#if u were like trying to make this a Story you’d think he’d be like an angsty lab baby and a foil to Pitaya

[clannfearrunt]

I’d meant to keep RioluHq dot com the Scizor kind of as a Side Member just as mainly my False Swiper but he’s slowly spending more and more time in my main team lineup... he’s just so... *kisses sweetly* my dubious lab grown guy...

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。yours, always yours

synopsis. satoru has always been yours—and he needs you to know you’ll also always be his

— word count. 2.4k (read the breakup fic first for better understanding, but can be read as a stand-alone)

— contents. fem! reader, college! au, rich boy! gojo, post-getting back together angst that gets a little heated <3, minors do not interact, fingering, unprotected sex, edging, satoru cumming too quick <3, creampie, tbh the smut is short and a lil rushed my b, it ends in fluff tho !! trust !! there is fluff !!

— notes. tbh this will probably get flagged rly fast but oh well u win some u lose some. anywayyyyy here is the make up sex bc yall nasties deserve it <3 jk love u guys

satoru falls first. and he falls hard. everyone knows it, it’s never been a secret.

“you want me to wash your hair?” you ask gently, kissing his shoulder as the water falls over his head. he hums, nodding absentmindedly as he stares blankly at the tiles of your shower wall.

“sure,” he mumbles, “don’t tug.”

“i never tug,” you roll your eyes, snorting. he huffs a small chuckle, but it’s not the usual laugh satoru gives you. it’s mechanic, almost—just there to fill the space. “baby?” you ask softly.

“yeah?” he asks, “oh, should i bend a little? sorry, i—”

“what’re you thinking about?” your hands cup his cheeks, gentle and warm from the hot water as it soaks his skin.

he shakes his head, trying to smile as he clears throat. “just how nice it is to be pampered. maybe i’ll let you break my heart every once in a while so i get my back scrubbed and hair washed like this.”

“satoru,” you insist. you know—and he knows it too. “tell me?”

“why’d you do it?” he mumbles, “why’d you listen to him?”

“toru, you know why,” you sigh, “you know i didn’t think there were any other options.”

“you could’ve talked to me,” he furrows his brows, “just because my stupid old man threatens you with my stupid inheritance doesn’t mean we have to break up.”

“i was afraid you’d choose me.” it comes out as a whisper, like a confession you can’t bear to admit.

“i would have chosen you,” he agrees, “why’s that bad? how’s that wrong—”

“you’re not thinking about the bigger picture,” you shake your head, “that company is yours. you’ve spent your whole life—”

“so what? was i supposed to give up the rest of my life for it too?” he asks tiredly—satoru’s defeated. he’s never been defeated, it’s the most magnetizing thing about him.

even before you date him. he asks and asks and asks no matter how many times you say no. because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes, and he’ll never stop as long as there’s a chance.

“i’m sorry,” you sniffle, lips wobbling, “i could have….i should have said something. i didn’t want you to make a choice young and then….and then regret it.”

“you think i’d regret you?” he’s wounded—absolutely wounded at the words.

satoru has always been careful, diligent and so, so meticulous to love you right, to love you how you need to be loved. hadn’t that proven enough? that he was in it for the long run—for forever? he’d been so sure you’d be his future, that the break up feels like waking up from a peaceful dream to a house fire—devastating, with smoke in his nose and lungs that he can’t breathe right, and everything gone within a moment before he can even register it.

he stares at the ashes in despair. nothing prepared him for the hollowness of not being yours—because satoru has never cared to make you his. all he’s ever wanted was to be yours.

you’re quick to remove him from everything, deleting pictures from your socials, untagging him from posts, removing him from your private stories and close friends list. he doesn’t understand how you could change your mind so quickly—and then he realizes you probably don’t. because he knows you—better than anyone ever has, satoru knows you.

so he’s comes to you, drenched from the rain, from standing outside your door even as the water pelts against his skin because he’s determined. he’s going to get an answer out of you, going to make you explain why you pulled him in so close, let him reside in your heart and fall asleep to the comforting rhythm of its beating—and then push him out like he’s nothing. what made you push him out?

and finally, when he does, when you let him be yours again and admit it’s never what you wanted, that it’s because it’s what his father wanted—well, satoru can’t keep his composure. don’t you know? hadn’t he always told you? hadn’t he poured his heart out and let you know every moment he’s always been stuck dangling from his father’s fingers? stuck somewhere between the sky and ground, too high to feel the floor under his feet but never high enough to feel the wind in his face.

you’ve always known, always listened—and fuck, you held him some nights too, let your fingers dip into his hair and soothe his sorrows of always being stuck.

satoru’s always been stuck, always had every choice made for him and every instruction carefully laid out on the table. and then you decided to make his choice for him too, walking away and choosing his future for him like he’s never had a say.

he’s always been stuck, but never with you—but now, he wonders if that’s changed.

“no,” you squeeze his cheeks, “no i don’t think you’d regret me….but satoru losing what you have is a big thing,” you mumble, “people work their whole lives not having a fraction of what you do. that’s a lot to let you lose.”

“i’ve never seen my dad kiss my mom,” he stares at you, hard and unwavering, his eyes stare into yours, “he’s never held her hand or made her laugh. and you know what she told me? that she would sell her share of everything to have what we do. why do you always look at me for what i have first?” he asks angrily, the water pouring over his shoulders as they shake, “why can’t you just look at me first for once?”

“i do look at you,” you insist, “toru, all i ever see is you—”

“then stop caring what he says,” he says louder, his voice echoing through the small bathroom of your small apartment.

everything about your home is small—smaller than satoru’s especially. but he loves it, thinks he’d rather be here than anywhere else.

because it’s yours. and as long as you’re here, the world fits into this tiny apartment, the galaxy too.

“okay,” you say shakily. and then you nod, looking him in the eye, “you’ll handle it?”

he nods, kissing between your brows, “yeah, i’ll handle it. who else is gonna take over that company anyway?”

“but what if he finds someone else? and then he—”

“he won’t. my grandpa will shred him.”

“but he’s old, and he stepped down, so what really can he do if your dad decides—”

“god, baby,” he groans, pushing your body against the wall gently, “i love your voice, but you talk so much. i’m wanna listen to something else.”

his lips find your neck, sucking gently at the skin, hand trailing to your tits before his thumb circles your nipple. it’s slow, deliberate, teasing as it rolls over the bud.

you whimper, clutching onto him as a breathy, “t-toru,” leaves your lips.

“yeah,” he nods, “that’s what i wanna listen to instead.” his lips are in a grin against your neck, kissing and biting until he reaches your collarbone. “anyone dm you after you took me out of your socials?” he asks bitterly.

“j-just one,” you admit through a stutter, “b-but i didn’t even open it! i wasn’t really—oh, toru,” you gasp as his finger finds your clit, spreading your legs as he lets out a soft growl at your words.

“what? just cause my face isn’t on your instagram suddenly you’re not mine?” he asks, thumb rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves—you close your eyes, moaning as your arms wrap tightly around his neck. “you’re always mine,” he murmurs against your ear, low and careful so you hear him well, “yeah? got that?”

“got it,” you nod furiously.

“got what?”

“‘m al-always—oh, fuck,” you mewl as one finger prods at your entrance, gathering your slick before slowly sliding through your walls.

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he says firmly, “finish your sentences.”

“always yours, toru! always yours—please, please j-just…”

“just what?” he raises a brow.

“more,” you sob—it’s a broken plea as your hips thrust against his finger.

he’s quick to slide in a second, thrusting his digits mercilessly into your soaked cunt, his palm gliding over your clit as the slick sound of his fingers fucking you is almost drowned by the water in the back.

your water bill will be high this month. you decide it’s a sacrifice satoru deserves.

“you think someone could ever learn this body better than me? make you cum like i can? you think anyone will ever love you enough to learn you like i do?”

“n-no,” you pant, his fingers hitting that spot inside of you so perfectly, you feel that dull ache build up quickly. it’s good—everything with satoru is good. his other hand finds your chest to pinch a nipple, twisting and squeezing until your nails leave indents on his shoulders as you moan loudly. “no one—no one but you.”

“exactly,” he growls, “how could you leave me? how could you leave us?”

“‘m sorry,” you sniffle, whimpering when the tips of his fingers slam against that spongey spot of your walls, fluttering around him and squeezing him in. you’re close—so close that you almost don’t know what he’s saying anymore, too focused on the way your impending orgasm is approaching. fast. “i’m sorry, i’ll never—ever leave again.”

“say you love me,” he demands.

it sounds like he’s pleading, though, if you listen closely. there’s a small crack in his voice, a slight shakiness that makes you force your eyes open and stare at him and whisper, “i love you, satoru. i love you.”

and then he rips his fingers out—right before you’re about to cum. you gasp, pleading nonsense as you cling to him and buck your hips and search for something, anything to take you over the edge.

and then you hear a sniffle. is he crying? is that wet droplet on your shoulder a tear or the water? you’re too busy calming down from your orgasm dying before it ever came to focus.

satoru’s hard against your thigh, throbbing and painful to sink into you. he strokes himself a few times, whimpers as his thumb gathers the pre cum from the sensitive tip, smearing it along his length as he shakily lets out a quiet moan.

“f-fuck, i gotta feel you. please, can i? please—”

“yes,” you pull him closer, grinding your heat over his hard-on, “yes please, toru. more, need more.”

he’s sliding along your folds, dragging the tip of his cock along your entrance and smearing a mix of your arousal with his. and then slowly, ever so gently, he’s pushing into your after that, pushing past your walls and bullying into your soaked cunt, curving into you perfectly.

it’s only been a week—you feel like you haven’t felt him in years. but it’s familiar. you remember every part of him, including every vein that drags along your walls and makes your head spin. he remembers every part of you, including where that spot is that he needs to angle his hips to find.

he slams into you, hard and rough and fast—doesn’t even let you adjust your position to hold onto him tighter before he’s thrusting his hips and fucking into you desperately. you can feel him, every inch of his skin against you, every part of him that’s touching you. and you can feel the way his cock nudges past your folds, the friction burning pleasure through ever nerve.

satoru knows how to fuck you, just like he knows how to love you, he knows your body—every dip and ever curve, every place to touch and every part that has you gushing around him. it’s just the way he is, too good at giving you what you want, what you need.

when he moans, it’s breathy and he’s panting as he lets out those soft whimpers that make your head spin. “feel that? feel me?” he asks, grunting as you squeeze around his length.

“yeah,” you breathe, “‘m so full.”

“i need you. please, please,” he murmurs, “can’t lose you, baby. never you,” he chants, the quiver in his voice tearing you apart.

“i’m right here,” you gasp, lacing your fingers with his and squeezing his hand. he squeezes back, just to let you know he’s there too, “right here, baby. you got me.”

and then he cums, just as soon as you whisper that—he spills right into you with a broken cry, his hips rolling, needy and desperate and so, so lost on the pleasure. he’s too busy working himself through his high, trembling over your body to care he’s cum too quick—and you don’t have it in you to tease him. you can feel the hot ropes of cum filling you, painting your walls white, fucking deep into you as the blunt head of his cock slams into you without a second of hesitation.

but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t falter that brutal pace as his hips slam into you, perfectly kissing your sweet spot every time. and before long, you break—your head pushes back against the wall behind you, mouth parted as you wail his name and cum—hard. you’re quivering and spasming around his swollen cock, enough that he whimpers at the way you’re so tight.

it’s good, it’s always good. satoru makes you feel good. he’s the best you’ve ever had—the best you’ll ever find.

and then you hear it again, the sniffle into your neck as he clutches you tightly. you know for sure that wet droplet is a tear this time, and your fingers tangle into his hair as you stroke the wet strands.

“i love you, toru,” you murmur, “my sweet boy. i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry.”

“don’t do that again,” he huffs in between tears, “that was so mean. so mean.”

“i said i won’t,” you chuckle, fighting back your own tears, “how long are you gonna hold this against me?”

“how long do you plan on being mine?”

“well,” you pull him from your neck, cupping his cheeks as you wipe away tears and peck his lips softly, “i think….forever.”

“well, get ready, then,” he glares softly, “i’m gonna hold this against you forever too.”

“okay,” you nod, “that’s fair.”

“and i love you too,” he adds, “but block whoever dm’d you. it better not be that zenin boy.”

“block those girls who’s pictures you liked,” you shoot back, glaring at him with a pout of your own.

“don’t yell at me,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch as your thumb strokes his cheek, “i’ve had a rough week. you have to be nice.”

dabitee anon. are u seeing this. did u see the satoru who cums too fast. did u see it. report back if u saw this. i repeat, dabitee anon report back if you see this

[heavenbarnes]

Thinking of being Ghost's fiance and making invite the 141 over for dinner to finally meet them and he begrudgingly accepts because anything to make u happy and they're still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that he's engaged

mmm omg your mind 🫶🏼

finally getting older bf!simon to have the 141 around your dinner was the equivalent of pulling teeth.

come to think, pulling teeth would’ve been easier.

“well fuck me for wanting to meet the people the man i’m marrying spends 90% of his time with”

“sweet’art y’know i don’t like bringing work ‘ome”

then you’d gone and put your hands on your hips with just one (1) eyebrow raised-

and the lads were knocking at his fucking door.

“gidday- don’t fuckin’ start w’me”

“some bloody way to greet y’guests, big man”

as he corralled all their snide little remarks about “didnae know ye’ owned a nice shirt” everyone managed to find their best behaviour upon your appearance.

it might’ve had something to do with the stunned silence.

when he’d begrudgingly invited them, they’d all been in a little bit of shock- first of all, ghost had a fiancé? second of all, ghost is letting us into his home?

then it all round off with, third of all-

ghost’s fiancé was a fucking looker, that’s for sure.

sweet, nice, bloody easy on the eyes- how the hell had he managed that?

you were just happy to meet the closest things to friends that simon had.

price took lead by drawing you into a hug, thanking you for your hospitality. followed closely by a sweet talking gaz who was already making your cheeks warm with his manners.

naturally, johnny had to chime in with some stupid little-

“nae wonder L.t disnae want us knowing about ye’, i’d keep ye’ all t’maself too”

he’s too slow to avoid simon’s flat palm coming up the side of his head, but it doesn’t dissuade him much.

he’s peachy fucking keen to meet you.

simon eats his tea with a tense jaw, rolling his eyes every time someone makes you laugh a little too long, tells another ‘embarrassing’ story about him.

he also keeps his palm firmly on your knee, nervous twitch of a thumb running circles over your skin.

when you pop out to the kitchen to fix dessert, they’re on him like starved dogs.

“all this time and not so much as a bloody photo?”

“kinda’ photos i’m gettin’ aren’t f’you lots eyes”

johnny nearly falls out of his seat.

you can hear them whispering all the way from the kitchen, for a bunch of SAS guys- they’re not very subtle.

simon’s got one ear on the shit chatter coming from his team and the other on the kitchen, waiting for the slightest sign that he might be able to join you.

it comes- in the form of a gasp from you followed by “ow fuck”

simon’s out of his seat like a bullet.

“what’s wrong- what ‘ave y’done?”

you know the 141 are watching, doesn’t take a genius to see the way they’re all craning their necks around the kitchen doorframe.

“i’m fine, si- just a little burn from the pan”

“lemme’ see, gimme’ y’hand”

so the 141 see their ghost, unshakeable mountain of a man- a face they never see-

and they see his face, and they see genuine fear on it.

they see simon.

your simon.

