#i did realize this like a year and a half into spinning him on the old rotisserie BUT IT IS SO REAL

[mywritersmind]

THE FIRST PERSON - KA12

summary : In which Kimi Antonelli finds out he’s a mercedes f1 driver and runs straight to you.

listen up : kissing! swearing!

words : 524

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He scared me at first, the sight of him standing there and staring at me when I thought I was alone made me jump.

“Kimi!” I groan at my best friend, “You can’t do that! What are you doing here?” I shake my head and start picking up the beads I spilled from when I jumped. I was working on friendship bracelets before I was so rudely frightened.

“Y/n.” He says my name quietly, his hands by his side and clearly without his usual excitement.

“What’s wrong?” I say quickly. He just shakes his head, his mouth slightly open. He’s out of breath, I realize, “Did you run here?” He’s lived a block down from me my whole life so it’s not unusual, but pretty unexpected since I didn’t get a text.

“Y/n.” He repeats my name again, “I fucking did it.”

“What?” I want to laugh but am still so confused.

He doesn’t move, “I’m driving for Mercedes next year.” My face drops. And then I scream.

“Shut up!”

“I’m not kidding. I just got the call.” His face breaks into a smile, “I ran straight over. I didn’t even get to tell my parents.”

“Holy shit!” I run at him, flinging myself onto him as he holds onto me tightly. “Kimi!”

“I can’t believe it!” He breathes as holds me tighter, spinning me around in a hug, “I’m a formula one driver!”

“I knew you could do it!” I laugh as he slides me down so my feet are on the floor. “I’m so fucking proud of you!” I grab his face and shake him as he laughs.

I hug him again, still jumping, “I couldn’t do it without you.” He whispers into my hair and I squeal.

When I pull away, his hands are still on my waist, we’re both out of breath and staring at each other. I don’t really know who initiates it, but our lips are on each other in a rush of excitement.

He kisses me like he’s fucking starved, pulling me in closer as my arms tighten around his neck. I can’t think, can’t breathe, the only thing I feel is him on me.

And then he’s not kissing me anymore. He pulls back suddenly, his hands still on me and his mouth slightly open, “I’m sorry.”

Fuck. Of course Kimi kisses me like it’s our last day on earth after finding out the biggest news ever, and apologizes.

I drop my hands, stepping back a bit and realizing what we’ve just done. “Don’t be.”

We sort of just stand there, in the middle of my living room, both coming to terms that we can’t ignore something that changes our friendship that much.

I push my hair back, “Um… I’m really proud of you Kimi.”

He nods softly, “Thanks.”

I rub my lips together, my lipgloss half gone.

“I should go.” He swallows, “Thank you.” He cringes, “I mean… Thanks for being there. You’re my best friend, Y/n.” His words crush my soul and just about every hope that we could be more than friends.

“Yeah…”

“I’ll talk to you later.” And then he leaves.

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

[lovebugism]

eddie blurb about reader who is very preppy dressing up all punk/goth for one of eddies gigs at a bar to fit in with the crowd.

he likes it alottttt

ty for requesting :D — eddie plans to take his preppy!gf to the hideout for the first time (established relationship, allusions to smut 18+ | 0.8k)

bug's two year celebration ♡

“Do you like?” you wonder aloud, with your arms splayed at your sides and a smile brightening your face. 

You watch wordlessly as Eddie’s wide brown eyes rake over your body — now intricately adorned with black and silver instead of your usual pastels. A flurry of butterflies bloom in the pit of your stomach. You feel almost shy, like he’s seeing you for the very first time.

Eddie opens his mouth but nothing comes out right away. Instead, he stutters, trying and failing to come up with a joke to conceal how flustered he’s gone. “Yeah. I—I like. I like very much, actually.”

His sneakers scuff the worn carpet of his bedroom floor as he takes a slow step toward you. He inhales the scent of your familiar, fruity perfume — a striking contrast to your darker appearance. You’ve teased your hair, smudged eyeliner beneath your eyes; you’ve even traded your delicate, flowery jewelry for chunkier silver ones. 

He reaches out a ringed hand and brushes his fingers over your pleated leather skirt, nothing more than an excuse to touch you. His eyes catch a run in your fishnets, obviously borrowed and tucked into a pair of used boots. He has to force his gaze to meet yours.

“Where’d all this come from?” Eddie asks, peering at you with chocolate button eyes half-hidden behind long lashes.

“The mall,” you shrug. “…And also Robin’s closet.”

“That checks out,” he laughs and steps back again. “C’mon. Give me a spin. Let me look at you.”

You smile with your tongue between your teeth and twirl before him with glee. Your skirt fans out at your thighs, flashing the edge of your fishnets and a brief glance of your light pink panties. Eddie has to remind himself to breathe.

“What’d you do all this for?” he lilts.

“For you, dummy,” you giggle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I just— wanted to fit in with your friends, you know?”

The shy smile you give him makes his chest ache. “You’re sweet,” he hums. “But you didn’t have to do this, you know that, right?”

‘Cause I love you the way you are, he doesn’t say.

You think you hear it, anyway.

“I know,” you insist, dragging out the vowel like a sheepish child as you take a hesitant step toward him. “But I wanted to match my boyfriend. He’s a really famous rockstar, you know?”

Eddie tries not to melt at your feet when you close the distance between you. He wouldn’t say performing in front of his friends a handful of drunks makes him famous exactly, but he appreciates the spirit. 

“I did hear that, actually,” he nods sarcastically.

“I even wrote his name on the hem,” you confess vaguely, smoothing your palms over his chest. “’Cause I love him and everything.”

Eddie tilts his chin to his chest, searching for his name on your skirt. “Really?” he wonders aloud, interest visibly piqued. Even more so, when you smile.

“Not there, silly,” you laugh.

His pink mouth forms a pretty ‘o’ shape when realization runs over him like melted honey. “Oh…” he hums, eyes wide and glimmering with intrigue. A funny feeling hits him in his chest and in the confines of his worn jeans. “Well, now I have to see it—”

You slap his hand away when he reaches for your skirt.

“No! You have to wait!” you insist, always so girlishly stubborn.

Eddie’s face scrunches like you’ve physically pained him. “Why?” he whines.

“Because you’ll make us late!” you argue, eyes narrowed with a faux-seriousness. “And I didn’t get all dressed up for nothin’, Eddie Munson.”

“I just want a quick peek. That’s all.”

“...Promise?”

“Cross my heart,” Eddie nods, eyes wide and sincere, fingers crossed at his side.

You lift the front of your skirt, giving him a proper view of your pretty panties. His eyes fall immediately to his name, written in a sloppy cursive with fading black ink, right beneath the dainty little bow at the center of your underwear. 

Air rushes from his lungs like you’ve punched him in the chest. He goes dizzy with it, too. “Woah…” he mumbles, almost to himself, as his dark eyes glaze over.

“Do you like?” you repeat, more quietly this time, and with an air of subdued mischief. 

You watch his tongue dart slowly across his pink lips. Like he’s more concentrated than he’s ever been in his life. Like you’re a piece of dessert standing before him that he can’t wait to dig his teeth into.

Eddie doesn’t answer you with words. He’s forgotten them all by now. Instead, he just sinks to his knees before you.

When he presses a chaste kiss to where you’ve stitched his name in your panties — then another, where you throb like a heartbeat for him — you realize you wouldn’t mind being late all that much. It was Eddie you got dressed up for, after all. 

[honeyroots]

— keep it on the down low, ft. DEAN WINCHESTER

☆ SYNOPSIS: You're Sam’s best friend, but Dean just can’t keep his hands off of you.

☆ WORD COUNT: 1.6k ☆ WARNINGS: NSFW (18+) / fem!reader / p in v / mentions of alcohol / reader is sam’s best friend / college au / frat!dean / praise (f receiving) / lowkey sam is pining for reader / reader and dean are sneaking around ☆ PAIRING: stanford!dean x reader

“You have to bounce the ball on the table and then make it into one of the solo cups,” DEAN WINCHESTER was laying the rules of beer-pong out flat. As a champion in his frat house, he was serious about playing doubles and determined to drill the rules into you prior to the start of the game. 

Your first day at Stanford, you met Sam Winchester in an introduction to psychology class. He somehow forgot a pen and leaned over toward you, cheeks red as he asked to borrow any sort of writing utensil. Naturally, a friendship formed between you and Sam, and the first time you met his older brother Dean, who was the president of Alpha Delta Phi (apparently Dean rushing the frat it started as a joke), your mouth watered and your knees went a little weak. He was too perfect, his jawline sharp, lips full, and eyes the prettiest color of green. The worst part? He knew he was beautiful, always weaponizing his pretty privilege to his advantage, and you hated to say that it worked on you.

Dean was directly behind you, one hand pressed against your waist as you aimed for the red solo cup. It was merely practice, training you up for some end-of-the-year frat party that was coming up. His chin rested on your shoulder as you threw one of the ping-pong balls toward the red solo cups positioned at the other end of the table.

Whenever Dean got too close, Sam would huff and puff, telling Dean to get his grubby hands off of his best friend. But today Sam wasn’t here, it was just you and Dean, in an empty frat house. When he texted you this morning to come over, you blinked a few times thinking maybe you were still in the middle of a dream, but when reality set in and you realized you were reading his message correctly, you nearly ran to his house.

The ball bounced off the rim of the cup, falling to the floor, the bounces echoing off the walls as you sighed in defeat. There was something about the alignment of the cups that was throwing you off.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it,” Dean encouraged, pulling one of the balls from the pile in his right and shoving it into the palm of your hand. His chin was still nestled on your shoulder, eyes fixated on the flex of your hand as you released the next ball from the tips of your fingers. The ball landed in the front cup, earning a large smile from you.

“I did it!” You cheered, turning around to face Dean. Chests pressed together, your bodies were so close, you could be considered one entity. Dean dropped the ping pong balls, curving one of his fingers into your belt loop and pulling your lower half closer to him. As the rest of your body collided with his, you felt the halfie he was sporting against you.

With his other hand, not paying any mind to the ping pong balls bouncing awry, he grasped your chin. The room felt like it was spinning, your mind in a daze as Dean dipped his face forward. With his lips so close, they were grazing against yours as he spoke, “I’ve been wanting to do this.”

His lips were on yours in a matter of moments— gentle at first, with soft nips from his teeth tugging at your bottom lip. His hand found its way to the small of your back, fingers toying with the hem as he lifted just enough of the fabric for his calloused hands to run against the bare skin of your back.

“Fuck, tastes so good,” he hummed against your lips, jutting his tongue out to lick a stripe along the roof of your mouth. The way your lips moved together, tongues crashing against one another was natural like two puzzle pieces fitting together. “I’ve got a real sweet tooth, did you know that?”

The whole thing was a blur. How you ended up in his bedroom, and how you ended up in between his sheets, you weren’t really sure. The feel of his hands on your body, his lips against your skin created a mind fog like no other. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about Dean Winchester. Like you hadn’t thought about the lines of his face and the calluses on his fingers in depth, or how they might feel against you.

Dean peeled the comforter back, his mouth still on yours as he pushed you against the bed. Completely clothed, he fell on top of you, wrapping his arms over your head as his mouth pressed chaste kisses against the corner of your mouth, then down your neck until he reached the collar of your shirt. The way Dean laid into you was like he would never be able to have you again, exploring every inch of your skin as he peeled your clothes off was enough to have your skin heating.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, using one hand to reach behind and unclasp your bra; it was almost a red flag how quickly he unhooked the clasp. His lips ran down your chest, pressing kisses to (what felt like) every inch of your skin. With his teeth, he unzipped your pants, tugging your jeans off of your body at a slow speed. As soon as you were splayed across his bed, your body on full display for him, Dean stripped himself of his clothing. Rushed, like he couldn’t wait to be inside of you, he removed his shirt and jeans. Everything about him was so gorgeous, the dips in his abdomen, even the oddly shaped tattoo on his left pectoral was beautiful.

