#it barely even feels real like i just made it all up

[eupheme]

Not to be the little gremlin obsessed with Chappell Roan BUT… reader thinking Logan is too cool to want a proper relationship with them, so when things get physical they insist things are just “casual” in order to protect themselves from getting hurt. But secretly you’re in love with each other, so honestly, neither of you want things to be casual at all… (mutual pining my beloved) please & thank you!! Love you!

ahh hi hi avo I LOVE this song, and this request, and you - I could so see this being a situation that Logan and reader find themselves in. I had so much fun writing this, I hope you like it! (I added a couple winks to the lyrics as well.) 💖 thank you so much for sending this to me!!!

casual | variant!logan howlett x f!reader

1.2k | posessive!logan, fwb(???), use of alcohol, mutual pining, references to oral sex and PiV.

It doesn’t matter that your heart flips when you look at him. It’s Logan. It’s just casual.

It certainly feels like a dream, watching your worlds collide.

The heft of Logan’s palm fitting into your friends as he shakes their hand - the five of you squeezed into your usual booth in the corner of the bar.

You’d say the past couple weeks had seemed that way, as well. A late-night dose of bravery spiraling into something so raw and intense and real, that you feel like you could choke on it.

Even now, there’s heat in your cheeks as your eyes flick his way. Something stirring in your chest at the way his other arm slings across the back of the booth almost possessively.

But like all dreams, there comes a moment where you have to wake up.

Because you know it’s not.

Because you know your feelings aren’t requited. How could they be, when it’s Logan you’re talking about?

A legend.

A lone wolf.

Someone important, someone whose name carries a weight. Who saved the world, from what Wade tells you.

And you’re - you.

So even if you know what he looks like beneath that flannel, know what his mouth feels like when it presses against yours - what he sounds like, when he comes - you know that this is nothing.

It’s casual. A distraction, for both of you.

And if that’s how it has to be, then you’ll do your best to show him you’re cool with it.

You just hadn’t expected this moment to come so soon. It had been a genuine offer, your “you wanna come with?” when the hour rolled around for your weekly trivia night.

Not thinking his head would cock to the side. The look he’d give you - that arched brow, as his fingers splayed out across your bare hip. Still crowded together on your couch, sweat-dewed.

The “sure, sweetheart” that slipped out.

And now you’re introducing him as your friend - that quick history you’ve perfected - rattling off the “you know, Wade from work’s roommate” even though Wade didn’t work at the dealership anymore.

He had made enough of an impression that none of your friends had forgotten.

And you ignore the bitter jolt in your stomach, when all Logan does is hum.

You think you must have assumed right.

He doesn’t correct you.

Logan quickly solidifies himself as an asset to the team. He gets a lot of the history questions that you’ve always struggled with. A shy quirk of his lips when your friends cheer, and you get swept along with it.

His hand ending up on your thigh along the way. Squeezing, when you chime in. Almost as if forgetting - it’s easy to, when you’re having fun like this.

A low rasp in your ear, when the host takes a break.

“Lemme get you another.”

You can only nod, as he eases out - taking your glass with him.

It only takes a second, before MJ’s hand slaps down on yours.

“That’s Logan?” She hisses - leaning forward, “The one who-”

“Yes.” You cut her off, ignoring the sideways glance her boyfriend gives you.

You never should have told her about that.

Had a hard enough time climbing into your car without thinking about it, yourself - the way he had man-handled you in the passenger seat. Thighs thrown over broad shoulders.

Fingers twined in his hair, as he made you moan in the dark parking garage. Too eager to make it up to your apartment.

She frowns, the words petering out, “But I thought-”

Your teeth worry at your lower lip.

“Yeah. Me too.” You sigh.

MJ knows how much you like him.

Really like him - butterflies, and everything. How it’s been years since you felt this way - slipping from you during that rushed phone call at 6 am the morning after your first night together.

Her eyebrows raise, and it’s a look you know well.

“It’s, you know.” Your hand waves, “It’s casual. It’s-”

It’s easier, this way.

Maybe if you keep repeating it, it won’t hurt as much when he moves on.

The look she shoots you is one of pity, just as a drink is set down in front of you.

Your teeth clicking against each other as the words are swallowed. Forcing a smile as Logan slips back in the booth next to you.

The next round starts a moment after, and it’s a welcome reprieve.

You miss the way his eyes narrow, as yours fix firmly on scorecard in front of you.

But you don’t miss the way his hands stay folded on top of the table, for the rest of the night.

You suppose he must have remembered where he was.

“You wanna come up?”

He lingers outside your apartment door, hands jammed into his pockets. That look from the bar is back - all dark, narrowed eyes.

A low sound in his throat, close to a scoff.

“That what you want, sweetheart?”

Your eyebrows raise, “Yeah. I do, I mean-, that’s what we usually do, right?”

He’s spent just about every night at your apartment. His things still scattered across your room. A leather jacket slung across the chair that’s tucked against your vanity.

Logan’s lips twist at the edges, eyes dropping.

“Suppose we do.” Those hands slip from his pocket, crossing over his chest, “Back when I thought we knew what we were doing. But now…”

His head shakes. A tick in his jaw.

Your stomach drops.

“What do you mean?”

Logan huffs, “The bar, baby. Is that how you really feel?”

A step closer, until he’s caging you in. Voice dropping, rough and low - near gritted out.

“Does this,” His fingers flick between your chest and his, “feel casual to you?”

Your heartbeat gallops behind your ribs.

“I thought-,” You manage, “Thought that’s what you wanted.”

He’s too close, now. The dip of his head, those eyes burning in their shades of brown and gold.

“Now, why would you think that?”

You swallow, “Because you’re you, and I’m-”

“You’re?” He prompts, but you go silent.

A sigh, when your head dips.

Unable to say it out loud.

“Driving me crazy all night, you know that?” He rasps, “Giving me those looks. Calling me your friend, when we both know your mouth was around my cock this morning.”

A low rumble in his throat, “When I still taste like you.”

Your breath hitches, as his hand thumbs at your jaw, tilting it up.

“Lemme ask you again.” His mouth is close enough now to ghost against yours, “Is that how you really feel?”

Your head shakes.

“Wanna be yours.”

It’s breathed out, just as he kisses you.

His body pressing flush, as your hands twine around his neck. A palm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he deepens it.

Desire thrumming to life inside you, washing out the dregs of insecurity that you’ve been carrying this whole time. Melting them away completely with the hungry sweep of his tongue, the way he swallows your soft moan.

There’s a flash of white when he finally leans back, with the curve of his lips.

“Good.”

His hand closes around the knob. A rough twist, as his another arm wraps around your waist.

Walking you backwards, into the dark.

“The let me show you exactly how I feel.”

thank you so much, again!! 💖

[luvyeni]

( drabble ) ̨ give me a chance ! ୨୧ 一 황현진 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ hyunjin is tired of you not giving him a chance  ヾ

bestfriend!hyunjin・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ mean dom hyune, unprotected sex, degradation ‎ wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. can i rq mean dom hyune x his slutty best friend reader idk the plot but ... yeah smut 😃

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it <3 !!!

hyunjin supported everything you did; of course, as his best friend of many years, he supported all your doings. even if that meant listening to you go on and on about your latest fuck with a random dude in a bar — or the random man from tinder that you invited back to your home to fuck , or any of the random men you fuck weekly … yeah he listened to all of it — even if he dreamed of being one of the guys you fucked, maybe being the only guy you fucked.

“when i tell you he was big, hyunjin he was huge.” he sat barely listening to you talk as you laid on his bed , legs swinging off the side of his bed. “i feel like there’s a but to this?” he heard you sigh. “he couldn’t for the life of me make me cum.” you had no problem getting the guy; you just had trouble finding the right guy, a guy who get you there. “it’s like if you’re gonna have a big dick at least use it right, i thought all guys with big dicks knew to use them.”

maybe it was the slight buzz he had from the soju that was sitting on the nightstand; or maybe it was because your boobs we’re about to slip from your tank top, but it was like his mouth moved before his brain could even register what to say. “just because a guy has a big dick doesn’t mean he knows how to use it.” he said. “you’ve fucked about 10 guys with quote big dicks and none of them made you cum, i thought you would’ve figured it out already.”

“you’re saying that like you know someone with a big dick and can use it.” your tank top strap falling down your shoulders, you smirked. “oh i do.” he said, hand coming up to your shoulder strap — the tension in the room suddenly changing and his eyes darkening as he grabbed the strap. “but you’re too busy slutting yourself out to random dudes to notice.” he yanked down the strap, your boobs finally free from the shirt. “hyune!”

you tried to cover your bust, but he was quick to slap your hands away. “finally get to see those tits you love showing other dudes.” you should've pushed him away, you were his best friend, it was highly inappropriate. but as he pushed you back , climbing on top of you and you actually got a feel of his hard cock — you quickly forgot about that and allowed him to pull all your clothes off.

“giving your body to just anyone who looks your way.” he slapped your bare cunt. “not even looking my way once.” he growled, grabbing the base of his cock, stroking himself. “messy fucking pussy, you just get wet for any guy don’t you?” you moaned as he used the pad of his thumb rubbing little circles on your bud. “ju-just you.”

“just me?” he smirked, rubbing his cock up and down your slit. “you mean you weren’t even wet when you were fucking them?” he teased you by pushing his tip into your hole. “just left them use you as a cum dump?” he pushed the rest of his cock inside you. “fuck!” both of you moaned out. “fuck you’re tight , clearly they weren’t that big , your little pussy is quivering right now, struggling to take my fat cock.” he groaned , slowly moving his hips. “this is what a real big cock is supposed to feel like.”

you weren’t gonna lie, he definitely was the biggest yet, his cock was stretching you out. “s-so big.” he chuckled condescendingly. “i know.” he cursed as he pulled out. “im about to ruin this pussy for anyone else.” he slammed back inside forcing his cock all the way in. “fucking slut.” he hissed , moving his hips , pulling your shirt down letting your boobs bounce freely. “tired of listening to how you slut yourself out.” he groaned. “you wanna be a slut , gonna fuck you like one.”

his hand coming up to your throat, squeezing as his cock bullied your sweet spot. “fuck fuck fuck!” you screamed. “to-too much hyune.” he didn’t slow down though, his thrust were relentless. “take it slut.” he cursed. “if you can take all those random dudes' cocks you can take mine.”

you were a mess; tears streaming down your face, the way his hips snapped against yours, his hands slapping your clit. “you’re crying? my dick is making you go dumb?” babbling nonsense as you felt your orgasm approaching. “fuck your pussy is squeezing me, you gonna cum slut?” you nodded. “cum. cum all over my cock.” your legs shook as you came, but he didn’t stop. “im not done.” he groaned. “you came but i didn't and don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

“gonna use this pussy as my own personal cumdump.”

©️LUVYENI

[austinbutlerslovers]

The Red Dress

Label Mature 18+

Summary You are acting as Austin’s romantic female lead in his latest film, however there’s just one problem…-he isn’t acting and he wants to make the relationship a reality.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Shy Austin • teasing •flirting • unwanted advances •romance denial • Austin simping + slight stalking • sleeping with a costar • BJ• cum eating •dirty talk • nipple play • fingering • orgasms • protection

🔗 Master List

📖 Proodreader @purejasmine

The Red Dress

For weeks, you and Austin had shared long days and late nights on set, working through scenes and running lines. You were the love interest in his latest film, and from the first day, it was clear he had a crush on you. 

It was in the way he lingered when he spoke to you, his eyes lighting up whenever you entered a room, the subtle touches on your arm as he spoke to you that felt like his way of claiming just a little more each time. 

But he wasn’t your type. Austin was used to bubbly, adoring girls who hung on his every word. You were professional, confident, and had little patience for playing into his charms.

Every advance he made, you played off with a practiced ease, the kind that kept him guessing—and somehow that made him want you even more.

Tonight is no different as you stand before the bulb-lit mirror, carefully slipping into the red dress for the next scene. You and Austin are set to film your first kiss, and you’re well aware of just how eager he is to perform, even if it’s only in character.

So when you hear a faint knock on your trailer door, you already know exactly who it is.

Smiling slightly, you call out, “Come in,” and sure enough, Austin steps inside, his eyes fixated on his script until he glances up, his gaze landing on you just as you are pulling the red dress over your hips.

You are curvaceous in all the right places and the fullness of your chest subtly bounces in your bra as you adjust the straps.

For a moment, Austin is stunned, his eyes widening as he takes in the way the fabric hugs your every curves, framing your body in a way that leaves little to the imagination.

His gaze lingers, more than what is modest, trailing over you with an intensity that makes the room feel suddenly warmer. 

You can see the struggle in his expression as he forces himself to look back down, pretending to be fascinated by his script once again.

“Is there something you needed, Austin?” you ask your voice light, with a subtle hint of amusement.

He clears his throat, gripping the edges of his script. “Uh, yeah…I just wanted to, um, run the scene with you before we—perform.” His voice is slightly breathless, betraying just how affected he is by the sight of you.

You give him a slight, teasing smile, peeking over your shoulder, as you reach behind your back. “Well then, before we start… could you zip me up?,” you ask, holding his gaze, watching the way his expression shifts from surprise to the arousal he can barely contain.

He steps forward placing his script on the vanity table, his hand moving to your zipper. His fingers brush over your skin, warm and slightly shaky, then you feel him pull the zipper all the way up, his hand lingering before he lets go.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror, and for a moment, it looks as if he’s about to say something—something unguarded, something real. But he holds back, his lips parting just slightly before he catches himself.

You turn to face him, leaning casually against the vanity, taking in the sight of him. 

Dressed for the scene, he looks extremely handsome. His cheeks are tinged pink, his eyes eager yet uncertain and there’s hint of a desperation there that he’s trying to hide, but it only makes him more endearing. 

Without a word, you reach over and take his script from the vanity, slipping easily into character, your gaze lingering on him as you step closer, letting your fingers trail along the edge of his sleeve.

“I just… I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened,” you say in character your voice filled with longing “If you weren’t there…” you say trailing your hand on his arm.

Austin’s eyes widen, caught up in the moment, but then he blinks, his mouth opening and closing. He’s forgotten his line—a rarity that makes you giggle, breaking character with a sparkle of amusement.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, his expression softening with a flicker of self-doubt, a small falter in his pride that you find unexpectedly charming.

With a smile you lean in, placing your hand on his chest as you read from the script. “It’s —‘l’ll always be there for you’”

The line brings an intensity to his eyes as his expression shifts. He straightens, his jaw set as he steps forward, closing the distance between you in a way that’s far more direct than you anticipated. 

“I’ll always be there for you,” he says softly and his hand slides to your waist, pulling you in. 

He kisses you deeply, the kind of kiss that leaves you breathless, lingering in a shared space as he finally pulls back, just inches from your lips.

