#it felt good to indulge old passions with a friend

[manzuaves]

ɢᴏᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴘɪɴ ᴘɪʟʟs (ᴀɴᴅ sʜɪᴛ)

pairing. f1wag!manon x f1driver!reader

warnings. mentions of substance use. curses. lwky cheating that's it.

Monte Carlo, Monaco, 2025.

You were indulging in the opulence of the Monte Carlo lifestyle. You were the newest rising star on the grid, and this was your first ever GP in Monaco, signed under Scuderia Ferrari. To say the least, you were pretty much nervous. Especially when the view from your million-dollar hotel suite stared straight down at the grid.

Outside, the city pulsed with legacy and wealth. Classic Monte Carlo. But inside, there was you. A hardworking kid who only got here because of pure passion. Not wealth, not last names, not family friends with sponsors. Just grit, long nights, and a go-kart your dad kept alive with duct tape and prayers.

Your overlooking view made you see how different your life was from these people. The Mediterranean Sea contained yachts that looked like floating mansions, each one a symbol to old money and older power. The balconies were filled with champagne flutes and designer sunglasses. Brands you used to only see in magazines now hung casually on the shoulders of people who’d never had to check a price tag.

You pressed a hand to the giant window glass of your hotel suite. Somewhere out there, mechanics were prepping your car. Somewhere out there, your name was printed on the Ferrari garage wall. But inside, it was just you and the quiet weight of everything you’d sacrificed to stand here.

The old you, the kid from a two-bedroom flat who spent weekends fixing busted engines, wouldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe the view, the hotel, the red suit with the prancing horse stitched on your chest.

But even with all that, you didn’t feel like you belonged. Not really. Not when everyone around you made luxury look like second nature.

You'd still prefer cheap wine over their thousand-euro champagne, a late-night take-out from McDonald’s over whatever they served on yachts. You still checked price tags out of habit. The heavy Rolex on your wrist felt more like borrowed time than status.

You reached for the pill with hands that shouldn’t have been shaking. You didn’t know if it was habit, desperation, or survival at this point. Maybe all three. But you knew the feeling that came after: the slow, spreading calm, like slipping into water just warm enough to forget how cold the world had been.

Your eyes closed, just for a second. And in that second, you saw it. The life you’d once dreamed of. The roar of the crowd. Your name on a race suit. 

And when you opened your eyes, the dream was real.

Below, the grid pulsed with life. Cameras flashed. Revealed your infamous orange-and-black rival stepping out of his car, immediately engulfed by media and attention.

But it wasn’t him who made your breath catch.

It was the woman at his side.

Manon Bannerman.

She clung to your rival like she was built for the cameras. Her lips were red, her sunglasses oversized, her posture elegant and lethal all at once. The world moved around her, but she moved like the world belonged to her.

She was everything Monte Carlo epitomize: wealth, beauty, scandal. But to you, she was something more dangerous than any of that.

You knew her in ways your rival never could, in places no cameras had ever caught.

And that was the problem with Monte Carlo. It had a way of blurring lines. Yet she was the only line you saw clearly. And the only line you kept crossing.

Everyone expected it. You ended the GP night with a spot on the podium. Not first place, but not bad for a 22-year-old like you. You hadn’t beaten your rival, but it was a good start to your career. The crowd cheered, your team celebrated, and the press didn’t waste any time, jumping on the chance for interviews and congratulations.

People kept inviting you to the after-party at Amber Lounge, but you weren’t in the mood for any of it. Tonight wasn’t about the spotlight or the champagne. You just wanted peace.

Your phone buzzed constantly. Your family, back home, had flooded your messages, especially your father. You’d decided to reply to them tomorrow. Right now, you just needed a break. You were about to activate Do Not Disturb when a notification popped up on your screen.

dont reply: hey! congrats, champ. can i come over?

You stared at the message for a moment. Of course it’s her, you thought, your mind flashing back to the last time you two had been together. The temptation was undeniable.

You: i didnt win manz. anw arent u spposd 2 b celebrating w yk who?

dont reply: lol, he’s grown. i think he can handle himself.

dont reply: so?

You hesitated. The pull between you two had always been impossible to ignore, even when you knew you shouldn’t give in.

You: ugh. fine

dont reply: i’ll be bringing your fave wine and takeout. 🍷🍟

The clink of wine glasses echoed in your marble suite. Manon sat on the couch, clad in a plain oversized shirt, old pajama bottoms, and her hair tied back like it was any other night.

This was the only version of hers that only you get to see. No designer heels, no red lipstick, no flushbulbs painting in her gold.

You placed your wine glass carefully on the rare wood table, the liquid swirling inside as you took in its deep, rich color.

The metallic taste of the alcohol now soothed you. You didn’t even like it the first time you tried it. It was too bitter and too pretentious. But now? Now it slipped past your tongue like second nature. Like everything else that used to feel foreign before you got good at pretending it belonged to you.

“Gosh, this brings me back.” she murmured, tugging your usual order out of your hands to sneak a bite. Her half-eaten cheeseburger sat forgotten on the table as she reached over to steal a handful of your fries. “You still eat like your seventeen.”

You laughed, wiping the side of your mouth with the back of your mouth. She looked at you with plain disgust that she used to always wear whenever you ate like you haven’t seen food in days.

“You’re so uncivilized, Y/N.” She said, shaking her head but there was no real bite behind it.

“Sorry, rich kid,” you shot back, mouth half-full. “And you keep stealing my food, so maybe we’re even.”

Her eyes darted to the ketchup still clinging to your mouth that you failed to wipe off. Without thinking, she leaned in and wiped it away with her thumb gently and deliberately.

Then with that same efortless boldness only she could pull off, she brought her thumb to her lips and licked it clean.

She caught the way your eyes followed her every move, and the flicker of attention only made her bolder.

“Still so messy.” She murmured, her smirk curling like it knew exactly what it was doing to you.

The room felt smaller to you. Warmer. Like the air had thickened.

When the heat crept up your neck and settled low in your stomach, you reached for the little bottle on the table like its muscle memory by now. You let one rest beneath your tongue, closing your eyes for a beat as the familiar weight pressed down just enough to steady you.

Just enough to keep her from unraveling you completely.

When you opened your eyes, she was staring at you. Frowning.

“I thought you stopped that.” She said quietly.

And that was when it hit you, how familiar this felt. How it mirrored a different night, 5 years ago, when you were seventeen, and she was still the girl who tasted like wine she wasn’t old enough to drink and talked like nothing in the world could hurt her.

You remembered her frowning then, too.

But that time, it was over a half-empty bottle of cheap painkillers and a race you thought you’d never win.

And for a second, it almost felt like seventeen again.

South Garda, Italy, 2020.

“Fuck!”

It was the fourth time your kart had sputtered out halfway through practice, and the frustration was boiling over. You slammed your gloves down on the steering wheel, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

From the corner of your eye, you saw your dad sprinting down the pit lane, waving his arms like he could will the damn thing back to life. Sweat clung to his shirt, darkening the fabric, but he didn’t care, not when it came to your kart.

You pulled off your helmet, the heat and anger mixing with the weight of disappointment in your chest.

“Again?” your dad huffed, already crouched beside the engine. “This thing’s gonna kill us, kid.”

“It’s alright, dad.”

You looked at the sky like maybe the clouds could answer for all of this.

The clouds felt so far like the dreams you swore you’d reach, even when the world kept telling you otherwise.

Then an angelic, familiar voice called out from the fence.

“I told you to stop naming it after your exes,” Manon teased, arms folded over the track barrier, her Chanel sunglasses sliding down her nose.

Your dad chuckled at Manon’s comment, shaking his head as he wiped his hands on an oil-stained rag.

“And you, Manon, get out of the sun. The heat’ll kill you and your dad’ll kill me after.”

But Manon, like the headache she so proudly was, simply pushed her sunglasses up her nose and didn’t move an inch.

“I’m not a kid, Bill,” she said with that lazy grin, like she knew exactly how far she could push before anyone would stop her.

You caught her smirk as she climbed over the barrier anyway, sticking out like a sore thumb amid the grit of this poorly managed track. Her designer clothes so expensive it felt like even the dirt was too intimidated to touch her.

She didn’t feel like she belong there, not really. But she was there for you, anyways.

“So what, Y/N?” she said, walking toward you with that careless sway only she could pull off. “Are you just gonna sit there and cry about your kart, the one you named after your ugly ex, or are we actually gonna hang out after this like you promised?”

You stared at her, half-annoyed, half in awe because even when even when the sky felt distant, she made it feel like something you could reach.

The kart was dead for the day, your dad grumbling under his breath as you helped him roll it toward the trailer, sweat darkening the back of his shirt. He gave you a tired nod before glancing across the lot where his real job was waiting.

Manon’s family car gleamed in the sunlight, black and sleek and so clearly out of place in this dusty karting circuit. Her father was waiting for your dad to fetch him some place in South Garda you’re too broke to be familiar with.

Your dad wiped his hands and jogged over, falling into his other role: the one that paid the bills. Driver. Assistant. Sometimes mechanic, sometimes errand boy. Whatever they needed, he became. Because that’s how you afforded the dream.

“I’ll come back for you, kid. I’ll just fetch your father.”

Manon just gave your dad a lazy thumbs up. Like she wanted him to leave the two of you alone already.

Once her family’s sleek black Cadillac disappeared down the hill, Manon reached into her oversized designer tote comically out of place against the grime of the paddock and pulled out a crumpled paper bag of fries. Then, like it was the most casual thing in the world, she revealed a half-wrapped bottle of wine.

You immediately recognized the label, one of those expensive vintages you’d only ever seen in the wine magazines her dad left scattered around the Bannerman property.

Your eyes widened. “No way. I’m not drinking that. That bottle’s probably worth more than my entire kart!”

Manon just smirked, already working the cork loose like she did this every weekend. “Exactly why we’re drinking it. Papa won’t even notice. He doesn’t drink red.”