It didn’t take long for Dean to position himself in between your legs, his hand reaching down to toy with your clit. His middle finger connected with the sensitive bud, rubbing a few circles to prep you for what was to come. His face hovered above yours, eyes watching your facial expressions as he dragged his finger up and down your slit. He wanted to memorize the way your face contorted, to find the face you make when you’re experiencing the most pleasure so he could engrave the image into his mind and replay it for himself when he was alone.

“Just trying to warm you up, baby,” Dean spoke in a low voice, his eyes searching yours. Moving his fingers from your core, he brought them to his mouth to taste you. Humming in pleasure, Dean smiled against the tips of his fingers. Heat rushed through your body at the sight of him tasting you, collecting your slick like it was honey and running it against his tongue. “Tastes so sweet.”

“I’ve thought about this,” you admitted, small gasps pulling from the depths of your throat as Dean lined up the tip of his cock with your slit. Slowly, he pushed in, but not all the way, getting you used to the stretch of him. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes screwing shut as you felt him enter, the stimulation of his fingers and the girth of him almost too stimulating.

“I know,” Dean breathed against you, his lips only inches away from yours. “I’ve thought about it too. I’m a slimy guy, huh? Thinking of my brother’s best friend. You’re just so pretty, like a doll.”

Dean pushed more of his shaft inside as he spoke, a soft groan coming from him as he felt the warmth of your core clench around him. Your body was responding to him in a way you didn’t expect, just the feeling of him bringing you to a place you had never experienced, and he wasn’t even rocking into you yet. When he began thrusting, the movements gentle against you, you couldn’t help but squeeze his shoulder in pleasure. With your head thrown back against the pillow that smelled of his aftershave, you let out soft whimpers. 

“You’re doing so good,” Dean praised, rocking his hips in and out of you. It took him a second to get to know the ins and outs of your body, trying to find your g-spot, but as soon as he located it, he doubled down. In just a few thrusts, he had you squirming beneath him, begging for more as he stimulated your core.

You felt your orgasm approaching, and before you could even give Dean a warning, you were spurting around him. Whining against his shoulder, you felt the peak of your orgasm spill over. With care, Dean continued to thrust in and out of you, riding you down from the high of your climax as he reached his own. Groans that sounded like a symphony sprang from Dean’s mouth. Collapsing on top of you with your bodies still connected, you both heavily breathed in unison. Interlocking your hands, Dean pressed his head against your chest. He cleared his throat, his lips gently pecking your collarbone. “We shouldn’t tell Sam about this.”

“No,” you agreed, guilt festering in the pit of your gut as you thought of your best friend. Was this a betrayal? Hooking up with his older brother? Squeezing Dean’s hand, your fingers brushed against the hardened skin of his index finger.

“Why are your hands so calloused?” You questioned, not necessarily meaning for the question to be spoken out loud.

“From my job. It’s the family business.” Dean let go of your fingers, and with a gasp from overstimulation, he pulled himself out of your core. Using his t-shirt, he wiped the insides of your thighs, finding solace in cleaning you up. 

“What do you do?” You hadn’t realized Dean worked outside of being a full-time student and full-time frat boy. It seemed that every time you spoke to Dean, you were unlocking buried lore, and one day you were determined to put the puzzle pieces together.

He paused, collecting his thoughts. “Call it community work.”

[be4chywritez]

love and basketball | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

rec:  If possible, can you write something about Quinn and his girlfriend playing basketball against each other during the summer, where she's beating him badly but in a humorous way?

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

The sun was starting to dip behind the trees, casting long streaks of amber across the driveway beside the lake house. The basketball hoop stood a little crooked on its base, backboard faded from years of lake summers. You wiped the sweat off your brow with the back of your arm and adjusted your grip on the ball.

Quinn was bent slightly at the waist, resting his hands on his knees and breathing heavier than he’d probably like to admit.

“You okay?” you asked, spinning the ball against your palm. “You’re looking a little winded.”

He stood up slowly and squinted at you. “I’m fine.”

“Sure. You just look like you aged ten years between possessions.”

“Maybe because someone,” he pointed at you, “keeps crossing me up like it’s the Finals.”

You snorted. “It’s not my fault your defense is mostly just… existing in my general area.”

“That’s how defense works!”

“Not when your feet are glued to the ground, babe.”

Quinn sighed and held his hands out, finally settling into a defensive stance. “Alright. Ball in.”

You didn’t say anything. Just took a breath, dribbled once, then blew past him on the left.

He shuffled to follow you, but his reaction time was half a beat too slow. You stopped short at the elbow, pump-faked—he jumped—and you casually stepped around him for a soft layup off the glass.

The ball hit the backboard and dropped through the hoop like it was rehearsed.

You turned and jogged backwards, a smug smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “That’s nineteen to six, by the way.”

Quinn walked in a slow circle and raked a hand through his hair. “There’s no way it’s that bad.”

You raised your brows. “You want to dispute the score now? Okay. Let’s call it eighteen to six. That better?”

He just stared at you. “I thought this was gonna be fun.”

You grinned. “It is. I’m having a great time.”

Quinn grabbed the ball, gave it a quick bounce, and walked it up. “One more possession.”

You crossed your arms. “What’s that, like a mercy possession?”

“It’s a redemption arc.”

“You’re not exactly giving main character energy right now.”

He shot you a look but tried to keep a straight face. You saw it twitch the moment he smiled, and you knew he wasn’t mad. A little salty, sure. But mostly amused.

Quinn made his move—head fake, spin, jumper from the free-throw line—and to his credit, it actually dropped.

“Look at that,” he muttered as it swished through. “Still got it.”

You clapped slowly, stepping in to take the ball. “Congrats. You’ll always have that one shot from game seven of ‘Me Getting Cooked at the Lake House.’”

He followed you toward the top of the driveway, still catching his breath. “You realize I’m gonna be sore for three days.”

You glanced back at him. “You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is your fault!”

“Not really. You challenged me. All I did was win.”

Quinn opened his mouth to respond, then stopped short when you sank the game-winner with a clean, quiet jumper from the corner.

Twenty-one.

He stared at the hoop for a second, then looked at you, chest still rising and falling.

You shrugged. “Want me to carry you inside?”

“I want a rematch,” he said flatly.

“You want Advil and a long nap.”

“Also true.”

He walked toward you, shaking his head with a reluctant smile as you held your hand out for a high five. When he slapped it, you interlaced your fingers with his instead.

You leaned into him, cheek against his shoulder. “Still love me?”

“Even more. Unfortunately.”

It was just after ten the next morning when Quinn finally wandered into the kitchen. You were already on the couch with your coffee, legs tucked up under you, the lake glinting outside the wide windows. He moved slower than usual—carefully, like every step was being calculated.

You looked up from your mug. “Oh no.”

He didn’t answer, just eased himself into a chair like he was 85 years old and had slept on concrete.

“You alright there, Grandpa?”

Quinn glared at you from under his messy hair. “I can’t feel my quads.”

You tried not to laugh, but it didn’t last. “You’re not serious.”

“I feel like I got hit by a car.”

“Technically,” you said, sipping your coffee, “you got crossed over by your girlfriend.”

“That’s worse,” he muttered. “My dignity is in the lake.”

You set your mug down and padded over to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind. “Would it help if I told you I was genuinely impressed with that one jumper you hit?”

“Are you trying to be nice or is this just more of your psychological warfare?”

“Little of both.”

He let out a long, slow sigh as you leaned your chin against his head. “I’m not doing that again.”

“Playing with me or attempting to defend me?”

“Yes.”

Before you could reply, Luke came into the kitchen, digging through the pantry. “Hey, you guys wanna hit the water after lunch or—”

He stopped mid-sentence, turned to look at Quinn, then squinted. “Why are you walking like that?”

Jack followed right behind him. “Did you sleep weird or something? You look wrecked.”

You stepped away from Quinn, grabbed your coffee again, and stayed quiet.

Quinn groaned. “We played basketball yesterday.”

Jack blinked. “Okay. And?”

“She destroyed me.”

Luke laughed immediately, loud and abrupt. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”

Jack leaned against the counter. “Wait, like... she beat you or like—”

“Dropped me,” Quinn said. “Over and over. My legs are gone.”

You took a long, slow sip and looked out the window. “It was a good game.”

Luke shook his head in disbelief. “I thought you were gonna cry when I beat you at pool last summer. How are you coping with this?”

Quinn tilted his head back with a groan. “Not well.”

Jack grinned. “Hey, it’s fine. At least she didn’t dunk on you.”

You looked over. “We didn’t have time. Maybe next game.”

Luke chortled. “You are terrifying.”

Quinn closed his eyes. “I know.”

You walked over and kissed the top of his head. “You’ll bounce back.”

He looked up at you, eyes a little narrowed. “I’m never playing you one-on-one again.”

You smiled. “That’s fair.”

-

The sound of clinking ice echoed off the bathroom walls.

"You’re not serious," Quinn said flatly, standing in the doorway with a suspicious squint.

You were hunched over the tub, dumping the third tray of ice cubes into the cold water. “Dead serious.”

“That’s like... too much ice.”

“There’s no such thing,” you said, rinsing your hands in the water with a smug grin. “You said your legs feel like they’ve been through a woodchipper. I’m just being supportive.”

Quinn gave you a long, slow look. “This is revenge.”

“Revenge implies I didn’t earn the win fair and square.”

He didn’t move, arms crossed over his chest, still in his hoodie and sweatpants like he wasn’t two seconds from being bullied into freezing.

You stood up, wiped your wet hands on a towel, and patted his cheek lightly. “Come on, champ. Time to chill those old man knees.”

“I’m twenty-five.”

“You’re walking like you’re seventy-two.”

He groaned dramatically but finally shuffled into the room and started peeling off his sweats. “If I die, I’m haunting you.”

“You’ll be the first hockey ghost with joint pain.”

Quinn shot you a tired glare but climbed into the tub anyway, wincing the second his legs hit the water. “Oh my God—why is it so cold?!”

“It’s ice, babe.”

“You said like ten minutes!”

“I said until your legs stop screaming. So… twenty.”

He looked up at you with pure betrayal. “You’re evil.”

You plopped down on the bathmat beside him and handed him a towel to rest on the edge. “No, I’m nurturing. This is what love looks like.”

Quinn shivered violently. “I thought love looked more like warm blankets and back rubs.”

“Love sometimes looks like suffering for your own good.”

He reached down to flick a few floating cubes away from his knees. “I’m gonna have hypothermia.”

“Dramatic,” you muttered, handing him a mug of tea you’d brought in earlier. “Here. Hydrate and suffer in silence.”

He took it begrudgingly, holding it like it was a precious heat source, shoulders hunched up and eyes narrowed at you over the rim. “You’re never playing basketball again.”

By the time Quinn finally thawed out and got himself into bed, he was still pouting. He slid under the covers with the weight of a man who’d survived war, groaning like it took actual effort to lie down.

You didn’t even glance up from your book. “You’re not limping anymore.”

“Because my soul left my body in that bathtub.”

You snorted and dog-eared the page, then set your book aside. “You are so dramatic.”

He turned onto his side with a little huff, blanket pulled all the way up to his chin. “I was in the trenches.”

You rolled your eyes and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a warm, sleepy glow from the hallway light outside the cracked door.

You felt Quinn shift again—this time scooting closer. Then closer. Then a full dramatic sigh as his cold toes definitely on purpose touched your calves.

You jerked away. “QUINN. Are you serious?”

“Body heat,” he said, all innocent. “This is survival.”

“You’re literally warm now!”

“I could relapse.”

“Relapse? Babe, you took an ice bath, you’re not coming down with pneumonia in July.”

He didn’t answer. Just continued to press himself closer until his entire body was curved along your back, arm winding around your waist like he was clinging to a life raft.

You sighed, but didn’t fight it. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re warm,” he murmured into your shoulder. “And mean, but mostly warm.”