“How was that?” he asks, his voice soft, his eyes searching yours, his face so close you can feel his breath.

Your lips are still parted, your hand resting lightly against his chest, caught somewhere between surprise and a flustered blush.

As he leans in to kiss you again, you press your hand firmly against him with just enough pressure to make him look down, keeping him at bay.  

“Save it for the scene,” you whisper, and quickly step past him, feeling his gaze trailing after you as you make your way to set.

There’s a quiet energy as you arrive to film the scene, the usual routine already in motion. The director stands near the monitor, giving instructions to the crew as the camera sits ready on its track.

Austin takes a deep breath and stands on his marker as dozens of people move around him. He clears his throat as he glances at the bright lights overhead, the camera crew adjusting their angles, as the sound guy holds a boom mic steady over your heads.

Make up artists dart between you both, brushing up his hair and touching up your lipstick with quick, practiced strokes. 

It’s all the routine organized chaos of a film.

The space grows quiet as final checks are made. “Quiet on set!” someone calls, and the director nods, signaling the start. 

The slate claps and when the director finally yells, “Action!” everything falls silent.

You and Austin both deliver your lines with a practiced ease, the moment building, tension mounting until it’s time for the kiss. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened,” you say, your voice filled with desperation as your fingers trail lightly along his wrist. “If you weren’t there for me…” you say with unmistakable conviction.

The air grows heavy, and the crew seems to hold their collective breath, waiting as everyone looks to Austin, the pause stretching, the anticipation undeniable. 

For a moment, you almost think he won’t say it, the weight of the scene bearing down on him. 

 Then, his voice breaks through, soft and unsteady, but filled with something real. “I’ll always be there for you.” He says, his delivery is so quiet, so tender, that you’re not even sure of the mic catches it. 

But his focus is entirely on you, his gaze locked on yours as the words linger in the space between you. 

Then his lips find yours with a kiss that’s entirely more than what was rehearsed. He’s passionate and intense, his lips brushing against yours as if you’re the only thing that matters to him.

Your resolve slips as the moment consumes you, his kiss is breathtaking, overwhelming in a way that you weren’t expecting.

Your hands move instinctively, finding his face, your fingertips brushing along the sharp line of his jaw as he pulls you flush against him.

Austin is hard—the thought stuns you, his cock pressing against you  unrestrained as he pours everything into his kiss as though words would never be enough. 

The sound of the set fades away, the weight of his presence anchoring you in a moment that feels far too real.

“Cut!” the director yells, but Austin doesn’t stop, his lips linger, his hands holding you as though he can’t pull away. It isn’t until you gently press against his chest that he finally lets go, his breaths ragged as whispers from the crew spread through the set.

But Austin doesn’t seem to care. His gaze stays on you, his lips slightly parted, looking as though he’s ready to dive back in. 

The director reviews the footage, studying the monitor with a critical eye as you both wait, tension still hanging between you.

Then the director leans back and smiles. “We got it,”and the crew erupts into applause.

The kiss scene is the final shot of the day, and after the applause fades, you’re quickly ushered away from Austin back to your trailer to remove your dress. 

Once back in your own clothing  you are guided to your car by a staff member and driven back to the hotel where the rest of the cast is staying. 

The drive is quiet, but your thoughts are entirely on the intensity of the scene still replaying in your mind

The realization creeps in, unhidden and  undeniable—Austin was hard. The thought replays again and again, and your pulse quickens as you shift in your seat, your gaze flicking toward the dark window, trying to push it aside.

But you can’t. It’s not just the physicality of it—it’s what it meant, the way he seemed completely lost in the moment, as if the line between acting and reality had vanished entirely. You realize that for Austin, it wasn’t just a scene he wants the real thing.

You arrive back to the hotel at the same time as the rest of the cast, their lively chatter filling the lobby. But the moment your eyes meet Austin’s, everything else fades. His gaze locks on you and his need is clearly written across his face.

Without a word, you turn and head toward the elevator. You can feel his eyes following your every move, the tension between you hanging in the air, as though the decision has already been made.

He doesn’t follow you in, and for a moment, you think  he will let the tension simmer between you. But as you walk in silence down the hallway toward your room, you hear the elevator chime behind you.

Glancing over your shoulder, you see it’s Austin, though somehow, you already knew. The unspoken tension between you building until neither of you can ignore it.

As much as you try to resist, to keep your composure, the heat in his eyes makes it impossible to deny the way your body responds, the way your resolve begins to waver.

When you reach your door, you pull out your keycard, wondering if he will head to his own room.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he hesitates, standing just behind you.

You glance at him over your shoulder, noticing the way his jaw tightens as if he’s trying to summon the courage to speak. 

For a moment, you think he might say something, but when the words don’t come, you grin, beeping your key card and entering your room as the door begins to close behind you.

Before it can, his hand shoots out, stopping the door in its tracks and he follows you inside. Before  you can say a word, he pins you against the entry wall, the soft click of the door closing echoing through the room.

He’s panting now, his chest heaving as he presses against you, his hands firm on your wrists. 

His grip tightens slightly, his gaze flickering as if he’s searching for the right thing to say. “I…don’t ” he starts, his voice rough, barely above a whisper as he regains control . “I don’t know why we do this to each other” he breathes his voice low and rough, the words carrying all the restraint he’s clearly been holding back.

“Do what?” you tease, leaning your head slightly, your eyes locked onto his, unwavering and steady as you silently dare him to make a move.

His breath stutters, but then his resolve seems to harden as he looks at you. 

“This,” he says, his closing the distance in an instant his lips crashing against yours in a kiss that’s filled with his frustration and need.

The intensity of his kiss pulls you in, igniting something you tried to ignore. Slowly, your lips begin to move with his, matching his urgency, the heat between you building with every second. 

His hands release your wrists, sliding down to your waist, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you close and he’s hard all over again.

His touch is firm, roaming over every curve of your body like he’s trying to memorize every detail, as if this might be his only chance to have you like this.

He pulls back from the kiss, his breath ragged as his eyes drop, taking in the sight of you. His hands move up, cupping your full chest, his thumbs brushing your nipples through the fabric. “ fuck “ he pants his brows knitting. 

“You want me, that much Austin?” you tease, your hands sliding down the length of his hard cock and the way he his hips jerk from surprise, makes you laugh softly, a low, knowing sound that only fuels his eagerness.

“Yes,”he breathes, his voice tight with barely restrained need and your eyes trail downward, catching sight of his impressive size straining hard and ready against his pants.

“It’s so big Austin,” you praise your tone filled with amusement as your fingertips brush along the shaft, making him harder.

“I’m sure you must get your way all the time,” you grin, teasing him as your fingers trail lower, pressing your palm against him, feeling the weight of his cock in your hand.

“But not this time,” you say intrigued, your tone turning darker as his breath stutters, his body tensing beneath your touch. His hips shift slightly seeking more as if he can’t stop himself, then his eyes look up to yours when you don’t give him what he wants—and it only fuels your resolve.

“I want to make you beg for it,” you decide, your tone firm as your finger tip traces a slow delicate circle on his cock head.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and the wide desperate look in his eyes tells you everything you need to know. 

“Okay” he readily nods and at this point you know he would agree to just about anything.

You take your time, bringing your hands up and unbuttoning his shirt with excruciating slowness, each button revealing another inch of his perfectly toned body. 

Your fingertips graze his skin as the fabric parts, sending shivers down his spine, until the shirt finally falls to the floor, leaving him exposed, eagerly awaiting your next move.

He’s already a mess, practically shaking, his eyes glued to you with a desperate kind of worship. “Please,” he whispers, his voice barely a rasp, and you grin, savoring his need.

“Begging already, Austin?” you tease, your tone laced with heat. “I haven’t even started with you yet.”you reveal as you undress slowly, letting the fabric of your dress slip away to reveal your silhouette. 

Your curves flow effortlessly, your full, breasts mesmerizing him as he admires every inch of you of your body as if he’s witnessing something rare, something he’s always wanted but thought he could never have.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he says under his breath, his voice low and uneven as he takes in the sight of you. 

Your lips quirk into a smile as you answer,“ I know” laced with desire.

His hands slide around your waist, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you closer. 

His lips crashing against yours again in a passionate kiss, his hands roaming every curve of your body as if he’s trying to memorize each detail, every inch of you imprinted in his mind.

His hands squeeze your breasts with an intensity that draws a soft gasp from your lips, and you pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. The wild anticipation in his eyes is unmistakable, but you slyly smile not ready to give him exactly what he wants yet.

“How badly do you want me, Austin?” you ask, your voice soft and teasing as your fingers slip through his hair, tugging  him down gently to your breasts. The movement draws a shudder from him as his lips brush over them in reverence.

“More than anything,” he whispers against your skin, his voice trembling, with desperation and need as he begins to suck your nipple into his mouth.

You smile softly, your fingers gently pulling his hair back to make him look you in the his eyes. “Then let me give you everything,” you say, your voice heavy with promise.

His body tenses, every muscle in his abs drawn tight as you slowly lower yourself before him. He presses his palms against the wall for balance barely able to contain himself as he watches you settle on your knees. 

Slowly, your fingers move to his zipper, drawing it down with a deliberate slowness that heightens his anticipation. When you pull him out every inch of his thick cock is throbbing with an undeniable need. 

You look up at him and smile as you finally to take his cock into your mouth and his lips part as a symphony of raw, unrestrained sounds spill from him. 

With his his eyes locked you, his body trembles, his hips barely able to hold still as you suck him with a skilled, taunting rhythm, dragging him to the edge and pulling back, drawing out his pleasure until he’s whimpering, panting, his voice barely more than a plea as he tries to beg.

His moans are desperate, but you keep sucking him until he’s trembling, twitching, writhing, pleading, “Please let me fuck you,” he begs breathlessly, his voice breaking with need, and you finally relent.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, the heat between you undeniable. Before you can say anything, his voice breaks through, raw and unsteady.

“Don’t move.” He says as he kneels and retrieves a condom from his pocket. You grin seeing he’s prepared, revealing his true intentions all along. You watch as he rolls  the condom on his heavy cock with steady hands. 

Without hesitation, he pulls you toward him, his need undeniable as he leads you to the center of the room and pushes you down onto the softness of the bed.

You laugh at how eager he is as you prop yourself up on your elbows and as you meet his gaze the heat in his eyes is unmistakable.

“Come Austin,” you tease, your voice inviting as you pat the bed. 

He doesn’t hesitate as he climbs on top of you, his weight dipping the mattress as his hands find your hips, pinning you beneath him, his gaze locking on yours for just a moment before he lowers himself.

His mouth finds your breasts with an almost desperate hunger, his lips brushing against your skin before his wet tongue flicks over the sensitive peaks, sending jolts of pleasure through you as your fingers thread through his hair keeping him close. “You’re doing so good, Austin. Just like that.” You encourage him.

Your words spur him on as he squeezes them in his hands, his warm breath ghosting over your skin in between each kiss and lick, his attention entirely focused on you. As he sucks your nipple into his mouth, the heat and pressure draw a soft gasp from your lips, the sensation shooting straight through you.

The intensity of his focus, as he lavishes you without hesitation leaves you aching and breathless, his mouth moves hungrily over each breast, his tongue flicking and swirling over your sensitive peaks, as your nails lightly graze his shoulders.

He pauses just long enough to let his breath skim your nipple before he takes it into his mouth again, harder this time, sending a shudder down your spine.

The wet, obscene sound of his lips and tongue against your skin only heightens your need, each suck drawing soft gasps and moans from you. “You’re making me feel so good, Austin,” you say, your voice trembling slightly.

He groans against your skin, his mouth never leaving your breast as his hand moves lower, slipping between your thighs finding your clit, already swollen and slick from arousal. 

He firmly presses it before his fingers slide into you effortlessly the obscene squelch of his quick thrusts makes your cheeks flush as your body arches into him. 

“You’re so wet for me,” he says against your breast, his voice rough and heavy with desire, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin. 

“I want more… Austin don’t stop” you whisper, your tone breathy and encouraging.

Without hesitation, he pulls your tender nipple back into his mouth, his tongue swirling and flicking as he sucks harder.

His fingers curl inside you with precision, as your moans spill out uncontrollably, blending with the wet, rhythmic sounds of his mouth and relentless pace of his fingers inside you.

Your thighs shudder as your body coils tight, every muscle trembling under the relentless build-up—the slick noise of his fingers plunging into you, the wet pull of his lips on your nipples and the unbearable tension in your core finally snaps.

Your orgasm rips through you, as your hands clutch at his shoulders, desperate for something to hold on to as the waves of pleasure crash over you.

As he finally releases you his touch softens, his fingers easing out of you while his mouth lingers for a moment longer, pressing gentle kisses against your heated skin. 

He positions himself to enter you, his tip pushing in as he murmurs things that are almost incoherent, broken phrases laced with desire and disbelief as he glides his cock into you and begins to thrust.

“You feel so… you feel too good,” he gasps as his hands roam over your body like he can’t decide where to touch first, wanting to claim every inch of you.

“Don’t hold back,” you pant softly, your voice trembling with need. “I want all of you, Austin.”

Your gentle praises seem to unravel him as his hips begin moving in a desperate rhythm, each thrust more intense than the last, his body tight with the effort.

“That’s perfect,” you whisper, your fingers tracing over his shoulders, your voice laced with sweetness. “Just like that Austin … don’t stop.”

He groans, his voice rough and almost incoherent as he loses himself completely. “You—oh, fuck—how do you feel this good? I can’t… I can’t stop.” 

His words tumble out, disconnected and wild, as his body grinds against yours, his grip tightening like he’s afraid to let go. 

“You’re driving me crazy—” he groans, his voice raw and trembling with need.

You grab his jaw firmly, forcing him to meet your gaze, your eyes blazing with equal intensity. “Then lose your mind for me,” you pant, your voice light and commanding. “Show me how badly you want me.”

His hands grip your shoulders, anchoring himself as the tension within him surges to a breaking point. He thrusts into you with force as your tits jiggle, the rhythm of his movements so consuming it feels like the air is being knocked out of you.

Your wrap your legs around his hips in a desperate attempt to ground yourself, but it’s futile. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge as his hands tighten their grip, his ragged breaths hot against your skin as your name spills from his lips. 

“Come for me,” he begs, his voice low and rough reverberating through you like a command your body can’t ignore. The tension peaks all at once, your orgasm crashing over you in waves so powerful it leaves you crying out, your nails digging into his shoulders as your body spasms beneath him.

He doesn’t slow, riding out every tremor, his hands sliding down to your waist, holding you steady as he pulls you to him again and again, prolonging the moment until you’re left utterly spent, gasping for air,trembling in his grasp.

His entire frame tightens, every muscle unyielding as a low, guttural sound escapes him, raw and unrestrained, and he surrenders to the overwhelming release.