You watched, half-horrified, half-impressed, as she reached into her bag again and pulled out two mismatched plastic cups. The kind you’d usually rinse out and reuse during long weekends at the track.

“Your sommelier, m’lady,” she teased, pouring the deep red into one and handing it to you like it wasn’t a crime against luxury.

You took it, still stunned. Fries in one hand, a wine worth a month’s rent in the other.

Once the metallic taste of the alcohol hit your tongue, you winced. It was unfamiliar and sharp, nothing like the sweet sodas or watered-down iced tea you were used to. You looked at the cheap plastic cup in your hand, then at Manon, who was already taking another sip like it was juice.

She laughed when she saw your expression. “You’ll get used to it,” she said, nudging your knee with hers. “It’s an acquired taste. Like me.”

You snorted, trying to mask how fast your heart was racing, faster than you could ever drive your kart. You didn’t know it then, but she was right. About the wine. About her.

And about how two kids from entirely different worlds: one born into grit, the other into gold, were somehow casually enjoying the time of their lives in the middle of a dusty paddock. Sharing cold fries and smuggled wine like the world wasn’t waiting just outside the barrier, ready to split you apart the moment it noticed.

Back then, nothing tasted right like it was all just waiting for you to acquire it, to grow into it. Yet something it still felt right.

Especially when she leaned over, brushing the salt from your lips with her thumb before pressing hers against yours in a kiss.

Her kiss tasted like the expensive wine you were drinking: rich, heady, a little dizzying. A kiss that overwhelmed you in the quietest, most dangerous way.

The kind of feeling that settled in your chest and made everything else blur out. The kind only Manon could make you feel.

Neither of you were sure when it started. But suddenly, you were just kissing in one of your hangouts like these when both of your knees brushed against each other and suddenly she just pulled you in.

And in moments like these, it felt like you were rich. Not in money, but in possibility. Like you could have it all as long as she was there, laughing with you in the dirt, lips stained with stolen wine. Like becoming an F1 driver was more than a dream, it was inevitable.

But then came the floating. The dreaming too far. The way your mind would start to spin, faster than your kart ever could.

And just before you let yourself drift too far, you pulled back to reach into your pocket, slipping a cheap little pill onto your tongue. Just something to remind you the world was still waiting to pull you back down.

She arched an eyebrow, her tone laced with mock offense. “Really? Should I be offended that my kiss makes you reach for a pill?” Manon frowned, her arms crossed as she studied you. “Or is this just how you handle feelings now?”

“Oh shit, my bad. But I’m not exactly in the mood for a lecture right now.” You shrugged, trying to play it off even though the slight tension in your voice betrayed you. “And it’s not you.. it’s just.. this whole driving thing. The pressure and the expectations. It gets to me sometimes. But don’t take it personally, Manz.”

You didn’t have to explain everything because she knew already. Manon had seen it all, felt it, even. The way you wore the weight of your ambitions like armor, even when it was cracking beneath the surface. She just didn’t know how to fix it, or if you even wanted her to.

All she did was grip your jaw, her fingers warm and firm against your skin, pulling you back in. The kiss was deeper this time, almost as if she was trying to anchor you, to pull you back from whatever spiral you were drifting into. Maybe, just maybe, it would make you feel grounded again.

[thelastpilot]

How many images will tumblr let you add, let me see.

Guess what @tides-miraculous and I did today~~

It would be easy to poke fun after all this time but honestly, I really enjoyed myself with the Miraculous Ladybug Movie. Nino and Alya had so much more screentime than I had any right to expect, we got a whole new personality trait/skill for Nino (skateboarding) and even had streamlined DjWifi goodness, what more could I have even asked for? Plus, the animation was genuinely incredible and Gabriel finally had some tasty ass nuance. I kept saying to Tides "Finally, some good food girl."

Sure there were some things I coulda done without, but overall I had fun and it was just so fun to see the boy again after so many years of not watching any of the canon content. It was essentially all worth it for him to have one line to say "You know I'm here for you, right?"

In that moment, i knew he was my son again.

[cityselcouth]

for research purposes

pairing: caleb x reader

summary: how on earth were you supposed to write a good sex scene with almost zero experience? good thing your best friend was always willing to lend you a helping hand.

themes: childhood best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, friends with benefits, college! au, slowburn, humour, fluff, angst, petnames, profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, explicit sexual content (oral fem receiving, fingering, nipple play, protected + unprotected sex, clothed sex), porn with so much plot, they're both down bad asf

word count: 25k

lyns notes: its been so long since i've written a full length fic like this, and it ended up being so much longer than I anticipated but please don't get scared by the wc 😭 its so self indulgent because i love caleb and I had way too much fun writing this so I hope you enjoy! <3

This was utterly insane, even for you.

The idea started small, though you supposed you couldn’t ever classify it as innocent. At the time, it had been just a flicker, a fleeting thought that slipped through the cracks of your composure. You were in your best friend's dorm, lounging on his bed like it was your own as you complained. 

“I’ve been stuck for weeks now. It’s like I’ve lost the ability to write.”

Caleb glanced over at you from his desk, leaning back in his plush chair as the movement of his fingers over the laptop keyboard stilled for a moment. The expression you received was familiar, you had been on the receiving end of it for years now. One of his lips quirked up, deep lavender eyes alight with amusement, and one eyebrow raised as he took in your anguished state. 

“You haven’t lost the ability to write, Pipsqueak, it's just writer's block. You’ve had writer's block before.”

“Not like this.” You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest and resting your chin on them. “I usually manage to overcome it in a week or so. It’s been like, three months.”  Your annoyance with yourself was obvious to him, so clear in the slight pout on your mouth paired with that indignant expression.

It was true, you had been writing ever since you were little. Your imagination ran wild as a child, even before you could physically write, you would spin tales and make up stories to entertain yourself with, frequently getting lost in your own little world. You prided yourself on this talent of yours that helped you breeze through English essays and writing assignments, even going so far as to major in English at university. Writing was your bread and butter. It was more than just being good at it, it was the passion and fulfilment you felt when you did it. 

Passion and fulfillment your ass, you couldn’t feel any of that right now.

You were writing a book, your very first one that you started penning in the summer before your sophomore year. The idea had come to you out of nowhere, and once you spent hours outlining all the details, you were certain it was something you wanted to bring to life. The need to finish it burned through you as you spent most of that break stuck at your desk, hunched over your laptop. Caleb had to quite literally drag you out of your room most days, muttering some nonsense about vitamin D and too much screen time.

He had always been like that ever since you were kids – protective, caring, attentive. It was built into his very being, you supposed, ever since he saw you cry outside the first-grade classrooms as a seven-year-old and promised to help you find your way to the correct one. Even now, as he hummed in thought, offering silent support for your frustration. 

“You’ve gotten through a large chunk of it, right?”

“Yep.”

A slow, bargaining smile stretched out on his face. “Hey, you know, maybe if you let me read it–”

“Hell no.” You shook your head stubbornly. “I told you, I’m only letting you read it once it's finished, and I think it’s good enough.”

Caleb snorted, “So you mean never?”

You promptly threw one of the plushies on his bed at him. He deftly caught it, laughter slipping from him as he threw it back. The plushy was a grumpy apple one that he had won you back home at the arcade, but the pile of plushies on your bed was so huge that you graciously suggested that he keep it for you. Partial custody, you had joked, I have visitation rights.

“You’ll be the first to read it. I just….need to get through this one bit.” 

Ah yes, the bit. The part that you seemed to be cursed to never finish. Everything before it had gone so smoothly, the words flowing and pouring out of you so perfectly. A fun romance novel full of twists and humour was what you aimed to achieve, and it seemed like you were succeeding.

That was, until you reached a part of the story that you truly had no idea how to write. The technicalities of it were.…..unknown at best, to you, who had almost no experience in the matter. 

“You know, maybe you could tell me about it. Maybe I could help.” You knew the offer was genuine. Caleb had always been someone you could fall back upon for any assistance. Being two years older than you, in your eyes, he always knew what to do when you were in a pickle. He was the type of friend who placed bandages on your scrapes and offered you candy so you’d stop crying. He carried a hair tie around for when you wanted to tie your hair and helped you study for tests, and explained the concepts that you didn’t understand. Every time you had a problem, he never hesitated to help you in any way he possibly could.

But this….this was something you’d rather die than ask him about. 

Immediately, you shook your head a little too quickly, shooting him a tight smile. “Nope, it's fine. Just something I gotta figure out myself.

He stared at you skeptically but shrugged. “Alright. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

You wouldn’t.

Would you?

Absolutely not. Even thinking about it felt like a betrayal. It was like opening a can of worms that held snakes. Deadly venomous ones. 

And yet here you were, your teeth digging into the plush of your lower lip as he turned back to his laptop screen, continuing to work on whatever assignment he had due. He was in his final year and was infinitely busy, though he somehow still managed to make time for you. 

Shamelessly, your eyes studied him. His arms, so well defined and firm-looking, were basically on display for you when he wore that white, sleeveless tee. Dark hair, unruly and messy, no matter how many times you ran your fingers through it in an attempt to fix it. A defined jawline that could probably cut you if you dared touch it. He had grown up unfairly well, no longer the lanky young boy you once knew, now a man. A hot man you had incredible chemistry with.

A very hot man who was completely off-limits. 

Still. You supposed that his help couldn’t be the worst thing in the world–

A sex scene. That was what you were struggling to right. In terms of the story, it was a very natural next move for your characters, and it made sense, and while you could simply artistically describe the ordeal and fade to black, you felt it was a necessary addition. You wanted to showcase the desperation the two characters felt for each other, just how deep their feelings ran through something more primal. You wanted it to feel right, to feel magical. 

The issue? You hadn’t the faintest idea of how to go about it. In all your nineteen years of life, you had only had sex once, and it had been far from magical. It had been uncomfortable and rushed, the result of a very stupid, drunken one-night stand in your first year. The guy very evidently didn’t know how a woman's body worked, and even thinking back on it made you cringe and fold in on yourself. If it were possible to manually pluck the memory out and destroy it, you would have done it in a heartbeat.