“You chirped me the entire game, called me ‘Steph with a grudge,’ and said I was lucky you weren’t ‘going full NBA.’”

He hummed. “You were lucky. If I wasn’t sore, I would’ve dunked on you.”

You turned your head, giving him a look over your shoulder. “You tried to do a layup and hit the rim.”

“That was the wind.”

“It was NOT windy.”

He broke, snickering against your skin before hiding his face in the back of your neck. “Okay, okay. I deserved the ice.”

“Thank you.”

“But you know what I don’t deserve?”

You tilted your head, curious. “What?”

He tightened his hold on you, pressing his cold nose behind your ear. “Being this sore and losing to someone who was talking trash with perfect mascara on.”

You laughed, your whole body shaking with it. “I told you I don’t play around.”

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna destroy me and look hot doing it.”

You turned to face him, pillow squished between you. “Would it have helped if I’d been ugly during it?”

He gave you a sleepy little smile. “Honestly? No. That would’ve been worse. At least this way I know I got wrecked by the love of my life.”

You blinked at him.

“You’re delirious,” you teased, but you couldn’t fight the smile spreading across your face.

“Deliriously in love,” he whispered dramatically, then immediately yelped when you flicked his forehead.

“Go to sleep, Hallmark boy.”

“Only if you promise not to do a post-game breakdown in your dreams.”

“No promises.”

He settled in with a content sigh, already half-asleep and still tangled around you.

And just before sleep really took him, he mumbled one last thing into your collarbone:

“Still calling a rematch.”

You smiled, eyes closed. “Keep dreaming, Quinner.”

[daylighted]

all i can think about is frat boy dean whos dating his nerdy little girlfriend and comes over to her dorm when shes studying and shes like struggling but dean tries to help her study even though he doesnt know shit😭 and then hes like “yeah i have no idea what im even saying” while hes trying to explain random crap

anyways ur theme is so cute!!

all of the classes dean was in, she was in the advanced placements for, pretty much an entire year above him. she was so damn smart that dean sometimes felt like she was humbling herself being around him and choosing him, especially in instances like this, where she'd asked him to study with her, and he realized quickly he does not know how to study properly.

"well, see," he's half leaned over her shoulder, chin resting in the little notch between her neck and arm, "the data's gotta have the answer. wouldn't be part of the question if it didn't."

dean did not have a clue what he was looking at. a table chart with so many numbers. a paragraph above it explaining the numbers and adding additional data. the practice question wasn't even multiple choice; who did that?

her smile is slow, and dean knows that again, he's said the wrong thing. but if there's one thing dean does know how to do, is dig his own grave. "like, math, right?" it was science. chemistry. whatever. "take all the numbers, add 'em up, get the average..."

well, now her eye was twitching, like a parent barely refraining from taking the pen and doing the problem themselves. dean's starting to stutter over his explanation. technically, she did ask for this, asking him for assistance, so... "then multiply the average by the number of sections on the chart. with all those steps, it's gotta be the way, baby, trust."

his beautiful, intelligent, quiet girlfriend did not say a word to argue. instead, she did something worse, and took her pretty pen out of his hand and moved the paper in front of her again. the silence was overbearing. now dean had completely abandoned his books and wanted to see this damn problem through, just out of his own disbelief. they made questions like this? without multiple choice? and all these numbers?

he, in fact, does not shut up, even as she's writing numbers and scribbling them out and repeating. "yeah, babe, to be honest? don't know what the fuck i'm saying."

"i know." two words, and she'd managed to dismantle the fragile confidence he had in chemistry-related things. "but thank you for trying to help in your own way."

she might as well have just stabbed him. "just doin' my job, pretty lady," dean saluted her, tipping his baseball cap at her before plucking it off his head and spinning it around. front facing meant business, backwards meant party. he deserved a party after the couple of braincells in his head had sparked and fizzled out. "hey, how 'bout this," the mischief in his smile is absolutely diabolical considering he was really just starting to hinder you more than anything, "every question either of us get right, we take somethin' off?"

her eyebrows raise. "you're gonna be fully clothed and i'm gonna be naked if we do that."

dean leans in to steal a kiss, that devilish grin still on his mouth. "that's precisely the point. get t'solvin', pretty lady."

she wasn't going to argue. especially not when he used precisely right in a sentence.

[connorsui]

playful tension

His fists move faster, hitting the punching bag with a soft thud, a rhythm that matches his footwork. You feel the heat of his body and the tension in his muscles as he dodges and jabs, every movement precise and fluid. Each strike lands with increasing power, the force of his punches reverberating through the air, making everything vibrate with his energy.

You, however, are struggling to keep up beside him, your body straining to match his speed and agility. You know it's a losing battle; while this moment feels charged with playful determination, it’s clear—....you’re not even in the same league. He moves effortlessly, his body flowing like water, each motion honed by years of experience. The practice you’ve put in feels like a mere child’s play compared to the mastery he exhibits in his movements.

But, you smirk, the playful edge has shifted into determination. It’s a subtle transition, a quiet realization that you don’t just want to play along—you want to prove you can reach at his level. Though, Caleb notices immediately of your sudden fast pace, and the corner of his mouth starts twitching upward. There’s undeniable joy in his gaze, as if he knows exactly how this will end, relishing every second of it.

Before you can process what’s happening, Caleb shifts suddenly. With a single fluid movement, he closes the gap between you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close. You barely have time to react before he spins you into the wall, effortlessly controlling the momentum. His weight pins you gently but firmly, a strength that holds you without crushing. Trapped, held by his unyielding grip, you find yourself unable to move without his consent. His hands rest on the wall beside your head, and his breathing is steady as he looms above you, keeping you in place.

Caught completely off guard, your breath hitches in your throat. Each time he shifts, his body is so close that you can feel the heat radiating from him, intensifying the moment. The sound of your breaths mingling, the warmth of him against your skin, narrows the world to just the weight of him above you. It’s almost intoxicating, the way his presence envelops you.

Then, Caleb laughs—low and easy, his chest rumbling against yours. It’s teasing, playful, with a hint of smugness that only he can pull off. "I'm sorry, princess, did I scare you?" His voice is light, but an unmistakable edge of amusement underlies his words, as if he revels in how completely he has caught you off guard. Your heart skips a beat, a mix of frustration, and something far more potent bubbling beneath the surface.

You feel a strange blend of blush and something that stirs deep inside you—invigorating and unsettling, quickening your pulse as he comfortably pins you down. You're trapped beneath him now, his body pressing against yours with each subtle movement, the sensation grounding you and pulling you deeper into the moment.

You turn away, trying to hide the redness in your cheeks as you feign indifference. “No, you didn’t!?...not even a little,” you murmur, though it’s a half-hearted attempt to shrug it off. Inside, something’s shifting, a fluttering in the bottom of your stomach that refuses to be dismissed. Despite the playful tension, there’s an electric undercurrent between the two of you that you can’t quite define.

Caleb chuckles again, his breath warm against your ear as he leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t pretend you're not enjoying this, sweetheart." He stays close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. Then, as if to further tease, he leans down, his lips brushing your cheek with a quick, tender kiss. The soft pressure sends a jolt of electricity through your veins, leaving you breathless for a second longer than you dare to admit.

[thanosscross]

Can I request a enemies to lovers with thanos?

I love ur writing n his character ty!

of course!! We love Thanos in this household <3 and thank you <3 I absolutely love the support I've been getting just in the one day this accounts been up <3 I do wanna say thank you guys along with a thank you to my fiancee with her amazing help with this <3 >< while I'm a sucker for enemies to lovers I'm terrible at writing pre-relationship fight scenes without a full blueprint, so my fiancee's help and obsession with the Enemies to Lovers trope definitely made this story into what it is <33

I fucking hate you - Choi Su-bong/Thanos x reader

Summary: You vowed to always hate Choi Su-bong, not only did he ruin your life but he was also just an asshole. Su-bong vowed to always hate y/n not only was she a bitch she costed him his only shot at a big rap career, so what happens whenever you two see each other after years in a death game for cash?

warnings: none really? Thanos being an ass for about..the first half

Growing up with Choi Su-Bong was your personal hell, he was your neighbor, and he always had something to bitch about towards you, always calling you out in front of the school, even going as far as coming up with MULTIPLE different stories to make you lose your spot as top of the class. Su-bong ruined your chance at any good future, forcing you to stay trapped in the same neighborhood you grew up in, while he started his rap career.

It wasn't like you were innocent either, while Su-bong went for public humiliation with your shared classmates, you went for his parents, charming them with your nice good girl demeanor, becoming his 'babysitter' (They never trusted Su-bong alone, even at 16/17) and tutor, snitching him out for any little thing you could find out about, making his home life even more of a personal hell for him. So you both hated each other for pretty respected reasons, you ruined each others potential futures, and never acknowledged it. After he moved away with his rap career blowing up, you thought you were finally free of him and his constantly ruining your life, until the debt came. Your mom got sick, your dad up and left one day, so financials were solely on you, shoving you deep into thousands of wons in debt.

You were close to ending it, going on a walk towards the old trainyards, whenever you ran into a way too well dressed man to be there, he offered you a fix, something you took without a second thought.

Red light, Greenlight was going great, until you and everybody else realized you weren't just being taking out of the running for the cash, you were risking your life. You stood frozen, keeping your eyes squeezed shut as you waited for the doll to turn back around "Holy shit! Holy shit! Y/n!?" You heard a grating voice shout out behind you, of course he was here, why couldn't you ever do something without him ruining it. Standing still, not wanting to move until you were allowed to, you continued to hear Thanos's shouts, as greenlight was called, you tried to hide yourself in the crowd, not wanting to interact with him, but, like always, he found someway to ruin it for you. As red light was called, Thanos's high ass skipped over slamming into you almost knocking you off of your feet, before you could make contact with the ground, two arms wrapped around your waist pulling you against him, smirking as he used to opportunity of being stuck on redlight to be close to you "Y/n! What are you doin here!?" He gasped practically shouting in your face, as the doll's head turned again you shoved him back "Let go of me, you fucking drug addict, we are NOT friends" You seethed, okay so maybe you blamed Su-bong for a alot of things that happened after he left, but you didn't care, he was an easy person to blame.

Thanos gave an overdramatic pained expression as he rested a hand on his chest, rushing to stay caught up with you "C'mon! Y/n!" He shouted spinning around you to face you as the doll's head spun "Su-Bong! Please! Leave me alone! We aren't friends! We never fucking were! I hate you! I fucking hate you so much! You ruined my fucking life!" You growled trying to hide your body behind his to keep you out of view of the doll "Psh! I ruined your life!? You ruined my life! Do you not understand that!?" He shouted, his excited playful demeanor shifted, he was angry now, how dare you say that? You were at every corner to him ruining his life. You felt the same about him though, especially right now "I didn't do shit!" You scoffed "You did drugs! In school! So yea! I told your parents! So you told everybody in school including the principal and my parents that I've fucked every teacher since the start of high school!" You shouted "I got kicked out of school for the rest of the year! Do you know how bad that ruined my life!?" You finished punching his chest as hard as you could "Uhm! Ow! And you didn't just tell my parents! I was about to sign on to a recording label and you fucked that up for me being a bitch!" He argued, if it weren't for the fact the Doll's head still faced towards you, you were sure that you would've stormed off by now.

You took off as soon as the doll's head turned back around, making it past the red colored line in the sand, trying to stay away from everybody until it was lights out. You were almost successful, until somebody used their bodyweight and arm to pin you against the wall "Why can't you just admit that you were a bitch?" He snapped, only now did you realize it was your walking curse, Su-bong "Why can't you just admit you're an arrogant asshole who only cares about himself" You snapped, trying to shove him away like usual, but this time was different than all the other times growing up, this time he didn't stumble, his body didn't even shift under it, he just stood there stiff, you'd be lying if you said it didn't scare you a little bit, now realizing maybe those times you 'beat his ass' he let you, because now, feeling trapped between him and the wall, your shoves and hits not phasing him in the slightest, truly shook you to your core with fear, he could do anything at this point, you couldn't let him see though, you'd just feed into his stupid cocky attitude even more.