“i’m telling you it’s fine, si”

“i’ll make that call, alright”

and they’re all looking at each other across the table, trying to decide whether to be impressed or even a little jealous- they’re leaning towards jealous.

so instead they settle on taking the absolute piss out of him.

not that he minds-

before you could even reach your chair he was pulling you into his lap- having you eat dessert perched on his thigh.

as you settle back into his chest, you could swear you feel him laugh.

that hand settles back on your knee again but there aren’t nervous circles anymore.

more like gentle squeezes.

your simon.

right at home.

[ferrarifudds]

hi cutie, i wanted to request a little something that i imagined the other day,, it was college sweethearts oscar x femreader, where reader is entering one of her classes, and oscar sneaks into it, sits next to her, and makes her laugh with little sarcastic comments or making fun of the professor, basically trying not to break and laugh... the thing is that they're in entire different degrees..

please and thank you sweetie<3

Ugotme. ✷ Oscar Piastri

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Fem!reader

Summary: When he sneaks into your lecture just because of a little hallway crush.

Word Count: 1.8k

Dislacimer/s: just fluff tbh ^_^ && university!au

Vera’s Voice! hope i did this one justice!!!! thank u for the submission request ^_^ ENJOOOYYYT

The crowded university hallway was alive with chatter, the faint hum of conversations blending with the soft squeak of sneakers against polished floors.

You were balancing a cup of coffee in one hand and clutching your bag strap with the other, navigating through the maze of students heading to their respective classes.

Your journalism lecture wasn’t until later, but you were on your way to your slow pace literature seminar, a welcome break from the heavy load of articles and essays you’d been swamped with lately.

And, it was in this busy hallway that he saw you again.

He stood casually beside the wall, patiently waiting for his own lecture to open, though his focus was nowhere near the room he was supposed to be in.

His attention was entirely on you.

He’d noticed you a couple of weeks ago, walking through the same corridor around this time. He didn’t know your name, your major, or why he kept seeing you near the this department, though he was pretty sure this was your turf—but he didn’t care.

Today, something clicked. Maybe it was the way you giggled at something you saw posted on the bulletin or the way you glanced down at the cup in your hand with the faintest smile, but he decided he wasn’t going to let another day go by without talking to you.

When you turned into the nearby lecture hall, he hesitated. His logical brain—honed by hours of problem-solving in engineering—told him to stay in his lane.

But the other part of him, the part that thought you looked far too intriguing to ignore, decided otherwise.

Before he could second-guess himself, he slipped into the same lecture hall, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you.

You had chosen a seat near the middle, pulling out your notebook and laptop with practiced ease. The room was half-full, with students murmuring quietly as they waited for the professor to arrive.

You didn’t notice when he walked in, but you definitely noticed when he sat down beside you.

It wasn’t subtle in the slightest. He dropped his bag with a soft thud and slid into the seat, turning to you with an easy, self-assured smile.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” The boy asked, his Australian accent immediately catching your attention.

You glanced up, startled by the unexpected company before shooting a faint smile. “Uh, no. Go ahead.”

He grinned, and for a moment, you wondered if you knew him from somewhere. His face was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. You didn’t dwell on it, turning your focus back to your laptop.

The professor walked in moments later, launching straight into the lecture with a droning voice that could’ve lulled an insomniac to sleep. It wasn’t long before he leaned toward you again, his voice low and teasing.

“Does he always talk like this?”

You glanced at him, biting back a smile. “Like what?”

“Like they’re narrating an audiobook for a bedtime story no one asked for?”

A giggle slipped out before you could stop it. “It’s a literature class. What did you expect?”

“Literature, obviously. But with a little more... enthusiasm?” He raised his brows for emphasis.

“Well, good thing it’s not his job to entertain you,” You shot back, still smiling.

“Maybe not,” He conceded, “But you’d think they’d try to keep people awake.”

You bit your lip to hide another giggle, but he caught the glimmer of amusement in your eyes and leaned back, satisfied.

As the professor rambled on about symbolism, Oscar tapped his pen lightly against the desk and whispered, “Do you think he rehearses this? Like, in front of a cemetery, maybe?”

This time, you didn’t even try to stifle your laugh. You turned to him, shaking your head. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m serious,” He replied with a smile and shrug. “Someone had to say it.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “Are you even in this class?”

He feigned a gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. “Ouch. That’s harsh.”

“Seems like you wandered in by accident,” You said, narrowing your eyes but unable to hide your amusement.

“Wandered in?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “I’ll have you know I’m here on purpose. Expanding my horizons. Growing as a person.”

“And skipping your actual class, I assume?” You guessed.

“Minor detail,” He said, grinning. “Besides, this seemed way more interesting.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The class, or sitting next to me?”

His grin widened. “I think the answer is obvious…”

You let out another laugh, shaking your head at his boldness. “Wow. Smooth.”

“Is it working?” He asked, his voice light but with just enough intrigue to make your cheeks warm.

“Maybe,” You said, tilting your head as if considering. “Depends. Are you planning on staying the whole time?”

“For you?” He leaned back with a lazy smile. “Absolutely.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face.

The professor’s monotone voice droned on in the background, but you barely noticed. Instead, you spent the rest of the lecture exchanging whispered comments with him—his commentary growing increasingly ridiculous.

By the time class ended, your notebook was only half-filled with notes, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. As you packed up your things, he lingered beside you, clearly in no rush to leave.

The warmth in his gaze made your stomach flutter, and for a moment, you were caught off guard by how sincere he sounded.

“Well,” You said, trying to regain your composure, “You should be careful or else I might start expecting you in all my classes.”

“Would that be so bad?” He asked, his tone playful but his eyes holding yours.

“Guess we’ll find out,” You said with a smile.

“By the way,” He said, his tone softening slightly, “Oscar.”

You stopped, turning to face him fully. “Oscar who likes to ditch his classes for random girls?” Quirking a brow.

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oscar who’s hoping you’ll tell him your name.”

You paused, debating whether to play along. But the way he looked at you—equal parts charming and genuine—made you cave and introduce yourself.

“And maybe … Oscar who was hoping he’d get your number…” He grinned as you laughed.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Well, enduring one of my most boring classes just to talk to me… I guess…” You trailed off teasingly, grabbing his phone and punching in your number.

When you handed it back, his grin turned boyish, his confidence softening into something a little shyer. “Thank you. I promise, I’ll only use it to bother you during your lectures.”

“Good,” You said, already walking away, throwing him a glance over your shoulder. “I could use the entertainment… or you can just crash another one of my classes.” You suggested with a small laugh.

“Let me know. And I’ll be there.” He grinned down at you.

“Sounds perfect.” You smiled.

likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated! ^_^ lmk if u wanna be apart of my perm tags list too!!

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress

[amirasainz]

What about amira was watching a show and it had steamy scenes and Carlos walk in as had a fit, quickly turning it off saying your just a baby, how dare someone make u watch this

Hi my loves. Enjoy reading and send some requests.

-xoxo, Babygirl 💋

P.S.: Shoutout to the person complaining anonymously about how I tag my stories in my requests 😘😘

Just a Baby

Carlos was home for a rare break between races, enjoying some time with his family in Madrid. His sister, Amira, had returned home from university for a few days, and they were both relaxing in the living room. Carlos was in the kitchen, grabbing a snack when he heard the unmistakable sound of a dramatic TV show playing in the background. Amira was deeply immersed in the latest binge-worthy series, curled up on the couch.

The show, however, had taken a rather unexpected turn. A spicy scene appeared on the screen, one that was definitely more "mature" in nature. Just as Amira’s eyes widened, both from surprise and perhaps slight embarrassment, Carlos walked into the room, munching on an apple.

“Amira! What are you watching?!” he exclaimed, nearly choking on his bite.

Amira fumbled with the remote, trying to skip ahead or find the mute button, her face flushing a bit. “It’s just a show, Carlitos. Relax! It’s nothing,” she said, desperately trying to act nonchalant as she struggled to fast forward through the scene.

Carlos marched over and snatched the remote out of her hand. "Nada?! Amira, I saw what was on the screen. You shouldn't be watching things like this! You’re still just a baby!"

Amira rolled her eyes, already anticipating what was about to come. “Carlos, I’m 21. I’m not a baby anymore,” she said, crossing her arms defiantly.

Carlos shook his head, pacing in front of the TV like a concerned father. "21? Oh, please. You still have a teddy bear in your room!" he pointed out, hoping to strengthen his case. "This... this stuff is for adults."

“News flash, genius,” Amira shot back, “I am an adult.”

Carlos’ eyes widened dramatically, as though she’d said something preposterous. “You? An adult?” He let out a chuckle. "Amira, come on. Last week you were asking me to help you change the light bulb in your room because you were scared you’d break it. That doesn’t scream ‘adult’ to me!”

Amira glared at him. “That was because it was really high up and I didn’t have a step stool!” she defended herself, her cheeks turning even pinker. “Besides, what’s the big deal? You’re acting like I haven’t seen—”

“Don’t. Even. Say it,” Carlos interrupted, waving his hands in the air like he was trying to ward off evil spirits. “I don’t want to hear that you’ve seen anything like that. It’s disgusting. Unbelievable. You're practically a baby. You should be watching cartoons or... or... I don't know, baking shows!”

Amira couldn’t help but laugh now, the absurdity of the situation catching up to her. “Baking shows? Are you serious, Carlitos?”

“Or documentaries!” Carlos added, as if he’d had a sudden epiphany. “Something educational, you know. Not… this.”

Amira threw her hands up. “Fine. Next time, I’ll be sure to watch ‘The History of Bread’ just to satisfy you.”

Carlos squinted at her, pointing the remote at the TV and clicking the power button. “You know what, I think I need to start reviewing your shows before you watch them. Like, as a precaution,” he said, sounding very serious.

Amira was now completely exasperated. "What, are you gonna start putting parental controls on the TV?"

"Don't tempt me," he said, raising an eyebrow.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The following weekend, Carlos was back in the paddock for the next Grand Prix, catching up with his fellow drivers. During a quiet moment in the hospitality area, he found himself relaying the entire incident to his teammate and good friend, Lando.

“So I walk in, and she’s watching this... this show,” Carlos explained animatedly, “and there’s this completely inappropriate scene playing. I mean, come on, Amira’s too young for that stuff.”

Lando listened with a grin spreading across his face, clearly enjoying Carlos’ overprotective older brother antics. “Wait,” he interrupted, holding up a hand to stop Carlos mid-rant. “Isn’t Amira 21 now?”

Carlos nodded vehemently. “Sí, but that doesn’t mean anything. She’s still practically a child, Lando.”

“Practically?” Lando’s grin grew wider. “Mate, she’s an adult. You know that, right?”

Carlos folded his arms and huffed. “She’s not mature enough to be watching that kind of content. I need to protect her.”

Lando chuckled mischievously, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “So… you think she’d do that with me?” he said casually, raising his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk.

Carlos’ reaction was instantaneous. “¿Qué? What did you just say?” His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched.

Lando, who knew exactly what he was doing, leaned back in his chair and stretched nonchalantly. “I mean, if she’s watching stuff like that, maybe she’s… you know… open to trying things. I could—”

Before Lando could finish, Carlos had already lunged across the table, his hands outstretched toward Lando’s neck. “¡Eres un idiota!” Carlos shouted as Lando sprang to his feet, barely avoiding Carlos' grip.

Lando’s laugh echoed down the paddock as he sprinted away, Carlos hot on his heels. “It was just a joke, mate!” Lando called back over his shoulder, dodging past a stack of tires.

“I’m going to kill you, Norris!” Carlos yelled, weaving through a group of engineers who quickly parted, sensing the chaos approaching.

Drivers and team members looked on in bewilderment as the scene unfolded. Lando dashed past Max, who raised an eyebrow. “What did you do this time?” Max asked dryly.

“Nothing!” Lando managed to get out between breaths. “Just complimented Carlos’ sister!”

Max’s face broke into a rare grin. “Good luck with that,” he said, stepping aside to let Carlos barrel past.

The chase continued all the way to the garage area, where Lando finally ducked behind a stack of equipment cases, hoping Carlos would lose sight of him. But Carlos was relentless, storming up and down the aisle.

“Come out and face me, coward!” Carlos called, his voice filled with mock fury. “Or are you afraid of what I’m going to do to you?”

Lando peeked out from behind a tire rack, his face still lit up with that boyish grin. “Okay, okay, I surrender! You win!” he said, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “Amira’s off-limits, I swear!”

Carlos, still catching his breath, pointed a finger at Lando. “If you so much as look at her, I will personally make sure you have to drive the car with three wheels, understood?”

Lando nodded, unable to keep a straight face. “Got it, boss,” he said, giving Carlos a mock salute. “You’re such a protective big brother, though. It’s actually kind of cute.”

Carlos groaned, rubbing a hand across his face. “Cute? I’ll show you cute,” he muttered, giving Lando one last glare before finally walking off.

As Carlos walked away, Lando whispered under his breath, “Bet Amira would say I’m cute, though…”

Carlos spun around one last time, but Lando had already disappeared, leaving Carlos shaking his head and muttering something about British troublemakers.

[humanjarvis]

my life is waiting for me

synopsis: a tour of the n109 zone goes awry.

tags: sylus tells mc about their lore for plot reasons, heavy angst, like mc’s straight up cruel to him bc they think he’s behind the explosion, sylus is too excited and sassy to be perceptive although he is in front of you most of the time, mc looks down on criminals & the n109 zone, there’s some kind of class tension in here which is interesting since he’s the rich one pairing: sylus x mc/reader (reader is mc but i’m assuming you won’t want to identify with them once u see) word count: 1.1k

a/n: this was an idea i had after his new world underneath story where it’s like “omg he was waiting for mc to come find him and live with him.” and in my head i was like well what if mc didn’t want to. and boom i wrote this in 2 hours. i don’t particularly like it and think it should be longer but don’t want to make it longer bc it hurt to write 

Sylus hadn’t meant to share the details of your past lives with you. 

It’d been a rare—extremely so—lapse in control, in patience. The years upon years of waiting for your return, of watching you from afar, of sending signals only you would know, had compounded, and compounded, and compounded again until his impulse had bested his brain. He’d spent so many of his hours calculating, planning ahead. For once in his cursed life, he’d wanted things to be simple. To tell you the truth, for you to understand, for you to stop glaring at him like a scuff on a white shoe. 

All things considered, you’d taken it…well. At least, taken it silently—which was a step up from screaming and trying to end him. 

He hadn’t gotten the chance to ask what you were thinking. The question had sat in the back of his throat like lead, weighing his tongue down, and before he could break free, you’d been out the door and on your way home.

But tonight, he had the chance to make it up to you. To make you see the life he’d built for you both in your absence—the luxury, authority, and immunity he’d curated just for you, sewing his bloodied self back together time and time again from the mere hope of being able to share something with you. Lasting, this time. 

Tonight, he’d introduce you to his territory. And by the end of it, it might be yours as well. 

You’d never been one to entertain distasteful ideas. Tonight must be a severe error in judgment.

One thing about that mobster, he was audacious. You’d been shocked when he’d contacted you again after spewing such an underhanded sob story about witches and dragons—a love you’d supposedly shared. You’d wondered where someone like him could have found a book of fairytales to steal that from. Wondered if he thought you naive enough to believe it. 

But still, you were kind enough to humor him, to join him for his grand tour of the N109 Zone. You’d sought him out for information, after all. And one way or another, you’d get it.

At least, that’s what you try to remind yourself as you weave through the swarm of rabble in the maroon-tinged dusk. The leering figures. The constant scuffles. The faint scent of iron that never left the air. 

“And this is the norm here?” you question, squeezing past the roughhousing gang of men to your left. Just an inch closer, and you would’ve made unwelcome contact. “This is how people…are?”

“Well, if you’ve never seen other people before, sweetie, we might have a much bigger problem on our hands.” There’s a buzz in his baritone voice, a foreign excitement threatening to burst through his suave exterior. For your sake, you hope it’s unrelated to the danger in the streets. But you wouldn’t be surprised. 