So how on earth were you supposed to write the perfect sex scene when your one sole experience in the matter had been so terrible?

And you couldn’t ask Caleb for help. Even considering doing so made you feel as if you would spontaneously combust. He was your best friend, for crying out loud, and this crossed so many lines. You knew very well that he wasn’t a virgin by any means, having caught glimpses of the occasional hickey on his neck despite his best efforts to hide it from you. He was twenty-one, experienced and could probably talk you through it–

Nope. Not going here. 

The idea of Caleb explaining sex to you was mortifying. You didn’t want to hear about any of his conquests, even just the thought of him talking about it made you want to throw up. The notion of him having sex only made your cheeks warm and your throat go uncomfortably dry.

Against your will, the thought festered. It burrowed its way into your mind and settled there as if it belonged, despite its having no business being there. This was completely unethical, but before you could stop yourself, your gaze zeroed in on his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking his lips in concentration as he typed out something. For a second, you wondered how it would feel if he dragged that tongue across the skin of your neck.

Oh my god. What if he simply showed you?

The moment that depraved idea popped into your head, you shot up, getting to your feet with urgency. Startled, he looked over at you, frowning at the alarmed look on your face.

“Are you good?”

“I’m great!” Your voice sounded funny, like you were trying to digest a rock. “I just– er– remembered I have some homework to finish for tomorrow. So I should get back to my room.” You padded over to his door, slipping into your shoes and waving at him. “See ya.”

“....Bye.” He watched your awkward, rushed movements with a puzzled look on his (very nice) face.. You nodded curtly before opening the door and escaping the confines of his dorm, out of his scrutinising gaze that could read you annoyingly well. Another minute in there and you knew he would be grilling you for your odd behaviour. 

Jesus Christ. You were so screwed.

“Y/n? Girl, you gotta get your head in the game.”

Tara’s voice cut through your reverie, causing you to snap out of it. One glance up at her would reveal an unimpressed look directed at you, her hands on her hips. “Our darling editor wants to know why your article isn’t on her desk yet.”

Tara was your closest friend after Caleb, and you had met her when you joined the university paper as a student journalist. She was smart, pretty and always had your back no matter what. Blinking rapidly, you sighed, waving your hand. 

“Tell Jenna I’ll have it there by the end of the day.”

“You better. You know how she is about deadlines.” Tara pulled one of the chairs from the desk beside yours closer and sat on it, resting her elbows on the armrests. “Seriously, though, why are you spaced out today?”

Well, there was no way you could tell her the truth about that. So you resorted to using a half-truth as an answer. “Writer's block.”

“Ah.”

You turned back to the screen of your computer, staring at the article you had been writing. It was almost finished, thank god. At least here, you had the facts to write around, having done your research. Very different to the situation you found yourself in regarding your stupid book.

Ugh. 

“By the way, your boyfriend’s here.”

Your head snapped up at her words, already ready to argue, knowing exactly who she was talking about. Walking into the newsroom holding two coffees was Caleb, wearing that blue-orange jacket that you had bought him for one of his birthdays. He did this pretty often, sauntering in like he owned the place even though he was technically not allowed to be there. Jenna had repeatedly reminded him of this, but he brushed it off, and after a while, she simply stopped bothering. Thus, despite not being on the paper, he spent a lot of time in the newsroom.

This was another problem you faced daily: people mistaking him for your boyfriend. The number of times you had to rehash the fact that he was simply your best friend was astounding, and back when you were a freshman, the constant whistles about you dating an upperclassman– and none other than Caleb Xia– drove you mad. You chalked it down to none of them being fortunate enough to experience a friendship as fulfilling and real as the one you had with him.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You dropped your voice, keeping it just loud enough for her to hear your rebuttal that held a hint of venom, plastering a smile on your face as he closed in. Tara snickered. 

“Sure, and I’m the queen of England.”

“Hey,” Caleb grinned down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your friend. “And what?”

“Nothing,” you said brightly, shooting her a murderous look that silently told her to zip it. She smiled innocently and shook her head, slipping back to her desk without another word.

“She’s an odd one,” he quipped, handing you one of the coffees and then shrugging off the jacket, dumping it on the free space on your desk. You already knew it was your regular order, something he had memorised years ago. You sipped the drink, letting the hot liquid calm you down, grateful for the caffeine. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, spending it tossing and turning in your bed.

And why was that?

Caleb leaned against your desk. “Are you free later today?” 

A dejected sigh escaped you. “Unfortunately, no. I need to finish this article by the end of the day, and it seems like my writer's block has infected every aspect of my life.” It was ironic, just how true that statement ran.

“Damn.” You could hear the tinge of disappointment in his voice. “I was hoping we would have movie night. I stocked up on your favourite candy.” He reached over, his fingers brushing against the skin of your forehead as he pushed some of your hair that fell in front of your eyes away from your face, neatly tucking it behind your ear like it was second nature. It was, you supposed, considering he had done so about a hundred times.

But something was different this time, or perhaps you were paying far too much attention to every little thing. To how he pulled back and the way the muscles in his forearm shifted subtly, making you wish he had kept the jacket on. The brief touch lingered on your skin, burned into it.

Fucking hell, you were a mess. A tragic, down-atrocious mess.

Your eyes lingered on his fingers for a moment. Heat crept up your neck, and you coughed, rubbing it absent-mindedly, hoping to push down the flush you felt taking over your body. It had been like this ever since the day in his dorm when your brain had decided to work against you and infect you with the thought of sex with your best friend.

What better way was there to describe your state than calling it an infection? It certainly felt like some sort of sickness with the way it plagued you against your will. Somehow, it was worse than the doomed crush you had harboured for him back when you were in high school, because at least that had been innocent. That was born out of pure admiration, and you were sixteen. A lot of things done at sixteen could be brushed off under the excuse of being young and naive. You had quickly gotten over it. 

You were evidently no longer so naive. In fact, you knew too much.

“Maybe next time.” You managed to choke out finally after a silence that had stretched a beat too long. Part of you hoped he’d leave you alone now so that you could calm down and refocus your attention to the article. 

But of course, he didn’t. Instead, he occupied the chair Tara previously had, complaining about one of his classes as you nodded along, sipping your coffee and glancing between him and your screen. The smooth cadence of his voice usually soothed you and calmed you down, but now it only put you on edge, flowing over scrambled thoughts like honey. Had his arms always been this nice?

You were going to hell.

All things considered, you held yourself to certain standards. You were a woman with morals and integrity, and you were not in the habit of staring at shirtless men.

Except when it was Caleb, apparently. 

“Why are you half-naked?” You blurted out gracelessly, heat viciously curling up your body as your eyes dropped down to his torso. You gripped the Chinese takeout you had gotten on your way back from your evening class a little tighter as you took in his figure. A silver chain with a tag and apple pendant (something you had given him before he left for university while you were still struggling in high school) on his bare chest and perfect sculpted abs, running shorts hanging low on his hips. 

“I was working out.” He said casually, taking the bag of takeout from your hands and walking back into his dorm, leaving you to follow him. You bit down on your tongue hard, almost hoping you’d draw blood. 

This was ridiculous. You had seen him shirtless several times before and had never reacted like this. The other times hadn’t caused you to flush and definitely didn’t cause your heart rate to spike. It didn’t have you furiously fighting off thoughts that had threatened to consume you for over a week now, pushing them back into the furthest parts of your mind and locking them there. 

“I’m almost done, could you grab sodas from the fridge?” Caleb placed the food on the table beside his bed. You wordlessly complied, picking the apple-flavoured sodas that both of you liked. Turning back to the main area of his dorm, you walked over, only to stop dead in your tracks.

Caleb was on the floor. Doing push-ups.

There was nothing inherently sexual about it in the slightest. You knew he liked to stay in shape, hitting the gym at least thrice a week to maintain his physique– a very nice physique that seemed to be your current undoing. His hair fell across his forehead, a little matted from sweat. You watched as he pressed down and back up, and in a moment of weakness, you wondered how it would be if you were under him instead of standing to the side and ogling like an idiot. Would his necklace dangle above you, swinging back and forth in your face?

Dear god. You needed to be sedated. Put down, even.

Finally, he seemed to be done, lowering himself down and then rolling onto his back. He sucked in a breath of hair, running his hands through his hair and messing it up even further. Finally, he sat up and looked up at you, a singular eyebrow raised.

“Why are you just standing there?”

Brilliant question. If only you could answer it. 

Choosing to skillfully evade instead, you tossed him his soda can and grabbed his laptop from his desk, settling down next to him on the floor. Tonight, the two of you had decided to have dinner together and catch up on an anime you had started together a couple of weeks ago. It had been a while since you had properly hung out, and you knew damn well that it was all your fault. 

You were avoiding him. Mentally and physically, especially physically. Caleb, however, being the understanding, saint of a man that he was, chalked it up to you being busy. He made sure to check in on you, shooting you texts or sending you funny videos he knew you’d like. 

“We should try and finish all the episodes up until the latest one,” You said, opening up his laptop and logging into the anime site. “They released a new one on Wednesday.” 

Caleb hummed, stretching his arms as he shuffled closer. Immediately, you froze, the close contact inciting pure panic within you. Jerking away from him, you glared, holding a hand out to keep an arm's distance between the two of you, much to his confusion. 

“Put on a shirt.”

He frowned. “Why? It’s really hot.”

Indeed, it was. “Exactly. You’re all sweaty and gross.”

You really shouldn’t have said that. The moment the words left your mouth, his mouth curled into a smirk– one so disgustingly attractive that you were sure your knees would have probably buckled if you weren’t already sitting down– and his eyes lit up with a mischievous glint that told you he was up to no good. Carefully, he wrapped a hand around your wrist, and the contact has your brain short-circuiting and going into overdrive.

“I think that means you want a hug.”