"Admit. You. ruined. everything. for me. bitch" he seethed, Su-bong leaning closer to your face, you could feel his breath on your face at this point.

Su-bong smiled, the look on your face was one he had been trying to get for years, who knew all it took was just hiding the face a few punches really fuckin hurt "Go on. say it" He whispered, you shivered, your panicked eyes scanning over his face, before taking in a shaky breath "Let me go" You snapped before a hand landed on Su-bong's shoulder "The young lady said to let her go, I advise you do so" A man threatened from behind, Su-bong smirked slowly turning around before realizing the man was about half a foot taller than him "Fine. fine. but she'll admit eventually" Su-bong said, giving you one last glare, before the man, number 001, stepped closer "I'm Young Il, who was that guy?" He introduced himself watching as you fixing your jacket and huffed "An asshole I used to live by, I'm y/n" You explained, he nodded, offering you take you over to where him and his friends sat.

Thanos sat next to his bunk, watching you closely, he couldn't describe it, but seeing you talking to somebody else made him feel crazier than any drug, it had always been that way, the entire reason he started hating you was because you were always interested in everybody except him, and it pissed him off, he knew he was hot, he knew he could ask out just about any girl he sees who knows him and she'll be ecstatic, but you acted like he was scum, just because he took some pills and smoked some weed to feel better about things. Nam-Gyu huffed, noticing his friend hadn't been listening that entire time he was talking, he followed his eye line, noticing you laughing and talking with two of the men from before, the crazy guy and the one who stopped them from beating that stealing bitcoin asshole's ass.

As the lights went out, Su-bong stayed in his place, watching say your goodnights to the group you had been with, he knew you had to walk right by him to get to your bunk, he knew yours was the one right next to his, thank god. As you approached him, you never realized until you were basically tripping over him on the stairs, scoffing you caught yourself on the bed "Seriously?" You growled, letting yourself fall onto your bed, as he took in your location, he slowly crawled to you "Join my team" he offered, you laughed loudly, quickly covering your mouth to not disturb the other players "Yea...no" You laughed looking at him, you couldn't see it in the dark, but Su-bong got visibly pissed off with your response "It wasn't a question" He demanded, glaring at you, you wanted so badly to just punch him in the head, but you just turned your back to him "Goodnight su-bong" He stopped at your reply, yes you weren't agreeing, but that was the first somewhat nice thing you had said to him in awhile, even if it was to cut him off and end the conversation he wasn't done with. Huffing and falling back onto his bed, he laid on his side to watch you, half because if you got killed, he'd be damned if it was anybody but him doing the deed, and half because he didn't want you sneaking off to go lay with the old dick that interrupted him from earlier.

He watched you toss and turn for hours, not really knowing when you fell asleep because he had passed out himself, waking up whenever the loud trumpets sounded off, and the lights flicked on, he slowly sat up, quickly checking his necklace was still around his neck, and you were still in bed. You were, your blanket wrapped tightly around you, Su-bong marveled for a moment, before realizing you were still deep in sleep, unphased by the loud music and lights. He slowly moved across the stairway, ghosting a hand over your back "Y/n. Y/n it's to wake up" He said, trying to be loud enough to wake you up, you did infact wake up, but with a jolt, turning quickly and grabbing Su-bong's hand, stopping at the very last second before your fist connected with his jaw "Hey!" He protested, attempting to lean out of the way "The next game is gonna start"

The next game you played was six legs, which went as smoothly as it could have been, you stuck with Young-Il and his friends, which in the end you realized was a good choice. Making your way through dinner and lights out was your next issue, Su-bong was starting to get on your nerves and you couldn't understand why he was so clingy all of a sudden "I thought I said to join my team?" he asked you, the lights had gone out long ago, and your back was to him "And i thought I laughed in your face and told you no?" You asked turning on your side to face him "I don't like that guy, or you being around him" He stated, going to lean closer to you but you beat him to it, shoving your finger at his chest "I don't care, young-il is sweet and cares about me, unlike some people! Su-bong you are the most selfish person I fucking know, who knows if I would be betrayed and killed because of you! You ruined everything I worked so hard for! ruined my name! And you think you can boss me around!?" You shouted, every shout followed by a harsh hit to the shoulder or chest, you couldn't help it, he pissed you off. Su-bong was feeling something else though, the more you shouted at him, the more his eyes were drawn your lips rather than your words, You were too caught up in your shouts to notice though, that was until his fingers rested on your chin tilting your head up so you were making direct eye contact "Shut up." He demanded "Just go to bed, whatever the game is, you'll need sleep" He explained, you were too stunned to say anything, instead just ripping your head away from him and laying down in your bed "You shut up" You grumbled, trying to hide your flustered face, no way you were about to show or admit that you were flustered by that selfish dick.

During Mingle you tried to stick with Young-il, but Nam-Gyu, Su-Bong, and Min-su kept grabbing you and forcefully taking you with them, until it just turned into just Su-bong pulling you into a room with him "Why can't you just leave me alone!?" You cried out, you were trying so hard to avoid him, and yet he was trying his best to run into you. "I told you to stay away from young il" his voice was low and deep, you glared at him, you thought you made yourself clear last night, before you could start back up though, Su-bong was right in front of you, leaning down and pressing a finger to your lips "Don't wanna hear it" He interrupted before looking at you "Why don't you want me?" He asked tilting his head, you glared at him "Because you're a selfish self entitled asshole?" You asked like it was obvious, Su-bong huffed "Even in school, every chick wanted me, why not you?" He asked tilting his head, you just rolled your eyes "Just because I don't throw myself at you, doesn't mean I never wanted you, you just ruined it by being you" You huffed, sighing in relief hearing the lock unlock, you rushed out, desperate to just get back to the room.

Meal time was weird, you surprised yourself by sitting with Su-bong and his friends, Thanos quickly leaning over, pulling you down to sit across from him, smirking at you "Welcome to the Thanos world" He said, you just rolled your eyes at him scoffing "Don't ruin it" You warned raising an eyebrow, you continued to eat your food, finally opening your milk taking a huge drink, normally it wouldn't be your choice of drink to chug, but after running around so much, you needed literally anything. You heard Su-bong scoff this time, causing you to look up at him confused "Why do women drink something leave it on their lip, and act like they don't know?" He asked aloud, but by his eye contact you could tell it was directed towards you "I'm sorry?" You asked going to wipe your mouth but he leaned up quickly "Don't! That's disgusting" He grimaced before leaning over the stairwell to copy his actions from the night before, using his index and thumb to tilt your head up, thinking he was going to wipe it off with his jacket, you were shocked to feel his soft lips against yours. You shuddered feeling his tongue swipe swiftly over your top lip before he pulled away sitting back down, continuing to eat like he didn't just do that.

Your cheeks were bright with a blush as you now sipped the rest of your milk, careful not to get anymore on your lips, if you did, you made sure to lick your lips before Su-bong could take notice. Any crumbs left on your lips after you were done eating he was also quick to wipe those off, almost like you couldn't on your own or you needed to be supervised while you ate. Whenever lights out came it was even more odd, instead of his usual crawling over to bother you, he quietly whispered your name from his spot on his bunk "What?" You asked, your tone coming off a little bit more harsh than you intended "Sorry...it's just, did you mean what you said earlier?" He asked, you sighed turning around to face him "I thought you were really hot for awhile, all of my friends knew it, it's just, you started acting like an ass, and then I lost a trip to college because of you" You explained "And I guess I just didn't have time to think like that because I was busy being mad at you" you explained, you watched him frown and his eyebrows furrow in confusion "I..I never meant to do that..I just wanted you to like..get in trouble or something" He whispered "I was just...You planted my friends drugs on me, told my parents and I couldn't make it to a meeting I had that could've launched my rap career into space" He whispered, now it was your turn to feel bad, you didn't mean to do all of that, just get him grounded for a little bit. It was your turn to crawl to his bunk, giving him a awkward hug "I..I didn't mean to do that..I just..you ruined that for me and you were just getting off without any troubles..parties every week, so..I thought if I took the parties and stuff away it'd give you some type of punishment" you mumbled, Su-bong leaned up hugging you back "Yea..You were pretty lame" He whispered nodding along to agree with his own comment "Shut up, you were a stupid idiot" You defended pulling away from the hug "Why did I ever think I could forgive you" You giggled, tilting your head slightly as you smiled at him, never would you have thought you'd be having a civil conversation with this dickhead, let alone laughing and smiling with him "Aw, c'mon beauty flower, everybody forgives thanos" He teased, you gawked at him in second hand embarrassment, he did not just say that. "I actually fucking hate you" You said, the smile on your face an obvious sign that maybe you didn't hate him as much as you say. "What? Beauty flower? or the fact that you'll forgive me" He asked wiggling his eyebrows at you, you just laughed, you felt like a young teenager again, before your feud started with Su-bong and the drugs and debt started with you both. "Both! Don't call me beauty flower, and I will not be forgiving you" You protested, Su-bong pouted, you took your chance to shock him this time and pressed your lips against his pouting ones, his hand immediately came in contact with your ass trying to pull you closer, you just rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand moving it to your cheek pressing your lips completely against his, taking a breath of relief whenever he kissed back, his lips moving with yours like it had been rehearsed before. As you pulled away, Su-bong huffed tugging his tracksuit pants down "Now I fucking hate you" He smirked reaching for his necklace "Me first" You smirked before moving back to your bunk giving him a final wink before turning around "Goodnight...thanos" You said, not being able to believe you actually just called him that "Night, pretty girl" you heard say with a large amount of cockiness in his voice, he couldn't help it though, even now if he went home, he'd have enough for his debts, and just kissed the girls he's wanted to kiss since he learned what kissing girls was.

--

so what do we think?

[mjbarrosart]

My Dragon Prince Boards season 7, episode 705, part 2: The Moonberry Surprise.

It's true, the Moonberry Surprise moment, it is my fault

I hope you can forgive me for my sins. Hahahaha.

Ok, let's talk about this little sequence. But first, some... context?

Ok, so, Dragon Prince was my first job as Storyboard Artist, before coming to DPR I was working as a Storyboard Revisionist in Lego NinjaGo Crystalized. So I applied to Dragon Prince with not hopes that they will hire me, and when the offered my the job I was in awe.

So basically, I arrived to work in season 4 as a Junior Storyboard Artist. They gave me little sequences during season 4 (I was mostly helping my unit director with revisions) they gave me more during season 5 and 6, working on my strengths, emotional moments, long talking sequences and some combat. You know what was not there? comedy, because it was not one of the things I knew well how to do. But after a year and a half working in the show, I was seasoned enough to be a proper Storyboard Artist, not a rookie anymore. So they finally assigned me a comedy sequence.

I was terrified. Today after years in the industry, I can say that I am not scared of comedy anymore. But when I read the script and I realized that they were expecting a big comedy moment from me , I knew I was in trouble. But as they say, "you fake it until you make it" I took a deep breath and smile to my unit director like "Of course I can do this!"

But ok, lets talk about the sequence. We start nice, with the moon fam enjoying some time together. Was an opportunity to work with Runaan and Ethari, and that is always cool! I love how Ethari is just happy of everyone being there, and Runaan just wants to kill Callum (in an affectionate way, like he is just a protective dad, you know, a no nonsense dude)

So yeah, they talk a little and Rayla handles Callum a slice of Moonberry Surprise. Is like this almost mythical dessert that is said tastes like nothing else in all Xadia. And Callum is so excited to try it!