A look of relief and ecstasy washes over his face as he comes, his expression almost vulnerable as he rides out the final waves of pleasure.

His breaths are still shuddering as he slowly pulls out and collapses beside you, his chest heaving as he stares at the ceiling. 

He looks stunned, as if he still can’t believe what just happened. His lips part slightly, but no words come out, his expression a mix of disbelief and something softer—almost awe

Finally he turns his head toward you, his breath still uneven, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Do you want to go with me to dinner?” he asks, his question startling in its simplicity after what just happened.

You can’t help but laugh as you sit up understanding he wants to date you and brush his hair back with a teasing smirk.

“Dinner?” you ask, sitting up and leaving him sprawled out in bed. “You haven’t even begun to figure me out yet.” you grin.

He watches you saunter toward the bathroom, his eyes trailing your every move. You pause at the doorway, glancing back over your shoulder. “Come along, Austin,” you say, your voice soft and inviting, “Let’s see if you can handle me again.”

His hesitation lasts only a second before he scrambles off the bed, his movements hurried and desperate as he follows you without a second thought.

🥀END

🔗 Masterlist

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[bringthekaos]

I'm excited for your thoughts on the new season if/when you share them

It has legit taken me 3 days to come to terms with Act 1. Enough to be able to speak about it. Gunna apologize in advance for the wall of text, and I’m hiding it under a break for spoiler reasons. Also prefacing with these are all just my opinions. All are free to disagree with me and RB with discussions/theories etc. just don’t be a dick about it, I’m not engaging in any discourse.

Ok. So. I have mixed feelings, and I’m aware that this is because I don’t have the whole story yet. So this is all contingent on how the rest of the season plays out.

First and foremost, I’m… wildly swinging back and forth between love and disappointment for Viktor’s arc. So first the negative, and I’ll try to keep it brief because a lot of people have already expressed this and I don’t need to be beating that particular dead horse.

Viktor has had his agency, his bodily autonomy, his original ideas and nearly everything that made him Viktor stripped away. Nothing so far has been his choice. And while this could have worked just fine for an original character, he wasn’t. So there is a massive disconnect between what this character was/should have been. In League, it was all his choice (albeit with a healthy dose of mental illness thrown in, but still). AND it was very heavily suggested that many of the augmentations he performed weren’t as extensive as he lead everyone to believe (namely the controlling/dousing of his emotions). But it appears that whatever the Hexcore did to him, it’s real. He is clearly having a difficult time accessing his emotions, and if he can feel anything, it is limited to the point of him being completely stoic. And the thing with stoic characters is that you obliterate any emotional payoff for the audience. It’s very hard to make an audience feel an emotional connection to a character’s story arc when they themselves don’t feel anything (I have a theory about this though, but I’ll address it a little later in this post). And then there is the issue of Blitzcrank. Blitz was Viktor’s whole world, after his exile. How are they going to swing that? Like, I’m not even asking for Blitz to be in Arcane (that would be great, but I really don’t think they have time). But I stg if they take Blitz away from Viktor, make them someone else’s invention (my suspicion is Heimer or he finds the idea in Sky’s journal)… I’m sorry but no. This was Viktor’s idea, Viktor’s genius. I will genuinely be extremely upset if they take that from him too.

Then there is the whole situation with Sky. First, this girl was fridged. She was nothing but a plot device and continues to be just that. It feels hollow and forced, especially now that he’s hallucinating her as some sort of penance for what he did. (I have seen the prevalent theory that it’s the Hexcore using her image and his guilt to manipulate him, given that it “ate” her, and we have seen it “manipulate” him before when it punished him for trying to destroy it). But back to Sky—he barely acknowledged that poor girl. The reason for that can be argued, whether it’s because he’s gay or because he was just so wrapped up in his one-track minded research. But regardless, there just wasn’t enough setup between those two for this whole thing to have as much weight and meaning as I think it’s supposed to. Honestly to me (TO ME) it reeks of comphet. It feels like that random woman they threw at Poe Dameron to No Homo him. I’m not even asking for Jayvik canon. But the creators were well aware of this ship, after all it’s the second most popular ship in this show and it’s been around since 2012 when Jayce was literally created for Viktor. I’m asking for the bare minimum here—that it’s left open-ended as it was in League, open for interpretation.

Last negative I have is the whole Viktor Jesus thing. The first problem is I am pretty violently agnostic, and messiah narratives have never spoken to me. I don’t enjoy them, they feel weak. The whole “ordained by a higher power” thing is just… stale. Especially when this character originally had no higher power, he gave it to himself through his own hard work and ingenuity. Honestly, Viktor’s original arc is about as far from a Jesus allegory as you can possibly get. And I am absolutely terrified that they’re going to end said Jesus arc the way you’d expect—with him dying for it. Which leaves the moral of his story “disabled man should have just accepted that he was going to die despite the fact that it was the oppression and xenophobia of Piltover that left him out to dry, without proper health care, accessibility, equality, or equity that lead to his terminal diagnosis to begin with.” Which is a very oppressor-centric narrative and we do not need another one of those.

Sorry, I know I said I’d keep the negatives brief, and that was… not. My bad. But moving on!

I’m not saying I didn’t enjoy it, I did. I am working to embrace this new Viktor narrative and work it into my brain in a way that doesn’t ruin the ship for me. So without further ado, the positives.

Jayce.

Jayce.

Jayce.

I’d have to go back and time it, but it feels like he got more screen time in this first act than the entirety of the first season combined, and his character shined for it. It humanized him in ways season one never did. He’s caring, he’s devoted, and he loved Viktor! No matter what kind of love you think it is, it proves he loved Viktor without a doubt. He carried Viktor several city blocks to the lab to save him, and then YES, he broke his promise about the Hexcore because he couldn’t stand the thought of losing him!

And he’s funny! (The scene where he picks up the regular sized hammer in the fight against Renni and made that “this is ironic” face?? And then basically the entire interaction with Ekko? The hand me a tome thing, and then when he basically pulled this when Ekko suggested “so this is all your fault cuz you pissed off the Arcane”:

GOD that shit was great. Jayce’s personality just shined, and maybe it’s too much to hope, but maybe this will douse a little of the hate. Because instead of being a subtle hint at all of those things being true about him, it’s now overt. And when people lack media literacy, the hints have to be overt.

And th-the. The h. The HUG SCENE. I don’t think I will ever emotionally recover from that scene. Starting with Viktor who, despite being clearly emotionally—I dunno, vacant I guess—sounded so lost and scared when he said “what am I?” For me, it was whispers of that scene from The Last Unicorn: “what have you done to me?” And my poor sweet Jayce, who clearly hasn’t left this damn lab except to go to Cassandra’s memorial. Sleeping on the desk and bleeding through his bandages because he doesn’t want to spend a moment away from Viktor while he “recovers.” And his euphoric response when he finds Viktor alive, when he realizes he hasn’t lost him. And I OWE HIM AN APOLOGY, goddamn. I said in a post that “Jayce will not understand.” I thought that was how Arcane was gunna start the divorce. But Jayce genuinely did not care, as long as his lover friend was alive. And just… Jayce being so affectionate through this entire scene. The hug obviously, but also blurting things he thought he’d never get to say to Viktor—“I’m resigning from the council, my place was always here in the lab with you.”

And… the hug itself. I know we’re all analyzing it frame by goddamn frame, but I see exactly what everyone else sees—there is a moment where Viktor very subtly smiles. But it’s gone in an instant, and it turns bittersweet. LOOK AT HIM.

There is something there, it’s just buried. Deep beneath the surface. It seems to say “I want this, I have wanted this for so long.” But then he realizes something, something I don’t think we’re meant to understand yet. Maybe that he doesn’t feel anything about it anymore, and he recognizes that this should upset him and it doesn’t. Or perhaps it’s something more along the lines of “it’s too late.” Whatever it is, I think this is the exact moment he knows he has to walk away. Because he knows he’ll cave to the affection, he said it himself. (Which is another thing entirely. His voice changes when he says that. Something in him is reacting to that word. Maybe he’s fighting against it, or maybe he’s fighting to get it back. But something made him almost growl that word.)

Which leads me to my final thought (for this post anyway, cuz it’s turning into a novel); Viktor is still in there. He can still feel things, I just think they’re extremely muted by whatever the Hexcore did/continues to do to him, or he has to fight to express them. Because he also smiled at the hallucination of Sky after he “cured” Huck. And if he feels nothing, he wouldn’t have been “joyous” at the thought of her being proud of him, approving of the good things he’s trying to do in her memory. He wouldn’t crave that validation, that vindication from her. So I’m hopeful that we start to see this shell crack a little, especially if those visions of Sky are the Hexcore manipulating him through guilt. It will start to erode him, no matter how stoic he has become. And literally the only thing I’m clinging to is that Jayce will see this and try to pull him out. “He’s still in there and I have to save him.” And that maybe it’ll start to work.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hiii!! I saw your requests were open & was wondering if you could do a hurt/comfort vi x f!reader (romantic but could be platonic I don’t mind). Reader could be from the undercity and have similar experiences w vi so they relate and understand each other on that level. Not rlly sure what the angst could be but there’s a lot of canon to work from (like maybe vi sees smth that reminds her of her time in prison? Or smth idk), and reader is there to like, comfort/ground her. Like overall vi has a shitty time but has someone in her corner to listen/comfort her and maybe give her a hug yk? Anyways tyyy!

Sure I can! Enjoy!

To Be Loved

Vi hadn’t seen you in so long, at least, that she can remember. The alcohol did that.

All she remembered now was the shame of you finding her in the cramped apartment, after seeing her brutal pit fight.

The blood coating her knuckles, the makeup and black hair dye. But under it all, it was still your Vi.

Your hands cradled her off the floor, and she couldn’t understand why, but the feeling of your hands on her skin once more, brought tears.

“Oh, Vi…”

“I’m- I’m so tired, (Name)…I can’t-“ Vi cried, snot rubbing onto your shirt as she sobbed and gripped onto it with all the strength she could.

“I couldn’t protect her- I let him down… I let everyone down.” Vi insisted. It was unspoken of the people she spoke of, their names were never said out loud but it was practically screaming.

You told the stories, shared the memories and the pain, but never said their names. It made it real. It seemed like it was barely hitting Vi just now…

That her life would never be the same. Powder wouldn’t come home after playing with Ekko, Claggor and Mylo wouldn’t be clambering around on the floor, and Vander would never call them for dinner in The Last Drop.

Ever again.

Her family was gone.

The realization made her ugly sob into your neck, the sound crackling throughout the room as you held the back of her head and rubbed her back as you both sat on the ground.

The ring was her way of punishing herself. To feel the pain in her mind she had caused Powder, caused Jinx and Vander and Mylo and Claggor, even Ekko.

“You didn’t fail them.” You insisted, shaking your head as you shushed her cries and holding her to you. She tried to rebuttal, shaking her head but you simply pulled back.

You cradled her face in your hands, the look on her face so similar to seven years ago.

You mustered up your best smile and shook your head as you wiped her tears and she stared and cried at the feeling.

“You were a kid, Vi. Nothing was your fault.” You whispered gently, pressing your forehead to hers. Your lashes almost tickled her cheeks, almost mixing with her tears as she sniffled.

“Vanders proud of you. Powder…she’s not dead. She’s still here…” You whispered softly, your hand faintly ghosting over her heart.

Even if Powder changed, no matter how much she rebutted her name and past, grew her hair and grew taller, she couldn’t rid herself of the prescrnse you and Vi had on her life. She was still Powder. Just different.

“I hurt her.” Vi stated, trying to avoid your gaze. You frowned, looking her over for a moment as you saw the shame. She never wanted to hurt Powder.

“You love her.” Was all you could offer, pressing a gentle kiss to your loves forehead as she closed her eyes.

Everything inside her hurt, everything was aching and she hated herself. She felt guilty for indulging in your comfort, in taking it.

But even if everything was falling apart, her home, you, was still standing.

Your soft hands cradling her, your lips ghosting over her cheeks, her nose, her lips, her forehead and brows and lashes…she couldn’t help but drown herself in it.

She held onto you. Gripping your shirt and fisting it between her fingers as she hid herself in the comfort you provided.

In your comfort, Vi knew she would be okay.

The steady beat of your heart just made it all the more real. The hands that cradled her made it all the more real.

And you sealed it with a kiss.

[shybluebirdninja]

Sleep Striker

Summary: You discover that Bucky sleepwalks—and it’s not the calm, peaceful kind of sleepwalking. You wake up to find him in full-on combat mode with the couch.

Pairing            : Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Note                : fluff

The night was supposed to be peaceful. You’d spent the entire evening watching Netflix with Bucky, eating popcorn, and joking around like any normal couple. By the time you both hit the sack, you were expecting nothing but a quiet night’s sleep, maybe punctuated by Bucky’s usual snores.

But no.

Around 2 AM, you woke up to the sound of something crashing in the living room. Your heart leapt into your throat, thinking for a second that maybe someone had broken in. Instinctively, you reached for the baseball bat you kept beside the bed (Bucky insisted on keeping a knife there, but you’d settled on a less dramatic weapon). Slowly, you tiptoed toward the door, already mentally preparing yourself for some horror-movie showdown with a burglar.

But what you found was so much worse.

There, in the dim glow of the living room lamp, was Bucky Barnes—your sweet, grumpy, 100-year-old boyfriend—throwing punches at thin air like he was in the middle of a battle.

“What the hell…” you whispered, blinking in disbelief.

Bucky, still completely asleep, ducked and weaved as if he were dodging invisible enemies, his fists flying through the air with lethal precision. His face was set in that intense, focused expression he wore when he was in full-on Winter Soldier mode, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of fear and… laughter? This was ridiculous. Your boyfriend was sleep-fighting in the living room.

You set the bat down carefully, still trying to process the situation, when Bucky suddenly spun around and landed a full-force punch on the couch.

The couch.

It made a sad thud as the cushions absorbed the blow, but Bucky didn’t stop. He kicked out at the coffee table next, sending it skidding a few inches across the floor.

“Bucky!” you hissed, trying to keep your voice low but urgent. “Hey, babe, wake up!”

He didn’t hear you. Instead, he crouched low, as if he were avoiding gunfire, and rolled behind the armchair, his metal arm glinting faintly in the darkness. You bit your lip, trying so hard not to laugh, but it was impossible. This was like watching an overgrown toddler reenact an action movie in his sleep.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “how the hell do I handle this?”

You’d heard about sleepwalkers before, and you were pretty sure you weren’t supposed to wake them up. But you couldn’t just let Bucky wage war against your furniture all night. The man had already drop-kicked the coffee table, and at this rate, he’d be suplexing the bookshelf by sunrise.