“Inconsequential sins aren’t worth damnation,” he says, voice raised from in front of you. “If you’re worried about your safety, I spend millions on security at every home and outpost. You’ll never know harm here.”

And he presses on. Oblivious to your revulsion, proud of his investments. 

“You enjoy it?” you ask, voice unnaturally even. 

“They make it a…thrilling place to live. You’re never too far from something interesting.” 

And as you wince at your reflection in a corner store window, the glass illuminated by the flashing lights of a siren inside, you believe him. 

The sickening crunch of bone on bone is your breaking point. 

It’s the highlight of the tour, he’d said—a boxing gym that he personally sponsors. Two fighters are sparring in the ring as you shuffle closer, reluctant steps falling behind his confident strides. 

A left hook and a throbbing welt. A right jab and a spray of blood. An uppercut and a flying tooth. 

It's vile.

His eyes gleam as he looks on with approval, and you dread the way his lips part, like he’s seconds from introducing you. 

Before he can catch their attention, you retreat to a too-dim street light just outside the entrance. Your resentment isn’t worth getting scooped up by a more aggressive predator. 

“You prefer basketball, I take it? Give me a list of your favorite players, and I’ll send them offers to form a team here. I’ll even let you pick the mascot, although I’m not sure the N109 Kittens would intimidate our rivals.” 

The laugh you spare him is hollow. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Water polo, then? I admit I didn’t take you for the ty—” 

“Why would I ever want to live here, Sylus?” 

A moment of silence. Then another. A few more.

As your words pierce him, the signature sounds of his kingdom grate your ears: the roar of speeding engines. The raucous laughter of hopeless drunks. The rushed footfalls of successful thieves. The hum of a commandeered power grid. 

He swallows. “I didn't realize it wasn't to your standards,” he says coolly. “I’ll consider a curfew, more regulations to keep people in check.”  

“Right,” you grin, and you can’t find the courtesy to subdue the scorn in your voice. “More laws will fix a land of criminals. A curfew can fix a culture.” 

You can see the sneer on your face in his glassy garnet eyes. 

“You spent all that time waiting for me, you said? And this was the best you could come up with? If a city of scum is how you show your love, then maybe I dodged a bullet all those years ago.” 

The words leave your mouth with relative ease, save for the inevitably awkward atmosphere. It wasn’t hard to renounce a life you’d never lived. 

But the man in front of you fails to mask his deflation. The slight recoil and crumbling composure. The sag in his once proud shoulders. The closing eyes and the deep exhale and the twitch in his idle hands. 

For a moment, you watch him, wondering if the man who’d ruined your life could be so easily defeated by a few barbs from a stranger. 

Another blink, though, and the moment has passed. 

“Is there anywhere else you’d like to go tonight, then?” His face and posture are neutral. Not restored, but recovered enough. If not for the tremor in his voice, you would think that you’d imagined his show of humanity. 

Despite it all, you’re relieved that he asks. Not enough to take back your words, but enough to keep your next ones civil.

“I’d like to go back to Linkon. Where my life is waiting for me.” 

[catsoupki]

A WARM SHOWER (1.5K)

pairing - katsuki bakugou x reader

synopsis - bakugou spends his off-day at the cemetery until the sky clears.

cw - pro-hero bakugou, side character death, reader has a quirk, female pronouns, hurt/comfort, reuniting

a/n - sorry for disappearing for so long ... :( school has just been an ass but enjoy this ! i'll try to do sth for 420 too !

taglist - @staraxiaa @hatsukeii @cashmoneyyysstuff i miss u guys sm i hope you're doing well

Bakugou’s feet are firmly planted on the moss-covered concrete, he stares at the tiles, worn down by the weather. When he returns to his upright position, there was a brief window of time when the umbrella on his shoulder couldn’t shield him from the rain. His hair whips like sand in the wind, back and forth with force. He looks at the bouquet of flowers he’s laid down, drenched down to the stem, leaves somehow still attached despite everything. Petals of white, pink and yellow stand out like a sore thumb on the muted grave. Sighing, he doesn’t hear his own voice. He lets his mind meander, and, he briefly wonders how sad you are. It’s been raining non-stop for the past three days, grey clouds never letting the sunshine through, not even for a moment. 

He looks back at the tombstone, your last name etched onto gravelly stone, an unexplained sense of heaviness seeps into his eyes. He entertains a guilty, fleeting thought— he’s glad your sister is dead. A child shouldn’t die, he knows that more than anyone else, but the selfish part of him, the unheroic side, is glad that you’re alive. It doesn’t matter, not as much, that you aren’t alive with him. But the fact that you’re existing, out there, outside of a coffin, above the ground, doing something mundane, like going to work and washing the dishes, it instils comfort into him like no other. 

Sure, he would have rathered that you went to work with him, or that you did the dishes with him, but the fact that you can keeps his feet planted on the mossy earth. 

He’s bowed thrice by now, and he should be lighting the candles in front of your sister’s tomb next, but the rain prevents him from doing so, let alone the howling wind, sending trees swaying, threatening to tumble down. 

He looks at the picture of your smiling sister, a person he’s met twice, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing here. It’s Wednesday, and it’s his off-day. Why is he spending the time he gets off the clock here servicing you and your sister? 

She was a really quiet child, she never screamed or cried, her voice was always soft. Social anxiety had its grip on her from a young age, almost rendering her unfit for public school, but she insisted on going to the same one that you went to. You’d always tell him about the story of her first day in middle school. He had heard that story many times, but he’d listen to you intently as if it were unheard of. 

“She gripped onto my dress until she tore a hole through the fabric, it was my favourite one! But she was so scared. I didn’t know what to do, I couldn’t leave her behind but I was gonna be late to work. I didn’t want her to get bullied for needing her sister to walk her everywhere, so I settled with a deal. I told her that I’d be there first thing when school finished. And I was! I was the first person in line that day, packed like a damn sardine by the parents, I even had to take a half-day off ‘cause school ends so early apparently. But her toothy grin makes it worth it.” 

She never made it to her first day of high school, and you stopped talking about that story after she died. Bakugou wishes that he could’ve had more time to spend with your sister, he wishes that he could’ve been around her more, he wishes that he would’ve been known as her uncle. 

This longing for something that never was strangles his heart like Tomura had, regret, rue, wishful thinking. He knows that his next day isn’t guaranteed, not when he’s a hero. The people need Him, the nation needs Him, and they outweighed you. A stupid mistake on his part, and if he could rewind time so he’s standing in your studio apartment again, he would have caught your hand and never let go. His quirk isn’t about time, though, instead it’s about leaving destruction in his wake, reducing the things around him to ruins beyond recognition. 

He left because he feared for you whenever his name is scorched onto alleyways by villains out for blood, whenever his moniker is used in conjunction with a threat, an ultimatum that if he doesn’t surrender, they’ll find out where his secret lover is and dismember her limb by limb. 

He never lets these scum get close to you, your name, or your family. But it was enough for something in him to awaken. Dynamight isn’t known for His trepidatious nature, He was known for always winning; He is victory reincarnated. But Katsuki was too late, the feelings had long been seeded (so the villain did win, after all), it sprouted, took form until the roots ran long and deep into his beliefs. Ugly, green vines wrapped around his spine until he suffocated, until he had to cede his love to you; unwillingly; involuntarily; 

In his head, he had begged you to shout at him angrily, to scratch at him with ferocity, and maybe then his own persuasion to leave you behind would have hurt less. It was morning in that studio apartment, a late one, you lounged in sleepwear as he prepared breakfast. You probably noticed his unease but decided he’d come to you eventually. You sat on the couch, crossed legged. Sunlight danced on your face, eyes bright, vehement, under the golden streaks of warmth. He, back then, had stood in the kitchenette, a space obviously not built for him, too large of a torso, too tall a frame. He didn’t care, before, he would’ve bent down until his back ached and soured if it meant cooking for you. He had stood in the shadows, shy of your light. 

This conversation never comes easy, but it’s one that is well rehearsed in the confines of your homes, his agency, and over the phone. He always loses, no matter what you say, objective points, arguments, frustration-fuelled statements, he never gets past you when it starts showing on your face. He tried to look away from you, but your stubbornness keeps him losing. He forfeits when your eyebrows begin to scrunch and your lips pout. He loses, every single time. 

You thought that this would be no different. Levity evident in your voice as you danced around the topic, but you hadn’t seen what he‘s seen, you hadn’t heard what he’s heard. Echoes of that nobody’s warning haunt his everyday life, when he showers, when he eats, and when he sleeps. 

He won, but for the first time, he was upset. You fought back with all that you had, threw arguments at him that were impossible to dismantle, insistence bleeding through your hoarse voice, he was on the brink of defeat. But He wins, Dynamight wins. 

He leaves destruction in his wake. 

It’s been raining non-stop for the past three days, grey clouds never letting the sunshine through, not even for a moment. He’s dedicated enough of his time here, servicing a debt that’s unending, so he calls it a day. Sighing, he doesn’t hear his own apology in the rain. With an umbrella on his shoulder and regret at his throat, he’s going to walk away. 

“Katsu?” 

The black umbrella in his grip turns obsolete as sunlight filters through a cleared, blue sky. Warmth inundates him. 

He looks at the discarded bouquet of flowers on the moss-covered tiles, petals of white, pink and yellow standing out like a sore thumb in a sea of muted colours. 

He sees you, the edges of your body smudging in the sunlight, blurred floral patterns on your dress, is he crying? 

He doesn’t speak, suppressed by the fear that wraps around him like a noose, maybe his voice would scare the ghost of you away. 

Your shoes click against the slippery, moist floor. He wants to tell you be careful, don’t get hurt. Thuds ring in the cemetery, trees still dancing as a slight wind blows. You look bright, vehement, in the streaks of golden light. It took you ten seconds, longer than a century, to reach Bakugou. He closes his eyes. It hurts. It hurts. The world is cruel for playing this joke on him. Regret, rue, wishful thinking. With trembling hands, you reach for his skin, tickling the scars that tell a story bigger than you and him. The wrinkle between his brow settles, “you’re here.” 

He says, more so to convince himself, “you’re here.” to will itself into reality. The rain that had poured down on him like salvation is replaced by the intangible sunlight that washes over him like penance. He chases after atonement blindly, wildly, perhaps as a form of Sisyphean punishment for the hurt he had dared slain on you. It doesn’t matter, you’d say, because you’re here, now. You exist, beyond tree roots and above grass, in his arms. With your lips on his and your fingers on him, you're here now, bathing in sunlight, shy of rain. You’re vehement in his grasp.

thank you for reading ! i hope you enjoyed it, all interactions appreciated, have a wonderful day <3

[r7leee]

shout | d.f.

this idea has been eating away at me oh my GOD

pairing: top!dominic fike x bottom!fem!reader

summary: complaining about being away from dominic, you accompany him on a trip to the studio. little do you know what that’ll entail

warnings: cursing, smut!!! teasing???, breast play, fingering, oral (m and f receiving) p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), lots of fun stuff

word count: 3,051, should take about 23 and a half minutes to read (whoops)

“WHAT’S THAT ONE do?” you were currently standing in the recording studio with your boyfriend after he begrudgingly allowed you to accompany him. you were standing at the control panel, eyes wide in awe from the array of buttons.

dominic snickered at you, fascinated. “honestly? i have no fuckin’ clue.” you turned around, a small look of suspicion in your face.

“for real?” he nodded.

“for real.” you shook your head with a small tsk.

“you think there’s like, an owner’s manual or something in here?” you were part joking and part serious, genuinely curious as to what the the button did. dominic laughed as you searched around the room. his arms rested lazily on your waist as he spoke.

“it’s not a car, y/n.”

“let me entertain myself,” you whined, turning around to face him.

“entertain yourself? you need to entertain yourself after you begged me on your hands and knees to come?”

“what? no, i don’t beg.”

dominic knew you were bullshitting. he knew you were because, for one, you had been just a few hours prior.

it was a calm morning. you were laying in bed, drinking your morning tea and scrolling through your phone. dominic was on the other side of the room, changing out of his clothes. it wasn’t like him to get ready so early; he usually didn’t change until noon. “you going somewhere?” you asked, looking up at him.

“ya. needa head to the studio today and start working on the album.” your face immediately turned into pout.

“but i don’t want you to leave…” you watched as he slipped off his shirt and threw on a new one, undoubtedly staring at his toned physique. you knew you’d yearn to lay your head on his chest, staring up in his eyes.

“i’m sorry, babe, but i’ve gotta get this done. actually feeling like going today.”

“but dommmmm,” you whined, your phone fully down. “we can just, like, watch a movie. i have off today.”

he always found it cute when you did this. if he had half a brain, he’d get right back in bed with you and kiss you senseless. but he knew he couldn’t. “you can’t say anything to make me not go,” he said, sliding a tee over his shoulders.

you knew how important this was to him, meaning you probably shouldn’t press him to stay. so, you took an alternative. “can i at least go with you?” you pleaded with him.

his eyebrows raised at the prospect. honestly, it wasn’t a bad idea. but, he knew you’d be clinging to him the whole time, trying to be next to him. if you could just sit there and look pretty…

“okay. but only if you promise to not be a bother.”

“when am i ever a bother?” you asked, though your words were lighthearted. you knew you could never truly annoy him.

he just shook his head. “don’t be coy.”

so, ya, you were lying. dominic retold the story to you as he turned the controls on, prepping for his work. you, on the other hand, were stunned. “that’s not begging!”

“that is like, the textbook definition of begging, babe,” he said, trying to make his point heard. he was busy getting set up and ready to recording.

you just shook your head and sat back. “make it sound like i have some dignity,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself. though, you swore you could see a hint of a smile on his pretty lips.

after a little while longer, dominic was finished setting up and ready to record. he opened up his phone to the notes app, where he kept all his ideas. he scrolled through, softly humming as he found the song he wanted to record.

begrudgingly to you, he walked away and into the studio. with the click of a button, a quick vocal warm-up, and after putting on headphones, he was ready to start. he took a deep breath before singing softly into the microphone.

this song was new. unlike anything you’d heard before. an obvious perk of being dominic’s girlfriend, you heard all his songs before anyone else. you were glad for that because you were sure this one was bound to be one of your favorites.

after a little while, he stopped to take a break. the loss of contact was getting to you, and there was just something about him when he was singing…

dominic strode over to you, the door to the recording room still open, and grabbed his water bottle, taking a sip. meanwhile, you snuck up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist. “you’re doing good…like, really good,” you mumbled lowly.

he smiled, turning around so now he was facing you. so now he was the one holding your waist. “when am i not?” he quipped, though his tone was lighthearted.

you glared at him, though again, it was light. “shut up.”

“make me,” he shot back. so you did.

without a second thought, you pressed your lips against his. he was a bit taken aback, but he quickly melted into it, kissing you back. at first it was soft and simple. just a little contact.

but, that quickly changed. some kind of fire lit inside you both that could only be put out by closeness. you sloppily pressed your lips against his as you backed him against the wall.

he pulled away for a second, leaving you cut off. he reached to trace your bottom lip gently with his thumb. “see…i know you beg.” his hand slid down to cup your jaw. “i know because if i were to just…” his hand ventured farther. down your side and to the waistband of your sweatpants. he took the elastic between his fingers, pulling softly. “you’d want me to take them off. wouldn’t you?”

you wanted him to be wrong. but the way his fingers just teased the outside of it, pulling the fabric just to let go and have it snap back in place…

you shook your head, wanting to win this little game. “you wouldn’t fuck me in here,” you said, biting your lip. all he did was snicker softly.