So, the script did not call for anything you saw in that sequence. The script instructed to reveal the Moonberry Surprise like something out of this world, and then have Callum almost having an epiphany when he tries it. My first idea was to have Calum almost levitating on his seat while eating it, while the rest of the moon fam looked at them in confusion. But during the launch of the episode (this is the stage where directors and in the case of DPR writers, tell SB artist what they want for every sequence we will board, we pitch ideas, and so on) was more clear to me that they were expecting something more of an "out of this world experience". Like the "I love books" moment that Callum had on season 5, episode 2, but on steroids.

So I was ok, lets make it as trippy as possible. So we have this fast zoom in into Callums face, that lead us into this "dimension of flavor" he is being transported to.

And he opens his eyes and he is floating in this space of color and flavor, his spirit being lifted by this experience.

He is experiencing all this flavors, eating this huge blue berries (this was my Unit director idea, Thanks Katherine!!), when something catches his eye. A figure, looking to him from the above, almost like a god.

And Callums looks up, revealing... this:

So, I have a really particular sense of humor (not unique, because I feel a lot of people share it, particular because really specific things make me laugh a lot). I was born late 80's grew up on the 90's with all the weird cartoons and anime of that time. For me adding muscular arms to things is the best joke ever.

This is peak humor to me:

So I was like, what if, Callum does the Titanic spinning thing, with a muscular slice of pie? So I did that... And I was SURE they will reject it.

So I finished my roughs, and I sent them to my Unit Director. She was "this is so stupid" (in the best way) so, she added some placeholder music, and send it for review from the directors, while both of us were expecting to have it rejected.

A couple of days after, our Storyboards Supervisor was like "WHO DID THE MOONBERRY SURPRISE SEQUENCE??" And I was like "me?", and he was like "Aaron LOVED IT!" and I was like "?????" so, yeah, was approved.

So yeah, that is my legacy, I guess. I am Runaan in this shot:

So well, those are all my sequences in episode 705.

Sorry again for being responsible for the birth of that thing. But that is my son now, and I kinda love him, even if he looks like that....

Next post will be my last! So yeah, stay tunned for my last post about my boards in The Dragon Prince, episode 708!

[misctf]

Hey, dude. My dad and I have never really clicked; he always wanted me to be more athletic, like a classic jock, which, just by looking at me, it’s pretty clear would be impossible. Right now, I'm in my junior year of college, thinking about going to med school. My dad even went to college on a scholarship to play football; he was a defensive tackle, but these days he looks way more like an offensive tackle thanks to a mix of working as a foreman at a construction company, a pretty unhealthy diet, and the crazy amount of beer he downs with his buddies. And those are the memories I have from my childhood, since by the time I was born, he was way past his prime. Normally, we steer clear of each other, but today’s my birthday, and he shows up on campus with a case of beer from some brand I’ve never seen, saying he wants to celebrate the big 2-1 of his only son the right way. I appreciated the gesture, even though I hate the stuff. But not wanting to be a buzzkil I took a sip, and now I’m not feeling well while my dad’s just sitting there, grinning at me. What the hell is going on?

You place the can of beer down and stare at your dad, only to be greeted by his shit-eating smirk. A wave of nausea washes over you and the room seems to be spinning.

“What the hell is going on?” You think.

Yeah, you and your dad didn’t get along all too well. Your interest in academics and dreams of medical school are simply foreign concepts to your brutish father. But poisoning you? No way, right? You try to stand up, stumbling a bit, only to be supported by your father’s huge arm. You turn to him, eyes half-lidded.

“Wh-what did you do?” You slur.

“Don’t worry, son.” He leads you back to your chair, “Just relax.”

You writhe as your body begins to undergo a metamorphosis. Your dad grins as you cry out and rip the clothes from your body, exposing your less than ideal physique. You stare up at him, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as you feel each and every single one of your muscles heat up. You know this shouldn’t be possible. This flies in the face of all the biochemistry you learned. Yet, as you stare at your hand, your eyes widen in terror. Your hand begins to crack and reform, becoming larger and manlier. And you watch as the process happens to your feet. Your toes breaking through your shoes, tufts of hair on each of them, their musk filling the air. The changes seem to move up your arms and legs at equal pace, packing on muscle with each contraction. And as you cry out from the pain of your metamorphosis, you notice your voice is getting deeper.

“Dad, please...” You can’t help but realize you sound like those oafish frat bros around campus, “I... I...”

But against your will, your lips form a smirk. And you can feel your jaw shifting and changing. Your messy brown hair shortening. And worse yet, you feel a fog descend over your mind. When the last of the changes finish, your dad can’t help but grin at the sight of his new and improved son. Unaware that you are still there- just watching through the new jock’s eyes.

“Yo pops,” The words leave your mouth without any of your input, “Did I like, win the lottery or somethin’ bro?” God you hate the sound of your new voice. It’s the voice of a stereotypical douchebag. Dumb, low, and dripping with an irritating smugness.

“Something like that.” He slaps your muscular back and grins, “Fuck, Jim was right. This shit works wonders.” He stares down at your beer, “So son...” He chuckles when he notices you’re completely focused on the football game on the TV.

“Fuck, I need a beer.” You feel your muscular arm reach towards your beer. A wave of panic washes over you, but your dad stops you.

“Woah, easy there.” He chuckles, “If just a sip did this to you, I can’t imagine the full bottle.” At least your dad had some common sense, you think.

For the rest of the day, you were forced to watch as a passenger in your new body. You tossed the ol’ pigskin with your dad, rated the sorority girls that walked by, and lifted some weights at the school’s gym. Your dad seemed thrilled with the new you. But as a passenger- you hated all of it. The way this body felt, the way it smelled, and especially the sound of your voice.

Your dad left later that day, leaving you trapped. But as the days pass, you start recognizing a few things. The jock that now occupies and controls your day-to-day life seems to be into two things: working-out and jerking off. And you realize that while you might not have complete control, you can at least influence the jock- and enjoy his jerk-off sessions. But you serve as his conscious. As long as you don’t interfere with his work-outs or pleasure sessions, you’re able to push him to go to class. And even though your grades are slipping, you’re at least able to prevent most of the damage.

When the semester ends, you dread your return home. Your dad is already talking about all the shit you’re going to do together. Hunting, camping- fuck, he even got you a job at his construction site. The jock in control just grins and fist bumps your dad, excited to spend time with his ol’ man. But you have to study for the medical school entrance exams. And you’re not going to let this stop you. Unfortunately, you couldn’t even begin to realize how much that stressed the stupid jock.

“Fuck!” He bellows, dropping his weights, “No, I don’t wanna fuckin’ study.” He groans, “Leave me the fuck alone, bro.” He grips his head, “I just wanna get big and fuck, alright?”

He never lashed out like this before. And part of you is worried he might do something stupid. Naturally, he does. He opens the basement fridge’s door, looking for his post-workout shake. But he grins when he sees an all too familiar case of beer. He grabs a bottle and inspects it closely.

“Aight brah, if this shit got me lookin’ like this,” He flexes his sweaty bicep, “a little more won’t hurt. Maybe this’ll shut you up.” You’re screaming for him to stop. But he flicks the cap off, “Cheers, bro.” He downs the bottle in only a few seconds, his belch filling the room.

“No, no, no...” You’re panicking now, waiting for the worst.

“See, not all that baaaaaaaaahhhhh.” The jock groans as his muscles begin to heat up.

But this time feels different to you. Not particularly the physical sensations in your muscles. But by the pressure in your head. It’s stronger. Almost like it’s enveloping the last remnants of you in a fog. You watch in the mirror through the jock’s eyes as your face takes on a more simian look. And you can hear his voice getting deeper. The words fragmenting and making less sense.

“Me bigger. It hurt!” The jock grunts, drool dripping from his mouth.

Your pecs explode with muscle, becoming two giant slabs of meat. Your arms are packing on an equally ridiculous amount of muscle, and you realize you can barely turn your head anymore from all the added muscle to your frame. The lean muscle of the handsome jock is growing- becoming that of a bodybuilder on steroids. Hair erupts across your previously clean shaven chest and abdomen, and a beard shapes your increasingly more simian face. Your forehead juts out, jaw becoming larger, and drool dripping from the corner of your mouth.

“Wait, no!” You beg as you feel something pulling you from deep within your mind. Dragging you into the fog of your new caveman-like existence.

Your dreams, desires, and pride in your academics are all being drowned suffocated in a musky, lust-filled fog that floods your mind. The only thoughts that occupy your smaller brain include lifting, flexing, and jerking off. There’s no remnant of your mind left to prevent you from engaging in your primal desires. And as your mind is molded to fully match the new you, you start to laugh. Dull, dumb, and absolutely devoid of any higher-thinking. It fills the room around you. And you collapse, hand pumping your cock- sweat pouring from your musky, hairy musculature.

When your dad comes downstairs later, he’s shocked by what he sees. Gone was the perfect jock son he created. In his place is this brutish, massive, and hairy ape of a man.

“Son?” He whimpers.

You look over at your dad and grin, “Drink good.”

And as you continue to lift your weights, your dad just stares at the empty bottle on the ground. Now realizing he should’ve just thrown the damn things out.

_______________

Please feel free to send me ideas/requests via my Inbox. Still working on a few but I've enjoyed everyone's ideas so far!

[solxamber]

Could I request Azul and Jamil with a super talented reader who's super low-key and humble about it?

Reader can literally learn and do anything but whenever people praise them for it, they just shrug and say it's no biggie. They're also super lazy and not very active.

Nothing angsty, please! Just these two getting jealous of reader and trying to one-up them and failing.

Azul , Jamil with a super talented reader

thank you for the request, I hope you like it <3

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prided himself on his work ethic, his strategic genius, and his ability to control any situation. That is, until you came along.

You, the student who could master any skill, learn any spell, and complete any task as effortlessly as breathing, all while looking half asleep. At first, Azul thought it was just luck—maybe you had a natural knack for a couple of things. But no. No.

You were a force of nature, and what was worse—you didn’t even care.

It all started in Potions class. Azul had, of course, been showing off his perfectly executed potion, a gleaming liquid that sparkled like sunlight on the ocean. Professor Crewel was nodding approvingly, and Azul was basking in the glory, about to receive top marks.

Then you—who had been literally doodling on your notebook the entire time—turned in your potion. A bright, shimmering liquid with a perfect consistency.

Azul narrowed his eyes, holding back a laugh. “Oh? Decided to put in some effort at the last second?”

You blinked, rubbing your neck. “Not really. Just did whatever the recipe said.”

“Just did whatever the recipe said?” Azul repeated, trying to maintain his composure. “I see. Well, it’s probably just a fluke.”

Professor Crewel glanced between Azul’s and your potion, then did a double-take. “Hmm. This one,” he said, pointing to yours, “is the most perfect potion I’ve seen in years. Well don—”

Azul’s soul left his body.

You just shrugged, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Eh, no biggie.”

Azul felt his eye twitch. No biggie? His masterpiece had been dethroned by someone who couldn’t even be bothered to stay awake through the lesson?! He clenched his fists, resolving to challenge you—surely this was just a one-time thing.

The next day, he challenged you to a game of chess in the Mostro Lounge. He could already see the headlines: Master Strategist Azul Ashengrotto Crushes Overconfident Upstart in Chess.

“Ready?” Azul smirked, pushing up his glasses.

You yawned, taking a sip of your drink. “Sure, why not?”

The match began. Azul moved his pieces with the precision of a seasoned general, carefully calculating every possible counter move. He was winning. Victory was within his grasp.

And then you nonchalantly moved a piece. “Checkmate.”

Azul stared at the board. “Wait. What? How?!”

You shrugged. “Dunno. Just moved the knight thingy over there.”

Azul felt the world spin around him. You couldn’t even name the pieces properly and you’d beaten him?! He gawked at the board, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Eh, no biggie,” you said, getting up. “I’m going to take a nap now.”

Azul could only sit there, trembling as you casually strolled off like you hadn’t just dismantled his ego with a single move.

Jamil Viper:

Jamil prided himself on being competent—no, exceptional—at everything he did. Years of hard work, discipline, and focus had made him one of the most capable students in NRC.