“Wait– don’t you dare– Caleb!” You yelped as he tugged you harshly, forcing you to fall into his lap, his laughter resounding through the small dorm room. Awkwardly, you shoot your other hand out to steady yourself, placing it on his shoulder as you tumble into him, knee slotting in between his legs and body so dangerously close to his that you wanted to scream. Smoothly, he wrapped his other arm around your waist, circling it and somehow tugging you even closer, until you were flush against him.

“What are you gonna do now, Pips?” He taunted, voice just above a whisper right against your ear. 

Unicorns, you bleakly thought to yourself. Puppies. Cupcakes. Sprinkles.

“You’re so annoying,” You hissed, throwing as much irritation into your voice as you possibly could in the hopes that it would drown out the shakiness you felt. His skin under your fingertips was warm, and you could feel that warmth through the fabric of your tank top. “Go fuck yourself.”

He laughed harder, the sound so contagious it broke you out of your downright sinful thoughts. You gripped his shoulder a little harder, mentally chastising yourself for the situation you found yourself in, knowing that there was no good reason for you to be this riled up. Playfighting with him was something you were used to; it was natural. It should not have had your blood pressure rising and heart slamming in your chest so violently.

Swallowing thickly, you barely processed how he let go of your wrist, his other arm also coming to rest around your waist as he pulled you further into his lap so that you were now sitting on top of him. Before you even had the chance to react to that, he buried his face in the crook of your neck and inhaled. 

“Missed you this week,” He mumbled softly against your rapidly heating skin. You froze for a split second at the contact, hopelessly blaming the flush spread over your cheeks on the humid weather.

And then you softened. 

Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck as you hugged him back. “I missed you too,” You whispered, following up with a lie to keep him off your trail. “Just had a lot of work.”

“I know,” he said so patiently that you instantly felt guilty. He lifted his face from your neck so that he could stare at you, and it hit you just how intimate the position the two of you were in was. Although reserved with others, Caleb had always been pretty openly affectionate with you. His hand on the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours, a light kiss to your temple in encouragement– he had been doing stuff like that to you since you were ten. 

So why did it suddenly affect you so much? Why did something so normal for you make you feel so different now?

“Just….tell me about it,” he continued, those mesmerising purple eyes of his locked onto yours. “Shoot me a text. Let me know what's up with you. Don’t you remember the last time you shut everyone out because you were stressed?”

You did remember. It was during your finals last year, when the workload you had overwhelmed you so badly that you simply pushed everyone away until they were over. Caleb had to practically storm his way back into your life and demand that you take a break and slow down before you worked yourself to the bone. The fact that he remembered this only made your guilt worse because your distance this time had nothing to do with your classwork. 

It had everything to do with him, though. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumbled, slowly slipping out of his embrace and settling down next to him once again. You had to remind yourself of what he was to you, and all this thirsting for him was neither healthy nor something a good best friend would do. “I’m not gonna do that again.” 

“I’m just saying. And what the hell am I supposed to do with my free time if you’re not here to bother me?” He flashed you that shit-eating grin of his that you were starting to think was more devastating than mischievous.

You had to resist strangling him.

There was only one possible conclusion: something was deeply wrong with you.

How else were you supposed to explain your borderline insane behaviour? It had gotten even worse lately, causing you to daydream at the most inconvenient times, like when you were trying to get an assignment done or even in the middle of class. It was a wonder your professors hadn’t called you out for it yet. 

Some level of restraint seemed to remain, though, with you stopping your thoughts from crossing any lines. The moment you caught your mind straying into dangerous territory, you forced yourself to stop, desperately searching for another distraction.

But there was only so much you could do. Thinking was proving to be a dangerous activity.

You pressed your palms into your eyes, hard. It was almost three in the morning, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. Earlier, you had tried to write around the damned scene, but emerged fruitless. It was like an obstacle you had to clear before you could get to the next level of a game, taunting you with its incompletion.

Something else taunted you, simmering underneath the expanse of your skin. Things that hadn’t even happened yet, but you had already dreamed of them– his mouth on yours, his hands tracing your body with a feather touch. 

You were even wearing one of his shirts right now, the oversized tee reaching down to your mid-thighs. Several, just like the one you currently wore, sat neatly in your closet, having been stolen from him over the years. You could faintly smell his cologne; cidery and comforting, enveloping you in what felt like it could be his embrace. Turning onto your side, you pulled the blanket over your body and stared at the wall blankly. 

Caleb had been your safe space for so long, and perhaps that was why you gravitated so easily to thinking about him like this. If there was anyone you trusted in such an intimate sense, it was him. 

Even if it shouldn’t have been.

God knows you needed to get laid. Unfortunately, you didn’t want just anyone.

You swore you had never been this horny before, least of all for your best friend. Thinking about him in such a salacious way was strictly a new development that was quickly ruining your life, haunting you day and night. Even now, lying in your bed, heat that was impossible to ignore bloomed between your legs. 

Maybe if you just indulged once, this madness would stop. Maybe you just needed an orgasm, and then you’d stop going insane over every single interaction you had with Caleb. It didn’t even have to be about him, and this was normal; everyone needed a release now and then. 

Your fingers slipped between your legs, pushing the fabric of his shirt up, tracing the outline of your cotton underwear. Your eyes fluttered shut as you let your fingertips gently graze against where you needed them most, letting your legs fall apart just a little bit–

Deep purple eyes flashed behind your closed eyes.

Gasping, you retracted your hand like you had been burned. There was no way in hell you could touch yourself with him in mind; that was everything you had been avoiding for the past three weeks, ever since the notion had first sprouted. Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow.

This had to have been the stupidest cause of insomnia ever.

Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : i better see u at the party tonight :D

Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : will pick u up at 9

Caleb 🍎 [15:32 pm] : no buts.

Caleb supposed that this was technically his fault.

Mentally, he had already prepared for this outcome. It was why he had barely drunk the entire night, barely finishing two drinks and opting out of playing beer pong with the rest of his friends, despite Gideon's need for another member on his team. 

“Come on, Pipsqueak.” He had an arm around your waist to help steady you, ensuring you wouldn’t fall flat on your face. You stumbled into the elevator, and he jammed the number of your dorm floor as you wrapped your arms around his torso weakly, leaning into him. Right now, he was the only thing keeping you upright.

You were drunk, slurring your words and unable to walk in a straight line without any assistance type of drunk.  And yes, this was his fault. 

Probably. Definitely.

One of the frat houses had thrown a party, and he had insisted that you come with him. He had always been great at reading you, and for the last couple of weeks, you had seemed tense over something, though you hadn’t told him what exactly it was yet. That was fine, he knew that eventually you’d spill, but for now, all he wanted to do was help you let loose. 

That was exactly what he told you to do when both of you arrived at the party, even pouring you your first drink. Halfway through the party, you seemed more relaxed than you had in the last couple of days, swaying along to the music by his side. He made sure not to drink too much, wanting to be sober enough to safely get you back to your dorm just in case you overdid it.

His intuition always ended up being right when it came to you.

You whined as the elevator dinged, the doors opening. “Everything is spinning.”

“I know, honey, we’re almost there.” He helped you walk into the hallway, smoothly taking your handbag from you and extracting your keys. Holding you tighter, he opened the door and pulled you through, carefully seating you down on your bed and taking your boots off.

Like clockwork, he grabbed a bottle of water from your bedside table, unscrewed it and held it to your cherry-tinted lips. You only used that specific lip-tint when you were going out, and each time you did, he found himself wondering if it tasted like cherry as well. Even now, as he gently propped his index finger under your chin and tilted your face upwards, he entertained the idea of tasting it for himself.

But he wouldn’t. 

“Drink up,” He said softly, “You’re gonna have a nasty hangover tomorrow.”

Obediently, you parted your lips, drinking with his help. Your cheeks were flushed due to the alcohol, hair a little frizzy from the heat, but still maintaining the styling you had done before the party. To him, you looked stunning at all times, but he could see the effort you had put in to look nice tonight, from your outfit (a black halter top and jeans) to your makeup, which he knew he’d have to help you take off now. 

Once he deemed the amount of water you had drunk enough, he put the bottle back and went into your bathroom, knowing exactly where to find your makeup wipes. He had taken care of you like this once before, so his body moved like clockwork. There was no point in trying to get you to the bathroom– you’d probably just sit down on the floor and stay there for the rest of the night– so he took the wipes with him and crouched down in front of where you sat on your bed. 

Smiling, he held your face again, this time a little firmer. “You’d hate yourself if you went to sleep before you took your makeup off,” he whispered, pulling one of the wipes out and dragging it over the apples of your face. Then, he glanced up and into your eyes, noting how you stared at him so keenly, even through a half-lidded gaze, lips slightly parted. 

If Caleb could’ve kept your attention on him like this for the rest of his life, he would have. 

“What's going through that head of yours?” He cocked his head to the side, studying your intent expression. Immediately, you looked away, but he wasn’t going to back down. Something had been troubling you, and he was determined to find out what. If you wouldn’t tell him outright, he would simply have to guess. “Is it your book, again?”

Your inebriated state made it hard for you to hide things from him. You stiffened in his touch, and he chuckled. “Bingo. You know, if you just told me what you were struggling with, I’d help.” He pressed your chin lightly, angling your face downwards. “Close your eyes.” He gently wiped over your eye makeup, making sure it was all off before continuing. “I know I’m not a writer, but I’m sure I'll be of some value.”

Finally done, he neatly folded the dirty wipe and placed it to the side. “Want some more water? Alcohol is dehydrating.”

And then, out of nowhere, you spoke. 

“Sex.”

Well, blurting would probably be a better way to describe how you said the word. Caleb blinked rapidly, wondering if he had heard you correctly as his face snapped back to yours, eyes wide. 

“What?”

“Sex.” You slurred a little bit as you leaned closer to him, jutting your lower lip out in a pout and repeating it once more for good measure. “Sex.”

“I heard you the first time,” Caleb could hear how strangled his voice was, unable to think straight at your sudden declaration. Oblivious to his mental distress, you thrust out your hand and pointed at the laptop that sat on your desk with drunken animosity. 

