, your cheeks aching from smiling. “I’m very comfortable, actually,” Natasha teased, her voice muffled as she nuzzled against your shoulder.

With the laughter still lingering on your lips, Natasha shifted and pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, slow and tender, a stark contrast to her earlier antics. Your eyes fluttered closed, the playful atmosphere melting away for just a moment. But then Wanda’s voice broke through, dry and unimpressed.

“Please, Nat. I’d like to keep breathing.”

Natasha pulled back with a low chuckle, finally rolling off you and stretching out across the floor. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you live—for now.”

You laughed as you slid off the couch, joining Natasha and sprawling out beside Yelena on the carpet. You mimicked her pose perfectly, arms spread out and legs lazily crossed at the ankles.

Yelena turned her head, her expression softening as she caught your gaze. “You’re such a copycat,” she murmured playfully, a smile tugging at her lips.

“And you love it,” you teased back, earning a small laugh as you both settled into a quiet moment. The music played softly in the background, and you hummed along to the familiar tune.

Then, as the next song began you noticed Yelena’s gaze shift upward. Her head tilted slightly, and you followed her line of sight to where Wanda had risen from the couch. Without a word, Wanda crossed the room, her bare feet silent against the rug, and tugged Natasha’s hand, pulling her up with ease.

“What’s this?” you whispered, quirking an eyebrow at Yelena.

She groaned dramatically, rolling her eyes. “They do this every year,” she muttered, though there was no real annoyance in her tone—only that sibling fondness that comes with knowing someone too well.

“Do what?” you asked, your curiosity piqued.

“Just watch,” Yelena said, her voice resigned but soft.

You turned back just in time to see Wanda lead Natasha further toward the Christmas tree. Natasha grumbled something under her breath, though she didn’t resist. A faint smile tugged at her lips, betraying her enjoyment as Wanda spun her around, their fingers lacing together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The golden lights from the tree cast a soft glow over them, their silhouettes swaying gently as Wanda pulled Natasha closer. The music carried them, a melody drifting through the air, and you realized that Wanda wasn’t just pulling Natasha into a dance—this was something that was theirs.

“Don’t cry, snowman, not in front of me, Who’ll catch your tears if you can’t catch me, darling? If you can’t catch me, darling…”

Wanda’s voice was quiet, a tender murmur at first, as though she was singing just for Natasha. Her fingers intertwined with Natasha’s, pulling her closer as they swayed. Natasha’s body followed hers without hesitation—her movements were unhurried, almost careful, as if she, too, understood the weight of this moment.

From your place on the floor, you stilled completely, unable to take your eyes off them. Beside you, even Yelena’s snarky remarks died in her throat.

“Don’t cry, snowman, don’t leave me this way, A puddle of water can’t hold me close, baby…”

Wanda’s voice grew steadier now, the words flowing like silk through the quiet. You felt something shift in the air, the melody curling softly around your chest and tugging at something deep inside you. It wasn’t just a song—it was a promise, a memory, a plea wrapped in lyrics and held between the two women who had always known how to find one another.

Natasha let out a soft exhale, something in her sharp edges melting away as Wanda pulled her in closer, spinning her under the warm glow of the tree. You could see it in the way Natasha looked at her—how her usual guardedness softened into something pure and unspoken.

Wanda sang on, her voice laced with a quiet fragility:

“I want you to know that I’m never leaving, ‘Cause I’m Mrs. Snow, till death we’ll be freezing…”

The words struck a chord in you, reverberating with a meaning you couldn’t ignore. Never leaving. Your throat tightened as you realized what they were really saying—what Wanda was saying. It wasn’t just for Natasha; it was for all of you. A reassurance, a vow spoken through the music. A reminder of the moments lost and the ones still waiting to be lived.

“Yeah, you are my home, my home for all seasons, So come on, let’s go.”

Wanda’s voice broke just slightly on the last word, a subtle tremor that lingered in the air, but Natasha didn’t let her falter. With a small, teasing smile, she spun Wanda around this time—carefully, almost reverently—before pulling her back into her arms. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. They just stood there, forehead to forehead, their silhouettes bathed in the tree’s gentle light.

You swallowed hard, blinking away the prickling in your eyes as you looked away, unable to hold the sight for too long. It was beautiful in the way things often are when they hold too much truth.

Wanda’s voice resumed, even softer now, like a whisper against Natasha’s shoulder:

“Let’s go below zero and hide from the sun, I’ll love you forever where we’ll have some fun, Yes, let’s hit the North Pole and live happily, Please don’t cry no tears now, it’s Christmas, baby…”

The final words lingered, stretching out into the quiet like a fragile thread. It wasn’t lost on you how deeply they echoed into the space between you all—how they whispered of a time when the world hadn’t felt this whole.

Beside you, Yelena turned her head slightly, catching your gaze with a rare look of understanding that she didn’t need to put into words. You forced a small smile in response before looking back at Wanda and Natasha.

Natasha finally spoke, her voice low and rough, carrying a weight that didn’t quite match her usual teasing bravado. “We might not have to dance to this song anymore,” she murmured, her gaze flickering over to you where you laid on the floor with Yelena.

Wanda paused, her smile softening as she followed Natasha’s gaze, her eyes lingering on you for a long, quiet moment. The warmth in her expression deepened, something unspoken passing between the three of you that left your chest aching in the most beautiful way.

When Wanda turned back to Natasha, she pulled her closer, resting her forehead against hers. “No,” Wanda whispered, her voice tender and full of quiet certainty. “We don’t.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a small, vulnerable smile, just as Wanda tilted her head and kissed her softly—slow, tenderly, and filled with years of love.

“I love you,” Wanda murmured against her lips, her voice carrying the weight of every unspoken promise.