But then there was you. The walking anomaly who somehow excelled at everything without lifting a finger. And it was driving Jamil absolutely insane.

The first time he noticed was during Scarabia’s basketball game. Kalim had dragged you along to join in, and while Jamil expected you to be terrible—what with the way you were lying on the grass, not even trying—he quickly realized you were anything but.

“Hey,” Jamil called from the court. “You’re not even trying. You do realize we’re playing a game, right?”

You yawned, still sprawled on the sidelines. “Yeah, just... not feeling it today.”

Jamil glared. “Oh, really? Well, maybe you’ll feel it if I throw you the ball.”

He tossed it to you, hard, hoping to snap you out of your lazy daze.

You casually caught it with one hand, still half-asleep, then stood up and—without even looking—launched it across the court.

The ball swished perfectly into the basket.

Jamil blinked. The entire court was silent.

“Nice,” you said, sitting back down. “I’m going back to sleep now.”

Jamil’s mind short-circuited. You weren’t even trying?! He had been practicing those shots for weeks, and you just casually yeeted the ball into the basket without a second thought?!

That’s when he decided: this was war.

The next day, he challenged you to a cooking competition. Surely, in this realm, his expertise would shine. After all, Jamil was a master of Scarabian cuisine. He had spent years perfecting his recipes.

You glanced at the ingredients and lazily started throwing things into a pan. Jamil, ever the perfectionist, was carefully measuring spices and slicing vegetables with precision. He couldn’t wait to show you who the real chef was.

Except... the aroma coming from your dish was heavenly.

Jamil peeked over, and his jaw dropped. “Wait... what are you making?”

“Uh, dunno,” you said, tasting your sauce. “Just kind of threw stuff together.”

Jamil’s eye twitched. “Threw stuff together?! That’s a five-star dish! How?!”

You shrugged. “Eh, I dunno. Just felt like it’d work. Not a biggie.”

Not a biggie? Jamil stared at you, absolutely floored. Not a biggie?! That dish could make the Sultan of the Scalding Sands weep tears of joy, and you? You acted like you’d made instant ramen.

Jamil spent the rest of the week plotting ways to one-up you. Whether it was dancing, studying, or sports, he was determined to show you that he was the more skilled one. But each time, you effortlessly matched him, only to give that infuriating shrug and say, “Eh, not a biggie.”

By the end of it, Jamil found himself slumped in the lounge, defeated. You were lazily flipping through a magazine beside him, as if none of it had even registered.

“You’re... going to drive me insane,” Jamil muttered.

You yawned. “Eh, no biggie.”

Masterlist

[ijustwannabecool]

Hi :)

1 Could you do one similar to the just like papa story with Charles but this time his son is a little older and crashes hard for the first time and his son has a little panic attack and he comforts him thank you ☺️

Brave Like You

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary... After his son crashes for the first time during a karting race, Charles has to be the calm in the storm. But when panic sets in and tears fall, he realizes that even bravery needs a place to rest. Sometimes, the strongest thing a little boy can do… is let his father hold him.

Warnings: panic attack (child), crash on track (no serious injury), protective dad mode, tears, comfort and hugs

A/N: I hope I did your idea justice. I love soft dad!Charles.

If you loved this story and want to support more F1 comfort chaos like this, feel free to buy me a coke or just reblog/comment so more people can find it ❤️

As always—thank you for reading, and I hope you have the gentlest day today 💌🏁

✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩ ⋆ ✩

The crash isn’t loud.

It’s the silence after that hits you harder.

From the bleachers, you see the kart spin. One wheel catches the edge of the curb wrong. The back end swings out. And then—it flips. Not high, not fast, but enough. Enough to knock the wind out of your chest.

“Charles—” you start, but he’s already running.

By the time you reach the edge of the paddock, Charles is crouched beside your son, helmet off, crouched low to meet his eyes. Your son’s chest is rising too fast. His little gloved hands are trembling. His face is pale, and his bottom lip quivers even though he’s clearly trying not to cry.

He’s panicking.

You’ve seen it in Charles before, years ago. You’ve seen it in mirrors of hospital rooms and post-race silence. You know what it is.

“I—I couldn’t stop it,” your son stammers. “I thought—what if it kept rolling? What if—what if I got stuck, Papa?”

Charles doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t try to fix it. He just holds him.

And not the half-hearted “you’re okay, move on” hug most boys get from sports dads.

No—Charles wraps him in his arms. His hand curls protectively over the back of his neck, fingers threading through sweat-damp hair. He pulls him close, tucks his head into the crook of his neck, and lets him sob.

“You’re safe,” Charles murmurs, again and again. “I’m right here. You’re safe.”

Your son’s chest stutters. “I wasn’t brave.”

Charles pulls back just enough to look him in the eyes.

“Mon champion,” he says softly, “do you know how many times I’ve crashed?”

Your son blinks. A few tears roll down his cheek.

“I flipped a kart when I was eight and thought I’d never drive again. I crashed in Formula 2 and couldn’t feel my arms for minutes. I’ve hit the wall in Monaco. In Spa. I’ve cried, too. I’ve panicked. But I always came back.”

He places a hand over his son’s heart.

“Being brave doesn’t mean you don’t get scared. It means you come back after.”

There’s a long pause. Then, in a small voice:

“Will you stay with me?”

Charles nods. “All day. All night. As long as you need.”

------

Later, your son falls asleep in the hotel bed, clutching the race suit he didn’t get to finish the race in.

Charles is quiet beside you, watching his chest rise and fall.

“I couldn’t breathe when I saw the kart flip,” he says, barely a whisper. “I thought—I can’t lose him. Not him.”

You press your hand over his. “You didn’t. You never will.”

He nods. “He’s so little. But he’s already stronger than I ever was.”

You smile. “No. He’s strong because of you.”

Charles doesn’t say anything after that. He just leans over, presses a kiss to his son’s temple, and whispers something in French you don’t quite catch.

But you know what it means.

I’m proud of you. Even now. Especially now.

------

The end.

[acoazlove]

After Starfall

Azriel x reader

Summary: After starfall with your family is perfect.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: fluff

─────────────────────────

Loud giggles filled the room, mixing with the quiet music.

Drink in hand while dancing with Mor. The aftermath of watching Starfall was far better than the show itself. Being with your family, the people who have been through so much to get to this point of happiness, made it far more breathtaking and heartwarming.

Mor somehow always managed to get you to your feet during this time, despite always starting the night telling her, ’Not this year.’ But she still manages to get you up anyway—probably because of the alcohol.

So here you are, you and Mor, drinks sloshing precariously close to the edge of your glasses, laughing, spinning, and tripping over each other. Dresses swaying with every step, smiles never leaving your faces.

Amidst it all, you felt a pair of eyes following your every move. The eyes that belonged to the love of your life. His attentive nature, always making sure you’re safe and okay, and maybe also admiring his beautiful mate.

Azriel hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off of you. When you had put on your dress—the same color as his siphons—he contemplated skipping the festivities to rip it off you and devour you then and there. But you were far too excited to notice the change in your mate's scent, so he decided he could wait till after.

Much to his brothers’ annoyance, he couldn’t keep a conversation going for more than a few seconds. Your laughter bouncing off the walls always managing to pull his gaze back to you.

A loud, overly dramatic huff was heard from beside him, drawing Azriel’s focus over to his left, where Cassian had a furrow between his brows. “Did you not hear me?” he asks incredulously. A snort comes from his right: “He’s too busy stalking his mate.” Rhys teases, while swirling his drink, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Always one to stir the pot.

Azriel’s face scrunched imperceptibly upon hearing that, “I was not stalking her.” He all but spat the word back at him, “I was watching her.” A bark of laughter left Cassian, “Sounds like the same thing to me.”

“You don’t even know where Nesta is.” Az threw back at him. An offended noise left his brother at that, and a grumbled remark, that caused a chuckle to leave Rhys. But Azriel didn’t hear since he was already out of his seat, making his way over to you.

Babbling drunken nonsense with Mor as she spun you for probably the fourth time in the last two minutes, which caused you to stumble back a few steps, hitting what felt like a brick wall. As you turned around, your smile threatened to split your face in two when you comprehended that it was in fact your mate and not a brick wall.

Whether you realized you had sent your excitement and joy down the bond or not, it still caused his heart to skip a beat. His own dimpled grin grew in response.

”Azriel!” You threw yourself onto him, his arms wrapping around you. The rumble from his laugh was felt from your face smooshed into his chest. “Hi, Angel.” The term of endearment in his deep, husky voice made you feel all fluttery, so you pulled away to get a better look at him.

You yourself had hardly been able to keep your hands and hungry gaze off of him the first half of the night. The silky black shirt, buttoned down so you could see his toned, tattooed chest, the black dress pants that hugged his ass just right, and his onyx hair pushed back a little, compared to his usual tussled curls that fell across his forehead. He looked delicious. So much so that you felt a little drool pooling at the corner of your mouth.

A low laugh left him as he angled your chin to meet his gaze. Eyes, the most gorgeous combination of gold and green. “Can I steal you for a dance?” Your smile grew if that was even possible. “Uh-huh.” was your only reply, as you grabbed his hand.

You threw a glance over your shoulder to signal that you were going to go dance with Azriel, but instead you managed to catch a glimpse of a stumbling Mor making her way over to Feyre. You escorted your mate out onto the balcony for a little more privacy.

As you got in position, it came naturally: a scarred hand pressing into your lower back, pulling you in close, your hand on his silk-covered shoulder, and your other hands clasping together.

Tonight wasn’t like all those times you had to waltz around the hewn city, acting like you couldn’t stand one another, faking so much hatred that became nearly unbearable. No, tonight was just the two of you swaying back and forth. About the love you shared and all those years of pining after one another before you bit the bullet and finally confessed those feelings.

Your head slumped forward, ear resting right over your lover's heart, the rhythm the best music one could ask for. Warmth and adoration being sent down the bond on both sides. This part of the holiday was the best, even if Mor teases you for it.

Eyes flutter close as his night-chilled mist and cedar scent fills your nose. “You smell good.” Words subtly slurred from the alcohol you consumed. A huff of laughter exited through Azriel’s nose, and he pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead as a reply. “You look stunning, my love.” His voice like liquid honey, a shiver running up your spine in response.

Pulling your head back to look up at him, smile growing once again, eyes now heavy lidded. “I love you.” words barely above a whisper. His molten, golden gaze softened. “I love you too, Angel.”

His large hand cupped the side of your face, and a contented sigh leaves you as his lips meet yours in a slow kiss. Your own hands trailing up his chest to rest on the nape of his neck.

─────────────────────────

a/n: There might be some spelling mistakes, so let me know. This idea popped into my head a couple of days ago, so I thought I might give it a go. I hope you liked it! <3

[mrsknowitallll]

All I Want Is You

(Terry richmond x Black Plus size reader, Lawyer/Law firm AU)

Summary - Terry’s had his eyes on you for a while, like predator to prey, watching, waiting to strike. The only problem was that you were slippery, hard to get a hold of, he was gonna have to work extra hard to catch you.

Warning: Mentions of murder, obsessive/possessive behavior, i think that’s it?

A/N - Be easy on ya girl this my first fic 😭 also this is a series lets gooo 🥳

He watched you intently as you shrank, minimizing yourself to occupy as little space as possible, your head down, nose deep in your paper work.

It was something you did often, stayed out of other’s way, kept your head down, avoided confrontation in order not to step on people’s toes, refrained from boasting about your success, opting to diminish your own achievements instead in order to not make others feel bad.

But you had every right to brag, you were the best lawyer in that entire fucking firm, you should be walking with your head held high, not cowering behind your cubicle, letting these people think they were above you when they were far beneath.

Terry couldn’t stand how others treated you, their condescending tones when they addressed you, nasty comments about you and your appearance disguised as jokes or poking fun.