You crept a little closer, careful not to startle him. “Bucky, babe, it’s just me. You’re, uh, safe. There’s no Hydra agents in the apartment, I promise.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he launched himself toward the couch again, this time pulling off a move that looked like it came straight out of a Captain America fight scene. He tackled the poor couch as if it had personally offended him, his arms wrapping around the back cushions in a chokehold.

“Bucky, stop! The couch isn’t the enemy!” you half-whispered, half-yelled, trying to stifle your laughter. “Oh my god, you’re gonna kill the couch…”

He grunted, still deep in his dream, and threw a wild punch that just barely missed the coffee table. You winced at the near miss. That could’ve been bad. Like, broken furniture and a pissed-off Bucky kind of bad.

At this point, you realized you had to do something before your apartment looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Slowly, cautiously, you approached Bucky like you were approaching a wild animal—because, let’s be real, that’s kind of what he was right now.

“Bucky…” you said softly, reaching out a hand. “Come back to bed, babe. You don’t have to fight the couch anymore. You won. It’s dead.”

He hesitated for a moment, his muscles twitching like he was on the verge of launching another attack. But instead of another round of couch-punching, he slowly stood up, blinking groggily as if he was coming out of a fog.

You let out a breath of relief. “Thank God.”

But your relief was short-lived. Because as soon as Bucky turned around, he spotted the kitchen chairs—lined up perfectly in a row by the table—and apparently, in his half-asleep mind, they were the next Hydra targets.

“No,” you groaned, as Bucky lunged toward the chairs. “Not the chairs! I like those chairs!”

He grabbed one, flipping it over like it was an enemy combatant, and before you could stop him, he had another chair in a headlock. You stood there, watching in sheer disbelief as Bucky Barnes—the most feared assassin in the world—battled a set of IKEA furniture like it was the final boss fight of his life.

“Bucky, babe, please!” you shouted, a mix of panic and laughter bubbling out. “I can’t explain this to the landlord!”

Finally, in a last-ditch effort, you ran over and grabbed his arm—his metal arm, because that seemed like the safer bet. “Bucky, it’s me! You’re sleepwalking!”

At first, he didn’t respond. His eyes were still glazed over, lost in whatever dream battlefield he was trapped in. But then, slowly, he blinked. His metal arm relaxed under your grip, and he looked down at you, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“...What the hell?” he muttered, blinking again.

You let out the biggest sigh of relief. “Oh my god, thank you. I thought you were gonna destroy the whole apartment.”

Bucky glanced around, still looking dazed. “What… what happened?”

“You, uh… kinda went to war with the furniture,” you said, biting your lip to keep from laughing again. “You were sleepwalking.”

His eyes widened. “I did what?”

“You attacked the couch. And the coffee table. And, um, the chairs,” you explained, gesturing to the wreckage around the living room. “It was… a lot.”

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Shit. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, no,” you reassured him quickly. “I’m fine. But the couch… not so much.”

He looked over at the couch, which was now sagging slightly from the multiple punches it had taken. “Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I really went at it, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Babe, you suplexed the couch. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Bucky winced. “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted, grinning up at him. “It was kind of… impressive, honestly. I mean, you took out an entire living room while asleep. That’s some next-level stuff.”

He gave you a sheepish look, still clearly embarrassed. “I’ll fix it in the morning.”

“You better,” you teased. “But for now, can we please go back to bed before you decide to fight the fridge or something?”

Bucky let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll… I’ll stay away from the appliances.”

You wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him back toward the bedroom. “Good idea, soldier. Let’s just stick to sleeping from now on.”

As you both crawled back into bed, you couldn’t help but steal one last glance at the wrecked living room, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Bucky?” you whispered, snuggling up next to him.

“Yeah?”

“If you ever get the urge to fight the couch again, maybe, like, wake me up first?”

He groaned, pulling the covers over his head. “Don’t remind me.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Goodnight, Super Soldier Sleepwalker.”

“Goodnight,” he muttered, already halfway back to sleep.

But this time, thankfully, without the couch-wrestling.

[gwens-love]

Not Haunted anymore

<-Part 2 ~ Part 4-> (coming soon)

Summary: Driven by love and desperation, you risk everything to bring Agatha back. But some things are not so easily won, and the line between life and death is fragile.

Warnings: emotional themes, loss and grief (kinda but not really)

Word count: 3.2k

~ghost!Agatha Harkness x fem!reader~

~Rio Vidal x fem!reader~

Please don’t copy/steal or translate this work thanks.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The seasons blurred as you waited, relentless in your hope. Green leaves turned gold and fell, the air crisped with the upcoming winter’s chill, but you stayed rooted in your goal. You wouldn’t let go… not like Rio had.

Today, the autumn sun brushed against your face as you sat outside with a familiar book, its pages worn from the weight of your gaze. You’d read it countless times, but it didn’t matter. This was for Agatha, and you couldn’t allow yourself to give up, not when the ache in your chest grew stronger each day.

Rio’s visits had become rare, just twice a week or so, and even then, her presence was hollow. She barely taught you anymore, simply standing beside you with empty eyes, as if all the fire… the life she might have had… had flickered out. Without her guidance, you had to teach yourself. You fumbled, grinding herbs too forcefully, botching incantations with poor pronunciation. But each mistake only spurred you to keep trying.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

Time slipped through your fingers until spring arrived, and with it, a slow, creeping despair. You’d tried every spell, every book, every herb. You’d even sought out real witches, though they’d leave at the mere mention of Agatha’s name. Nothing worked. Each failure sank into the silence of the house, thick and suffocating, leaving you unable to think clearly.

Frustrated, you searched for your headphones, anything to drown out the quiet that had taken root here. And then… a knock at the door.

Your heart leaped. You dashed downstairs, hope clawing its way into your chest. When you swung open the door.

Rio stood there, framed by the soft glow of twilight. You stepped back, swallowing the knot of words lodged in your throat, and gestured for her to come inside.

Rio steps inside, a spark in her eyes that you haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity. She looks almost… alive again. It’s startling, seeing that glimmer, that hint of joy tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“What’s got you so happy?” you ask, confusion knitting your brows.

Rio turns to you, her grin widening, a rare, genuine warmth filling the air between you both. “I found something,” she says, her voice barely containing her excitement. “After all this time, I think I found a solution.”

Your heart races, hope swelling in your chest even as doubt pulls at you. “A solution? You mean…?”

She nods, reaching out to take your hand. “Yes. A way to bring Agatha back. I found something powerful… something no one’s tried before.”

A flicker of caution surfaces in your mind, but the desperation you’ve held onto for so long outweighs it. “What do we have to do?”

Rio’s fingers tighten around yours as she leads you to sit beside her. Her eyes shimmer with a strange, almost feverish excitement as she slips a worn, heavy book from her satchel, bound in dark green leather. The cover is cracked from years of wear, the pages yellowed and fragile.

“I found this,” she murmurs, flipping through the brittle pages. “It’s a rare text, almost lost. The rituals in here…they’re powerful, more than anything we’ve tried before.”

You stare at the book, trying to process her words. “Where did you even find something like this?”

Her face shifts, a flicker of something dark passing through her gaze. “It wasn’t easy. Let’s just say I made some… arrangements. But it’ll be worth it. I know this will work.” Her hand shakes slightly as she finds the page, turning it toward you. The cramped text and curling symbols are written in an ancient language, nearly unreadable. In the center is an intricate illustration of symbols, all intertwining to form a complex pattern.

You feel a pang of unease. “Why hasn’t anyone done this before if it’s so powerful?”

Rio hesitates, her voice softening. “Because it demands a lot. Complete focus, and an unwavering intent. If either of us falters…we might not bring her back at all.”

A chill runs through you as you take in her words. The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken doubts and fears. But beneath it all, there’s a longing that eclipses everything else. You can’t give up, not after coming this far.

“What do we need to do?” you ask, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Rio’s lips curve into a smile, one tinged with determination. “The ritual has to be performed under the midnight moon. We’ll need specific herbs, a lock of Agatha’s hair, and our most precious memory of her. Each of us has to bring something deeply tied to her… something that binds us.”

She starts gathering the necessary items, and together you arrange everything carefully: candles placed in a circle, bundles of sage and rosemary, and a small, carefully wrapped lock of Agatha’s hair. Rio’s hands are steady as she lights each candle, murmuring under her breath words you can’t quite catch.

Finally, she looks up, her eyes meeting yours in the dim candlelight. “Are you ready?”

The weight of her question settles over you, and you swallow, feeling the gravity of what you’re about to attempt. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of you take your places across from each other, kneeling on either side of the circle. The scent of herbs fills the air, mingling with the warmth of candlelight that flickers, casting shadows against the walls. Rio instructs you to close your eyes, to focus on Agatha—her laughter, her voice, the warmth of her embrace. Memories rush through your mind: afternoons spent learning from her, her steady guidance, the spark of her wisdom.

“Now,” Rio says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Hold onto that memory, and don’t let go. We need to anchor her spirit.”

You nod, clinging to the image in your mind, willing it to hold strong. Rio’s voice begins to chant, low and melodic, as if each word is stitched with power. The air grows thick, humming with energy, and you feel it settling over you, heavy and electric.

The candle flames flicker and bend, stretching toward the center of the circle as if pulled by an unseen force. Shadows swirl around you, shapes dancing at the edge of your vision. You keep your focus, letting Rio’s voice guide you deeper, pulling you through memories of Agatha until it feels as if she’s right there, just out of reach.

Then, the atmosphere shifts, a chill sweeping over you, sending a shiver down your spine. You feel a presence, delicate and familiar, almost tangible. Your heart pounds, each beat echoing in your ears as you dare to open your eyes. Rio’s chanting has stopped, her eyes wide, locked on a faint, misty form beginning to coalesce within the circle.

There she is, Agatha, her form fragile and translucent, like moonlight made solid. Her eyes meet yours, filled with something between longing and sorrow. For a moment, everything else falls away. She’s here. You’ve done it.

“Agatha…” you breathe, reaching out instinctively.

But her gaze shifts, and a faint smile graces her lips. Her voice, barely more than a whisper, reaches you. “I’m… here, but not for long.”

Rio stiffens beside you, her face a mixture of triumph and desperation. “No, we can’t lose you again. There has to be more, something else we can do.”

Agatha’s gaze softens as she looks between you and Rio, the faintest hint of pride in her eyes. “You’ve come so far… but some things are not meant to be tampered with.” She steps back, fading slightly, her voice lingering. “Hold onto what we had. Let that be enough.”

And with that, her form shimmers and dissolves into the candlelight, leaving you and Rio in the quiet, empty space once more. The silence is deafening, your heart aching with a finality you hadn’t prepared for.

Rio reaches for your hand, her fingers squeezing yours. “Maybe… maybe this was enough,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with the pain of letting go. The two of you sit there, fingers intertwined, letting the last traces of Agatha’s presence linger in the air, knowing that she’ll always be a part of you etched in memory, bound in love.

As Agatha’s form begins to fade, a surge of panic grips you. This isn’t enough. You refuse to accept the soft, fleeting memory as all you’ll ever have of her. Agatha deserves more, she deserves life, a real, tangible presence beside you once more.

“Wait!” you shout, reaching into the circle, your hand trembling with determination. Rio’s eyes snap to you, filled with confusion and alarm.

“Y/N… what are you doing?” she whispers, her hand tightening on yours, trying to pull you back. But you shake her off, stepping into the center of the circle as your own magic swells around you, a warmth that’s different from Rio’s shadows and quiet whispers. Your power surges forward, bold and unyielding, like spring itself, a magic tied to life, rebirth, and creation.

“I’m not letting her go again,” you say, your voice steady and fierce. “Not when I… I can bring her back. Really back. She won’t be just a memory, just a spirit tethered to the shadows. She’ll be alive.”

Rio’s eyes widen, understanding dawning as she takes in the intensity radiating from you. “No, Y/N, the spell, Agatha warned us. You can’t use magic to bring someone fully back… It’s unstable. She’d be caught between worlds, between life and death.”

But you don’t listen. Your mind races through everything you’ve learned, everything Rio taught you, and you taught yourself, as you push deeper into your power, calling on the energy that runs in your veins. It pulses through you, responding to your desperation and longing.

You focus on Agatha, feeling her presence, fragile and wavering in the circle. Your fingers extend toward her, reaching into the space where her form hovers like mist. Her gaze catches yours, and for a moment, you see fear and a trace of sadness there.

“Agatha,” you murmur, feeling the magic coil and tighten within you, a warm, consuming force. “I’m not letting you go. You deserve to be here, to live again, to touch the earth, to feel the sunlight. I’ll make it happen. I swear it.”

The warmth of magic..? spreads, spilling out of you and filling the circle. You feel it pull, tugging at the edges of reality, bending the boundaries between life and death. Agatha’s form flickers, the mist growing thicker, denser. Slowly, her outline sharpens, her features taking on a warmth and solidity that wasn’t there before.

You push harder, feeling the strain of it, the raw power searing through your veins, demanding everything you have. Agatha’s form steadies, her gaze wide with a mixture of hope and terror as she realizes what you’re doing. She reaches toward you, her hand solid, her fingers brushing yours for the first time in what feels like eternity. The warmth of her touch ignites something within you, giving you strength to go even further.

But something is wrong. A strange, dark edge creeps into the magic, twisting it, contorting it as you push past the natural order. You can feel the boundary between life and death fraying, splintering under the force of your power. Your breath catches, but you refuse to stop, willing Agatha into full life even as you feel the cost beginning to weigh on you.

Finally, with a gasp, Agatha stands before you solid, alive, and breathing. Her chest rises and falls as she takes in her surroundings, her eyes full of wonder and disbelief as she looks at her hands, her body. She’s here. She’s real.

But the strain hits you like a tidal wave, and you stumble, your body weakening as the energy drains from you. Rio is beside you in an instant, catching you, her face pale with fear. “Y/N… What have you done?”

You barely hear her, your gaze locked on Agatha, who’s staring back at you, her eyes filled with a fierce, overwhelming gratitude. She steps closer, reaching for you, her hands warm and real, and the sensation fills you with joy and relief.

But there’s a heaviness in the air, a sense that something is shifting, that the world itself is groaning under the weight of your defiance. You can feel it in the marrow of your bones, like a tether pulled too tight, ready to snap.

Agatha pulls you close, her arms wrapping around you, and you sink into her embrace, feeling the pulse of her heart against your cheek. But as you hold her, you sense the tremor within her, the fragility in the life you’ve given her. She’s here, but she’s bound to you in a way that feels… unnatural, tethered by a force that defies the very fabric of the world.

And deep down, you realize that she is alive, yes, but at a cost. The magic inside her isn’t stable; it’s restless, hungry, feeding off the very essence that holds you together.

Rio’s voice is barely a whisper. “Y/N… what happens now?”