“you sure?”

for a couple seconds, the only sound in the room was your panting and ringing in your ears from your heart pounding. your heart pounding because you knew he was right. he always was.

so you wrapped your arms around his neck. tangled your fingers in his hair. and with a sigh, your voice almost a whisper, you asked. “please?”

and he did. within a second, your lips were on his in a messy tangle yet again. it was all teeth and spit. his hands fumbled, cupping your boobs. he kept kissing you, feeling you up. god, it made you clench your thighs tight.

he pulled away just for a second to mumble, “take it off f’me.” quickly, you became distracted with the straps of your tank top.

in those split seconds, dominic had an idea. it made his heart start pounding just a bit faster. without thinking, he quickly reached over the console and pressed a button.

you didn’t even notice, too busy slipping the shirt up and over your head. he mumbled a soft “fuuuuck” at the sight of you in your lacy, black bra. “just fuckin’ teasing me, baby…on the couch.”

you didn’t need to be told twice. immediately, you were laying on the small, leather couch on the other end of the studio. dominic quickly followed, trapping you to the couch. his toned arms always came in handy for things like this.

immediately, his lips were back on yours, the intensity still evident. when he pulled away, your lips were red, puffy, and shiny from spit. his lips didn’t leave you, though. instead, they trailed down your neck, his breath hot and heavy in his wake.

a long, guttural groan was pulled from your throat as he pressed a deep kiss on that one spot on your neck. the one that made you shiver. “fuck…” you softly whined, your hands finding their way into his soft curls.

he just looked up at you with a shit-eating grin. fucker.

he didn’t take up much time there, though. he had other plans.

dominic slid his hands behind your back, propping you up on the couch. he sat up as well, quickly freeing your tits from the confines of your bra. he took them between his rough, calloused hands.

he just kneaded for a couple seconds, causing you to bite your lip. he rubbed the pads of his thumbs over your nipples in tight circles, making their peaks stiffen.

you felt the heat between your thighs grow, shifting so you could rub them together for a bit of friction.

he was quick to notice with a snarky remark. “so impatient, huh? just want it so bad, i’m sure.” his hands slid softly down your sides, resting on your hips before taking the fabric of your sweatpants and pulling them down.

with one swift motion, your panties and pants were discarded, somewhere on the floor. that was an issue for later.

dominic’s hands slowly trailed down your thighs. you swore he couldn’t go any slower. once he finally reached where you were waiting for, he slid your legs apart.

it was no surprise you were soaking. you could have been leaking onto the couch. dominic just chuckled and placed a single finger on your clit.

with the slightest bit of pressure, he rubbed in a small circle. once you started whining and bucking your hips, he extended the circle like a spiral, leading out. denying you what you wanted.

his finger traced the outside of your lips before stopping entirely. you looked up at him, all the air gone from your lungs. “dom, what the fuck-”

“hey, hey, hey. i’m gonna get there, dont’chu worry. patience.”

he often did this: just teased you senseless. but you knew it would always end up with you being more than satisfied.

he repeated his actions, but this time, going back in. going from tracing your lips back towards your heat, until finally, he reached your clit.

his finger traced it, pressing down, eliciting the tiniest little moan from you. with his other hand, he teased your entrance in the same little circles. it drove you crazy.

you were about to retaliate, to tell him to hurry it up, but your words caught in your throat as his fingers dipped inside you. the syllables dissolved and turned to a soft groan, ripping through you.

slowly, his finger worked inside you, hitting your walls so nicely. it didn’t take long for him to add another, going a bit faster.

you bucked your hips so greedily when he hit that spongy spot inside of you. he chuckled, low and satisfied. “ya? that feels good, huh?” he kept curling his fingers up.

all the while, his other finger kept circling your bud. you swore you could feel shock waves from it. it felt so good it hit you hard when he stopped. your eyes snapped open, only to be met with the sight of his head. now between your thighs. holy shit.

without any warning, his lips were now around your clit while he kept working your pussy. you swore you could cum right then.

his eyes looked up at you so sweetly, a stark contrast from the absolute damage he was doing to your clit. licking and sucking and pulling it between his teeth.

his mouth combined with his fingers still curling inside you made it hard for you to stay together. “dom, dom, i’m- fuck, i’m close.”

he pulled away from your pussy for a second. “then do it.”

with his permission, your thighs clenched around dominic’s head so tight you were sure it would pop right off. your moans got louder until they got stuck in your throat, the ecstasy washing over you.

after a couple seconds, you could feel only the bliss from your orgasm. but, eventually, the white faded and dominic let off of you. you sat up as he looked in your eyes. “you’re hard, aren’t you?”

with the straightest face you’d ever seen him have, he replied. “ya.” that made you burst out in laughter. dominic looked down at you, surprised.

“what?” he asked. you kept laughing, clutching the couch.

“i don’t know! it’s just…damn, okay.” he just stood there, mouth open before shaking his head.

“you’re a mystery.”

“no, i’m not. take off your pants.”

the sudden switch caught him slightly off guard, but he complied, zipping the fly of his jeans down and pulling them off. he pulled his boxers along down with them, revealing, as you’d expected, his hard on.

he sat back on the couch, while you kneeled on the floor below him.

you started slowly. just licking a single line up the shaft. he groaned, immediately wrapping his fingers in your hair.

you worked your way back down, swirling your tongue around the tip, tasting the precum that lay there. it was then you decided to take him.

your lips wrapped so perfectly around his dick. he always loved that. seeing you take him in your mouth. he thought it was the hottest thing ever.

you bobbed slowly, up and down, up and down. “fuuuuuck, baby. ya, that’s it. that’s it, you’re doing good…” the praise went right between your thighs, making you shuffle around again.

his hands continued to weave in your hair. they pushed your head further, further, until you could feel the drool running down your face. he loved when your face was sloppy like this.

he kept this up for a bit before he suddenly pulled away. “i don’t wanna cum like this. come on, up.”

yes.

you quickly got up to join him on the couch. “come on, on your back.”

you listened to his command and laid on your back. legs spread. ready for him.

and, god was he ready for you, too.

it took him all but a few seconds to get inside you and bottom out completely. the sudden adjustment made you let out a long moan. this was where you wanted to be. wrapped around him. literally.

he gave you a few seconds to adjust, moving to get in a better position. when you let out a shaky “okay,” he was ready.

he started slow, but deep. his strokes hit just the right spots in you. making you swear you could feel it in your stomach. you threw your head back as he, too, moaned. “you feel so good around me baby. sooo fuckin’ good,” he sang praise.

his pace only heightened from there. getting faster, his thighs started to slap against yours. your body moved back, tits bouncing as he got rougher. faster. harder.

the whole time, you were in bliss. feeling his dick pound into you. you had completely forgotten you were there: fucking on his studio’s couch. there wasn’t any thoughts in your brain besides him and his dick filling you up then going out then filling you up all over again.

and even if you could think, you wouldn’t care. not when he moved your legs to wrap around his waist, hitting a completely new angle. one that made his tip press against your cervix.

his breathing was hot and heavy. you could tell he was getting close. and dominic was a gentleman; you always needed to cum before he did.

so, to help him out a little, you reached down and started rubbing your clit. the bundle of nerves ached under your touch, but it only made you moan louder. you weren’t sure how nobody was hearing this.

it didn’t take long for you to get close again, too. certainly not with the way his hips were all but slamming into you now. “you close, baby?” he asked, feeling you tightening around him.

“ya…ya, ya, dom, keep doing that.” you felt yourself getting closer to the brink. the feeling of his thrusts intensified tenfold.

boy, did he listen. his grunts increased and your moans became higher and higher pitched until you couldn’t take it anymore.

the knot in your stomach exploded and you moaned loud. dominic held you through it, helping you ride out your orgasm. the wave was high as your eyes were screwed shut.

it took a second, but once you came back down, dominic slipped out of you. he took his cock, between his hand pumping it a few times before his own release laid across your stomach.

he collapsed on the couch right next to you. all you could hear was the sound of your heavy breathing. you couldn’t believe you just did that. you just fucked in the studio. hard.

your boyfriend laid next to you and started gently caressing your shoulder. “you okay? you need anything?” you just shook your head, still basking in it all. he snickered and kissed your head.

he stood up, finding his boxers on the floor. funnily enough, they were somewhere near the control panel.

he slid them on, putting one foot in then the other. “so…you wanna hear something cool?”

you snapped out of your daze, turning only your head to look at him. your body was too tired to do much else.

you quirked an eyebrow. and with the same grin he wore all day, he pressed a couple of buttons until a sound was heard.

you couldn’t quite decipher it at first. just shuffling. it wasn’t until dominic moved forward on the track that you heard something else.

your heart dropped. was that…a moan? the audio kept playing. the sounds of your loud, deep moans echoed in your ears. oh my god.

your boyfriend had just recorded you having sex.

there were no words you could muster as he fast forwarded even more, the sounds of his grunts and the slapping of skin against skin now evident. it was so lewd, yet you couldn’t even argue with him. it was kind of hot.

“dom…” the words died in your throat. the audio kept looping in the background. “what- what are you even gonna do with that?”

he just shrugged, clicking his tongue. “i dunno. might wanna pay extra close attention in the new album, ya?”

[arkaiveofurown]

i have like 4 diff requests in my mind but idk which i want most so imma try and combine them 🙂‍↕️

if possible, sabo x fem!strawhat!princess!childhoodfriend(??) 😃

im imagining sabo met her when he joined the revolutionary army when he was like 13 and met her on some island that was an ally of the revolutionaries(??? idk im so sorry) just coincidental that she joined sabos brothers crew and that makes him so happy m

ne ways

shes a strawhat, and i lowk just wanna see them reunite, just happily ended up on the same island. yk they’re both lowk busy- sabo chief of staff and miss y/n a strawhat, but i imagine they send each other letters and talk on the den den mushi sometimes 🙂‍↕️ maybe some smut, maybe some fluff 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

A Promise Across Time

Pairing: Sabo x Reader

After years of being apart, you and Sabo, childhood friends, unexpectedly reunite when you both end up on the same island. Between your busy lives, the bond you once shared is reignited.

Word Count: ~6,000 words

tags: fluff, childhood friends to lovers, very mild smut

my master list here ♡

——

a/n: thank you for this cute request! sabo is one of my faves so i love writing about him. anw sorry for the very mild smut i’m still not used to it.. haha maybe soon i can write a full one! but hope u like it still :)

——

The Revolutionary Army had visited your island only twice in your lifetime. The second time changed everything.

You were thirteen. A firecracker of a girl—barefoot, grass-stained, and too sharp-tongued for the noble title you hadn’t asked for. Your island, a neutral ally to the Revolutionaries, had always been peaceful, quiet. Boring, honestly.

Until he arrived.

“What’s your name?” you asked the blond boy with soot on his cheeks and a pipe strapped to his back. He’d just finished showing off some half-baked martial arts to a group of island kids.

He turned, startled by your directness. “Sabo.”

“That’s a dumb name.”

“You’re kinda rude for a princess.”

You grinned. “You’re kinda soft for a revolutionary.”

He stared at you—then laughed. A clear, surprised sound. “You wanna see the secret passage I found under the governor’s garden?”

You did.

You spent a few weeks with him. Racing through trees, trading stories, laughing until your ribs hurt. You taught him how to pick the garden locks with a hairpin; he showed you how to swing from the old rope bridge at the edge of the ravine. You never asked what he was running from. He never asked why you hid dirt under your fingernails and scraped your knees on purpose.

He was clever—sharper than any boy you’d met—and far too serious when he thought you weren’t watching. Sometimes you’d catch him staring out at the sea with his jaw clenched, like it owed him something.

You never pressed him about it.

The night before he left, the two of you sat beneath the half-finished bell tower, feet dangling off the ledge, the sky thick with stars. The kind of silence between you was rare—heavy, but not uncomfortable.

“I’m not gonna stay here,” you said quietly, picking at a fraying thread on your skirt.

“I didn’t think you would.” He glanced at you. “You’re not really the noble type.”

“Yeah. How about you? Any plans?”

He shifted, looking at his boots for a moment, before lifting his gaze to the night sky. “I’m not sure where I belong yet.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Does anyone?”

He looked at you, a hint of uncertainty in his expression. “Guess not.”

The next morning, neither of you said goodbye.

You climbed a tree near the port instead, watching from the branches as the Revolutionary ship began to pull away. He stood at the railing, gripping the edge like he wasn’t sure whether to jump or wave or just stare.

And he did stare—right at your tree, even though you were sure he couldn’t see you through the leaves.

As the wind pulled at his coat and the ship turned toward the horizon, Sabo felt something deep in his chest—something strange and warm. The thought lingered in his mind:

I will marry her someday. That’s a promise.

He didn’t remember much from his life before joining the Revolutionary Army. Pieces of his past were shattered, lost in the flames of his childhood accident.

But now, no matter what happened, he was sure you are someone he would never forget.

——

The newspaper hit the desk with a soft thud, but it might as well have been a gunshot with how fast Sabo sat up.

He’d only meant to skim the headlines—another World Government scandal—but his eyes snagged on the image like a hook in the gut.

A group photo. Grainy, low-quality, and clearly taken mid-battle. The Straw Hat Pirates—grinning, bruised, chaotic as always.

But one face stopped everything.

Hair a little longer, body older—but it was you. No doubt in his mind. No hesitation. The same eyes, the same smile that he hadn’t seen since he was thirteen.

Sabo’s fingers trembled as he touched the edge of the photo.

Sabo’s fingers trembled as he touched the edge of the photo.

He wanted to go and see you.

He needed to.

His hand curled into a fist over the page, brow furrowed. You were standing next to the Straw Hat captain—Luffy, right?

He was happy you’d gotten away from all that noble shit.

Happy that you’d made your own choice.

That you were free.

——

Sabo stood amidst the wreckage of the colosseum, the cheers of the crowd still ringing in his ears. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere. His mind was flooded with memories—the ones he had regained a few weeks ago.. after Ace’s death.

Luffy… His brother. The brother he had forgotten but was now so sure of. The brother whose smile was forever etched into his soul.

Earlier, he had met Luffy again, a heartfelt reunion that shook him to his core. Luffy, who had been fighting so fiercely to avenge Ace, was his brother. And Sabo was proud of him.

But there was another thought that filled him with happiness, a quiet relief that made his chest feel light: You. The girl who had once been his closest companion, the one who had made him laugh beneath the shade of trees and shared his childhood secrets… You had ended up in Luffy’s crew.

He didn’t know exactly when it happened, but one thing was certain: you were with Luffy now, and that gave him peace. He knew Luffy would take care of you—he always had. He was certain that, just like Luffy, you were as tough and free as the wind, fighting alongside him and the others.

Sabo was still trying to process everything, trying to take it all in when a familiar voice rang through the air.

“Hey, Sabo!”

Sabo turned, the sound of Luffy’s voice pulling him from his thoughts. Luffy stood there, grinning widely as usual, his straw hat perched proudly atop his head. But it wasn’t just Luffy standing there.

To the side, a little further away, there you were. You.

Sabo’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked, staring at you, unable to fully process the sight of you standing there, so unexpectedly. You looked different—more mature, more seasoned by the seas—but that same spark in your eyes was unmistakable.

“Y/N…?” Sabo’s voice was barely above a whisper.

You seemed just as stunned, blinking in surprise before your expression softened. “Sabo…?”

A smile crept onto his face despite the shock. “Yeah… it’s really you.”

You took a step closer, still hesitant, as if unsure whether to bridge the gap between you. “I didn’t know you’d be here… in Dressrosa.”

Sabo shrugged, trying to act nonchalant despite the warmth spreading across his face. “I didn’t expect to see you here either… but I’m glad you’re with Luffy.”