Natasha let out a small, almost breathless laugh, as though the words had knocked something loose in her. “I love you too, Moya lyubov,” she replied, her tone equally soft, but steady as stone.

The two of them stayed there for a moment, wrapped up in each other, as if the world outside had ceased to exist. When Wanda returned to the couch you padded over and slid down between her legs again, pressing back into Wanda’s front. She didn’t say anything, but her fingers brushed gently through your hair, anchoring you to her in that quiet way she always did.

The music shifted again, but no one seemed ready to break the spell. Natasha reclaimed her seat near Yelena, and you could hear them exchanging soft words, though their voices barely registered. The fire crackled faintly in the background, the light of the flames dancing on the walls.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Wanda murmured quietly, her voice barely above a whisper against your temple.

You nodded, though your chest still ached with unspoken words. “Yeah,” you said softly, turning just enough to look up at her. “I’m more than okay.”

Wanda pressed her lips to your forehead, lingering there for a moment as if to confirm you were really here—that all of you were. “Good,” she whispered.

Across the room, Natasha sat quietly for a while, her gaze flickering between the fire, Yelena—now dozing peacefully on the floor—and the two of you curled up on the couch. She swirled her glass absently, her expression thoughtful, as though she were weighing whether or not to break the peaceful silence.

Eventually, she stood with a stretch and wandered over, her footsteps soft against the rug. Without saying a word, she sank onto the couch beside Wanda, nudging your legs lightly to make room.

“Move over, you two,” Natasha murmured, her voice low but teasing as she settled in.

Wanda huffed in mock protest but shifted slightly, pulling you closer into her arms to make space. Natasha, for all her sharp edges, leaned back against the cushions with a soft sigh, her shoulder brushing against Wanda’s. For a moment, she looked at you both, something unreadable in her gaze before it softened into something far more familiar—home.

“You couldn’t resist, huh?” you teased, lifting your head just enough to look at her.

Natasha quirked a brow, her lips twitching into a small smile. “You’d miss me if I didn’t, my little duckling.”

You didn’t argue, because she was right.

Without another word, Natasha draped an arm casually over the back of the couch, her fingers grazing the tips of Wanda’s hair. Wanda let out a contented hum, leaning her head briefly against Natasha’s shoulder before resuming her soft strokes through your hair.

The three of you sat in companionable silence, the fire crackling softly in the hearth and the faint sounds of Christmas music still lingering in the background. Yelena let out a sleepy snore from her spot on the floor, which made Natasha shake her head fondly.

As you rested against Wanda, Natasha’s presence now beside you, the feeling settled deeper in your chest—this was everything. After everything you had been through, every moment lost and every piece stitched back together, this was where you belonged. You were home.

Wanda shifted slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. Natasha mirrored the motion moments later, dropping a soft kiss against your temple, the warmth of their love wrapped around you, a tear slipped down your cheek. Natasha’s thumb caught it as it slipped down your cheek as she caressed your skin tenderly.

Wanda’s hum started again, low and soft, her voice carrying over the quiet of the room as she repeated the final words, almost like a lullaby:

“Please don’t cry no tears now, it’s Christmas, baby…”

And you didn’t.

[sh4dys]

He’s in love » Matt Sturniolo

summary: matt is simply head over heels for you <3

warnings: fem!reader, pet names (baby, sweetheart, my girl)

A/N: i wanted to write smth cute guys, how do we feel abt matty boy 🫶

Matt had been staring at you for what seemed like an eternity, well, it wasn’t even you. He had been scrolling through your Instagram for the past hour, simply basking in the fact he was dating—in his words—the most beautiful girl to ever exist.

Matt had always been like this, ever since you got together, maybe even before than. He was the biggest simp in history, he was the definition of a simp.

He could practically feel his heart ache when you two were just friends, he wanted to so desperately kiss your face, hold your hand, keep you warm at night. But he has to sit to the side and watch as other guys got to do it.

That was until he finally confessed after being pressured by Chris. He was so pent up from being peer pressured that he was practically screaming at you about how he was in love with you.

At first he assumed you were freaked out and would never wanna talk to him again, but when you cut him off halfway through and shouted back “I love you” he felt his entire world come crashing down on him. He was in disbelief.

And he’s been in disbelief ever since.

“Hey, baby.” The sudden sound of your voice brought him out of his trance, turning back to look at you with a wide smile and lovesick gaze. He quickly got up from the couch and rushed over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and buried his face in your neck.

“I missed you.” He mumbled quietly against your skin, the vibrations making you giggle slightly as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I missed you too, Matty.” You pressed a kiss to the side of his head, feeling his face heat up against your neck before he slowly lifted it up to look at you.

He still had a smile on his face, his hands holding your waist as he simply admired you. You had turned your attention to talk to Nick about dinner plans, occasionally glancing back at your boyfriend with a warm smile in return.

He began to press gentle kisses against your face; your cheek, nose, forehead, anywhere he could reach without interrupting your conversation. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.” He spoke quietly, pulling you closer and pressed your side against him.

“You always say that.” You looked up at him with slightly furrowed brows, earning a playful scoff from him and a peck on the lips. “Because it’s true. My girl is always beautiful..” He smiled warmly at you, before scooping you up in his arms, earning a surprised yelp from your lips, and brought you into the living room.

He placed you down on your back, your head on the armrest as he laid down on top to you. His arms firmly wrapped around your middle, his head on your chest, and legs tangled with your own. You could feel his fingers messing with the hem of your shirt, his breathing pattern slow and calm as he got comfortable.

You sighed softly and placed a hand in his hair, gently combing through his brunette locks and closed your eyes, enjoying his company at the moment.

You were quite used to this behavior by now, whenever you’d show up to the triplets house he’d automatically steal you away and keep you close to him, refusing to let you go.

Can you blame him though? He’s in love.