You meet Agatha’s gaze, knowing that the life you’ve given her is bound to your own, and that the two of you are now entangled in a way that defies the natural order. You know that, in time, this magic may demand a price, a sacrifice you’re not yet ready to name. But for now, Agatha’s here, alive and breathing, and that’s all that matters.

“We take it one day at a time,” you murmur, feeling the weight of what you’ve done settle over you. For now, it’s enough.

Agatha’s solid, warm arms are still wrapped around you, her heart beating under your cheek as you cling to her. But then your knees buckle, the ground tilting beneath you as a sudden, overwhelming wave of dizziness crashes through your mind. You try to hold on, but your strength drains away, leaving you weak and barely able to stand.

“Y/N!” Rio’s voice is frantic as she catches you, lowering you gently to the floor. She kneels beside you, her face pale and stricken, shock etched into her features.

“You’re a witch…?” Agatha whispers, her hand trembling as she brushes a strand of hair from your face. “How… I had no idea. You never told me.” Her voice is filled with wonder and disbelief, her eyes wide as if seeing you for the first time.

You try to speak, to explain, but the words slip away as exhaustion claims you, your body numb and drained from the sheer power you poured into the spell. A murmur ripples through the room as Rio hovers beside you, concern written in every line of her face.

“She didn’t just use magic,” Rio murmurs, almost to herself. “She wielded the magic of life, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. That’s not just any spell. That’s…”

“A witch of life,” Agatha finishes, her voice soft with awe, as if saying the words aloud makes them true. “I thought they were a myth.”

“Apparently not,” Rio mutters, but her hand clutches yours tightly, grounding you as the room continues to spin.

You blink up at them, struggling to focus, as the last of your strength ebbs away. The world fades around you, but you catch Agatha’s expression, a mixture of astonishment and fierce pride. “You did this,” she says softly. “You brought me back. Y/N… how?”

But before you can answer, your vision blurs, the edges of your sight darkening as unconsciousness pulls you under. The last thing you feel is Agatha’s hand clasped in yours and Rio’s whispered promise: “Rest now, Y/N. We’ll figure this out… together.”

~<~>~<~>~<~>~

The darkness closes over you, leaving their shocked faces lingering in your mind, a moment that feels both surreal and unforgettable, knowing you’ve revealed a part of yourself that you didn’t even fully understand.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the weight of blankets and the soft warmth of sunlight spilling through the window. You blink, adjusting to the light, and try to sit up, but a sharp, aching fatigue pulls you back down. Your body feels heavy, as though you’ve been asleep for days.

As you take in the quiet of the room, you hear muffled voices outside the door. A moment later, it opens, and Agatha and Rio slip inside. Agatha’s face lights up with relief, and Rio’s expression shifts from worry to quiet awe.

“Y/N!” Agatha crosses the room, her hands reaching for yours, her touch grounding you as she squeezes your fingers. “Thank goodness, you’re finally awake.”

You blink at her, struggling to make sense of everything. “How long was I… asleep?”

Rio answers, her tone gentle. “A week. We weren’t sure when you’d wake up.” She takes a deep breath, searching your face before adding, “You used a lot of magic, more than we even thought possible.”

Magic. The memory hits you like a wave, pulling you back to that moment when Agatha’s spirit had shifted to flesh and bone. The spell, the power coursing through you, the almost unbearable force of it all. Your pulse quickens as the realization sinks in. “Wait… I’m not a witch. I don’t even know how to cast spells. That shouldn’t be possible.”

Rio and Agatha exchange glances, as if waiting for the right way to explain. Agatha sits down beside you, her fingers still tangled with yours. “Y/N… you are a witch. Or maybe, you became one,” she murmurs, studying your face. “You’re a life witch, it’s close to a green witch, but you can interfere with not only the life of plants, but with animals and apparently humans too.”

You shake your head, trying to wrap your mind around it. “But… I’ve never been able to do anything like that. I wasn’t born a witch.”

“That’s the strange part,” Rio says softly, her expression intense. “The magic, it just… appeared in you when you needed it. Like it was meant to be there all along, waiting for the right moment.” She runs a hand through her hair, disbelief flickering in her eyes. “Y/N, I’ve never seen anything like it. You summoned the magic of life, the rarest, most ancient form of magic there is. Only a few witches in all of history have had that ability.”

A strange, chilling wonder fills you, making you shiver. You stare down at your hands, the memory of that unstoppable power still fresh, almost like a dream. “But I… I don’t know how to control it. I don’t even understand it.”

Agatha’s fingers tighten around yours, grounding you again. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t know everything right now. What matters is that you brought me back. You saved me, Y/N.” She smiles, warmth and gratitude shining in her eyes. “You did the impossible.”

Rio nods, her face softening as she looks at you. “You’ve tapped into something few ever do. It’s overwhelming, I know. But we’ll figure it out together.”

You meet their eyes, still grappling with the reality of it all. The power, the spell, the unexplainable magic that had surged through you. The witch you’d become, without even realizing it. A new part of you, mysterious and powerful, waiting to be understood.

For now, though, you’re not alone. Agatha and Rio are here, guiding you, grounding you. Whatever this magic is, wherever it leads, you’re ready. Together, you’ll uncover its secrets, and maybe, finally, understand the path fate has set before you.

~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~<~>~

Fin <3

Taglist: @midnight-lestrange

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Welcome Home, Tough Guy

Pairing: Simon “Ghost Riley X Reader

Warnings: fluff, reader acting silly and get to see some humanity in Simon instead of just the soldier we know he is

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, i needed to see Simon as more of a human, so… here’s the baby boy

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The past few weeks had been long and lonely without Simon. The countdown to his return felt endless, and in the days leading up to his homecoming, you’d channeled your anticipation into planning a celebration. It was silly, maybe even a little over-the-top, but you wanted to welcome him back in a way that showed him he was loved and that he could let his guard down here.

So, after a lot of last-minute tweaks and second-guessing, you finally set up your surprise: a big “WELCOME HOME, TOUGH GUY” sign, balloons you’d blown up by hand, a lopsided banner, and a snack table packed with all his favorite treats. You knew it might be too much for Simon, who always tried to slip back home as quietly as he could, but you couldn’t resist. After all, he deserved something a little special.

When you finally heard the familiar rumble of his truck pulling up outside, your heart skipped a beat, and you practically sprinted to the door, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. Through the window, you caught sight of him as he stepped out, his tall, broad frame cutting an imposing figure in the fading light. Despite his usual guarded posture, there was something softer in his eyes as he looked up at the house.

As he made his way to the door, he froze, taking in the decorations with a raised eyebrow. His gaze lingered on the crooked banner, the balloons, and finally, the giant welcome sign on the door. His mouth twitched, the hint of a smile breaking through his usually stoic expression.

“Really?” he muttered, his tone deadpan. “A sign?”

“Oh, come on!” you teased, barely able to contain your excitement as he came up the steps. “After all this time away, you think I wouldn’t celebrate?”

He shook his head, clearly fighting back a laugh. “Didn’t peg you for the ‘welcome home party’ type.”

“Well, I’m making an exception for you,” you replied, hands on your hips. “You deserve it.”

He paused, glancing at you with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Deserve a good meal and a quiet night, maybe. Not… all this.” He gestured to the decor, and you could see he was a bit overwhelmed.

“Oh, please.” You gave him a playful nudge as you guided him inside. “There’s even snacks.”

“Snacks?” His eyebrow lifted again as he took in the spread of chips, sandwiches, and a few neatly arranged drinks on the table. “Didn’t know I’d be gettin’ the five-star treatment.”

“Only the best for you, big guy,” you teased, and motioned to the couch where you’d piled up every blanket and pillow you could find. “Now, sit back and let me pamper you.”

Simon sighed but didn’t argue, sinking into the mountain of blankets with a look of amused exasperation. “I feel like I’m at some kind of spa,” he muttered.

“Exactly!” You handed him a cup of iced tea with a tiny, bright pink umbrella sticking out. “A full tropical experience, just for you.”

He stared at the drink, glancing at you with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. “An umbrella?”

“Obviously,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “Welcome to paradise.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, as if he couldn’t quite believe any of this was real. Then, with a faint shake of his head, he took a careful sip, holding the tiny umbrella off to the side. You could tell he was trying to keep his usual stoic composure, but the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth was impossible to hide.

“Happy now?” he asked, glancing over at you with a smirk.

“Very,” you replied, settling in beside him with a grin. “Now, relax. Let me spoil you a bit.”

Simon gave a resigned sigh, leaning back against the cushions. But as he looked around at the makeshift decorations, you noticed a softness in his expression, a rare ease that he reserved just for moments like these.

“Missed you,” he murmured, his voice low, and reached out to take your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. The simple confession hit you like a wave, filling your heart with warmth.

“Missed you too,” you replied, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You know, you really need to take more breaks. You deserve some softness now and then.”

He let out a short chuckle, looking down at you with that rare, affectionate gaze. “Spoilin’ me with pink umbrellas and throw pillows, yeah?”

“Exactly,” you said, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “Think of it as a taste of what life could be like if you ever let yourself actually relax.”

He shook his head, but you caught the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Didn’t think I’d ever be the kinda man to need all this,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost too soft to hear. “Didn’t know I needed it ‘til I met you.”

The admission made your heart ache with a fierce tenderness, and you reached up to brush a hand across his cheek. “Everyone needs a little comfort, Simon. Even you.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his gaze deep and searching, as though he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, with a rare gentleness, he shifted, slipping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close. You nestled into his side, feeling the steady, reassuring warmth of his presence.

In that silence, he started running his fingers through your hair, the slow, soothing rhythm lulling you into a comfortable haze. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the closeness, the softness of him in this moment. It was a side of Simon few ever got to see—the man beneath the mask, the one who craved peace just as much as you did.

After a while, you stirred, looking up at him with a playful grin. “So… what’s next? Movie? Board game? Or maybe I’ll make us some popcorn?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re just lookin’ for an excuse to beat me at somethin’, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you teased, poking his side. “Or maybe I just want an excuse to spend more time like this. With you.”

His gaze softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t need an excuse, love. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

As he held you, you felt the weight of his words settle into your heart, filling you with a deep, quiet happiness. For tonight, there were no missions, no walls between you, and no expectations—just Simon, your Simon, wrapped up in blankets and silly decorations, basking in a rare moment of pure, unguarded peace.

Here, in this cozy little bubble you’d created together, he wasn’t Ghost. He was simply Simon—the man who loved you, who let you see every part of him, even the sides he tried to hide. And for you, that was the greatest gift of all.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

Love and Marriage

It’s a quiet night in, the two of you curled up on the couch, the glow of a movie is on the screen in front of you. The sounds of some romantic comedy is in the background, but you’re only half watching…your attention drifting every so often to the steady rise and fall of Caitlin’s breathing beside you. She has her arm wrapped around you pulling you in close, her fingers tracing gentle circles on your shoulder like she’s memorizing every part of you.

This is your comfort zone …date nights at home, a bowl of popcorn between you and your legs tangled together under the blanket. Caitlin lets out a sigh shifting to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, and you settle deeper into her embrace, feeling that familiar warmth. There’s something about nights like this that makes the whole world fall away…leaving just you and her in this quiet, shared space.

And then just as the movie reaches one of those overly sweet sentimental moments, you hear Caitlin’s voice soft and contemplative. “You know… we could just make it official.” Her words are barely louder than a whisper, but they cut through the stillness making your heart skip a beat.

You glance up, seeing the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth but there’s a seriousness in her eyes, a weight that tells you this is more than a passing thought. “Official?” you ask, feigning confusion to buy yourself a moment to process the familiar, almost expectant look in her eyes.

She laughs softly but there’s a nervousness to it, like she’s treading carefully. “Yeah, like… you know, us… a wedding. I mean, we’ve been together for a bit, baby. What are we waiting?”

The question hovers in the air and you can feel her fingers tighten slightly on your shoulder, her eyes searching yours. You know she means it. She’s been dropping hints here and there for months now, each one a little more insistent than the last.

You remember her glancing over at your friends exchanging their vows during their wedding you attended together last month. Her hand slipping into yours and the way she’d sighed in content, squeezing your hand a little tighter. Or when you’d caught the bouquet and playfully asked “Ohhh is this a sign?” with a mischievous smile even though you’d both laughed it off.

And the other day after you’d spent the weekend visiting her family, she’d told you in the car “Honey, my parents already consider you a part of the family. We could just make it real, you know?” You hadn’t had an answer then and she hadn’t pushed, but it was clear that each little moment like that made her want this even more.

“Cait,” you murmur, shifting so you can meet her gaze. “We don’t need to rush. We’re together and that’s enough for me.” You reach up, brushing a hand through her hair, trying to soothe the flicker of hurt you see in her eyes.

She sighs but it’s soft, like she’s trying to hold back her frustration. “Y/N, it’s just…” She bites her lip her fingers lacing with yours as she gathers her thoughts. “I’ve never been this sure about anyone before. You’re it for me baby. I don’t want to keep waiting, not when I know you’re my forever.”

Her voice cracks slightly and the desperation in her words settle deep in your chest. You’ve always known Caitlin is all in with you, that she’s never questioned this but seeing her like this…her heart on her sleeve makes it all feel that much more real. She wants this with you maybe even needs it, and you realize your hesitation is hurting her in a way you hadn’t fully understood.

“Baby” you say, your voice thick with emotion as you cup her cheek, your thumb brushing softly along her skin. “It’s not that I don’t want it…I love you more than anything. But why can’t we just hold onto what we have in the moment? It doesn’t mean I don’t see you as my forever...because you’re it for me too, Caity.”

She leans into your touch but there’s still a sadness in her eyes, a longing that’s hard to ignore. “I know you love me,” she whispers, her voice barely holding steady. “But I just can’t help wanting you to be mine officially, baby. I want to know you’re mine in every way, that we’re building this life together, no question.”

The way her voice breaks when she says “mine” sends a pang through your chest. You remember her eyes welling with tears as she held your hand in the ER when you’d gotten in a bad car wreck months ago, and how she’d kept mumbling, “You’re gonna be okay, my strong girl.” over and over again, clinging to you as if her touch could keep you safe. It’s like she’s been carrying a worry, that there’s no label, yet to prove this is forever.

You look at her taking in the vulnerability, the feelings she’s sharing. She’s trying so hard to understand and to be patient but you can see it’s breaking her a little more each time you ask her to wait. The thought of watching her hope fade, of letting this tension grow between you is too much.

Silence falls as you search her face, feeling the weight of your own hesitation and your own fears, begin to slip away. And then with a deep breath you realize you don’t want to wait either. Not anymore…not if it means seeing her so full of longing.

Before you can overthink it you reach out, taking her hand and holding it between both of yours. “Okay” you murmur voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes widen and you see a flash of surprise and hope that makes your heart beat faster.