If he had it his way all of these motherfuckers would be fired and probably six feet under.

But he couldn’t do that just yet, not until he made his way to the top as head, then you’d live a cushy life, start being respected, treated like you deserved.

That is if you’d let him.

Three years.

Three years he’s worked alongside you at the firm, three years he’s been trying to get you to go out with him, trying to convince you to be his.

At first he thought you were oblivious to his advances, your cluelessness leaving his head spinning but he quickly realized that you were just playing dumb. You knew very well that he was flirting, you just weren’t interested.

That kept him up for a few nights, trying to wrap his head around why you didn’t want him, why his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

He confronted you about it one day, cornering you in the break room.

“Morning” He greeted, large frame blocking the doorway.

“Oh goodmorning Mr. Richmond.” You shot him a small smile before turning back to the coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup full.

You added your fixings, a little sugar, a little cream, stirring it up with a spoon and bringing it to your mouth to taste.

Perfect.

You grabbed the cup beginning to make your exit but stopped in your tracks, surprised to see Terry still standing there with no sign of moving.

“Terry is everything alright?” You questioned, concern lacing your features.

He smiled a little at your use of his first name.

The first time you used it was about a year and a half ago when you worked on your very first joint case together.

It was a late night, the office was pretty much empty aside from the two of you still hard at work.

That particular case was a rough one, your client had mounds of evidence stacked against him but despite that he still stressed that he was innocent.

Terry didn’t know why but for some reason he believed the man, he just had a gut feeling and so did you.

Everyone else had no interest in defending a man who was obviously guilty so the case was left to the two of you.

That night you were hours in trying to find something, anything to point towards the man’s innocence, but attempt after attempt had failed, the two of you had gone over the case dozens of times but nothing stuck out and the frustration was starting to overflow for Terry.

“Maybe he’s not innocent, not like we thought he was. I mean this is pretty hard evidence, he was seen running out of the building shortly after gunshots went off inside, the gun is registered in his name, had his fingerprints all over it right next to the body at the scene, not only that but he was seen having a heated discussion with the victim outside of a bar just down the street 5 hours earlier there’s no way all of this is a coincidence, we’re in way over our heads.” He sighed running his hands down his face.

“I didn’t know you were one to give up so easily, you sure don’t seem like it.” You spoke.

“What?” He glanced up at you, tired eyes locking with yours.

You’re just as tired as him, your blazer falling lazily off your shoulders, glasses sliding down your nose, hair a little frizzy but despite all that you still had that look in your eyes, determination. You intended to see it through to the end.

“Look, we both had the same feeling about this, something isn’t right, our guts told us that and i don’t know about you but when my gut tells me something i listen, no matter how many doubts my mind may have.” You started.

He clenched his jaw, slightly agitated by your stubbornness but he kept his mouth shut as you continued.

“Maybe we missed something, maybe we just need to go home, get some rest and look at this again tomorrow with fresh eyes” You huffed.

“Y/n there’s nothing more to see, everything points to this guy being a killer, maybe just maybe our guts were wrong, it happens sometimes.” He sat up in his chair.

“Maybe he is but if there is even a slim chance that he isn’t and we didn’t do our best, our job, our duty to take a closer look at the details of this case to ensure that we have the right guy then we’ve failed not only him but his family, his daughters, his wife. I don’t know about you Terry but i don’t wanna be responsible for convicting an innocent man, for snatching a father away from his children, a husband away from his wife, it’d keep me up at night.” You sighed heavily, eyes pleading.

His gaze found yours again, your dark brown eyes begging, your puffy lips tugged downward into a frown, the way his name rolled off of your tongue.

“Terry.”

He knew then and there he’d move mountains to keep you satisfied, to make you happy.

“Okay, we’ll try again tomorrow.” He nodded.

He chuckled as your face broke out into a grin.

“See you tomorrow Mr. Richmond.” You waved at him before exiting.

“Tomorrow.” He bit his lip.

“Why won’t you go out with me?” He glanced down at you.

“What? What are you talking about?” You raised a brow.

“Please Y/n enough with the games. Are you not attracted to me? Am i not your type? What is it?” He took a step forward.

“Terry…” You trailed off, eyes casting downward.

“It’s not that you’re unattractive, it’s nothing like that i’m just not… i’m not looking for anything serious right now, anything at all actually.” You whispered.

He deflated slightly, arms falling at his sides.

“I see, may i ask why?” His eyes searched yours.

“It’s too much to explain.” You bit your lip nervously.

He stepped back allowing you to pass.

You looked at him one last time, pity written all over your face.

He just smiled a tight lip smile at you and you wandered off, back toward your desk.

He clenched his jaw, eyes following you, burning holes into your back as you walked.

You said you didn’t peg him as the type to give up so easily and you were right, so you had to have known that this wasn’t over.

Right?

[storiesofsvu]

Love You Always

Rafael Barba x reader warnings: language maybe? it's pure fluff y'all. This was a request that I took a little bit of a spin on but the end result is the same and the prompt still fits and works lol Quick reminder: as Barba has over 50 ppl on his taglist and that is tumblr's max, if you do not interact with this/other barba post you will be removed for someone who is on the wait list who actually does want to read and interact.

When you’d made the move from a small town in Pennsylvania out to New York you really had no idea what was in store for you. Getting the opportunity to live in the city was a huge enough thrill on its own, delicious food, incredible night life, easy enough to get around and a plethora of places to meet people. Work was consistent, busy enough to keep you stimulated and making money but never overwhelming, you always had weekends off and were reminded you never had to take work home unless you really wanted to.

The level of freedom you felt was an incredibly good thing, especially considering your boyfriend seemed to never stop working. You were free to swing by on your lunch, making sure he ate something other than chocolate covered espresso beans and would happily be the one to drag him out of the office at the end of a long day. Though you had no complaints about the matter, you loved him no matter what and knew that what he did was important, not to mention incredibly admirable.

The two of you had moved in together a couple of years ago, a nice two bedroom apartment smack in the middle of your commutes. Rafael had turned the second bedroom into a home office but hadn’t completely taken it over, leaving half of it for you to outfit however you’d like. He never wanted it to just be his space, wanted to make sure you always felt welcomed and wanted even if the most you normally did was curl up with a book in the arm chair beside his desk. He utterly adored having you around, the quality time beside another human was more than enough for both of you, you were able to communicate without words by now. There were moments where Rafael wouldn’t even realize he’d been letting his work stress him out until your gentle hands were on his shoulders, massaging out the knots. There were other moments where you were so sucked into your novel you had no idea how much time had gone by until he was pressing a kiss to the top of your head, mentioning you’d both missed dinner.

There had been talks of the future of course, some of them happening before you bought the apartment, making sure you were making the right investment, but there had never really been a talk about marriage. You’d talked about where in the city you wanted to live, decided on kids or no kids, if you wanted to stay in the same career path, what you’d like to do after retiring and while you knew you were in each other’s stories, a ring never came up. You loved your romantic movies and Rafael knew that, often watching them with you, a small smile on his face as you tried to hide your happy tears or blamed your sniffling on allergies. He knew you were a hopeless romantic and did his best on a regular basis to show you how much he loved you, flowers, treats, fancy date nights and the like.

The first time marriage truly came up was when you were out for dinner and witnessed a very public proposal that you immediately turned your nose up at. Rafael raised a brow and you let out a small laugh, explaining that not only were they incredibly tacky, nearly forcing the person answering to say yes, but this one in particular was going to end in a fight once they were home. Never ask a question like that if you don’t know the definite answer. On the other end of the spectrum, the two of you had a fantastic date night and you were certain it ended better than the not so happy couple.

The second time it technically came up Rafael was coming home entirely too late and while you didn’t have particular plans, you had happened to fall asleep on the couch waiting for him. He felt a pang of guilt wash through him when he found you, half full glass of wine on the coffee table with an empty one meant for him. When he woke you up to get you to bed he apologized, promising that it wouldn’t happen again. You let out a soft giggle, still half asleep and mentioned something about it not being a problem, you knew you were his side chick, he was married to his job after all, it was his wife and you were okay with that.

The third time it came up when your cousin’s wedding invitation came in the mail and you asked if he wanted to come with you. He laughed, saying of course he did and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek, he was your plus one forever after all. You returned the laugh, letting him know it was back in Pennsylvania, it would be a minimum of a three day trip out there, you’d have to leave midday Friday and likely return late on Sunday, if not Monday. He simply shrugged, saying he’d make absolutely sure that his schedule was cleared, this was something that was important to you and he didn’t want to miss any of those.

Rafael had been expecting the usual wedding festivities, friends new and old reuniting between a couple of smaller hotels or bars around the town. Some whom had kept in touch, some who hadn’t spoken since graduation. There was plenty of catching up, questions asked and answered about careers, families, kids. He was prepared for all of that, prepared to whisk you away the second anyone started nagging a little too hard about getting married or starting a family of your own. Instead he was met with you laughing, winding your arm in his and saying that the two of you were your own family.

What he definitely wasn’t expecting was to be hit with a brick wall of emotions when the actual wedding started. Everything was so incredibly beautiful, the church lit up perfectly, stunning bridesmaids dresses that correlated with the groomsmen pocket squares, ties and socks. The flower arrangements were gorgeous, the music matched the vibe immaculately, every single detail you could imagine was well thought through and executed amazingly. His hand in yours as the ceremony started, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as the bride stepped into the room and he knew you would be teary eyed in a matter of seconds.

He couldn’t help but watch you throughout the ceremony, a small smile on his face, one that you caught and smiled back to every time you looked over at him. You loved love, and you loved him and that made him feel so incredibly warm inside, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your eyes glistened in the sunlight, a glimmering of happy tears in them as the couple began their vows and it became very obvious you weren’t the only hopeless romantic in the room. They told stories of their childhood, how they’d been best friends at such a young age, how through time they had went their different ways but always seemed to find their way back to each other. How they’d gone to different colleges, lived on opposite sides of the country and even when they didn’t stay in touch, life had a way to keep their invisible string intact. How she’d been smitten from the moment they reconnected, how he surprised her on their first anniversary with a plot of land where she’d always dreamed of living, and how he was going to build their dream home. How much they meant to each other, that they wanted to spend the rest of their days and then some together, how much they believed in destiny and how thankful they were that they were brought back together and realized what true love was because it was so often sitting right in front of your nose.

Rafael didn’t think he was a sap, but the misting in his eyes would prove otherwise.

The way your hand was softly squeezing at his thigh whenever something particularly romantic or emotional certainly wasn’t helping either. And the look of complete love, awe, hope and longing reflecting from your eyes was enough to drive him wild. He found his heart beating faster in his chest, butterflies racing in his stomach, he wanted to be the one on the receiving end of that kind of a look. He was utterly lost in his romantic thoughts until the couple kissed, the church erupting in applause and you were tugging him to stand, cheering to celebrate their new union.

He managed to keep his cool throughout dinner, though he got a little misty eyed when the speeches started. Out of pure instinct you were cuddled into his side, the more intimate and loving the stories and speeches got, the closer the two of you got to each other. There was nothing either of you wanted than to be with each other and this celebration of love was solidifying it.

The two of you were up on the dance floor, encouraging your nieces and nephews to burn off all the sugar from the cake dancing around as wildly as they could before having to leave. A slow song started and you thought for a moment you were leaving the dance floor until Rafael grabbed your hand, a sparkle in his eye as he twirled you under his arm and then his other hand slid around your waist, leading you in a slow rhythm around the dance floor. A blooming of happiness started in your chest as your cheek rested next to his, small smile on both of your cheeks as you danced.

“You’ve been quiet,” you murmured, “not having any fun?”

“Quite the opposite.” He chuckled, his lips brushing your cheek.

“Then what’s going on in that brain of yours, hmm?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About?” You asked, your head coming to rest on his shoulder.