“I can’t write a stupid sex scene.” 

You sounded so crestfallen, and he would have totally started sympathising with you if not for the reason. A sex scene? What on earth were you writing?

“I–” He swallowed, “Well–”

“I mean, how am I supposed to write a good sex scene if I don’t know what good sex feels like? Or what even like, happens?” Alcohol had certainly loosened you up, and perhaps a bit too much, having erased any filter that you had. This resulted in you rambling on about everything you would have usually kept to yourself, and for good reason. “The sex I’ve had has been shitty.”

The sex you’ve had? Caleb almost bit his tongue off in shock, staring at you incredulously at the information you had dumped on him. He hadn’t even known you had been having sex, and thank every god for that, because he would have probably jumped off a cliff if you ever talked about your sex life with him. Surely, this was some sort of twisted fever dream he had found himself in. This could not have been real life.

“Christ,” He choked out, “I–okay, maybe I can’t help you–”

“Yeah, you can.” Your eyes cut to his, a little too intense for his sanity. “If you fucked me, I’d probably be able to write the scene.”

He gaped at you, about a dozen inappropriate thoughts running through his head before he could stop it. “What did you just say?” 

Teenage Caleb would have died if he had heard you say that. Adult Caleb nearly did. 

You sighed heavily, and it only succeeded in causing him to spiral even more. “I thought about it. I’m sure it would be good, y’know. You’d know what you were doing, you even look like you’re good at it.”

“You’re so drunk.” He tried to reason with himself out loud, but could hardly recognise his voice with how strained he sounded. Looked like he was good at it? What alternate dimension had he just fallen into? 

“Oh, come on, Caleb. I need some hands-on learning, and you–” you slurred the words as you leaned close and wrapped your hands around his bicep, peering up at him through your lashes. “–have very nice hands. They’re hot.”

You, his best friend, his pipsqueak, had thought about sleeping with him. You thought his hands were hot. The news nearly killed him, and he had to force himself to look away from you, his mind running at a mile a minute. Heat prickled at his face and neck, impossible to ignore as he cleared his throat and stood to his feet, pulling away from your touch. 

“You should sleep.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, stepping away from you. “I–I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was as if he were going through puberty all over again, with the way his voice cracked embarrassingly as he spoke. He left your room hurriedly,  barely getting his shoes back on as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

Caleb exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as the back of his head hit your door. All these years of barely keeping it together around you, carefully tiptoeing between right and wrong, only for you to come and crash into whatever self-restraint he had left. 

Right and wrong. 

All of a sudden, he wasn’t sure if he was going to choose correctly anymore. 

Death had to have been more merciful than the pounding in your head. Grabbing the covers, you pulled them over yourself like a cocoon, trying your hardest to block out all noises and sink even further into your mattress. 

Unfortunately, your hangover-induced headache made it nearly impossible for you to go back to sleep. Cursing, you forced yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up and change out of your clothes and into something more comfortable. Naturally, you gravitated towards an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, pulling them on after a quick shower. 

Then, you went right back to your bed, not wanting to face the day in the slightest. You had managed to resist throwing up so far, and even the thought of having to function like a normal human being made you recoil into your blanket and stay there for the rest of the week. Just as you began to genuinely entertain that notion, a sharp knock at your door caught your attention.

You would have ignored it if you didn’t know the pattern of this knock by heart. No one but Caleb knocked twice in sequence. 

Cursing under your breath, you scrambled to the door and opened it, squinting as the bright light of the hallway outside nearly blinded you. There he stood, grinning down at you as he held up a paper bag. 

“Aspirin.”

“Thank god,” you immediately let him in, taking the medicine from him and pouring yourself a glass of water. He stood right behind you as you took the pill, ruffling your already messy hair and staring for just a second too long. 

“Bad morning, huh?”

“You have no idea.” You winced at the whiny nature of your voice. “It feels like my head is trying to stab itself.”

Caleb chuckled dryly, sitting down on your bed and watching as you settled at your desk and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to smooth out the knots. Something was different about the way he was looking at you, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“You’ll be fine,” He muttered, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. You frowned, taking in the way his jaw ticked, and placed your glass of water down.

“Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine.” He said it a little too brightly, glancing down at your desk. Something flickered in his eyes. “Made any progress on that book of yours?”

A frustrated sound left you buried your face in your hands, elbows on your desk. The reminder of your stagnant writing somehow worsened your headache, as if that was even possible. Of course he’d bring that up. “As usual, no.”

For a while, you had hoped that inspiration would strike you eventually, but it seemed like you were well and truly stuck. It had only taken a turn for the worse, with you suddenly despising everything you had already written, unable to even skim any of it without cringing and wanting to hit delete. Your inability to write had morphed into impostor syndrome, which was a development you didn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“It’s okay,” he said, and you would have mistaken his tone for reassuring if not for the way his lips twitched slightly. “I’m sure you’ll be able to write eventually. After you fuck me, apparently.”

Silence. 

Razor-sharp silence.

Slowly, you turned your head to face him, eyes wide as saucers. “What….did you just say?”

“Only what you said last night. You said you were sure it would be good, which I beg to differ. It would be amazing, thank you very much.” He dared to smile oh-so innocently, as if he hadn’t just upgraded the superlative of what sex with him would potentially be like.

If you thought you were going to throw up before, you were sure you were going to now. You almost choked on your spit, waves of unadulterated shock crashing through your system as you gawked at your best friend, who appeared much too pleased with himself at the moment. If you weren’t so utterly horrified, you would have tried to slap the smug expression right off of his face.

“No.” The singular word comes out breathless, much to your mortification, your gut churning at the implications of that statement. “No, no, no–”

“Oh yes,” He grinned wickedly, leaning back on the palms of his hands. 

“What–what the fuck did I drink last night.” You tried your levity, but your embarrassment ran too deep. Reaching up, you covered your face with your hands in a pathetic attempt to hide away from him. Never, in a million years, had you ever accounted for having this conversation with him, of all people, and you were almost certain there was something in your drinks that had made you say what you did. 

His velvety laugh echoed through your dorm, and you wanted nothing more than to fold in on yourself. This had to have been the worst moment of your life. 

“I guess you don’t remember, huh?” There was an amused lilt to his tone that made you want to jump out of the window. “I can refresh you, if you’d like.”

“NO!” 

The shriek that left you was nothing short of abashed. He leaned forward now, smirking at you conspiratorially. “What's wrong? I thought you needed,” he paused, as if recollecting the exact words you had said to humiliate you even further. “Hands-on learning?”

You pointed to the door, biting back a scream. “Get out.”

The smirk only grew. “Aw, but if sleeping with me is gonna help you write again–”

“OUT!” You glared, cheeks flaming. Your anxiety had prepared you for at least a hundred outright ridiculous situations that had no chance of ever occurring, but none of them accounted for the possibility of your best friend talking about sleeping with you. You couldn’t fathom how he seemed so unaffected by it, as if he were speaking about something as mundane as the damn weather.

Caleb tongued his cheek, evidently fighting off another bout of laughter. He raised his hands to his sides in a placating gesture, but it did nothing to soothe your frazzled nerves. If anything, it only distracted you further, your eyes betraying you and straying to glance at his hands. A suppressed memory from last night resurfaced in your mind's eye, much to your displeasure. 

You have very nice hands. They’re hot.

That was it. You were never going to touch alcohol again. Sobriety was your way of life now, seeing that you couldn’t keep your mouth shut when under the influence. The next time you need to let off some steam, you’d have an iced coffee.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go.” He moved towards your door, hiding his teasing smile behind his fist, disguising his chuckle with an exaggerated cough. “But Y/n?”

He didn’t use his beloved pet name. You straightened slightly, momentarily pushing away your embarrassment at the sudden serious shift of his voice. He opened the door and paused, hesitating for a single second. Then, he looked back at you, all-consuming, violent eyes locking onto yours. 

“I would do it if you asked.” 

You sighed heavily as you walked out of your last class of the day, rubbing the back of your neck and peering up into the darkening sky. Thursdays were the one day of the week when you had longer classes one after the other, which always resulted in you feeling exhausted by the end of it. You barely had the energy to even think about putting together dinner, which your best friend knew, always swinging by once your class ended with enough take-out for both of you and to walk you back to your dorm. 

Which meant…

“I hope you’re in the mood for Thai food.”

Caleb slid into your view with that easy-going smile of his, though lately and much to your annoyance, there seemed to be a knowing glint in his gaze every time it settled on you. 

“I’m in the mood for anything edible.” You sighed as you began walking back to your dorm. He easily fell into step beside you, as always, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. You supposed it was, considering how long your friendship had lasted. It would be almost twelve years soon, and honestly, you could hardly remember a time when he wasn’t around. 

He hummed, knowing how cranky you got when you were hangry. “So easy to please.” It was the way he said it, knowing and with a tone so low that it almost resembled a purr. It had goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin. A little outraged at the way you reacted, you glanced over at him, only to find him already looking at you.

It was how he always looked at you, with conviction and every ounce of his attention. Yet, it felt different, more intense. Or maybe that was just your brain playing tricks on itself. 

I would do it if you asked.

Those seven words had haunted you from the moment he had spoken them. The serious expression on his face mixed with the quiet way he had said it– it had undoubtedly fucked you up a little more than you would have liked to admit. You were beyond infuriated and in complete disbelief over how he had simply offered to sleep with you. Like it wasn’t a big deal or a very major, clear boundary that existed in friendships. In your friendship. 

If you asked. Like it was that fucking simple. He left your dorm since you demanded it of him, but left you to deal with the aftermath of that absolutely criminal statement of his. 

And then there was the teasing. 

Relentless and unsteadying. Caleb would say something a little too suggestive or downright sexual before retreating and pretending like nothing had happened. He’d hold your gaze a little longer, or let his touch linger, before looking away with a satisfied smirk. He knew damn well what he was doing, and although you did too, it didn’t stop you from flushing or freezing up. It certainly didn’t stop scenarios from writing themselves in your head. 