“Okay?” she echoes, almost like she’s afraid to believe it.

You smile feeling a wave of certainty settle over you. “Let’s do it, Caity. Let’s get married…I want this with you, all of it.”

Her breath catches, and her face breaks into a smile that’s all joy. Her eyes misty..you can see a dozen emotions flicker across her face relief, excitement, love..all blurring together as she wraps her arms around you and pulls you close. Her grip is strong as if letting go would mean this might vanish.

“I can’t believe you actually said yes” she whispers..a laugh escaping through the happy tears she’s trying to hold back. “I mean, I knew I’d convince you one day, but…you really want this?”

You nod, your own voice breaking as you pull her in even closer. “Yes, baby. I don’t want to keep holding back, I want it all with you.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before her hand slides to cup your cheek, her eyes full of wonder. She leans in, her lips finding yours in a kiss that’s soft and tender, a kiss that speaks of everything she’s ever wanted to say. Her thumb brushes against your cheek as her lips linger against yours, gentle but filled with all the love she’s been holding in her heart. It’s a kiss that feels like a promise, like the beginning of something you both know will last a lifetime.

She leans back slightly, keeping your face in her hands as she studies you…the disbelief still lighting up her face. Her fingers brush over your cheeks. “You have no idea how happy this makes me… I was starting to think I’d have to propose every day until you finally said yes.”

You laugh softly, your heart swelling. “I don’t know why I kept you waiting so long. I think I just… I was scared of losing what we have. But I see it now…marrying you isn’t going to change anything. I just get to call you my wife.”

She nods, her thumb brushing over your cheek as she looks at you with intensity, that it takes your breath away. “Exactly sweet girl. I can’t believe you’re going to be my actual wife.” Caitlin says giggling.

A different expression drifts across Caitlin’s face and you can tell she’s already thinking ahead, her excitement too much to contain. “I wonder what kind of rings we’ll get” she murmurs, almost to herself. “I mean, you deserve something stunning…something classic and elegant, just like you.”

She glances down at your hand as if imagining the ring there, her fingers tracing over your knuckles with a softness that sends warmth rushing through you. She brings your hand to her mouth and kisses your knuckles. “Maybe a solitaire diamond for you, something timeless” she continues her eyes twinkling. “And for me…maybe something a little less traditional, something that’ll remind me of you every time I look at it.”

You feel yourself blushing as her words sink in, and you can’t help but laugh softly. “You’re already planning the rings?”

“Of course” she says, grinning and looking at you like she can’t believe you’re hers in every way. “And the dresses. Can you imagine how gorgeous you’ll look? I can picture you walking down the aisle towards me…” She trails off the thought of it making her eyes misty all over again.

The mental image of her standing at the end of the aisle waiting for you with that same look of love and certainty she’s wearing now, sends a shiver through you. You can almost see the smile she’ll be trying to hide and the way she’ll probably have to wipe away her tears as she watches you make your way to her.

“God, I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this. A wedding…with you.” Caitlin murmurs after a beat of silence.

You squeeze her hand your own excitement growing as you watch her get lost in the details. “It’s going to be beautiful babe…and knowing you, you’ll make sure it’s perfect like you always do.”

She laughs softly her eyes still bright with the future she’s so clearly picturing. “Perfect would just be the two of us, you know? Somewhere small and quiet…where I can tell you everything you mean to me. But I’ll take a big celebration if that’s what you want.” she adds her voice filled with a love so clear it leaves you breathless.

You smile feeling that same love rushing through you. You never thought saying yes would feel this right, that it would open up a whole world of dreams you didn’t even know you wanted.

[sundew199]

Birthday present

a/n: just smth cute to celebrate Zoro's birthday ♡

tags: Roronoa Zoro x f!reader, fluff, dad!zoro, family dynamics, post-canon

His hands shook as he wiped them from on the sides of his pants, clammy and moist from the nervous sweat he had broken out into as he waited.

It'd been a couple of hours since he received word that you'd gone into labor, caught up in a class and doing his best to rush back to the compound where the two of you lived. The whole day had been a mess, Zoro not anticipating you'd be close to delivering when he agreed to teach a class halfway across the island almost a year ago. Oh well, he can't go back and change the past, all he could do now was apologize and make up for it somehow.

"Everything went smoothly."

Not even hearing the door to the bedroom open, let alone spot the doctor slipping out of the room, snapping Zoro's restless thoughts back to the present. The man looked kind and forgiving, features creasing soft in a reassuring smile as he patted Zoro's arm.

"I'll give you all the time you need, congratulations."

Zoro barely smiled at the doctor as he turned down the hall away from the bedroom Zoro stood outside of. There shouldn't be any reason why he was nervous, right? I mean this wasn't a surprise, sort of planned and wanted so he should just go in and forget about everything swirling in his head. But his stomach flipped and churned and he wished he knew why.

Well. He can't stand out here for the rest of his life.

Slowly pulling back the shoji, slipping inside, Zoro just about melted seeing you cradle a small bundle in your arms, paired with the brightest and yet most tired smile he's seen on you.

"Hey." Falling to his knees beside the futon, grasping the back of your head and placing a kiss on your cheek. "I'm so sorry, I tried to get here as fast as I could."

A soft hand came to silence whatever else might've come out of his mouth next, gently laughing and kissing his cheek back, making the unease in his veins simmer into nothing.

"It's okay, this was kind of unexpected, for everyone."

Zoro cumbersomely laughed, pressing his forehead to yours and then following it with a kiss, reassured to know you weren't upset with him for missing the birth of his first child. You began to scoot over to make room for him, adjusting the baby in your arms and giving Zoro a brief glance. Shit he felt so emotional, a lump rising in his throat and finding no way to make it go away.

Slowly your hand moved the loose blanket swaddled around the baby out of the way so Zoro could see them properly. They were sleeping soundly in the comfort of your arms, it almost didn't look or feel real that he was a father now. He'd hope the realization would've set in sooner, but at the same time the overwhelming sensation coursing through him felt other worldly.

"Can I?" Asking nervously, watching you break out into a small laugh at his question to hold his own child, but Zoro was nervous and it couldn't be helped.

"Of course."

The exchange felt like it was in slow motion, Zoro something of a giant to this new life and instantly on pins and needles when the baby was placed in his arms. Moving as carefully as he could while sitting on the edge of the futon, Zoro looked at you with misty eyes, not quiet crying but overflowing with joy.

"It's a boy by the way."

Hearing you whisper the sweet words and smiling even harder, looking back down again at the baby and adjusting his hold to where he could move the blanket further away from their face. His son made little faces at the adjustments, worrying Zoro for a moment but calming when he continued to sleep.

"I meant to get you a proper gift, but I hope this is okay for now."

Quicker than he could process, Zoro was twisting to look at you fully, uncertainty taking over in his expression.

"Gift? What are you talking about?"

Your sweet laugh confused him further, wondering what you were talking about. Subtly, you scooted closer, hooking your chin over his shoulder and throwing an arm around the other, pressing your cheek to his as you both admired the sleeping baby in his arms.

"It's your birthday today."

Oh.

Oh-

Zoro slightly turned his head with wide eyes, the reminder dawning on him in that moment and suddenly he felt emotions he couldn't find proper words for. His birthday wasn't anything he cared much for, just another year getting older, but he did like the excuse of getting to drink as a form of celebration. He'd been so focused on you and the dojo that his birthday didn't even cross his mind once.

"Shit it is isn't it?"

Lips vibrated on his cheek as you kissed him with another laugh, running your fingertips along his shoulder and humming peacefully.

"Mhm. You don't mind sharing a birthday do you?" Asking with a bit of humor in your tone, pulling the corner of Zoro's mouth into a firmer smile.

"No," Moving to fully turn and face you now, getting himself properly adjusted on the futon next to you, checking in on his son still fast asleep. "Probably just made my birthdays more memorable from here on out."

With his free hand, Zoro cupped one side of your face, locking you into a deep kiss, stroking his thumb over your cheek bone when he pulled away.

"It's not going to bother me, but we never know how he'll feel about it when he's older." Motioning down towards the newborn baby with his chin, breathily chuckling at his own comment.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see." Leaning over to kiss the top of your son's head, proceeding to give Zoro a quick kiss as well before curling up into his side carefully, running your hand across the soft newborn hair with your fingers.

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: The company found out about Chan dating you and in order to save his idol life, he is forced to break up with you. The both of you saw this coming but the heartbreak is unbearable…

Warnings: BREAK UP ONE SHOT. Smut🔞, unprotected sex, Oral (f. receiving), pet names, heartbreak, angst, tears.

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: This isn't a loving one shot but a heartbreaking one, just a practice because I wanna explore writing angsty scenes. It's VERY different from my usual work, so I really hope you'll enjoy this...

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 3.9k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The sound of the clock ticking in the once warm apartment felt like stabbing a nail through your head.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Time doesn't stop flying. And God you'd do anything to stop it or go back to relive certain moments which are now memories. Time slips through our fingers like sand, no matter how tightly we try to hold it.

The air was suffocating, thick with tension, unspoken words that refused to come out. Your eyes never left the floor and you could feel his eyes looking at you, his heart torn between regret and determination.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this—you had promised each other that. But some things were beyond promises, beyond dreams, beyond even love.

“You knew this could happen, right?” Chan’s voice was a soft whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it real.

Your throat tightened, your eyes blurring with tears that you tried so hard to hold back. Of course it had come to an end. The universe was cruel, pulling two souls together only to tear them apart.

You nodded, feeling the weight of every unsaid word pressing on your chest. "I knew," you murmured, the words barely finding their way out.

A flicker of pain crossed Chan’s face, and he took a deep breath. “If there was any other way… you know I’d choose you. Every time. But I can’t... I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for. It’s not just about me—it’s the group, the fans...”

You bit your lip, desperately wanting to say something, anything to make him stay. But deep down, you understood. You always had.

The two of you risked it and spent the night together at a hotel, when a company staff spotted Chan with a mysterious woman. The following morning Chan was called into the headquarters where he was met with cold stares and harsher words.

The company laid out the stakes in brutal clarity; his career, his group, everything he’d worked his whole life for, would crumble if he continued this relationship. There was no room for compromise, no softening of the blow. Chan had been forced to choose.

He was lucky that this remained in the walls of the company, but that luck came with a price. They had made it clear that they’d bury the scandal, keep it from reaching the public as if this had never happened, but only if Chan ended things immediately and distanced himself from you completely. They were giving him a way out, but it was one he’d have to take alone.

And now, in the echoing silence of the apartment, with everything unravelling around you both, the gravity of that choice felt like an anchor around your heart.

Chan’s eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders heavy with the weight of guilt. “I never wanted it to come to this,” he said, his voice breaking. “But if I don’t… if we don’t…” His words trailed off, as though even he couldn’t bear to say them.

A bitter laugh escaped you, though you hadn’t meant for it to. “So, what? We just pretend none of this ever happened? That all of this was nothing?”

He flinched, and you saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. “No… no, it wasn’t nothing. You know it wasn’t.”

You shook your head, the tears you’d fought so hard to hold back finally spilling over. “Then why does it feel like it is? Why does it feel like I’m just… another sacrifice?” You couldn’t look at him. If you did, you felt like you’d lose your mind and crush your already broken heart.

Chan closed the distance between you, his hands resting on your arms as he pulled you close, his forehead touching yours. “You’re not a sacrifice,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re everything to me. That’s why this hurts so damn much.”

Your eyes remained closed, cheeks red and warm, breaths shallow and broken, as if anything you both could come up with would ever be a solution for what was about to happen. Chan held you against his chest, letting your aching tears soak his hoodie. He was holding back, he had to stay strong for the both of you.

You clung to him, fingers fisting in his hoodie, as if holding on tightly enough could somehow prevent the inevitable.

He stroked your hair gently, whispering soft words of comfort, though he knew, just as you did, that no words could fix this. Each breath he took was slow and measured, as though he were struggling to keep his composure, but you could feel the tremble in his chest, betraying the pain he was trying so hard to hide.

After what seemed like eternity, you pulled away from him and finally looked into his eyes through your blurry vision. Chan’s eyes locked with yours, encouraging you to say what you want to say at this moment.

“Chan,” His hand cupped your face. “Kiss me.” You said softly.

And so he did. Without a word escaping, his mouth crashed with yours, hungrily, desperately, as though he could pour every ounce of his love, everything left unspoken.

His hands tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but the pounding of your hearts. The kiss was fierce, filled with a longing so deep it felt like drowning.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, taking in his taste, his scent, allowing yourself to memorise every part of him till you were nothing but lost in the feel of him and everything outside ceased to exist.

Fierceness turned into anger as you both stumbled towards the bedroom, tearing your clothes off. His hoodie, your shirt, his shoes, your pants, until you both remained in nothing but your underwear.

Chan broke apart but came back with a roughness that sent a thrill through your body as he pushed you onto the bed and towered over you, sliding off your panties and unclasping your bra. Every inch of you was on liquid fire as Chan discarded his boxers, putting your legs up his shoulders as he buried his face in your wet heat.

A loud moan escaped your lips as his tongue feasted on your soaking cunt, lapping away your sweetness and getting drunk at the way you taste.

Your hands fisted his hair as you grind your needy pussy up his face, Chan groaned sucking on your clit like a man starved.

“Fuck baby,” His fingers gripped your soft thighs continuing his merciless assault on your throbbing nub. “Can never get enough of you.”

All you could do is moan at the way he worshipped you with his mouth and the low, husky sound of his beautiful voice.

He came upwards, kissing a hot trail over your pubic bone, your stomach, giving so much attention to your sweet nipples and crashed his mouth on yours as he sank into you in a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your body arched as you drank every drop of him, welcoming his huge length, letting him stretch you and fill you up completely. Your heart ached but your body responded to him the way it always did.

Eager and desperate.

Chan palmed your breast, swiping his thumb over the hard, sensitive nub slick with his saliva as he pounded into you in an agonising yet sweet pace, hitting spots that made you see stars over and over again.

“Chan…Chan please,”

Pleasure consumed you both whole, a hiss escaped his lips when he heard you moan, a sound that drove him insane, a sound he could listen for the rest of his life.

“Hmm, what do you want darling?” He pinched your nipple just as he slammed into you that tore a sharp cry from your throat.

I want you. With me forever

But those words couldn’t come out of your mouth. So all you could do was moan for him to go faster and harder. His fingers stroked your clit with the perfect pressure, you wanted him to keep pushing you further and further.

Nails dug into his back as he gave you what you asked for, the dimly lit room filled with moans and whimpers and skin slapping against skin. Chan’s mouth never left yours as he thrusted into you in force that felt like ecstasy, your orgasm tore through you as you came all over his cock.

He followed you soon after, a hot load of his cum gathering inside you, groaning into your neck, his huge body over you.