You nodded, the words catching in your throat as you struggled to hold back the flood of emotions. “Yeah… I didn’t expect it either. But… I’m glad you’re okay.”

There was a beat of silence before Sabo spoke again, voice quieter. “I used to wonder a lot, you know… what you were up to. Where you’d gone.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You did?”

He nodded, glancing to the side. “I even went back to your island once… years later. Hoping to see you.” He let out a soft breath. “But you weren’t there anymore.”

You bit your lip. “I waited… for a while, after you left. Thought maybe one day, you’d come back.”

Sabo looked at you, guilt flashing briefly in his eyes.

“But I get it,” you said gently, cutting through the silence. “You were with the Revolutionary Army. You couldn’t exactly come and go freely… we were just kids. I knew it wasn’t up to you.”

His expression softened. “I still wish I had… I missed you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a thousand emotions surging all at once. You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice caught.

“…I missed you too,” your breath hitched, cheeks heating.

Both of you looked away at the same time, flushed and a little awkward, but smiling despite it.

Luffy, who had wandered back holding a giant drumstick, blinked between the two of you. “Huh? What’s with the both of you? You guys are acting weird.”

You both jumped slightly, startled.

“We’re not!” you said quickly.

Sabo cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… catching up, like I said.”

Luffy tilted his head. “Weird catching up.” He shrugged and took a huge bite of his meat. “Anyway, wanna eat?”

You and Sabo exchanged a look—half embarrassed, half amused.

“Sure,” you said, voice still a little soft.

“Yeah,” Sabo added, his eyes lingering on you for just a second longer. “Sounds good.”

And just like that, with the warmth of old feelings rekindled and Luffy still blissfully clueless, the world started moving again around the two of you.

——

A soft wind passed between you, warm against your skin. The chaos of Dressrosa—battle aftermath, shouting, the clatter of repairs and movement—seemed to fade into a distant hum. Here, in this little corner of quiet, it was just you and him.

Sabo looked down at your hand, then back up. “You really didn’t forget me?”

You shook your head slowly. “Not for a second.”

He swallowed. “I thought maybe you would.”

You smiled faintly. “Idiot. You were the hardest person to forget.”

He let out a quiet laugh, cheeks faintly pink, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know what I thought I’d say if I saw you again. I tried to imagine it, but…”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice a little breathless. “Same.”

The silence returned, but it was a good kind. A warm kind. The kind that came from people who once shared something important and were just now realizing they still did.

Sabo looked out at the sky, a little smile playing on his lips. “Feels like we were thirteen yesterday.”

You tilted your head slightly. “Except now you’re taller. And your hat’s cooler.”

He laughed. “Oh, so that’s what you noticed first?”

“No,” you said, glancing away quickly, face flushing. “…It was your smile.”

That stopped him cold. His breath caught just slightly as he turned to look at you again, softer than before, quieter.

You didn’t dare meet his eyes.

“…I really missed you,” he said again, almost like he couldn’t stop himself. “And I don’t wanna lose you again.”

Your eyes met his this time, sure and steady. “You won’t.”

He pulled something from his coat—folded paper, already slightly worn. A Vivre Card. “Here. So you’ll always know where I am.”

You blinked, then smiled and tore a piece from your own, offering it in return. “And now you’ll always know where I am too.”

Your fingers brushed as you traded pieces.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then you both laughed quietly, awkward and warm.

——

Weeks had passed since your reunion with Sabo.

A folded letter arrived with a bird messenger. Luffy had just shouted something about meat when the paper was handed to you.

Your heart skipped. You recognized the handwriting instantly.

Hey,

I don’t even know where to start. I don’t really do this kind of thing, so forgive me if it’s awkward. But I figured if I can’t talk to you often, I can at least write.

I hope you’re safe. I bet you’re giving Luffy hell when he’s being reckless—which, knowing him, is probably every five minutes.

Things are busy here, but I keep thinking about that day in Dressrosa. I didn’t get to say everything I wanted to. Not even close. So… I’ll keep trying, letter by letter.

Take care of yourself. Seriously.

— Sabo

You read it three times before finally tucking it away in your coat pocket, smile lingering.

You wrote back that night.

Dear Firebrain,

Your handwriting is as messy as I remember. I had to squint at half the words.

But… I’m glad you wrote. It’s strange not having you around after seeing you again. I didn’t realize how much I missed you until you left.

Luffy is exactly like you guessed. He picked a fight with a sea king because “it looked funny.” He’s fine, of course. But yes, I’m yelling at him enough for both of us.

Stay safe too, Sabo. I want to hear from you again soon.

— Your tree-climbing partner

You were both busy—him with the Revolutionary Army, you with the Straw Hats—but you never missed a chance to write. As days turned to weeks, the missing grew heavier, settling somewhere quiet between each letter exchanged.

One afternoon, another letter arrived. You unfolded the worn page carefully, eyes already searching for his handwriting:

I’ve been thinking about you more than I probably should.

Some nights, when everything goes quiet, I wonder what you’re looking at—what ocean, what sky. I tell myself it’s the same stars. I like believing that.

I thought it’d get easier after seeing you again… but it didn’t. Now I just know exactly what I’m missing.

The others tease me for spacing out lately. I don’t tell them it’s because I’m thinking about your voice, your laugh, your stupid jokes.

I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re smiling.

I want to see you again. I want to tell you something.

Write back soon. Please.

— Sabo

You replied;

Dear Sabo,

You always knew how to make things harder, didn’t you?

I read your letter three times. Then a fourth. I didn’t want it to end.

I’ve been missing you too. More than I thought I would. It’s like I saw you, and now every part of me is stuck back in that moment—back to when we were just kids under the trees, or standing in the quiet after Dressrosa.

Luffy asked why I was smiling like an idiot the other day. I told him it was nothing. (It wasn’t nothing. It was you.)

I wish I could see you again soon too. I don’t know when, or how, but I’ll be waiting. Just keep that Vivre Card close. I’ll be following where it leads too.

Write again. Always.

— Y/N

——

The day had finally come. You’d kept up with the letters, the occasional updates, but nothing compared to this. Seeing him again—seeing Sabo in person—was a feeling you couldn’t put into words.

As soon as you saw him, standing there with that familiar smile, it was like everything around you disappeared. Without thinking, you rushed toward him, heart pounding in your chest, and hugged him tightly.

Sabo’s eyes widened in surprise, but in an instant, his arms were around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You couldn’t help but bury your face against his shoulder, feeling his warmth, his presence that you’d missed so much in such a short time.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice a little shaky. “You miss me that much?” he teased.

You pulled back just slightly, eyes still locked on him. “I was gonna ask you the same thing,” you laughed softly, still feeling like you were dreaming.

He grinned, then his smile faltered as he hesitated. “Yeah… I missed you.”

Your heart melted. “I missed you too,” you whispered, taking a deep breath, your words nearly stuck in your throat.

Sabo looked at you seriously for a moment, the playful smile slipping away. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to say… something I should’ve said a while ago.”

You blinked, suddenly nervous. “What is it?”

Sabo swallowed, his gaze dropping for a brief second before locking back onto yours. “I’ve liked you… for a long time. Even when we were kids. I… I always have.” He shifted a little, looking shy, unsure of how to continue. “I’ve just never had the guts to say it before.”

You felt your heart race at his confession, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I… I’ve felt the same.”

A wave of relief washed over his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice a little softer now, almost shy.

You nodded, stepping closer to him, not wanting to let this moment slip away. “Yeah.”

Without another word, he leaned down and kissed you gently. The world seemed to disappear around you, and for that brief moment, everything felt right again.

But then, suddenly, a loud cheer erupted from behind you.

“Y/N! You’re my sister now?! I can’t believe it! Hahahaha!” Luffy’s voice echoed across the area, completely unaware of the moment he’d just interrupted.

Sabo glared over his shoulder, shooting a sharp look at Luffy and the rest of the crew who were now openly cheering and grinning like they’d just watched the final scene of a romance drama. “You fools! I thought you were going to give us some privacy!”

“Don’t expect anything from them,” you sighed, rolling your eyes but smiling at the same time.

Luffy just laughed louder, completely unbothered, while the others chuckled.

Sabo turned back to you, his expression softening. “Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter,” you suggested. “We still have a lot to talk about.”

You led him away, to your room, where the noise of the crew faded away. Once the door was closed behind you, the space was filled with an intense, quiet anticipation.

You both exchanged a glance before Sabo gently cupped your face, his thumb traced slow circles against your skin. “I never thought this would happen, you know? But I’m so glad it did.”

You could feel your pulse hammering, a wild drumbeat in your chest, and his eyes—those damn stormy eyes—locked onto yours with a heat that made your knees weak.

“I’ve waited too long for this,” he murmured, voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver racing down your spine. Have you ever felt a moment so raw, so electric, that it steals your breath?

His lips crashed into yours again, not gentle this time, but fierce, desperate, as if he could pour every unspoken word from all those lost years into this single kiss.

You gasped against his mouth, hands fisting into his coat, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you, just heat and need and the hard press of his body against yours.

He groaned—a deep, primal sound that vibrated through you—as his hands slid down to grip your hips, fingers digging in with a delicious bite of pain.

���Fuck, I’ve dreamed of this,” he rasped, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, teeth grazing your skin until you arched into him, a whimper escaping your lips.

That said, it wasn’t just lust driving him; there was something deeper, a fierce ache, as his hands roamed your body like he was memorizing every curve, reclaiming every inch of you after so much time apart.

You pushed back against him, guiding him toward the narrow bed, your own desire mirrored in the way you tugged at his shirt, fabric ripping slightly under your impatient fingers, until his scarred, taut chest was bare under your hungry gaze.

You both stumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths, and Sabo hovered over you, his weight pinning you down in the best way, his gaze dark and predatory as he drank you in.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled, voice thick with want, as he yanked at your shirt, buttons popping free, exposing your skin to the cool air and his searing touch. His mouth descended, hot and wet, sucking at your collarbone, then lower, until his tongue flicked over your nipple, drawing a sharp cry from you—ahh, fuck!—as your hips bucked up against his.

His cock, hard and straining through his pants, pressed into your thigh, and you ground against him, desperate for more, for everything. “Sabo, please,” you begged, voice breaking, and he chuckled darkly, teeth nipping at your skin as his hand slid between your legs, fingers teasing through fabric before shoving it aside to stroke you, slow and deliberate, until you were writhing beneath him, every nerve on fire.

The room spun with the scent of sweat and desire, the creak of the bed, the slick, wet sounds of his fingers working you, building you up, and you knew—fuck, you knew—this was only the beginning as his other hand fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking urgently in the charged silence.

——

The rest of the night blurred into warmth and softness, laughter against skin, whispered words you’d never dared say aloud before now. You held each other close, learning and relearning each other with every breath.

Later, tangled in the sheets, your head rested on his chest, rising and falling with each slow breath he took.

“I can’t believe this is real,” you murmured.

His fingers lazily traced circles on your back. “If this is a dream, I’m not waking up.”

You smiled sleepily. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice quieter now. “I love you.”

You looked up, heart swelling. “I love you too.”

There was a pause. Then, in a voice so soft you almost missed it, he added, “You know… I used to tell myself, even when we were kids, that one day I’d marry you.”

Your breath caught, eyes meeting his again. “You did?”

He nodded, a small, sheepish smile pulling at his lips. “I didn’t know what love really was back then… but I knew it was you.”

Your fingers laced with his, your heart so full it almost ached. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve been waiting for you.”

The night stretched on, and neither of you moved—just lying there in each other’s arms, where everything felt safe. And finally, after all the years, the distance, and the waiting… you are home.

[princessbrunette]

can u maybe write a fic where hyper fem shy reader has had like - the biggest crush on rafe since forever? Like it’s sooo painfully obvious in the way she blushes when he simply looks at her or does what he says, or takes his advice on how she should dress or who she should and should not be friends with. She literally hangs on his every word and when the kooks are like “hey what do you think about [enter subject]” she legit just looks to rafe because she always agrees with him. He lowkey knows about her crush and rafe is evil enough, at least in my opinion, to extort that and enjoy it.

(՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) 𝜗𝜚 ݁ ˖ ◜ ♩ 🐰

you had a crush on rafe and everyone knew it.

from the way you’d hold onto his every word, staring through your lashes with wide eyes at the simplest of stories, or giggle a little too loudly at every boyish joke he’d come up with — it was clear you were head over heels. too shy to make a move, sure — but almost just as happy to pine in peace. rafe knew this, it was abundantly clear — but he’d enjoyed having a sweet girl following him around like a lost puppy. in a sick and selfish way, it made him look good so he let it happen.

you hung onto the little moments, small victories in which rafe would give you the time of day. you still remember the time you walked up to the usual group you hung out with at the country club, rafe included and he’d turned to you, taking a sip of his beer and letting his eyes roam your form.

“hi.” you’d smiled simply as the rest of the group greet you, one of the other girls handing you a chute of expensive champagne — someone clearly celebrating something that day. rafes eyes lingered on your outfit. a small white lacy tube top with a matching white skirt and shoes. he places his bottle on the table and reaches towards you, fixing the small ribbon at the bust of your top. you freeze, eyes sliding up to his face in awe, watching the way the corner of his mouth tugs into the tiniest of smirks.

“i like this.” the compliment is simple, but you feel your body heat up regardless.

“yeah?” you smile sweetly and he nods, a small faux serious pout turned friendly grin before he was turning back to his friends and contributing to the conversation once more. you continued to watch him until one of your girlfriends nudged you, giving you a knowing smile.

another moment worth noting might be later on in the week, topper discussing an invite they’d received to a party thrown by someone they didn’t like too much. he turns to you, mid debate with his friends — involving you.

“look, what do you think? is it worth going to this party? i say a parties a party and if anyone starts their shit we beat their ass— but hey maybe that’s just me!” he lifts his hands up, the group erupting into debate. you stand quietly, before turning your head to look up at rafe sweetly, waiting for his input. he notes this, before stepping up closer beside you and wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“she knows we don’t fuck with them like that alright — don’t try n’loop her into your desperate tactics. you want a party? i’ll throw a fuckin’ party.” he shrugs, making the group swiftly agree, bursting into conversation as rafe looks down at you, taking off his sunglasses and tucking them into his shirt collar. “don’t let this guy talk you into shit. you’re not goin’ to that party, trust me. come to mine instead.” and just like that — as usual, the moment is over as quickly as it starts but you still hold onto it, smiling uncontrollably at the fact he had his arm around you for even a moment.

(՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞) 𝜗𝜚 ݁ ˖ ◜ ♩ 🐰

[bennyboyfics]

hey can u make a story about him making sure you’re okay and stuff when they travel together for his tournaments and making sure that the reporters aren’t all over her but also answering questions about her at press conferences!

His safe haven || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

A/n: I love this request ty!!

Wc: 930

Warnings: none!

MASTERLIST

-

The chaos of the tennis world was nothing new to Ben, but having you by his side added a different layer to it. When he travelled for tournaments, it used to be just about him—his matches, his training, his press conferences. Now, he had something more precious to think about: you. And he made sure you were okay. Always.

It started the moment you arrived at the airport. Ben’s hand found yours instinctively, fingers threading through yours in a way that felt both protective and grounding. He knew how overwhelming these trips could be—the flashing cameras, the murmurs of reporters who always had something to say.

He wasn’t about to let you feel like you had to navigate it alone. “Stay close to me, baby,” he murmured as you walked through the terminal, his grip tightening slightly as he noticed a few journalists lingering near baggage claim. You weren’t famous, not in the way he was, but that didn’t stop the media from taking an interest in you.