“You.” He replied, his hand rubbing at the small of your back, “love. This.” You felt his hand come off your back, gesturing to the room, “How beautiful it is. How beautiful you are. How happy I am with you, and that I want that kind of happiness forever. That I want this. With you.”

“Careful Rafael, this is starting to sound like a proposal.” You teased from your spot on his shoulder, feeling his chest rumble as he chuckled.

“Never. That would be incredibly inappropriate, I’m not one to steal someone’s moment.”

“Sure.” You laughed and he playfully rolled your eyes as you lifted your head up. The hand he had holding yours moved to cup your face as you stepped even closer together. His eyes gazed into yours with nothing but absolute adoration.

“But believe me when I say this, I’m going to marry you one day and one day soon.” His thumb brushed over your cheek and you felt a dopey smile take over your lips, “our own special day where I get to tell everyone just how much I love you, how I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, how you deserve the entire world and I got so incredibly lucky because you chose me.”

“And I would a million times over.” Leaning in you pressed your lips to his, a small sigh relaxing both of you into the kiss as you continued to sway. Your cheek came to rest against his once more, his hand briefly cupping the back of your head before moving back to your waist. “Because I love you Rafael, more than anyone in the world. I’m lucky to have you to love.”

“I love you too.”

He pressed a tender kiss to your temple, continuing to guide you around the dance floor until the song came to an end. For the third time today he found a misting of happy tears in his eyes, the same ones reflecting in yours except this time it was because of your own love, your own little secret that no one else in the room knew quite yet. That not only did you have a future together but he was going to be able to call you his wife, and that meant the entire world to him.

____________

@fandom-princess-forevermore @bisexualcrowley @detective-giggles @plaidbooks @averyhotchner @beccabarba @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @prurientpuddlejumper @letsdisneythings @neely1177 @mrsrafaelbarba @lv7867 @bisexual-dreamer02 @skittle479 @amelia-song-pond @madamsnape921 @altsvu @svulife-rl @caracalwithchips @mysticfalls01 @ssaic-jareau @barbasbodaciousbeard @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @michael-rooker @rafivadafreddy @darkheart-brightsmile @australiancarisi @tinyboxxtink @ex-uallyactive @lawandorderuswnt @lustvolle-liebe @sia2raw @narvaldetierra @dxtery @lannister-slings-and-arrows @poisonedcrowns @anlin2058 @xoxabs88xox @momlifebehard @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @godard-muse @somethingimaginative17 @alexxavicry @dextur @onmykneesformarvel @kmc1989 @valentinesfrog @silversprings-mp3 @wittygutsy @gamma-rae-bursts @int4n @just-moondust @deanwinchestersgirl87 @bubbleswrld

[st4rlvr]

Chasing You || CSN

I think the worst part wasn’t watching him fall for someone else.

It was realizing that somewhere along the way, I’d become easy to leave.

San had always been there. The kind of presence that didn’t need announcing. He showed up like sunlight through a window — soft, steady, unnoticed until it was gone. People talked. Said he liked me. Said he had for years. I brushed it off. Not because I didn’t care — I think deep down I knew I did — but because I never let myself think about it too long. I didn’t date. Never had. I always told myself I wasn’t built for all that messy, complicated stuff. But maybe that was just an excuse.

They told him there was no shot. That I’d never feel the same way. And maybe they were right. Maybe I didn’t feel the same.

Maybe I felt something worse.

Something messier.

Something that couldn’t be named until it was too late.

I noticed the shift when he stopped texting first. When “let’s hang out” turned into “I’ll let you know.” When his laugh — the one I knew by heart — was being shared with someone else across the room.

He looked happy. And she looked at him the way I never let myself.

Because I was scared. Because I didn’t know what to do with feelings that sat so quietly in my chest.

When he told me about her, he didn’t say it like it was news. He said it like he was already halfway gone, like he was easing me into the idea that I didn’t matter the same way anymore.

I told him I was happy for him. And maybe some of me was. But most of me was just… tired. Tired of pretending it didn’t sting. Tired of missing him while he was still standing in front of me.

The truth is, I did like him.

I liked the way he always waited for me to finish talking, even when I rambled.

I liked the way he remembered the little things — how I liked my coffee, how I hated thunderstorms, how I hummed when I was nervous.

I liked the way he looked at me, like I was something.

And now, he looks at her like that.

We were never together. Not really. So I don’t know if I have the right to feel like something ended.

But it did.

And I think the saddest part of all is that when he moved on, I didn’t just lose a chance at love.

I lost my best friend.

And I don’t know how to tell him I miss him without making it sound like I want him back.

Even though… maybe I do.

⸻

It had been over ten years.

I was in my late twenties now, living in a different city, with a different kind of life. The kind of life you build slowly and half-heartedly when you’re trying to prove to yourself that you’re over something — or someone — you never really had.

I dated.

I tried.

But nothing was like him.

It wasn’t that they weren’t kind or sweet or handsome. It’s just… none of them made me feel like me the way San used to. None of them looked at me like I was a song they couldn’t stop humming.

I thought I had moved on. Really, I did. I knew San had. He’d been with her for over a decade. Her name was everywhere — tagged in photos, mentioned in mutual friends’ stories, tied to his smile. They were getting married. I saw the post. Simple. Elegant. He asked. She said yes.

I stared at it longer than I should have, then turned my phone off and went to sleep. Or tried to.

So when I got the call from Wooyoung, I didn’t believe it at first.

“San called it off,” he said, like it was just another update.

“What?”

“The wedding. It’s not happening.”

I paused. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

There was silence, but it was loud. Everything in my head started spinning — memories, old regrets, half-buried what-ifs.

I thought about how sure they had seemed. How in love he looked. I thought about all the years that passed, all the chances I didn’t take. And for a split second, I wondered if maybe this was the universe offering me one last chance to make sense of what never did.

But then I stopped myself.

It wasn’t my business. Not anymore. Whatever had happened between them — that was their story. Just because something ended didn’t mean it began again. And even if it did… where would I even begin?

I hung up the phone and sat there for a long time. My apartment was quiet, and so was my heart, but in that aching, tired kind of way. I didn’t cry. I didn’t smile. I just sat.

Because I didn’t know how to feel.

Was I relieved? Sad? Hopeful? Guilty for even feeling anything?

I had spent so long convincing myself that it was over — that he was over — that I didn’t know what to do with the tiniest spark that flickered up in my chest at the thought of maybe.

Maybe he still thought about me.

Maybe he wondered too.

Maybe this wasn’t the end of everything — just the start of something we’d never had the courage to explore.

Or maybe… maybe some people are just meant to haunt each other quietly, forever.

It was a Thursday. Gray skies, light drizzle, the kind of day that already felt too heavy before anything even happened.

I wasn’t expecting anyone — much less him.

But there he was.

San.

On my doorstep.

He looked different, older in the way we all were now — sharper jaw, tired eyes — but still him. Still the boy who used to sit next to me in silence just to be close. Still the boy I never had the guts to love out loud.

I froze. My heart practically stopped.

“How… how did you—?”

“Wooyoung,” he said, breathing hard. “Of course.”

Of course.

I stepped aside, unsure if I should even let him in, but he walked in anyway — like his body moved faster than his thoughts.

He looked around once, like he couldn’t believe I was real. Like he didn’t know whether to cry or scream or both.

“I’m sorry for just showing up,” he said, voice shaking, “but I couldn’t stop thinking, and if I didn’t say it, I was going to lose my mind.”

I swallowed. “Say what?”

He stepped closer, eyes burning into mine. “Do you think of me too? Do you think of me the way I think of you?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Because what do you say to the ghost that never really left?

His jaw clenched. His voice cracked, but his words came hard and fast.

“Y/N, I can’t keep pretending like what happened between us didn’t hurt me.” His fists clenched at his sides. “I love you. I love YOU.”

He shouted it like it hurt to say.

And maybe it did.

Tears welled in his eyes, and I knew the anger wasn’t really anger — it was pain. All of it was. Years of unspoken things, all crashing into one brutal moment.

“You don’t get to do this now,” I finally snapped, voice rising. “You don’t get to show up now and throw that in my face like I didn’t spend years wondering if I made a mistake! You moved on, San. You left.”

“I waited! I waited for something — anything — from you! And all I ever got was silence!”

“Because I was scared!” I shouted, the words cutting my throat on the way out. “I was scared of losing you, of ruining what we had — and I lost you anyway!”

His tears spilled over, mine not far behind. And suddenly we were both yelling. Shouting through ten years of built-up regret, of longing, of missed chances. The kind of yelling that only happens when the silence has lived too long.

“Do you know what it felt like?” he yelled. “Loving you and knowing I was never enough for you to say it back?”

“You were everything to me!” I cried. “And I was too much of a coward to admit it! Don’t you get it? You were it. You were it.”

Silence.

His chest rose and fell like he couldn’t breathe. I could feel the pain radiating off of him like heat, like it was mine too — because it was. It always had been.

“I don’t know what this is anymore,” he said finally, voice barely a whisper. “But I know I never stopped loving you. Not even for a second.”

And I broke. I broke in the way people do when they finally let go of pretending.

I took a step forward, shaky and small.

“I never stopped either.”

His eyes searched mine — wild, red-rimmed, desperate. Before I could say anything else, he grabbed my face like he was afraid I’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. And then he kissed me.

Rough. Unfiltered. All emotions and trembling hands.

It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t pretty — it was years of love and longing and pain crashing together in one breathless, heartbreaking moment. It was him pouring everything he couldn’t say into that kiss, and me drinking it in like it was the only thing that had ever tasted right.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to mine, breath ragged, voice shaking.

“Y/N… it was never her.”

I stared at him, lips still parted, eyes wide. My heart felt like it might shatter.

“I wasn’t happy,” he said, chest heaving. “Do you know how often we fought? She knew. She knew it was you. I didn’t have to say it — she saw it in everything I didn’t say.”

His voice cracked, and his hand dropped to my waist like he needed the anchor.

“I proposed because I don’t even fucking know — I thought maybe if I committed, it would stop hurting. I wanted to be done. I wanted to move on from you.”

His voice broke entirely, and he looked at me like he was begging me to understand.

“But I can’t. Not when you’re still here.”

My hands gripped his shirt, knuckles white.

“I’ve always been here, San,” I whispered. “You just stopped looking.”

His eyes slammed shut, and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into me like he needed to fall into something real. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him like I should’ve done ten years ago.

Because after all the pain, all the silence, all the almosts — he was still him.

And I was still his.

Even if we never said it before — our hearts had known all along.

We didn’t get it all back at once.

That first night, we didn’t make some big, sweeping promise. There were no dramatic declarations, no sudden fixes. Just the two of us sitting on my couch, knees touching, hearts still raw. His hand found mine, fingers lacing slowly, like he was asking, Can I still hold you like this?

And I let him.

He stayed the night — not in the way we used to dream about, but in the real way. We fell asleep fully clothed, tangled in old blankets, with the TV playing low and his head resting against my shoulder. It wasn’t romantic. It was comforting. Familiar.

The next morning, we talked. Really talked.

About what happened. About her. About the time we lost. About how love — the kind that sits quietly in the corners of your life — never truly leaves. He told me about the ring he never really wanted to buy. I told him about the nights I cried over the thought of him belonging to someone else.

We both apologized. For the silence. For the fear. For the decade of “maybe.”

And then, we tried again. But slowly.

We didn’t move in together right away. We went on actual dates — movies, museums, late-night drives where the windows were down and the world felt soft again. Sometimes, we argued. Sometimes, we cried. But every time, we chose each other.

This time, we said the things out loud.

Two years later, he proposed. Nothing big. Just him and me, sitting on my old porch swing, the one that creaked too much and leaned a little left.

He handed me a ring and said, “Let’s not waste another ten years.”

We got married in the fall. Nothing fancy. Just people who loved us, leaves turning gold, and vows that felt less like promises and more like truths we’d finally learned how to live.

It wasn’t perfect. Life never is. But it was ours.

And that made it everything.