He was torturing you for your little slip-up. He found it hilarious, and now you were the punchline for every joke that blossomed from it. 

He cocked his head to the side now, a small, tilted smile on his lips as he spoke. “What's going on in at head of yours?”

You realised you had stopped walking, and so had he, instead standing right in front of you and occupying every part of your vision. “Nothing.”

Caleb quirked an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “You sure about that? You’re obviously thinking about something.” The cadence of his voice had always been nice, but now the velvety smoothness of it put you on edge in more ways than one. “Are you maybe thinking about–”

“I am not thinking about that.” The statement tumbled out of you before you could bite your tongue. His eyes lit up mischievously.

“Oh, so you’re thinking about something after all, are you?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, struggling to findd to find a comeback to that. Somehow, he was even closer now. 

“Mind telling me what exactly that is?”

“Stop it,” You almost snarled, shooting him a withering look as you pushed him away in order to reclaim your personal space. This teasing streak of his was getting unbearable, especially since it was anything but innocent and was driving you up the wall. “Or I’m gonna take the Thai food and leave you with nothing.”

An offended gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would.” 

He laughed at your threat and finally let up on you, going back to being the Caleb you knew. He spoke of his classes and the group project he had due at the end of the week, for which he had terrible teammates to work with. It was jarring, how easily he could shift back into acting like he hadn’t just insinuated something so….

Maybe it was just your dirty mind. 

Unbeknownst to you, it definitely wasn’t just your dirty mind. Caleb was mentally punching himself. 

Caleb had had years of practising self-control when it came to you. Years of holding back and hiding the feelings he had for his best friend, shying away from every opportunity to divulge them. He knew how to keep his hands to himself, his mind from straying and his tongue from running into dangerous territory. He hadn’t meant to do it, but your drunken confession had flipped a switch inside of him. The lines had gotten a little blurry, but he would never, in a million years, ever actually cross them.

So what the hell was wrong with him? 

You still hadn’t written a word. Unfortunately for you, you couldn’t even complain about it in peace anymore. Not if you wanted to maintain even a modicum of your sanity.

The reason for said dwindling sanity was sitting beside you right now on his bed, his arm slung around your shoulder, fingers tracing abstract patterns on the top of your shoulder. Usually, this would have calmed you down and even made you sleepy, but it achieved the complete opposite right then. You were painfully awake, his feathery touch like electricity against your skin. 

God, you were so fucked. You had hoped that Caleb’s incessant teasing would have put a damper on your sudden, strong attraction towards him, but nothing of the sort had happened. It seemed to have only gotten worse, with you ending up being jumpy whenever he was around, and considering the amount you hung out with him, you were starting to resemble a kangaroo.

Around him, you were constantly tense and always on the precipice of being turned on. To say it was hellish would be an understatement.

“You’re distracted,” he murmured as the credits of the movie you were watching played. Finally, the two of you had managed to find the time to have that movie night you had passed on weeks ago. You shook your head, glancing up at the clock that hung on his wall. It was a little past midnight. 

“Just frustrated,” you said finally, because it was the truth in more ways than one. Your frustration with your writing, or lack of, ran deep, but now it was intertwined with another very persistent reason. Being sexually frustrated wasn’t something you were used to dealing with.

He seemed to have caught on, though, his hand falling from your shoulder to your waist, curling around it. “Why are you frustrated, Pipsqueak?” He drawled, turning his head so that he faced you now. Of course, he’d pick this moment to torment you, when you were already frazzled.

“No reason,” you said quickly, voice clipped. A slow, languid smile stretched out on his lips. 

“No?” He asked, the side of his mouth tilting. “Could it be….”

“Stop talking.” You despised how hoarse your voice sounded. You wanted– no, needed him to stop doing this before it became unbearable. He was your best friend, for fucks sake. The smile on his annoyingly perfect face melted into a smirk that would have had your knees weak if you weren’t already sitting down. 

“I don’t think I will.” He whispered, pulling you even closer as he dipped his head down until his lips brushed against your ear. It was like he wanted you to break, and god, you were so close to doing so. His hand slid up your waist just a little bit. A shiver ran through you, one you couldn’t have suppressed if you tried. 

“Tell me,” He mumbled, the words sounding much too loud even though he was still whispering. “Do your frustrations have anything to do with a certain sex scene you’re trying to write?”

You inhaled sharply.

Rationality was a funny thing. Every bit of it seemed to disappear whenever you truly needed it. Things you had no business thinking rushed through your head, courtesy of your bright imagination that chose the most inconvenient moments to work. Thoughts you had suppressed and pushed aside every time they had the nerve to pop up swirled around.

The spark that you had been trying so hard to put out crackled to life in your core, its flames spreading all across your body like wildfire. You were painfully aware of every part of you that was in contact with him, his hand just above your waist, sitting there so possessively, his breath fanning across your neck– fuck. It was too much, but somehow not enough all at once, and immediately you knew what you wanted.

More.

You snapped. 

Something possessed you as you turned to look at him, a surge of confidence appearing out of nowhere as you drew closer to him. “Yeah.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Right then and there, three things became very clear to you. One: You wanted to write. Desperately and preferably sometime soon, because you did want to finish the first draft before you could go in and edit. Two: For some reason, you needed to have sex in order to get over the mental block you had when it came to writing it. Lastly, three: You only wanted to have sex with one person, and it was the man right beside you.

“My frustration has everything to do with the sex scene.” You said, surprising yourself with how steady your voice was. “But you can help with that, right?” 

Without waiting for his response, you got to your knees, swinging a leg over him and settling down on top. Surprise flickered in his eyes for a second as your hands found his shoulders to maintain your balance, before he spoke again. 

“Pipsqueak,” he started, voice low and careful, attempting to keep the teasing lilt in his voice but royally failing. “What– exactly– are you doing?”

“You told me to ask.” You muttered, dropping your gaze to his lips for a moment before letting it travel back up. “You said you’d do it if I asked. I’m asking right now.” 

Caleb couldn’t respond, still staring up at you, eyes wide and ears a little redder than they normally were. Good. It was about time he had a taste of his own medicine. His hands found your waist again, and he blinked twice, slowly, and you prayed he wasn’t all bark and no bite. 

You wanted him to bite.

“Y/n,” he muttered, “I….I know what I said.”

You raised an eyebrow, your hands slipping up his shoulders simultaneously until they were cradling his neck, playing with his hair at the nape of it. Was he shy? Now? After everything he had said and insinuated, he had the audacity to be all bashful? “So then you know what I’m asking for.”

“Well–”

“Caleb,” You cut him off, shifting so that you were closer. “I’m asking.” 

Conviction laced those words. You could tell he was reasoning with himself, god knows you could read him well enough to know when he was conflicted, when he bit the inside of his cheek before exhaling shakily. 

“Pips,” He rasped out your nickname. “You– you’re sure?”

You didn’t recognise the look in his eyes right then as he looked up at you, but it had you unravelling all the same. You leaned in subconsciously, but he quickly moved one of his hands from your waist to your mouth, covering it as his jaw clenched, still studying you. “I need you to tell me you’re sure, Y/n.”

Oh, so this was actually happening. You could feel the heat of your breath recoil against your face because of his hand. The ticking of the clock in his room filled the charged silence between him and you, his fingers brushing against your chapped lips. You swallowed.

“I’m sure.”

Whatever had shifted in you five minutes ago seemed to shift in him as well now. He let his hand drop from your mouth, shamelessly staring at it. “We shouldn’t.” But he pulled you closer, his arms circling your waist and palms splayed out on the small of your back. 

“It’s for research purposes,” You breathed out, doing your best to justify how badly you needed him. “Please, Caleb, I need–”

He didn’t let you finish. 

You gasped as he crushed his mouth to yours, effectively shutting you up. The pressure of his lips against your own was dizzying, especially with the way they moved; slowly and precisely, as if he was committing the feel of your lips to his memory. You were hyperaware of his touch on your back, the warmth from his hands permeating through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you were wearing.

Pulling him closer, you tilted your head so you could kiss him better. For the number of times you had mentally chided yourself for even thinking about this, it felt remarkably natural to kiss him, your instincts taking over. Your fingers slipped into his hair, entangling in the dark strands and tugging lightly.

Caleb groaned, and you were on fire. 

“God, Y/n.” There was nothing playful about the way he mumbled your name into the kiss, and the unfamiliarity of it sent a shiver down your spine. His lips, soft and just a little hesitant, moved in tandem against your own, slotting in between them perfectly like you were pieces of the same puzzle, meant to be pushed together like so. He nipped at your lower lip before swiping his tongue over it to soothe the sting, and the intoxicating sensation drew out a needy whimper from you. 

The second that sound escaped you, all indecision disappeared from his end, and the temperature in the room seemed to increase, growing hotter with every smack of his lips against yours. Kissing him was addictive, it felt as if neither of you could bear to pull away from each other. 

Without warning, Caleb lifted you off of him and pressed you into the mattress, swiftly climbing on top of you. For a moment, he hovered, looking down at you, taking in the flush on your cheeks and heavy breathing, proud to have been the cause of your breathlessness despite barely doing a thing. Going in once again, he brushed his lips against yours teasingly, before giving you what you truly wanted, the intensity of the kiss taking a turn for feverish.

A hand of his slid up your side until he cupped your jaw oh-so gently, turning your face to the side to give him better access to your neck, upon which he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses that had heat rush right to your core. The ache between your legs grew, slowly becoming unbearable, and you rubbed your thighs together with a whine, chasing any sliver of friction. 

“Shit,” he muttered against you, his other hand slipping underneath your shirt and coming into contact with your stomach, causing goosebumps to rise on the skin. Spreading his fingers and pressing lightly, he kept you from squirming. “Pips, you gotta tell me to stop.”

“Don’t you dare,” you almost snapped at him, impatient and so painfully aroused it was embarrassing. He couldn’t hold back the breathless chuckle that escaped him as he moved lower, teeth grazing your collarbone. 