Sweat misted your skin, neck and chest covered in a trail of hickeys, the two of you kept climbing and crashing together for the next hour.

Every moment was perfect, like whatever that was happening before was just a bad dream and nothing was going wrong in the world. Chan wanted this to be the only thing to last a lifetime, you pressed against him, to wake up to your good morning texts, to sneak out with you in secret, to stretch this moment for however long he could take.

From sweet love making to hard fucking that left marks on your skin, you both pretended that this was the perfect life as if nothing is about to shatter you apart forever, reached till you passed out breathless on the bed.

Chan held you in his arms, a tension beginning to rebuild when the quiet room began to fill with the soft; Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You stirred in his arms, and Chan’s grip instinctively tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your skin as if he could brand this moment into memory. He wanted to say something, anything, to tell you how much you meant to him, how deeply he wished this night could be endless.

“Bang Chan,” an icy voice cut through the tense conference room, the PR’s voice cutting through the silence, “you know why we’re here.”

Chan’s jaw tightened, his heart already beating hard in his chest. He nodded, though his mind clung desperately to the hope that this conversation would turn out differently than he feared.

“It’s come to our attention that you’ve been seen with…” The executive hesitated, the distaste in his tone achingly clear. “A certain individual. You know the implications this has, not only for you but for the group as a whole.”

Chan’s fists clenched under the table. "I know," he admitted, voice low but steady. "But she’s not just anyone. She’s—”

"She’s a liability," another manager cut in, eyes hard as steel. "You’ve worked years for this career, Chan. Years. We’ve all sacrificed too much for it to be jeopardized by… personal entanglements.”

“She’s not a liability,” Chan said, fighting to keep the anger from his voice. “She’s important to me, and I’ve been careful—"

“Careful?” The PR head shook his head. “If you’d been careful, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You were lucky it was Miss Jia who spotted you. Can you imagine the disaster that would have come if it was a fan or paparazzi?”

Chan’s face paled as the PR head's words hit him with the weight of harsh reality. He’d been cautious, always looking over his shoulder, timing each meeting down to the minute. But deep down, he knew they were right. No amount of care could guarantee safety from prying eyes forever.

"We’ve considered all the options, and there is no room for compromise on this. The only way to protect your career is to end this relationship, quietly and immediately.”

A wave of dread settled over him, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake off. He swallowed, his throat tight. "So you’re asking me to choose… between her and everything I’ve worked for?"

"No," the executive corrected him coldly. "We’re telling you to choose your career.”

The ultimatum struck like a wrecking ball, leaving him feeling hollow and defeated. He glanced down at the table, the polished surface reflecting back his own tortured expression.

He’d known there was a risk—had tried to prepare himself for something like this. But hearing the words was like a knife twisting in his chest.

“I… I need time to think,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice, rough with emotion.

“There’s no time, Chan,” his manager replied softly, though the finality in his voice was unmistakable. “If you care about her, if you truly want what’s best for her… you’ll understand that this is the only choice.”

A painful clarity began to settle in as he saw the faces around him—faces he had trusted, faces he had worked with for years. And there, hidden behind their demands and their concern for the group, was an unforgiving reality.

Slowly, he nodded, his face etched with an unimaginable kind of pain.

“Fine. I’ll… I’ll end it.”

But his voice caught in his throat, the weight of goodbye pressing down on him like an anchor.

You sensed his struggle, you lifted your head to look at him. In the dim light, you could see the tears glistening in his eyes, barely held back. Your heart clenched, a sharp pang of pain blooming inside your chest as you realized the inevitable was catching up to you both.

"Don't look at me like that," you whispered, your voice trembling, but you managed a sad, fragile smile. "It’s going to make it harder.”

Chan let out a shaky breath, his fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “I don’t want to make it harder,” he replied softly. “But I… I don’t know how to let you go. I can't let you go.”

“Then don’t,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Just...” You sighed heavily.

You took his hand, holding it against your cheek, feeling the warmth of his palm, the calluses that spoke of years of dedication, of sacrifice, qualities that had once made you admire him and had now become the reason he couldn’t stay.

The irony was cruel.

“You know it’s not that simple. If I could…” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “If I could choose anyone, anything, I’d choose you, every time.”

“I know…” your voice trailed off. You smiled, your chin wobbling as you looked at him with those for one last moment. Time has come. You have to leave.

Regret and guilt splashed across Chan’s face as he realised your expression, you reluctantly pulled away from him and started changing into your clothes.

The warmth he’d given you faded instantly, replaced by the icy grip of reality that hung heavy between you. Each movement felt slow, as though you were wading through something thick and unyielding, like your body refused to obey the decision your heart could barely stand.

Chan watched you as you slipped into your clothes, he pushed the blanket over and changed into his shorts, and gripped your wrist as you both made it to the living room.

You turned quickly and looked at his grip then at him, his beautiful woody brown eyes refusing to let the tears fall but they rimmed red, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the love and pain.

“I��ll be okay,” you said, as much for yourself as for him, though your voice wavered. “Someday, I will be. And so will you.”

His eyes shut tightly, as if the words were a physical blow, and he nodded, though you could see the struggle etched into his features.

“Promise me,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Promise me you’ll be okay. Even if I’m not there.”

You swallowed back the sob that threatened to escape and nodded, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, then your lips, each one a goodbye of its own. You let him, savouring each moment, each touch, letting it wrap around you like armour, a last memory to keep close when everything else is gone.

“I'm sorry I broke your heart…”

You could have sworn that you heard a genuine crack in your chest the moment those words left his lips. Your hand slapped over your mouth to cover the shattering sob that threatened to consume you.

You looked up at Chan, tears running down your cheeks, smiling painfully, stroking his cheek.

“My heart is yours. Yours to love, yours to keep, yours to break.”

Chan pulled you hard into his embrace, finally letting his tears fall, your hands gripping his back, as you both cried your hearts out to each other one last time.

Snippets of your shared moments crowded your mind—all the cute dates, late night facetimes, sweetly secret gifts, Chan introducing you to his members—there was no room to breathe.

“I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…” That's all he could say. That's all he was allowed to say.

Your fingers brushed through his hair as you held him close, memorizing every detail, knowing this would be the last time. The warmth of his skin, the feel of his chest rising and falling against you, the scent that was uniquely his—it all wrapped around you, making it even harder to breathe, harder to let go.

“Chan…” you whispered, voice trembling. “Even if I walk away now, even if you have to let me go… I’ll still love you. I’ll always love you.”

“I’ll love you, too. No matter what.” His voice broke again, barely holding back another wave of grief. “In some other life… maybe we could’ve had forever.”

There was a universe somewhere, you believed, where you and Chan got to share all the dreams you whispered to each other late at night, where you didn’t have to be a secret, where his love didn’t have to be a risk.

But not here. Not now.

You softly pulled him and leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling the final feel of his skin against your lips. “Goodbye, Chan...” you whispered, the words catching in your throat.

He closed his eyes, as if it would help make it easier, but his hand lingered in yours a moment longer.

“Goodbye, my love…” he breathed, his voice no more than a broken whisper.

With every ounce of strength you had left, you let go, turning and walking out of the apartment. The sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoed like a death sentence, filling the silence with finality.

Each step you took away from him felt heavier, as though pieces of your heart were left scattered on the floor behind you. You tried your hardest not to look back, knowing that if you did, it would only pour salt to the already deep wound.

Inside, Chan impulsively grabbed the vase that was sitting on his coffee table throwing it at the wall, which shattered in a powerful crash that felt like a gunshot and collapsed back onto the couch, head falling between his hands as he let the grief he’d been holding back flood over him again.

The empty apartment was now as cold and hollow as he felt, each memory of you hanging in the air like ghosts he could never escape. And as he sat there, drowning in the silence, he could almost still feel the warmth of your embrace, the lingering traces of your touch that would fade too soon.

All that remained now were echoes—the echo of your voice, your laughter, all slipping through his fingers like sand.

And he knew, no matter what, he’d always carry this ache with him, a part of his heart forever held by someone he was never meant to keep.

Some goodbyes leave scars, not because love wasn't enough, but because it was everything.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,Ivyy

[brooklyncircus]

"Until you..." part. 8.

Hiromi Higuruma x reader.

Until you came into his life, Hiromi Higuruma had occasionally considered making a change within himself—mentally, emotionally, and physically—but he had never taken the idea with the seriousness it truly required.

Until you came along.

And now, here he was, tossing and turning in his bed, the blankets strewn about at his feet and tangled between his legs. Low grumbles and muttered curses escaped him as he rubbed his hands over his face, almost violently, and made a faint, barely perceptible pout.

“I just want to sleep. God, please help me sleep…” he whispered under his breath, attempting once more to close his eyes, only to open them twenty-eight seconds later.

He stared up at the ceiling, once again thinking about how, indeed, your presence had changed so much in him. So much so that he was making a mental list of the things he considered wrong in his life and that he might change.

But part of him thought this whole situation was rather ridiculous and amusing. Who would have thought he’d be planning to alter his routine, his habits, his surroundings, even himself... just because he’d met you?

But it wasn’t a joke, not in the slightest. In fact, he took it as a sign that he should do it. It wasn’t that he thought of you as “ridiculous and amusing.” No.

No.

Not at all. That would be the last thing he’d think. He felt that way about himself—about how he was feeling now and how he wanted to change because of your presence.

Reflecting on it more deeply, something he was reluctant to do out of fear—fear, obviously, of discovering the truth—he realised it was entirely because of you. Thanks to you. Because of you.

For you.

Hiromi had come to realise he had good qualities, clear values, and “positive” things. But putting it all on a scale… What weighed more? His good or bad traits? His good or bad habits? Was he worth it? Could he be “someone important”... to someone?

Could he… be the right man for someone?

For you?

He swallowed and turned over in bed, his charcoal-coloured hair becoming even more dishevelled. He found himself curling up into a small ball, feeling more vulnerable than ever. And, at that moment, two tears escaped his eyes.

“What should I do, God? What do you want me to do?” he thought, his hands covering his eyes, ashamed at the idea of crying again.

And the answer appeared in his mind, clear as the first glimmer of dawn, like a light at the end of a dark tunnel, like a choir of angels in the midst of an infernal storm…

Don’t be afraid. Make the changes you deem necessary. Do it for yourself.

And it was at that moment he opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling—frightened, yet euphoric at the same time. His heart felt as if it were about to leap from his chest. He sat up in bed and then let his legs dangle over the side.

He stood, and with slow but steady steps, turned on the light in the small living room. Rummaging through the papers, he found a small notepad and a pen. “Damn, this is real,” he muttered aloud to himself.

Almost running in his nervousness, he went to the table and sat at the edge. With trembling hands, he wrote:

“Things I want to change about myself.”

And he felt that his world, in that very moment, had indeed changed. He had taken the first step. Thanks to you. Thanks to your existence. He found himself writing item after item, planning everything, and his trembling gradually subsided.

Another list. “Things I want to change about my flat.”

Yet another. “Things I want to change about my office.”

“Things I want to learn.”

“Things I want to do.”

“Things I want to improve in.”

And from the early hours of dawn, where the stars adorned the beautiful night sky, to when the first rays of sunlight began to seep through the windows, Hiromi Higuruma was planning, researching, and making changes.

When he finished, he decided it was finally time to prepare to go to work. And he did so lightly, feeling more at ease with himself. Happy, expectant, with a faint smile.

And until you came into his life, Hiromi Higuruma had occasionally considered making a change within himself—mentally, emotionally, and physically—but he had never taken the idea with the seriousness it truly required.

Until you came along.

[asvtrials]

Let me show you how sorry I am

Bjorn x Fem!Reader

minors dni!

summary: Bjorn made you cry and he's very sorry about it. So sorry that he buries his head between your legs... warnings: smut, oral (fem! receiving), toxic relationship, plot? what plot?, ooc maybe?, not proof-read a/n: Guess who's back?! I wrote this in like two hours so if it's shit yk why. Bjorn eating his gf out after he fucked up is very real to me this man will avoid the consequences of being a dick like it's the plague. ANYWAYS, something small for you! w/c: 819

Bjorn is always saying shit he doesn’t mean. It’s just how he is.

In the heat of the moment, he will say the most outrageous shit and cause you to storm out in tears.

At first, he thinks you’re being dramatic until he calms down and realizes what a dickhead he was. And that’s when the guilt comes and he’s calling you, texting you, begging you to hear him out.

When you ignore him, he goes to your trailer. When you open the door and send him a venomous look, he looks all desperate, like a kicked puppy.

He cups your face, keeps saying how sorry he is and how much of an asshole he is all the time and you let him, because you know what comes next.

You’re weak, so weak you hated it. Especially when he starts kissing your cheeks, testing the waters, seeing if you’ll push him away. You never do, always melting in his arms as he slowly kisses your jaw and neck.

His lips move with yours in a slow, deep rhythm, leading you to your bedroom.

You fall on the bed with a soft groan, pulling him on top of you.

You don’t stop him when he takes off your pants. Why would you? 

Oh right, you’re mad at him…

Then he starts whispering “You know I don’t mean all’at shit, right?” and “I love you, I dunno what I was sayin’, baby.” between kisses. 

You barely hear him, too drunk on the taste of his tongue yet you nodded, no longer caring about the fight. Hell, you barely remember it.

And he knows it.

A small smirk tugs at his lips when you chase his lips after he pulls away.

“My perfect girl deserves better.” He purrs against your neck whilst leaving a trail of red marks from your neck to your collarbone.

You reach for his soft hair when he reaches your panties, lips inches away from where you desperately need him.

His finger lightly grazes the wet spot on the fabric as he looks up at you through his lashes and asks you “Lemme show ya how sorry I am, yeah?”

It’s embarrassing how fast you nod.

He drags the underwear down your legs, torturously slow to the point where you whine for him to hurry up.

Bjorn is rarely patient. He usually fucks you fast and hard, like a starved man. But not tonight.

Tonight he wanted to show you how sorry he is. And why you always end up forgiving him.

Watching him position himself between your spread legs is enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

You watched the spit abandon his lips and fall on your core, mixing with your juices. 

His eyes meet yours once again as he flattens his tongue against your pussy, sending shivers down your spine.

His name falls from your lips in desperate, pathetic moans as he dives between your legs.

He sucked and slurped on your essence, spreading your folds with his fingers. He didn’t stop even when your thighs were squeezing his head, not even when he felt like his lungs were going to explode from the lack of oxygen.

How could he? When his girl was begging him to ‘not stop’ when she was so sweet to let him show her how remorseful he was.

Almost as sweet as her juices that drive him crazy with every lick. 

“Ah! Fuck!” You moan, thighs trembling with the sensation of your nearing release.

He threw your legs over his shoulders and lifted your hips to bring you closer, needing to be as close as possible, to lick every last drop you had to offer him.