Being Ben Shelton’s girlfriend automatically made you a topic of conversation. And though you did your best to ignore the attention, Ben could see when it got to you—the way your shoulders tensed under their stares, the way you kept your gaze down when a camera flashed too close. So he shielded you. At the tournament, it was the same.

From the second you stepped onto the grounds, his presence became your safeguard. His arm would rest lightly around your waist, his body subtly positioning itself between you and any approaching reporters. If they tried to direct a question your way, he’d step in smoothly, answering for you without hesitation.

“Ben, is your girlfriend travelling with you for the whole season?” one journalist asked as you walked toward the players’ entrance. Ben didn’t break stride, keeping your hand firmly in his. “Yeah, she’s here to support me, just like always,” he replied, his voice even, making it clear that there wasn’t much more to say on the subject.

When the crowd of media got too thick, he’d shift in front of you, using his broad frame as a barrier. You’d feel his fingers squeeze yours as he leaned back slightly, murmuring under his breath, “Just stick with me, I got you.” And he always did. Even during press conferences, when he was seated under the harsh fluorescent lights with microphones pointed at him, he never hesitated to mention you.

“Ben, you’ve been playing incredibly well this tournament. Do you think having your girlfriend here has had an impact on your performance?” He grinned at the question, leaning back in his chair slightly. “For sure,” he admitted, his Southern drawl making the words feel even softer. “She keeps me grounded. Keeps me happy. That’s important, y’know?”

Another reporter jumped in, “She’s been spotted around the tournament a lot. Does she enjoy travelling with you?” Ben nodded, his smile never fading. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I hope so.” He glanced toward the back of the room where you sometimes sat in support, his expression warm. “I try to make it easy for her. It’s a lot, all this, but she handles it like a champ.”

And he meant it. He knew how overwhelming it could be to be in his world, but he made it his mission to make sure you felt safe, comfortable. Between matches, he’d always check in. A gentle, “You good, baby?” whenever you were waiting for him outside the locker room. A reassuring squeeze of your thigh when you sat beside him in the players’ lounge.

A quiet, “You wanna head back to the hotel? You don’t have to stay here all day.” But you did, because you wanted to be there for him. And Ben, in turn, made sure you knew how much that meant to him. At the end of the day, when the cameras were gone and the crowds had faded, it was just the two of you in the quiet of your hotel room.

And that was his favourite part. Just holding you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead, murmuring against your skin, “Thanks for being here, baby. You know I’d go crazy without you.” And you knew—because no matter how intense the world around you got, Ben always made sure you felt safe in it.

[g1rld1ary]

hope your requests r open! lockwood x reader where lockwood think reader likes george (but she doesnt) and reader thinks lockwood likes lucy (he doesnt). basically just a whole bunch of misunderstandings with angst and a happy ending please <3

miscommunications - anthony lockwood x fem!reader

wc: 6316

cw: swearing, angstish, series typical injuries

i am SO sorry this took so long lovie i had the biggest writers block but i loved loved loved this request so thank u for sending it in i hope i did it justice!!!! love u xoxo

Lockwood and Co was absolutely the weirdest psychical detective agency you’d ever been a part of. Not only were the actual case methods… unusual, but you were a bunch of kids. You didn’t know anything about running a company; the logistics of managing four teenagers and trying to be responsible whilst also experiencing hormones and teen dramas, all while living in the same house with no adult supervision. But it was great, most of the time at least.

However, even teen psychical detectives weren’t immune to the trap of cliques and you often ended up spending much more time with some members than others. For example, it often ended up being Lockwood and Lucy, and you and George.

It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision or something that happened because you didn’t like the other two members of the agency, it just tended to be the easiest decision. Lockwood and Lucy were undeniably in perfect sync on the field, and you and George worked better in the research department, so it only made sense that those pairs spent more time together.

The only problem? You were totally in love with Lockwood. And you were pretty sure he was basically fucking married to Lucy Carlyle. They were the dream team on and off the field, you were half convinced they could actually read each other's minds. Plus, they were both genuinely amazing people. Lucy was your best friend and roommate at Portland Row, and you loved her with all your heart. And Lockwood? Well, there were a million and one good things to say about Anthony Lockwood. So who could blame you if you spent more time with George? It hurt less than watching the love story unfolding in front of you, and George was good company anyhow.

You couldn’t avoid them though, nor did you really want to, so life was testing your limits as to how much Locklyle you could handle at once.

You and George had been cooped up in the library most of the day looking through archives and research for the agency’s next case, so you’d been glad to get home and have a long warm shower in the evening. Lockwood and Lucy were off on a smaller case together so you’d had the bathroom all to yourself while George was cooking; a small luxury when living with three other teenagers.

Your hair was still wet as you sat down at the dining table in the kitchen, droplets sinking into the paper of the thinking cloth. It was a lovely dinner with George, he’d made your favourite meal upon request, the most glorious dish of butter chicken you thought might’ve ever been made. Everything should have been perfect, except that it was just the two of you. Again. It seemed like you never had family dinners as a four anymore, you and George stuck eating across from each other amongst empty chairs and untouched plates.

“So, anything new?” You made conversation in decent humour, picking at the chicken you weren’t quite as pleased to be eating anymore.

“Anything new in the twenty minutes we’ve been apart all day?” George replied in his characteristic dry tone. You rolled your eyes, trying to stay playful.

“Just checking.”

You took the cleanup after George did all the cooking, switching on the radio as you stood in front of the sink and washing the dishes in peaceful quiet. It was past midnight when the door jingled and creaked open and you could hear Lockwood and Lucy’s tired chatter floating through the old house. Even their damn voices belonged together, making the perfect cadence. You calculated whether you could get away with running up the stairs and pretending to be asleep before they really made it inside, however, agents are known for their speed, and you could hear boots hitting the floor before you could move.

“You’re still up?” Lucy asked as a greeting, stretching out her arms with a sigh. You smiled, shrugging as you began pouring hot water into the mugs you’d prepared earlier, making you all tea how you liked it. Lucy took hers gratefully, adding in the sugar as she pleased, but you were still yet to see Lockwood, taking the initiative to prepare it for him.

He came in a few minutes later, smiling softly as he looked at you.

“You’re a godsend.” He took the mug gratefully, visibly relaxing as the heat penetrated his body. You just smiled, turning back to the dishes.

“Thanks for the tea, I’ll head up to the shower,” Lucy said, patting you gratefully on the arm as she passed. That left you and Lockwood in the kitchen in careful silence.

You talked about nothing for a while, Lockwood filling you in on the tabloids he’d read the night before, and you told him all about the music and news you’d been listening to on the radio.

“How was the research, how’s George?” Lockwood was beside you now, taking a few of the plates you’d finished drying. His tone sounded almost bitter, but you figured it was his exhaustion taking hold.

“It was fine, I think we’re pretty much good to go for this weekend. Oh, you should have seen it! George absolutely stacked it on the steps of the library earlier. He’s fine, of course, but I nearly pissed my pants laughing, it was so funny.” Lockwood managed an unenthused chuckle, turning away to put the cutlery away in the drawer. “How was the case?” Lockwood made a noise of affirmation, coming back next to you, your shoulders brushing lightly.

“As well as cases can go,” He said, smile back on his face. You listened to him tell the bloody details of the case, illustrating his own heroic moves with a full production of actions and impressions, drawing giggles from you as he fought around the room. “And of course, Luce was brilliant as always, saved my arse for the millionth time.”

Fuck. Of course Lockwood was singing Lucy’s praises again, right in front of you! You couldn’t catch a break. You finally got a moment alone with the boy you had a massive embarrassing crush on and he was talking about your best friend! You could feel your smile fading fast, jealousy bubbling in your chest as you imagined them out on a case together, all quick banter and soft touches while you were at home. With George.

You tried to stay obliging, giving him a small smile and finishing up the drying quickly.

“Well, I should be off to bed. Goodnight, Lockwood.”

“You’re not gonna read with me?” You could have sworn that Lockwood had disappeared and been replaced with a kicked puppy the way his eyes were making your insides twist with guilt. You often sat up in the library with Lockwood; he could never sleep and you often made up for the late nights in the mornings, starting your days hours after everyone else. You held eye contact for a moment, willing yourself to be strong.

It didn’t work, and you found yourself back in your familiar spot in front of the fire, digging into your novel as he flipped through a magazine. When your eyes began to strain in the low lamplight you closed it softly, chancing a glance over at Lockwood. He looked almost perfect in the moment, yellow light illuminating the highlights in his face, his eyes glinting as he found humour in the dramatised tabloids.

He looked up suddenly, his senses evidently alerting him to your staring. His head tilted almost imperceptibly, curiosity seeping from his features. You smiled softly, unable to give him any explanation, so you were glad when he returned it in a way that made his whole face light up. You looked away first, studying your hands intently as you heard Lockwood breathe a subtle laugh.

Another case later, you were going crazy. You’d hit an obstacle (of course) and the case had started going awry. A few relicmen interfering with the site threw you all off your game, the original case put aside in favour of your lives. You and Lucy had been together when the ambush happened, both fighting as a team to protect yourselves. Admittedly you weren’t as fluid as her and Lockwood, but you blamed that on the lack of opportunity. You were doing pretty well for yourselves, all things considered. Still, you were grateful for the two boys to come bursting in like heroes, rapiers at the ready. What you didn’t appreciate was the way Lockwood immediately leapt to Lucy’s side, falling into their familiar rhythm. That left George to help you, the both of you sharing the quickest of looks, your eye roll lost to the fight.

You’d all made it out alive but were severely battered and disheartened. You’d all sustained a few cuts and bruises, you knew you were bleeding from somewhere in your midsection, but the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet so you pushed through.

You also weren’t particularly glad to see Lockwood looking at Lucy like she’d hung all the stars in the sky in the cab on the way back. He hadn’t spared you a glance.

“I know this wasn’t exactly what we planned,” He said, still not making eye contact with you, “But we’re all okay so I think that’s a win. Luce, good job on the defence and keeping the relicmen at bay. George, brilliant catch with the source, mate, you saved us all. And, uh, good work.” He looked over briefly, but you thought he was looking slightly above you still. He didn’t even care enough to look at you on the case! It was absolutely maddening.

Sometimes, like now, you wondered why you even liked him. He was obsessed with another girl, barely paid you attention and had you begging for crumbs of affection. And yet, sometimes you were sure he liked you back. The soft smiles, the time together in the dead of night, the moments he showed you such gentle care. Lockwood was a puzzle you just couldn’t solve, but you were really, really trying.

You weren’t in the best mood when you all arrived home. Your case had been compromised, you were injured, and Lockwood was basically ignoring you. The night was not looking good. And, on top of all that, George called the first shower so it was unlikely there’d be any hot water left by the time you got in. Silently, you peeled off your overcoat, hanging it on your designated hook before discarding your rapier in the umbrella bin. The cut on your side was beginning to sting, the adrenaline having worn off in the cab, but you powered through, figuring you’d take care of it when you had privacy in the bathroom. Instead, you followed Lucy into the kitchen, chatting away as she made some toast.

She’d already left when you got up from the dining table, motivating yourself to make some tea and something to eat. Your body was starting to ache though, and you really didn’t want to be moving much longer. It was all mostly fine, though uncomfortable, until you were reaching up for the sugar for the tea. It was a little out of your reach up on one of the higher cupboards which usually wasn’t so much of an issue — you were a high jumper — but raising your arm above your head was making it feel like your cut was splitting open, pulling a strangled hiss from you.

“What is that?” Lockwood’s voice made you jump, the harshness unfamiliar. You turned slowly, folding your arms across your stomach in vain.

“It’s nothing, I was gonna look after it in a bit.” It was the first time you’d made proper eye contact with Lockwood all night, and he looked pissed.

“Bullshit,” He argued, gaining proximity, “Sit down.” You weren’t typically in the habit of being bossed around by a man, but you could tell Lockwood was serious so took a seat. He stomped around the kitchen rather dramatically, tossing you an ice pack from the freezer. You placed it tentatively over the cut, groaning and throwing your head back when it stung. Your breathing was shallow, erratic as you waited for the icepack to do its job and start numbing the pain.

When you unscrewed your eyes Lockwood was standing at the kitchen bench, aggressively buttering your toast. You watched him put together the meal you’d started, all with deep furrowed eyebrows, ending with him placing it in front of you, looking at you expectantly. You smiled at him despite the pain in your side, pulling the mug of tea closer. He’d made it just as you liked it, too much sugar and a bit of honey. You sipped it pathetically, tension bubbling between you and the boy in front of you.

“What’s new?” You asked in what you hoped was a lighthearted tone. Lockwood wasn’t impressed.

“Eat,” He urged, “You’ll already be weak from blood loss, don’t let yourself get dizzy from hunger too.” You took an exaggerated bite of the toast to appease him, melting into a moan when the food hit your mouth. Somehow, it tasted better than all the millions of times you’d made your own. Lockwood had found the perfect balance of butter and bread, soft in the middle but the crusts were still crunchy and satisfying. The corner of his mouth flicked into the smallest smile seeing you enjoy the food he’d made you, but it was clear he still wasn’t happy with you.

You continued to eat as he got up from his seat, disappearing out into the hallway for a moment. He returned with the first aid kit and you groaned. This was going to suck. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, asked for your permission to start helping you, lifting your already cherry red case shirt up to tuck under your bra, out of his way as he examined the cut. It wasn’t too deep, you didn’t think you’d need stitches or anything, but it was long, wrapping halfway across your stomach.

“This is going to hurt,” He said simply, but you could have sworn there was some gentleness there. Lightly, Lockwood began to clean your wound. Initially, it wasn’t so bad as he cleaned what had already spread and dried away from the cut which lulled you into a false sense of security. You cried out as he touched the wound itself for the first time, grabbing onto Lockwood’s shoulder for stability, though you were already seated.

“It’s okay, I’ll be quick. Promise,” He hushed you, offering his hand for you to grab instead. You clutched onto it for dear life, squeezing until both your fingers were turning white. Lockwood never uttered a complaint, working away at cleaning and treating the wound one-handed until it was done, stopping every so often for breaks when he thought you needed them.

When he was done he looked up at you from his position on his knees and it suddenly felt like the world around you was quiet. Lockwood’s eyes were so pretty. You’d always thought so, but it was particularly relevant when he was only inches away from you, sparkling in the amber light of the kitchen. Neither of you spoke, staring into each other’s eyes. You weren’t sure what to do, you didn’t want to end this moment between you but you didn’t know how to make it last. Well, you did, but that was highly inappropriate given Lockwood was in love with another girl.

“Thanks,” You settled on awkwardly, cringing as Lockwood seemed to realise where he was and what was happening.

“Any time,” He jumped up, backing up towards the sink and busying himself with pouring his own cup of tea.

You left the kitchen shortly after, unwilling to sit in the awkwardness any longer. The first step was to get out of the soiled clothes and clean yourself up a bit, the second was to flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling of the attic.

“I’m going to die alone,” You said to the roof, catching the attention of your roommate.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucy said simply, “You’re hot, anyone would be lucky to have you.” That pulled a smile from you, tilting your head back to look over at Lucy on her bed.

“Thanks, Luce. You know what I mean though.” Lucy rolled her eyes with a soft smile.

“If Lockwood can’t see all your brilliant, attractive qualities then he’s a prat.”

“I’m sure he sees many of my great qualities — he hired me. The issue is that he’s blinded by your brilliance.” It was a conversation you’d had countless times before; you decreeing Lockwood’s love for Lucy and Lucy being disgusted by it.

“You know that I have zero interest in Lockwood. Like, zero. Honestly, I’d sooner get with you than him.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I have terrible taste in men,” You laughed, mostly cheered up.