“If, at any point, you want to stop, tell me,” he gritted out, trying to hold onto any semblance of self-control he still possessed. “I don’t wanna do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

You nodded quickly. “I trust you.”

That was all he needed. Lifting his head slightly, he fumbled with the buttons of your shorts as he leaned back, all his weight on his knees. Once he managed to undo them, you lifted your hips slightly to help him tug them off your body. He settled between your legs, spreading them until the pretty cotton panties you wore were exposed. 

Caleb swallowed, his breathing growing erratic and heavy. The wet patch on your panties was his undoing; everything about this situation was bound to be the death of him, but he was too far gone now. He let his hand trace up to your hips, hooking his finger through the waistband of your panties, toying with it.

“Is this ok?” The column of his throat bobbed as he stared up at you from between your legs. When you whispered a needy yes, he pulled the panties down your legs, his eyes darkening the moment they settled back on your core. 

“Y/n,” He said your name like he was drunk, a certain sense of reverence infused in his tone that had your cheeks kissed rouge. “You’re even prettier than I thought.”

Than he thought? You would have to take the time to dissect that statement later, much too distracted to do so at the moment when he began peppering kisses along your inner thigh, starting from your knee and working his way upwards. The sensation of his mouth tantalisingly close to where you wanted it so badly was almost too much. Just the sight of him there was so erotic that it had your head swimming. You had never felt more vulnerable than you did right then, exposed and willing.

And then finally– finally– his breath fanned out over your soaked cunt, driving you insane. Liquid fire thrummed in your veins beneath the surface of your skin as your anticipation spilled over. He pressed a light, teasing kiss against your clit. 

Caleb dragged his tongue over your slit, licking up it all the way to your clit, which he wrapped his lips around and sucked, knocking all the air out of your lungs. You gasped, bucking your hips up against him, and he chuckled, the sound sending vibrations up your body, from your toes to the top of your head.

“Impatient,” he chided. “Let me take my time with you, princess.”

The new pet name sounded so natural coming from him, and immediately, you knew you wanted to hear him call you that again. He flicked his tongue against the throbbing bud that had been aching for his attention this entire time, positioning your legs to rest over his shoulders. The sounds that left you were shamefully loud, and you had never been more grateful that he lived in a single dorm. 

“Cal- oh fuck,” You mewled when he swiped two of his fingers through your wetness, rubbing your folds. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he all but groaned against you, and you could feel more slick gush out of you at that. “Is this all for me?” 

Your back arched off the bed when he pressed a finger to your dripping entrance, nodding with a sense of desperation you had never experienced before. “Yes,” you exhaled the word as he pushed his finger inside your pussy slowly, your jaw falling open at the pleasurable intrusion. 

Slowly, he began pumping it in and out of you as he continued to give your clit the sweet attention it deserved, basking in the noises that you made. The pads of the fingers of his other hand dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping you nice and spread out despite all your attempts to shut your legs around him. 

When he introduced a second figure to your cunt, your hands found purchace in his hair, gripping and tugging as you panted, unable to focus on anything else. Your eyes fluttered shut as the tips of his fingers brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars, crooking inside you so perfectly. It was as if he knew exactly how to push you to the edge.

Your best friend was eating you out like a starved man and you were enjoying every fucking second of it. He could feel your legs begin to tremble, your impending orgasm building. Shamelessly, you bucked your hips against his face, and the moment he realised what you were doing, he increased the pace of his fingers.

“Come on baby,” he encouraged you, flattening his tongue against your clit and pulling you closer, spurring you on even further. You ground against his mouth desperately, feeling the coil in your core draw tight, so, so close.

“Caleb,” you stuttered his name helplessly, but he somehow understood, knowing just what you needed. “I–I’m gonna–”

He scissored his fingers inside of you, hooking them just right as he gave your clit little kitten licks, determined to have you fall apart on his tongue. Your sweet gasps sent blood rushing straight to his cock, which was already painfully hard, confined in his jeans. Taking your mound into his mouth, he sucked harshly, thrusting his fingers knuckle deep in your sex. 

A broken moan escaped you when your climax hit you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of pleasure washed over you. Your legs shook, but he didn’t let up, grinning proudly against you as he drove his fingers back into your gushing entrance, helping you ride out your high and prolonging it. Once he was satisfied, he lapped at you, refusing to waste even a single drop of your essence. 

Caleb pulled away, and the sight of you nearly did him in. Eyes screwed shut in ecstacy and hair fanned out on his pillow, undoubtedly tangled from all your writhing. You looked like the picture of sin, and it was the hottest thing he had ever seen. He climbed back, hovering over you again as he licked his lips.

Your eyes fluttered open, pupils blown out and dark due to the sheer level of desire that coursed through you. You were stunning, and he was destroyed, knowing that he’d never be able to forget the way you were looking at him right then. The way you tasted.

When he kissed you again, it was different. It was a heady mix of heat and tongue and want, messier than the kisses he gave you earlier, the control he had before nowhere to be seen anymore. You could taste yourself on his tongue and moaned, reaching out to touch him. 

You started at his collar, dragging your hands down, down, down until you reached the hem of his shirt, whining against his mouth as you tugged at it. 

“Take it off.”

Who was he to deny you? He stopped kissing you, sitting up so that he could pull the shirt off, exposing his torso for you. The way your eyes raked over him hungrily was more than gratifying, especially when they caught on the silver chain that hung from his neck, the pendant sitting on his chest. Tossing his shirt to the side, he pushed your own up your body, exposing the skin of your stomach. 

“Your turn.”

You let him take off your shirt, tossing it to the side and slipping his hands slip behind your back. He silently asked for your permission, which you gave to him in the form of an impatient nod to which he smirked, unhooking your bra and peeling it off of you, letting the discarded garment join the rest of them on the floor. 

One look at you and he was a goner. 

“Fuck,” he could feel himself straining his jeans as he took in the sight of your breasts, so perfect and plush. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate you in all your naked glory, before leaning back down, his mouth back on your overheated skin. He dragged his tongue down your neck, sucking and biting like there was no tomorrow. 

His lips trailed downwards, kissing the swell of your breast before wrapping around your already hard nipple, stroking his tongue against the aching peak. He palmed the other breast, giving that nipple equal amounts of attention and rolling it under his thumb. You hissed in pleasure, breathless as you arched into his addictive touch.

You could barely think straight; everything he was doing to you sent you into complete overdrive. Every touch was criminally good, the simplest of them causing your arousal to increase tenfold. Perhaps it was because it had been so long since you had last had sex, but you had never before felt so frenzied.

Hooking your legs around his waist, you could feel the outline of him pressing against your thighs. Angling your hips, you pressed your bare pussy against his bulge, the roughness of the denim rubbing you just right. He looked up at you from your chest through hooded eyes, earning another whimper as he pinched your nipple.

“You sound so good.” His words went straight to your head. “Tell me what you want.”

He said it like it was a command, and who were you to disobey, especially when you knew exactly what you wanted? 

“I want you inside me,” you whimpered, voice heated with lust. 

How could he ever refuse you? Caleb gave you one last kiss before reaching over to his bedside table, grabbing something from the drawer and sitting up and unzipping his pants. You couldn’t help but stare as he impatiently kicked off his jeans and boxers, eyes widening when you finally saw his cock. 

Fuck, it was big. Long and painfully hard, you could hardly believe he was hard because of you, but the proof was in front of your very eyes. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you drank in the sight of him, hyperaware of the wetness that coated your thighs. 

He tore open the condom packet, smoothly sliding it onto himself before settling between your legs once. 

“W-will it even fit?” You squeaked, a spike of fear cutting through the lust-filled haze of your mind. He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his lips and pressing your fingers to them, kissing your knuckles soothingly as he bit back a smile. 

“It’ll fit.” 

“But– there's no way,” You spluttered, “It’s gonna hurt.” Not that the prospect of being in a little pain deterred you by any means, you were way too horny to stop now. Complaining was probably the least sexy thing you could have done in the moment, but he seemed unbothered, the dark, hungry glint in his eyes never fading. The amused look on his face, however, was not lost on you, nor was the way he bit the inside of his cheek, fighting a smile. You glared weakly. 

“Are you laughing at me?” You asked, incredulous. “I swear to god, Caleb, you’re going to split me in half, and you’re laughing?”

“Baby,” He breathed, “You’ll be fine.”

“Easy for you to say!”

You wouldn’t even blame him if he decided he was done with you and pulled his pants back on, but nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he gripped your hips, grounding you to the moment. 

Both of you were completely nude, and despite this, you had never felt more comfortable. Not when he looked at you like that, like you were something sacred. 

“Relax, Pips, I’ve got you,” He whispered, sensing your apprehension. You exhaled shakily as he pressed his hard-on against your folds, groaning at just how wet you were. “Eyes on me.”

The way he took control so naturally was alarmingly attractive. You looked up, locking your eyes with his, unable to stay silent when the head of his cock rubbed against your swollen clit. “O-oh.”

He shuddered at the feeling, dropping a little so that he was keeping himself up on his elbows. His necklace swung above you just like you had imagined as he ground against you, but it still wasn’t enough. “Ready?” 

You didn’t think you’d ever be ready, but you wanted it so badly you didn’t even care. Nodding eagerly, you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him press the back of your hands into the mattress. When his tip caught at your entrance, you whined. “Please.” 

Having you beg him like that was dangerous. He squeezed your hands, and then slowly, carefully, sank into your wet heat, inch by devastating inch. Your jaw slackened, loudly moaning his name as he filled you up and stretched you out so pleasurably. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he pushed into you until he bottomed out, going breathless himself. One glance down to where the two of you were connected had him actively having to fight off coming right then and there. 

Caleb was in heaven, and he was fucking delirious. He forced himself to stay still, moaning lowly when he felt your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size. “You’re doing so well, princess.” He praised, lowering his head to your neck and burying his face in the crook of it, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm himself down. 

There was so much wrong with this, so why did it feel so right? You felt so perfect, like you were made for him.