His tongue feverishly lapped your soaked cunt, your loud moans only fueling him to go faster, to ruin you completely so that the only thing you can remember is the feeling of your tongue between your folds.

The last straw was Bjorn’s moan against your clit. You come with a scream, not caring about your neighbors.

You squeezed his head with your quivering thighs, the earthshattering orgasm you just experienced left you a shaking, breathless mess.

And you swear you almost came again when Bjorn finally pulled his head back, admiring his work before meeting your hazy gaze. His slick-coated lips moved but you didn’t hear him.

You nod regardless.

“You really forgive me, baby?” He asks again, his smile turning into a smirk when you weakly reply ‘yeah’.

You were sure you’d feel at least a little pathetic with how easy it was for him but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Especially with the way he looked right now. Chin glistening with your taste, a small victorious grin tugging at his bruised lips as he looked at you.

You knew this wouldn’t be your last orgasm, it never was. After all, Bjorn was very sorry and you were very weak.

[the-offside-rule]

Lance Stroll (Aston Martin) - Lover

Requested: no

Swift Series

Warnings: none

The wedding was beautiful, of course. Chloe looked radiant, and Lance had this rare, soft look on his face as he watched his sister exchange vows. But Y/n found herself stealing glances at er teammate, maybe it was the champagne. Maybe it was the intimacy of being Lance's plus one, but something about the night felt…different.

The ceremony eventually transitioned into the afterparty, where laughter filled the room, and the music was upbeat. Lance, surprisingly, was great company, better than she expected, even if they’d been teammates for three years. They’d always shared this camaraderie that made even the tough races bearable. Y/n didn’t have to think twice about going along with him to Chloe's wedding.

The night wore on, the laughter became more careless, and the champagne didn’t stop flowing. At one point, the slow melody of Taylor Swift’s Lover drifted from the speakers, and Y/n’s eyes lit up. "Lance!" She gasped, tugging at his sleeve. "This is my song!" He laughed, looking at her with that familiar half-smirk she’d grown used to over their years as teammates. “Alright, come on. Let’s dance." She laughed, not fully registering the fact that her hand had already slipped into his, and he was leading her onto the dance floor. They stumbled slightly, giggling like teenagers, as Lance twirled her clumsily. "I’ve got two left feet." He joked, and she snorted, shaking her head.

But as they settled into a comfortable rhythm, Y/.’s hand rested on his shoulder, and Lance’s arm gently wrapped around her waist. The playfulness faded just a touch, replaced by something… different. "We could let our friend crash in the living room. This is our place, we make the calls." She hummed along, eyes sparkling as she looked at him. Lance’s smirk softened, his gaze more tender than usual, as he wondered why he’d never noticed before how… captivating her smile was.

"And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you. I’ve loved you three summers now, honey, but I want them all." Lance’s heart stumbled, then raced, as he listened to her sing those words. She wasn’t saying it to him, was she? But between the champagne, the glow in her eyes, and the way she was gazing up at him, it felt…real. Lance’s cheeks flushed before he could stop it. He didn’t want her to notice, so he spun her again, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on his sudden nervousness.

But he couldn’t shake it. The words echoed in his mind as the night went on, and he kept stealing glances her way, wondering if maybe he hadn’t been seeing her clearly all this time.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Just over a year later, a different kind of excitement filled the air as they arrived at the Eras Tour. Unfortunately, Y/n moved onto Mervedes while Lance stayed behind at Aston Martin, but nonetheless, they enjoyed eachother's compang whenever possible. Y/n was buzzing, talking a mile a minute, and Lance couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. He’d never been a die-hard Taylor Swift fan, but he was starting to get it; if it made Y/n this happy, it was worth every minute. They sang through the first few songs together, laughing and shouting lyrics. Then, Lover began. Lance’s heart quickened as he glanced over at her. She was already swaying to the music, totally immersed.

She turned to him, her eyes shining, and began singing softly, her voice blending with Taylor’s, each lyric laced with a sincerity that made his breath hitch. This time, she sang the whole song, her eyes flicking to his, then away, in a way that made him feel like the only person in the crowd. When she reached the second verse, his heart caught again as she sang:

"We could let our friend crash in the living room. This is our place, we make the calls." Lance sang back. His voice was softer than hers, barely loud enough for her to hear over the crowd. But she kept singing, her smile widening, oblivious to how intensely he was watching her, the lyrics slipping past her lips effortlessly.

Then, without thinking, he took her hand, gently pulling her closer, and started swaying along with her. His thumb brushed the back of her hand, his gaze never leaving her face. "I'm highly suspicious, that everyone who sees you wants you." Her eyebrows scrunched into a confused expression, a slight smile upon her lips. "Lance." She whispered, a nervous laugh escaping her.

He leaned in, his voice soft, barely audible above the music. "I’ve loved you four summers now, Y/n, but I want them all." Her cheeks flushed, and she blinked up at him, a little breathless. "Lance." She didn’t finish, her words catching in her throat. "Just thought you should know." He said, a bit more confidently now as he squeezed her hand. They shared a lingering look, as if they were both trying to confirm this was real. Her chest heaved deeply as the stadium around them disappeared, and it seemed to only be them. "Since when?"

"If I had to pinpoint when I decided? I'd say at Chloe's wedding." She sighed. "Any particular reason?" She asked. "Possibly when your head was in the toilet bowl the morning after." She gave him a stern expression. "It was actually when we danced to this song. I looked at you differently." They hadn't noticed how close they had gotten, and if a fan had spotted them, they would be in for it when it got to their PR teams. "It felt like you were singing to me, but we were borderline drunk, so I thought I was imagining things."

"And why bring it up now?" Lance looked between her eyes. "Because if I didn't say it now, I was never going to." A smile spread onto her face. "Well, I'm happy you did." She said. "Because I never would have said it if it wasn't put so simplistically into a song."

[adonneniel]

Ok, after finishing Veilguard and sleeping on it, my final impression remains disappointment and frustration. Spoilerific thoughts beneath the cut. Long post. Maybe a bit ranty/incoherent in parts, but I don't feel like going back to edit.

Positives, in no particular order:

The game is beautiful, even on (mostly) medium settings. Despite wishing for a few more wavy options, the hair is perfection and I honestly can't complain.

On a related note, the character creator is amazing. Customizing body & face tattoos! Height and weight sliders!!! I wish the bust and glute sliders went a further, but whatever. I can live. I like that we can import our characters on a new save, and I hope they patch in an option to do that with the Inquisitor as well.

Mechanically it was fun to play

THE BLOOD OF ARLATHAN QUEST. Absolute perfection. Everything I wanted out of this game. I felt hopeless and overwhelmed. My skin crawled. My gut clenched. The horrors of the Venatori were on full display & served as an excellent parallel to the rise of irl facism. And Solas an Elgar'nan exchanging insults inside my head?? I was giddy. I felt the centuries of compounding animosity mixed with grudging respect. I felt utterly out of my depths and it was wonderful. (And LMAO at the one dude fangirling over Rook)

The siege at Weisshaupt was pretty good too. I like failing. It makes the stakes feel real.

I loved the fresh take on Necromancy. Like, yessssss, make it beautiful and romantic and haunting! It's such a interesting departure from necromancy = gross & evil. They even made it mesh with spirit lore and kept the question of an afterlife alive.

Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain's relationship. I was not expecting them to genuinely care for one another. It did a good job humanizing them & helped balance out the "muahahaha evil" vibe.

I actually didn't mind the magitech-ness. It makes sense that the ancient elves perfected magic to that point, and Tevinter really felt like a knock off version built on the elven empire's bones. It still looked fantasy overall.

I like most of the lore reveals. They were well foreshadowed and, no, I don't get the impression that they just decided to randomly make all the popular theories true. Even if that's the case for a few, they still make sense. (Though I can understand why people might be let down by all "the elves did it!!")

Fighting alongside Solas at the end was fun. Directing my companions during the final fight was fun. I liked that some of them could die (and did--poor Harding)

Solas in general honestly. I didn't find him out of character, just more openly desperate than he was in Inquisition. I also don't hate his dynamic with Mythal like some people, though I understand why it's divisive.

All that said, the negatives still outweigh the positives.

The writing felt timid. Like they were scared to offend anyone so they just decided to ignore the messy parts of their lore and/or hide it behind codex entries that most players probably don't even read.

All those lore drops and we barely had time to sit with them or deal with cultural consequences. Especially when religion is such a huge part of culture? You can't just disprove it and expect people to move on in a few conversations. The Dalish especially should be a wreck.

Tevinter was a disappointment after all the build up we've gotten over last three games. And no, I don't accept southern propaganda and events happening off screen as an excuse. It just reeks of lazy writing. Dorian and Mae's political party failed. Fenris and Dorian are primary sources. Tevinter is fucked up and we should've seen it explicitly on screen, not just limited to a few nasty individuals and codex entries. Instead of a racist, mage run slave state, we got a generic corrupt city with the unique bits alluded to. If you want to argue that it's just because we were in dock town, so obviously we wouldn't be seeing the decadent mage aristocracy...that's just an excuse. The writers didn't have to make that choice.

Wtf did they do to the Crows??? The assassins built on brutality and child slavery are now just being presented as freedom fighters??? Don't try to tell me Zevran reformed things behind the scenes. That's just another excuse for lazy writing (not to mention that he's dead in some player's worldstates). They didn't even deal with Lucanis' abusive upbringing! And it was right there!

The Lords of Fortune are a joke. Pirates Against Cultural Appropriation. Seriously? Combined with that codex entry trying to convince us that their fighting pit is purely volunteer based and death free?? Nah. I don't buy it. They were ultimately useless to the plot and even to the worldbuilding. I learned absolutely nothing about Rivain that hasn't already been told to us in past games (and they didn't even take the chance to show us those things! We just got an empty beach and a few background npcs.)

Tbh this all just feels like another symptom of the game's timid writing. We're good people who only ally with other good people. There's no "enemy of my enemy is my friend". There's no faction with ulterior motives. There's not even a political quagmire we have to navigate to get the Good Ones on our side. The closest we get is the First Warden. And tbh the Wardens are the only faction I felt was truly well written and well integrated into the overall plot. The Mourn Watch was interesting, but they mostly did their own thing over in the corner.

God, don't even get me started on the elves. No existential dilemmas when their gods are running rampant. Even the major god revelations happened off screen! The Veil Jumpers already knew! Lazy lazy lazy.

AND. AND they somehow projected their white guilt onto the most persecuted minority in Thedas! I wanted to crawl out of my skin every time someone apologized for what their people (the gods) did to the world. And to make it worse, they barely, barely, showed anti-elf racism on screen. A few throwaway lines are laughable in the face of that. As a jew--one of the groups DA elves are inspired by--I'm insulted and disgusted.

And someone pointed out that a Crow codex used the phrase "Never Again" in relation to the Dales? Get that phrase out of your mouth, Bioware.

In a similar vein, their treatment of the Antaam reeked of racism and orientalism, even moreso than usual. Big brutes yelling in a scary language with artificially low voices?? Barely dressed? We don't even get to talk with one until the end of the game? Other people have explained it better than me, so I'll leave it at this.

"Why do you want racism in your game? Are you secretly a racist edgelord in real life? Do you get off on people calling you a knife-ear? Do you just want an excuse to be a piece of shit?"

NO. I want good writing. I want realism. If you're going to include racism in your worldbuilding (which Dragon Age does), you have to own it. You have to deal with it. You can't just sweep it under the carpet because you want to avoid more controversy. The absence in Veilguard makes it look worse. You can't pat yourself on the back for angering the anti-woke brigade while perpetuating your own racist tropes. Do the writers even know they're being racist, or do they think it's all ok because the player isn't allowed to be fantasy racist?

Taash's story is a good example. Why the fuck are we put in charge of deciding their culture for them? Why is it tied to their gender? As a cis person I won't comment on the gender bits (I've heard conflicting opinions), but the culture aspect is handled terribly. Seriously. What the actual fuck, Bioware?

The companion situation has been beat to death, but I mostly agree with the criticism that everything is too HR-friendly. And I honestly can't believe those Taash/Emmrich and Harding/Emmerich intervention scenes actually made it through editing. I felt like a fucking preschool teacher lecturing children on how to play nicely. bad bad bad

I don't, however, think the companions are awful. They just kinda bored me. Or maybe not bored, but...didn't grab me? I like some of them, but I don't love them. There's no one I latched onto that makes me go feral. But I can accept that it's a matter of preference. I'm glad some people are happy, and I don't mean that sarcastically.

Maybe I'd feel differently if the game wasn't marketed as "found family"?

More personal preference: I don't like Rook, and I don't like their relationship with the companions. It feels too sterile & corporate, and Rook feels simultaneously too blank and too defined. And the defined bits of their personality are not for me. Dialogue options weren't diverse enough in feel.

LOL at not allowing the player to asshole options, but then the best we can give Harding is "Haha, no idea what you're talking about but good for you. Bye."

Also the game couldn't seem to decide whether my Rook was Dalish or not? According to the mirror I'm not, but then Rook outright says she's Dalish later in the game... Which is it, Bioware? Which is it?

THEY DELETED SOUTHERN THEDAS OFFSCREEN.

The illuminati secret ending is an awful decision. Way to take agency away from some of the more interesting antagonists. And this was obviously a retcon? There was no buildup to this. At most they were toying with the concept in DA:I, which is when the Executors were introduced.

It's hard to think of this game as a love letter to the fans when these last two points feel like a huge middle finger to everything that came before.

Yeah. Just...yeah.

Disappointment and frustration. All the building blocks for a great game are there, but they just...didn't come to fruition.

I might do another playthrough, but I also I might just take what I like from the lore and go back to previous games + my silly crossover fanfic. And BG3. That obsession was only just taking root when DATV came out, and I didn't get a chance to sit with it.

I'm sad.

[joelsgoldrush]

wip wednesday: "lovers once a year" (dbf!joel miller)

hello to you, tiny people on my phone. reaching the end of this semester has thrown me onto a motherfucking rollercoaster. if i even think about the amount of finals i have to sit for, i'm afraid i'll tear up. so here i am, drifting away from real-life responsibilities </3 still working on this dbf!joel fic cause i haven't had much time to write lately, but i'm trying not to be too hard on myself. i really like how it's coming along. i'm close to finishing, though i'm not going to promise a specific posting date because i never seem to manage it LMAO

anyway, thank you to @elflutter @joelsdagger and @ovaryacted for tagging me!!!

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend. For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the affectionate type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length. Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state. Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree. Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing seemed to throw him off. Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

AND

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another promise he won’t keep.

tagging: @lubdubology @zloshy @princessanglophile @cavillscurls @guiltyasdave @tightjeansjavi @mrsmando - so sorry if you've already been tagged :( - and anybody else who feels like doing it!