Lucy flicked off the lamp, putting you to sleep with a story from before you’d joined the agency.

Lockwood had a similar conversation with George a few weeks later. It was after another case, all had gone well and the four of you were strewn about the house, tending to various chores that needed to get done. Lucy was mopping the floors, you were organising and putting away the mountain of books that had been used over the case, and Lockwood and George were both in the basement, tidying the store room and going over paperwork.

Lockwood looked at George, hunched over the form he was filling in, and wondered how to broach the subject. He thought you might’ve been avoiding him lately, which wasn’t exactly wrong, and thought it might be because you were trying to make your feelings for George known. In fact, it had nothing to do with George and everything to do with Lockwood. You figured if Lockwood hadn’t noticed by now that you liked him he never would, so you’d started the mountainous task of getting over him. It was unsurprisingly extremely difficult, given you lived and worked with the man. Still, you were doing the best you could.

“So, gone on any, uh, dates recently?” The sentence was awkward and Lockwood cringed. It was so unlike him and George to talk about anything emotional, especially romance.

“What are you on about?” George didn’t even bother looking up, figuring it was just one of Lockwood’s moments that he’d move on from soon enough.

“It’s just, you’ve never really dated anyone, at least while living here, so I was just asking. Um, maybe there’s someone in the house you’d like to take out?” George looked up, turning his wheelie chair to face Lockwood, resigning himself to the conversation he knew would follow.

“Yes, Lockwood. Can’t you hear Lucy and I having loud, passionate sex every night?” Both boys rolled their eyes.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lockwood grumbled.

“Then say what you mean. You’re trying to figure out if I like her because you do and you’re too scared to say anything about it.” Lockwood was silenced, caught out with his true intentions. “Let’s face it, you’re about as subtle as a car horn; you moon over her. She’s the only one who hasn’t noticed.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Lockwood mumbled, “She likes you.” George burst out into uncharacteristic laughter, wheezing and gripping his stomach.

“God, you’re daft!” He laughed, “The two of you are perfect for each other, you’re hopeless.”

Lockwood made an excuse to leave, something about folding his laundry. George watched him go, rolling his eyes before turning back to his paperwork. If the two of you weren’t going to get his exceedingly obvious hints, you were going to have to work it out between yourselves.

Your angst was bleeding into the company. You were trying (and failing) to get over Lockwood which was not only making you generally miserable, but it was impeding your ability to be a good agent.

You were on a relatively easy case, and for some reason you’d been paired with Lockwood, a rarity. Lucy and George were on the second floor of the house scoping out where the source may be whilst you and Lockwood were on the ground floor, preparing your defences and putting on the tea kettle. It was extremely awkward. Lockwood was trying to make conversation and you were trying to keep it as short as possible. If you fell into conversation you’d be reminded of Lockwood’s many wonderful qualities, and it would just get harder to get over him.

“Did you end up finishing that book?” He asked as you pulled the chains out of their duffel bags. You perked up for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. You had finished the novel and absolutely loved it, you wanted nothing more than to talk about it. Still, you controlled yourself, shrugging off the question with a “Yeah, it was pretty good.” Lockwood hesitated, caught off guard by your answer. Usually you were keen to discuss what you’d been reading, especially if you liked it.

“Are you alright?” He asked, softness in his voice and eyes. Your heart clenched for a moment, you didn’t want to worry him.

“I’m fine, Lockwood, promise.” You busied yourself with arranging the salt bombs but you could still feel his eyes on you.

The case progressed, all four of you ending up on the second level of the house to confront the visitor, each splitting up to cover the different rooms. You were in the master bedroom when the en suite bathroom caught your eye. You could have sworn you saw movement near the shower and crept towards it, trying to stay focused and address the urgency on hand.

You were immediately distracted by the similarities between the en suite and the bathroom in Portland Row. Set out almost identically, it was almost scary how similar they were; George’s soap (fancy and way more expensive than the one the rest of you bought) was on the ledge of the shower, and Lucy’s blue hairbrush sat by the basin.

It wasn’t necessarily surprising that either of those items were there, they were both bought for cheap at a grocery store so ought to have been common, but it surprised you nonetheless. You’d been so distracted by the weird similarities that you didn’t notice the figure floating through the shower curtain until its translucent hand was beside your face. You panicked, the only thing you shouldn’t have been doing, and flailed about in the tiny room, rapier knocking bottles off shelves and creating a general racket that was not pleasing the ghost.

You stumbled on the tiles trying to get your footing and get the fuck out but slid on a slippery substance — probably conditioner from the bottle you’d sent flying to the ground. It was a comedy of errors you would have quoted as impossible in an old slapstick comedy, but there you were, and the consequences were infinitely more dire than those faced by Charlie Chaplin.

The proceeding moments vanished from your memory; a violent fall, a sickening crack and an overwhelming darkness. Three more moments of light where you caught visions of the ghost, Lockwood, and aggressive flashing lights.

You woke up in hospital. You wished it was the hazy, unsure innocence that you saw in movies, but the incessant beeping and sanitised smell had you groaning as you gained consciousness. Lockwood was slumped over in the chair next to your bed, breathing uncharacteristically calm as he slept.

You watched him sleep in the least creepy way you could manage, admiring his features when they weren’t scrunched up in worry or stress. He must’ve felt you watching him as his eyes fluttered open, doe eyes overflowing with relief as he saw you awake.

“You’re up, thank god,” He said, pulling his chair up even closer to you.

“Why am I here?” You asked, examining the various wires and machines you were plugged into.

“What aren’t you here for?” Lockwood joked and you tried for a smile. He straightened himself out and continued, “Linear skull fracture, concussion, scary-looking cut on your forehead. We think you slipped and bashed your head on the countertop.” You grimaced, the pain of the fall manifesting in your head.

“That would be right,” You agreed sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in your hospital gown, “And the hand?” Your left hand was bandaged up so thick it looked more like an oven mitt than a hand.

“Ghost touch.” Lockwood didn’t sound so happy and casual now.

“Oh.”

“What happened? It’s not like you to put yourself in danger like that; it was stupid and reckless.” You didn’t understand why Lockwood was getting so angry. Clearly, you didn’t intend to get injured, it was an unfortunate accident that you would have avoided if you could.

“As opposed to you, who never gets injured and always sticks to the plan?” You couldn’t help the venom seeping into your voice but you detested being criticised by Lockwood when he was just as bad, usually worse.

“This isn’t about me,” He said through gritted teeth, clearly trying to keep his cool while you were vulnerable. You were angry though and didn’t want to back down.

“Of course this is about you, Lockwood! You wouldn’t blink an eye if it was you who’d ended up here, or George or Lucy. It was an honest mistake, why are you being such a dick about it?” You were raising your voice but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, the tension that had been bubbling for weeks coming to the surface.

“Because you could have died —”

“So could any of us, that’s the job! I still see you jumping head-first into danger.”

Lockwood groaned your name, hands in his hair and pulling in frustration. “You’re misunderstanding me, I just don’t want to watch you get hurt—”

“Then close your fucking eyes, Lockwood. I fell and I got injured. It happens and I resent having you treat me differently than the others. Fuck this, I want Lucy here instead, or George.”

“Of course you want George here, why wouldn’t you?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” If you could stand you would be shoving past him and out the door, but you were at a significant disadvantage being hooked up to so many machines, stuck in your place.

“You know what I mean, you and George are such a close pair, aren’t you? Always working together and laughing about your own inside jokes,” He spat and the burning anger only got hotter.

“Are you fucking crazy right now? Or are you forgetting that you’re the head of this company and therefore you’re the one pairing us together in every case? Or are you so fucking busy making heart eyes at Lucy that you don’t even notice that we’re actually getting work done? Forgive us for trying to make ten hours of research bearable!”

“Heart eyes at Luce? You’re the crazy one, she and I are just friends, I swear. But you and George will make a great couple, I’m sure.”

“George and I couldn’t be less interested in each other! And if you could see past your own nose for once maybe you’d see why!” You all but yelled, surely alerting the whole floor of your argument, “Leave me alone, Lockwood, I don’t want you here anymore.”

Lockwood looked as if he was going to dispute that statement as well but a nurse came to your rescue, clearly hearing the disagreement from outside. She ushered him out, claiming it wasn’t good for your vitals to be getting angry and that you could continue the fight when you were discharged in a few day's time.

Alone in the sterile hospital room, you felt yourself beginning to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and landing on your embarrassing patterned hospital gown. In a perfect world, that conversation would have gone completely differently. In a perfect world, Lockwood’s eyes would have softened when he saw you were awake. He would have confessed how worried he was about you and how much he truly cared for you. He would have brushed his lips across your hand that he was holding, then pressed them again against your own as he admitted how he’d always been in love with you. You didn’t know that it was your own defensive nature that had stopped that from happening.

But it wasn’t a perfect world and you were alone, overwhelmed by the various noises and movements going on around you. You did eventually fall back asleep, a fitful, unsatisfying nap that had you groaning and exhausted when you woke up. You weren’t alone though, which did make you feel better. George and Lucy were sitting next to your bed, deep in a whispered conversation.

“Hey,” You said, shimmying up to a sitting position. They both stopped talking immediately, turning to face you with small smiles on both their faces.

“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked, pulling her chair up to be right next to your bed.

“I’m alright now, just tired and worn down.”

“You scared us,” George added, characteristically stiff but clearly trying to be sensitive.

“I’m sorry,” You admitted, “I really didn’t mean to. And believe me, Lockwood’s already yelled at me enough for it, please just forgive me.” They looked at each other, communicating non-verbally.

“We heard,” George said, “He basically punched a hole in the wall trying to recount it.” He let out a clipped laugh before Lucy shoved him, signature glare working its magic.

“You should really apologise, he’s cut up about it.” Your mouth dropped open as you stared at Lucy. How was this your fault?

“I’m not apologising, he was the one who got angry. Right, George?” You pleaded with him, praying he wouldn’t let you down now.

“I… I don’t think it has to be right now, but you two should get over it after you’ve cooled down a bit.” Ok, it wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped he’d say, but it was better than nothing. And better than the moral lesson you knew Lucy would try and impose — what a hypocrite.

“But he was so mean!” You whined, “I seriously just had an unfortunate fall, I didn’t die.”

“But you could have,” George quipped and you rolled your eyes.

“You know it’s because he really cares about you, right? He’d never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t save you.” You couldn’t tell if Lucy’s statement was making you feel better or worse.

“Yeah, really felt like it when he was yelling at me,” You grumbled, fidgeting with the hem of the scratchy blanket.

“Well, you know Lockwood is emotionally constipated,” George added and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter — what a statement to come from George.

“OK,” You agreed finally, “I’ll apologise when we get home. As long as he stops being a massive prick.”

You were discharged a few days later, healing nicely. It would have been sooner, but the head injury worried your nurses and kept you there, not trusting you would stay on bed rest. Lucy came to your rescue, posing as a very concerned caretaker who would ensure your safety.

In fact, it wasn’t Lucy who was enforcing your bedrest. It was George who was cooking every meal and Lockwood doing all the other motherly fussing. You hadn’t discussed your fight yet, both too exhausted and too awkward to broach the subject. You hoped your six-to-eight-week recovery time wouldn’t consist of the same heavy tiredness, but you figured it would improve once the concussion had faded.

The rest of the company had started doing two-man cases so that someone was always home to supervise you. It was a little stifling but you appreciated the effort. It also shook up the status quo of the company, Lockwood and Lucy’s perfect partnership being disrupted by no one wanting to be left at home each time, which was both a blessing and a curse.

In your first few days of being back home at Portland Row, Lockwood was home with you, helping wash your hair. You’d whined so much about how gross it felt, still blood-stained where you cracked your skull open that Lockwood gave up and told you he’d wash it for you. Of course, you’d protested, saying it went way beyond what you could expect of a friend or coworker, but Lockwood would not take no for an answer, justifying that it would be more dangerous to let you do it yourself since you could mess with the stitches since you couldn’t see the back of your own head.

You sat awkwardly in the bath, dressed in an old t-shirt and bikini bottoms to preserve what dignity you could. Lockwood stood outside the bath behind you, preparing the bottles of shampoo and conditioner to his side. The anticipation was destroying you, becoming fidgety and uncomfortable even in the perfectly warm water. The second Lockwood’s slender fingers threaded through your greasy hair you felt your body soften, relaxing into the feeling with no opposition. The feeling was heavenly, the careful but thorough massaging of your scalp could have sent you to sleep in three seconds if you weren’t simultaneously on edge at the proximity.

You sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, your head lolling back subconsciously against Lockwood’s forearms, drawing a small chuckle from him.

“I’m sorry for arguing with you the other day,” You said out of the blue, your voice cutting through the radio that was sitting next to the basin.

“It’s no worries, just forget about it,” Lockwood replied instantly, continuing his labours.

“No, I want to take this seriously. I said some terrible things I didn’t mean and I want you to know that I’m sorry for it. And, as I understand it you think I have some big crush on George which I would just like to disprove. I don’t. Like him like that, I mean.” Lockwood paused for a moment, hands going still in your hair.

“Oh,” He said after some time, “Well thank you for the apology but it is completely unnecessary. I started the argument and I was way out of line, I didn’t mean a word of it. What I meant to convey was that I was worried about you getting hurt because I… care about you. A lot.” You knew that was hard for Lockwood to say, vulnerability never coming easy to him. You turned to face him in the tub, knees pulled up to your chest as your just-rinsed hair dripped down onto your t-shirt.

“I care about you a lot too, Lockwood,” You smiled sweetly, glad you were finally getting over the weird tension that had been between you. Lockwood didn’t look as satisfied.

“No, it’s, fuck. I care about you in a different way than the others. I really like you, like, romantically.”

“Shut up,” You said quickly, not wanting to wake up from a sick dream. There was no way that Anthony Lockwood, after all these years, was telling you that he liked you. Lockwood looked lost for words. Obviously it wasn’t the impassioned reciprocation he hoped for, but it also wasn’t exactly a rejection. What was he supposed to do?

“I, uh, understand if you don’t—”

“Shut up,” You affirmed again. “I have been madly, foolishly in love with you since I started here, and you’re telling me this now? After we’ve screamed at each other and been moping around?” After a moment of him processing your statement, he began to laugh, mouth breaking into one of his light-up-the-room smiles.

“I guess so.” You joined in his laughter, admiring the way his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched as he did it.

“So what now?” You asked once your giggles had died down, leaving you two looking at each other across the edge of the bath.

“Well,” Lockwood inched closer, “We could try this?” He leant in for a soft kiss, pressing his mouth against yours lightly. You subconsciously followed his mouth as he pulled away, unwilling to open your eyes just yet.

“Mmh, maybe we could try that one again?” Lockwood laughed at your daze and happily obliged, swooping back in for a longer, deeper kiss that set your nerves on fire.

And if Lucy and George returned from their case to find the two of you still in the bath fully clothed, that was none of your business — and neither was the ten pounds that George reluctantly handed Lucy.

[xpulchritudinousx]

today, finally

summary: you guys almost lost hope on starting a family, but you didn't need hope anymore. this is supposed to be a kind of continuation of this.

same warnings apply, mentions of infertility and one reference to intercourse, nothing actually NSFW happens in this. I don't personally think it's anything too inappropriate, but in case you're uncomfortable with these things, I'd rather set up a warning.

idek what this is, but it's just a little drabble about how you guys found out you were pregnant. it was supposed to be a part of my part two story, but i felt like it was better as a stand alone so here u go :)

Ever since you’d found out you were pregnant Katsuki couldn't even hide how head over heels for you he was. Taking time off work, since you were starting to have a few complications. He’d run his agency from home and make sure to help you out with everything, resting a pillow under your swollen feet whenever you’d complain about them aching. 

Not saying a word as he helped quietly, a small smile on his face as he saw you, unable to be straight faced when he’d gotten exactly what he’d wanted. Yes you wanted to have a baby first, he’d known you loved kids since you’d met, but you had a good way of changing people’s minds about things. 

When you’d get excited about something all you’d do was talk about it, explaining how amazing it’d be. At this point, he thinks you’re right, even though you admitted you barely knew how to hold a baby. 

He knew he’d probably have to do most of the care of the baby for the first few months, but he couldn’t get himself to care. Just wanting to make you happy for as long as he could. The day you’d found out you were pregnant was one you’d never forget. The night was one like any other, with the both of you laying on the couch, you nearly falling asleep against him as you both watched the TV. His arms were around you to keep you from falling off the couch, sighing tiredly as he looked down at you for a second. Not paying attention to the movie playing until a loud sudden noise came from the speakers. 

With you jumping awake and nearly falling off the couch, whining in complaint, before blinking at him tiredly. Realizing it'd been a week since the last time you guys checked, the both of you having gotten desperate as the months passed. “Should we try the test again?”

 The question made his stomach turn, sighing a bit before pulling you closer until he could bury his nose into your hair, shaking his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Maybe not tonight.” The muttered out response had your shoulders slump, nodding as you hid your face in his collar.

 Things had been less than eventful with your attempts to have a baby, it’d become so draining for you both. Going to the doctor to see what you could do, completely changing your diet like they’d suggested. Taking whatever stupidly expensive supplements they told you about, even trying the weird home remedies your family pushed. 

But nothing, you’re still without the thing you’d wanted this whole time. It started to feel hopeless, and now all you could do was sulk with the guilt of wrapping Katsuki into it all, you’d gotten him to be just as excited as you and now there was no outcome. Plus, following a schedule to just do simple intimate acts wasn’t enjoyable at all… Maybe it was time to give up. Finally after closing your eyes for a bit, you open them up and pull back from him, looking him in the eyes with a frown. “Do you want to give up?” The words rang in his ears, having him freeze up a bit in shock at the idea. 

Shaking his head right away, sighing tiredly. “No, we’re not doing that.” The shift in your mood made him more determined, moving you both to sit up, looking you in the eyes as he brought his hands to your shoulders.

 “Take a test, you were supposed to have your period last Monday, right?” Watching you nod at his words gave him that little trickle of hope. With him now slumped against the wall, sitting on the floor outside of the bathroom as you took the test. 

Fiddling with his shirt as he looked up at you when you opened the bathroom door, letting go and opening his arms up for you. “Come here.” It’d become routine at this point, the two of you sitting on the floor in each other’s arms, hoping for the best. 

This time you guys just couldn’t hope anymore, resting your head to his shoulder as you close your eyes. “Maybe I’m just not meant to be a mom.” There it was, the vulnerability that you both didn’t want to be caught in, Katsuki just sighed, hugging you closer as he shook his head. 

“Don’t say that, you know that’s not true. You can’t just take bad things that happen to you as you failing. Sometimes things just happen, we’ll get through this.” The timer you’d set went off right after that, with the both of you getting up to check, expecting the same result as always. 

But it wasn’t this time, this time you saw the two lines on the stick, your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull. Jumping up to him and tackling him down on the floor. “It could be false, it could be, but it could be accurate! Katsuki, it could be accurate! I don’t even know how to hold a baby… Oh my God, I don’t know how to hold a baby!” 

Katsuki was completely speechless, staring up at the ceiling as you ranted, his heart racing as he processed it. Finally looking back to you when you’d settled down and called out his name, looking you in the eyes as his mist over. “Take another.” He simply said, the shaking in his voice telling you everything you needed to know.  Grinning as you started tearing up, you nodded at his words before getting up and rushing to the kitchen to guzzle down water until it hurt your stomach. Nothing could take you off your high in this moment, nothing. Not waiting to need to go, not having to set the timer again. Nothing.

And when you both finally heard your timer go off again, you rushed to see your result...

Looks like it was time to schedule an appointment with the doctor.

[dejabooooo]

The Anti-Pines family is utterly fascinating. We have the blueprint for an entire pseudo canon AU, and remarkably I have seen little input from the fandom in regards to it. I can’t imagine why because there is SO MUCH TO WORK WITH HERE.

Anti-Waddles being as nefarious as Anti-Mabel. “The first pig to ever go to jail for armed robbery.” Like 😭😭 imagine waddles standing upright and holding a tommy gun. Imagine no one in the bank their holding up taking them seriously because they’re an adorable little girl and a chubby pig, and mabel threatening to put a bullet between someone’s eyes like “u better cough up the bacon before this bacon smokes u.” I wanna see what other heinous atrocities the cutest crime duo in the multiverse get up to.

ANTI-SOOS BEING A FORBES BILLIONAIRE HOW AND WHY DID THIS HAPPEN

You’d think if Anti-Ford represents the opposite of Ford that you’d wind up with someone who is exceptionally normal and uninteresting but NOPE. Anti-Ford is easily the weirdest here. FUCKING??? YOUTUBER??? DJ?? A sixty-something year old man with 200 subscribers who posts about his dubstep set lists daily. Utterly baffling.

Anti-Stan and Anti-Dipper are the most understandable in terms of being complete opposites of their counterparts, but all of this makes me wonder how differently their stories would play out because of this. Anti-Mabel was “chased out of her dimension” for being so evil. How does her family feel about this? Are they trying to get her back? Does this bizarre cast embark on a comical and heartfelt journey to try and bring her home? A journey that ends in an emotional reunion? Perhaps one that Mabel fights as she clings to her indifferent, cold ideology while her family begs her to come home. All of them recollecting her horrible crimes with proportionately little exasperation and an abundance of fondness. Stan recounting when she stole all the money from a fundraiser he’d held so she could instead invest the funds into remodeling their entire house to have a monochrome minimalist decor. Ford reminiscing about the time she tried to use his channel to funnel money into a crypto/nft scheme. Dipper having countless stories. like how happy she’d make him when he’d get to skip school thanks to her (because she burned down the school, multiple times). About how she’d sabotaged pretty much all of his relationships, but it was a good thing in the end because it allowed him to realize that who he always really loved was that dorky socially awkward corduroy girl he hadn’t noticed at first. All of this retrospection from her family chipping away at her hardened heart and- phew, I'm getting carried away, but the possibilities, man! These characters could be so much more than a one time joke.

There is also the matter of Anti-Bill. “He is very boring.” Shut up??? Speak for urself, schmebulock, he sounds delightful. This is another character I believe you could expand in many interesting ways. I mean think about it, a being possessing the same caliber of bill’s omniscience and using it for good sounds amazing. Knowing all the beauty in all the universes and going out of his way to share it with weary minds through their dreams. Nullifying nightmares. What if he were a healing antidote to the mind, a medicine to bill’s mind unraveling madness? What if they knew each other?

Do you see my (delusional) vision here guys?

[cigsaftersuh]

hi there!! can i please request something new years eve themed with ten? i've been thinking about this for a while and i love your writing; i'd be so excited to read it! thank uu! ♡

ㅡ new year, same us.

🐱 a chittaphon leechaiyapornkul fic <3

୨ keeping your new year’s tradition with ten alive ୧

a/n ; thank u for allowing me to write such a sweet story <3

the soft glow of fairy lights filled the room, blending with the muffled crackle of fireworks in the distance. it was the same scene every year — confetti scattered across the floor, snacks abandoned on the table, while the two of you sat together in the middle of it all, envelopes in hand.

you glanced at the envelope resting in your lap, the one ten had written to you nearly a year ago, the edges slightly worn from where you’d handled it during the months you’d waited for this exact moment.

he sat across from you, his own envelope tucked between his fingers as he leaned back on one hand, looking far too relaxed.

“you first this time,” you said, nudging his leg lightly with your foot.

he raised a brow, feigning shock. “me? you always going first though.”

“new year, new me,” you replied with a grin. “besides, i want to see your reaction first. i worked really hard on that letter, you know.”

he rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “fine, fine.” carefully, he tore open the envelope, unfolding the paper as if it were something precious.

the room fell quiet as his eyes began scanning the words. his playful demeanor softened, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he read.

you watched him closely, the faint glow of the fairy lights reflecting in his eyes. “well?” you prompted, trying to keep your voice steady.

he didn’t answer right away, still staring at the letter in his hands. his lips quirked upward slightly, but there was something softer about the way his eyes lingered on the words you’d written. finally, he let out a quiet laugh, glancing up at you.

“you really wrote this?” he asked, his voice light but filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“no, i hired a ghostwriter,” you deadpanned, though your smile betrayed you.

he laughed, shaking his head. “seriously, though…” he paused, his fingers brushing over the paper. “this is so you. you managed to make me laugh and cry in, like, three sentences.”

“well, that was the goal,” you teased, though your chest warmed at his reaction.

he leaned back slightly, holding the letter up as if studying it from a distance. “i don’t know how you do it. it’s like you knew exactly what kind of year i was going to have.”

“i just wrote what i felt,” you said softly. “i know you better than you think.”

he smiled at that, setting the letter down carefully beside him. “your turn,” he said, nudging your envelope toward you. “i want to see if mine holds up to yours.”

you took a deep breath, picking up the envelope with slightly shaky hands. tearing it open, you unfolded the paper inside, your heart already racing before your eyes even landed on his familiar handwriting.

as you read, a quiet laugh escaped you. his letter wasn’t perfect — there were crossed-out words and a few messy scribbles in the margins, but it was so unmistakably him. he’d written about the smallest things, the moments you thought he’d forgotten: the way you always cheered him on when he felt like giving up, how you brought snacks to his practices without asking, the times you didn’t realize he was watching but made his day anyway.

you felt your throat tighten, a lump forming that you couldn’t swallow down.

“ten…” you started, your voice unsteady.

he tilted his head, his tone playful. “what? is it that bad?”

you shook your head, setting the letter in your lap. “no, it’s just…” you looked up at him, your chest feeling too full. “how do you always notice everything?”

“i don’t know,” he said with a shrug, but his smile was soft. “i guess i just pay attention to you.”

your breath hitched slightly, and you glanced back at the letter, your thumb brushing over the words. “this is… really good,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

“better than yours?” he teased, leaning forward with a grin.

“not even close,” you shot back, laughing despite the warmth in your cheeks.

he laughed too, the sound light and easy, before settling back against the couch. “it’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?”

“what is?”

“that we’ve been doing this for so long,” he said, glancing at the scattered remnants of the year around you. “writing to each other, still saving it until now. it feels like it means more every year.”

you nodded, folding his letter carefully and tucking it back into the envelope. “it does mean more,” you said quietly. “because we’ve been through so much, and somehow, we’re still here. still us.”

his smile softened, his gaze lingering on you. “and we’ll keep doing it, right? every year?”

“every year,” you promised, leaning toward him with a smile.

outside, the muffled crackle of fireworks grew louder, marking the start of the new year. but here, in the quiet glow of fairy lights and shared memories, it felt like nothing could be better than this moment.

“you know,” he said, his voice quiet, “i think this might be my favorite part of the year.”

“what, the fireworks?” you teased, leaning beside him.

he turned to look at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “no, this. us. the letters, these moments, everything.”

your breath hitched at his words, and before you could respond, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. it was quick, barely a second, but it left you frozen in place, warmth spreading across your skin.

“happy new year,” he said, his voice gentle, as he pulled back just enough to look at you.

your lips parted, a slow smile creeping onto your face as you nudged his shoulder lightly. “happy new year, ten.”

and as another round of fireworks lit up the sky, you felt the quiet, certain promise of another year together, full of letters, laughter, and everything that made it yours.

with love,

© cigsaftersuh

[formulaforza]

hbd my lil' lemonade connoisseur!

I'm saying blurb for Charles; him coming to surprise you at University or something?

—the nearness of you

summ. title from this. i'm only twenty-two days late on this req. that's got to be a new record for me. 800+ words.

It was like any other day as of late. Full of brutal seven-am alarms and even more brutal eight o’clock classes across campus. Half a dozen assignments due before the end of the week, a baker’s dozen by the following. 

Campus was surprisingly dead and the weather was wonderfully crisp and you had no idea the turn your evening was about to take when you’d decided to take a walk at sunset, to clear your mind with the cool autumn air. 

It greets you with a shudder and the sound of browned leaves crunching under your feet. It was like a scene from a movie—something utterly fall-ish and romantic. When Harry met Sally, maybe. All cable knit sweaters and falling leaves and careful scenery. 

Unbeknownst to you, he—Charles, your Charles—is walking around the same campus, enjoying his walk a hell of a lot less than you are. He doesn’t notice the smell of burnt orange or the falling leaves on the green grass. He’s too occupied trying to find his way to your friend’s hall—to your friend’s dorm—to you. His mind is full of mumbled directions and the pursed lips they leave. Of how perfect yours are, of how badly he wants to kiss them. 

He’d been planning the surprise for weeks. For months, almost, since before you’d even left home for the year. He’s prouder of his ability to keep it secret from you than he is of his directional skills. Carefully, he’d coordinated the whole thing with your friends to ensure the perfect surprise, and it was finally here. It was finally here, as long as he could find his fucking way around. 

Your phone vibrated in your back pocket, a text from your best friend. She was asking you to swing by her dorm ASAP, swore she had a shirt of yours that you could swear you’d folded and put away two nights earlier. You complied, though, and gave her your ETA before making a U-Turn on the path you were walking down. 

When you finally make it there, you’re surprised to find her always-open door is shut. You’re even more surprised when you move to turn the door handle only to find it locked. You look around the hall like a trick is being played on you because her door is always open. Always. And you don’t think she even knew there was a lock. 

You knock, thrice, and call her name on the other side of the door, reminding her that this isn’t as funny as she surely thinks it is. Nothing, however, could prepare you for who answered your knock. 

Charles. Charles with a bouquet of flowers. Charles with a bouquet of flowers and a big goofy smile on his face. Your stomach drops three separate times in a single second—from annoyed your friend isn’t answering, to horrified by someone else answering her door, to recognizing that it’s him. That he’s in front of you. 

You squish the flowers horribly, completely disregard their presence in your joy of slamming yourself into him with the force of every hour apart. “Putain, c'est quoi!” What the fuck! you say, and your voice comes out far more cracked than you’d intended on it being. 

With Charles, you’ve found that you don’t realize just how much you miss him until you’re with him again, ambushed by the reality of it all, of everything that is to love about him. There’s so much, so much more than you realize each and every time you’re apart. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but you’re always fond of him. The fondest. 

The evening unfolds into a flurry of laughter and stories and love. So much love. It’s like his presence had cast a spell over campus, made it all magical and energized like it was your first time there. The buildings fall into the background, nothing more than the scenic backdrop for your love story, for your catching up and calming down. 

Your dorm becomes a cozy haven for endless conversation. Spontaneous chest games and first-hand accounts of last week’s race keep you smiling, and his never ending genuine interest in your life here makes you fall head over heels over and over again, every word that leaves his mouth making you feel particularly cherished, like the luckiest person around. 

Dusk turns to dark and the two of you sit together at the dorm window, watching the same stars you’re always looking at. The same moon that serves as a reminder the world is never too big, the distance is never too much. It doesn’t matter where the two of you are, it’s always the same moon and stars in the sky. It’s a silent kind of love, careful like an early morning, beloved like a matching cup of coffee. 

It’s a short visit. Too short, always too short, but it ends with promises of more, of this weekend and that. 

You should be sad when he leaves, maybe, but you aren’t. You aren’t. You’re just full of love, and so, so happy to spend even a few hours with him.