“Caleb,” You whimpered once the sting faded, letting go of his hands and looping your arms around his neck, “Move. I need you to move.” 

He pulled out until only his tip remained inside of you, before sheathing himself again, causing you to curve off the bed, nails digging into his skin. He did it again and again, nearly growling when he felt you grow even wetter, coating the length of his cock in your slick. Wet sounds that had your cheeks burning filled the room repeatedly.

“Fuck baby, you’re so tight,” He practically growled, contrasting the tender pace he set, telling you he was holding back for your sake. You could feel every inch of him as he dragged against your walls, reminding you how big he was with every thrust.  

Your friendship was potentially ruined, but it felt too good for you to care. With your legs locked behind his back, you gripped his biceps, a wanton moan escaping you as your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure overriding every other sensation.  

“So good,” words were hard to put together, and he understood and nodded, holding your hips so tight you were sure there would be marks, just like the marks that blossomed all over your neck and chest from his earlier ministrations. Right now, though, you didn’t care about that, consumed by the waves of euphoria rushing through you.

Slowly, the frequency of his thrusts increased, rendering you completely winded and unable to do anything but gasp for air. You felt another orgasm steadily build up inside you. 

Then he tipped his hips a certain way, the tip of his cock brushing against a spot that made you cry out his name, throwing your head back into his pillows. The look on your face was something he wanted to imprint in his memory; the desire lacing your voice was beyond exhilarating. 

Caleb could feel his own impending high, so tightly wound because of just how long he had waited for something like this. When you clenched around him, he knew you were close as well, but the act nearly did him in.

“Don’t do that.” his voice was all scratchy and strained, but you promptly did it once again, high off the notion that you were affecting him just as much as he was affecting you. His hips stuttered against yours as his violet eyes flashed. “Fucking hell.”

“Oh my god,” you moaned, “I can’t–”

“Look at me,” he demanded, “I want you to look at me when you come all over my cock.”

Never in a million years would you have thought your best friend would be so good at dirty talk, but the shock quickly melted into obedience as you managed to hold his heated gaze. Reaching between the two of you, his index finger found your engorged clit and rubbed circles against it. 

You squealed, overly sensitive. “Shit–I’m gonna– Cal-!”

“Come for me.” 

Caleb would never forget how you looked: at his mercy, crying out his name over and over like it was a prayer as you came, spilling over his cock with a euphoric sob. He snapped his hips to yours with renewed urgency, drawing out your second climax and prolonging the feeling. When he saw the fucked out look on your face, it hit him at once. 

With one final thrust, he buried himself inside you, coming with a moan, burying his face in your neck once again. His body was damp against yours, his hair tickling you as you breathed heavily. He stayed like that for a couple of seconds, recovering from the intensity of what had just happened.

Wordlessly, he pulled out of you gently, the sudden emptiness you felt having you whimper softly. Peeling the condom off, he tossed it in the bin next to his bed before climbing off of you, muttering something about being back. Seconds later, you felt a warm, wet cloth drag over your core. He cleaned you up, pressing little kisses to the inner side of your thighs.

Once he was done, he gathered you in his arms and pulled you close, kissing your temple. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, pulling away just enough so he could try and gauge how you felt, rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone as he cupped your face tenderly. “I didn’t hurt you, right?”

You shook your head and leaned into his touch, completely spent. “No, it was perfect.”

He sighed in relief. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “You did so well,” he murmured into your hair, massaging your scalp gently. “You were amazing, actually.” Another kiss to your forehead made you simper as your eyes closed, exhaustion settling into you now that the adrenaline had faded. “Tired?”

“Yeah,” You mumbled. Your legs entangled with his, and he stopped talking, tracing shapes on your back while you drifted off to sleep. He watched you for a bit, savouring the skin-on-skin contact, his mind reeling from what had just happened. 

This was strangely normal, no awkwardness or post-nut clarity hitting either of you. Your body lay against his with all of you pressed up against him like that was exactly where you belonged. He could feel the beating of your heart, strong and steady in your slumber, whereas his remained erratic and fast. This was more than just a taste that he had had of you; it was the entire deal, and the knowledge of it all had his morals scattered and all over the place, because now that he knew what he knew, well.

Caleb wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing.

At the time, you had justified sleeping with Caleb as research, something you needed to do in order to get it out of your system. You had assumed, albeit foolishly, that once it was over, you’d be able to go back to normal and continue with your life.

But research was an activity that required constant revisiting. Most of it had to be repeated over and over, especially if it included gathering data from an experiment. There was always a control, and then variations of the experiment would be conducted to record the differences in the outcomes. 

At least, that was what you were telling yourself right now as you straddled him, his cock buried inside you.

Truthfully, you didn’t know how this had happened. After that day, everything seemed to be normal, until he showed up at your dorm to help you study for a class he had also taken when he was in his sophomore year. One thing led to another, or rather, one heated touch later, you found yourself under him once again.

And then it happened again, and kept happening. Whispers of it being just for research mixed in with both of your moans became a melody you were more than used to. This was all for your book, after all. For the sake of accuracy and your integrity as a writer.

Definitely not because of how mindblowing sex with Caleb was.

And it absolutely was. 

He had made you completely insatiable for him, and almost every time the two of you hung out in one of your dorms, it ended up with both of you in bed. Every other aspect of your friendship remained exactly the same, though, which left you considerably confused. He didn’t look at or treat you any differently, poking fun and driving you up the wall, staying his usual reliable self. 

Caleb’s hand cradled the back of your head as he kissed you now, fingers entangled in your hair and pulling slightly. You moaned softly against his lips, grinding on him.

You were in one of his shirts, panties tugged to the side since he hadn’t had the patience to take them off, needing to be inside of you as quickly as possible. Despite his earlier hurriedness, the pace the two of you settled on now was almost teasing, slowly rocking against him as you lazily chased the delicious high that you had gotten so used to experiencing these past two weeks. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he muttered, more to himself than you, hand slipping under your shirt and cupping your breast, squeezing. When he caught you biting your lip, he tutted, letting go of your hair and using his thumb to release it from your teeth. “Ah, ah, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself, pretty girl.”

“Too good,” you complained in that whiney, desperate tone he had gotten so addicted to. Pinching your nipple for good measure, he smirked up at you when you squealed. 

Caleb quickly learned that he loved having you on top of him. Getting you all to himself like this was a privilege in itself, but fucking you while you wore his shirt? He was on cloud nine. He could feel himself throb in your sweet pussy that welcomed him so eagerly, in turn pulsing around him. 

He cursed under his breath when you started to bounce, eager to get to the finish line with him. He sounded so good when he swore, you’d never understand it, just like how you wouldn’t get how he looked so pretty with a flush decorating his face and sex-mussed hair.

Gripping his shoulders, you tipped your head back, giving him access to your neck. He had taken to marking you up as and when he pleased, new hickeys surprising you every time you glanced in the mirror. Despite his tendency to leave them in places everyone could very easily spot them, you didn’t tell him to stop simply it just felt so good. 

Everything with Caleb felt good, and not only did it feel good, but you felt completely safe. He was so attentive, doing the most to make sure you were never in any pain, often times focusing more on getting you off rather than himself. 

He thrust up into you suddenly, his earlier impatience returning, and you cried out, falling into his chest. He held you, working you through it and dragging you closer and closer to release. One of your hands fell to his torso, tracing the hard lines of his abs and trailing downwards before your fingers found your clit and rubbed.

Shit. If having you ride him was good, being able to watch you touch yourself as you did was unbelievable. When you came, you came hard, and the feeling of it tipped him over the edge. 

You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from.

You didn’t bother moving, clinging to him even tighter like you couldn’t bear to not be touching him in some way as you came down from your high. He smelled like sex, sweat, and that cologne of his that you loved. It was the reason you stole his clothes so much and why you were wearing his shirt even now.

Your first time with Caleb was the getaway drug, and now you were addicted to him, to having his hands caressing you all over and him whispering praises in your ear. 

“Hey there,” He chuckled, rubbing your back. “All good?”

“Great even,” You mumbled, sitting up properly before finally lifting yourself off of him. You failed to register how jelly-like your legs felt, promptly losing your balance. He caught you before you fell, grinning. 

“Can’t walk?” You could hear how smug he was without even having to look at him. It was then that you registered the burn in your thighs and huffed. 

“Don’t sound so proud about it.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouted, leaving you to scoff as he helped you to your feet, following suit. “I’ll help you clean up. Do you wanna watch the new episode after?” 

Ah yes. Of course, he’d start talking about anime after taking away your ability to stand. That had been the reason he had shown up at your dorm in the first place, but the moment he saw you wearing his shirt, it had quickly become an afterthought.  

The whiplash you felt was indescribable, and you could only nod, letting him pick you up and carry you to the bathroom. After a quick shower and change of clothes, the two of you settled down with your laptop like nothing had happened, your head resting on his shoulder as you focused on the show.

Neither of you bothered to talk about your redefined friendship despite having sex regularly. It was just….a new addition. A benefit that you were both taking advantage of, nothing more and nothing less. 

But even as you reminded yourself of that now, you found yourself doubting it.

There was something to be said about formal events. 

You enjoyed getting dolled up as much as the next girl, but that was where the fun ended. Having to sit through the event was boring and not the way you liked to spend your Friday evenings. You would have much preferred staying in and catching up on some much-needed sleep.

The editor of your university’s paper, Jenna, had organised an affair that was being held in one of the college halls. She had worked very hard on it, inviting several alumni who were all successful in the fields of journalism and writing back so that the current batch of students had the chance to make connections. It was open to the entire student body, but she had made it clear that everyone on the paper was obligated to attend. 

Connections were what helped people get further in life. You were grateful for the opportunity to interact with industry professionals, but didn’t understand why she had insisted on keeping it a black tie affair. That probably had something to do with keeping up appearances. 

You stood off to the side, sipping on your cranberry juice from a cup that was made for something much more refined. So far, you had spoken to a couple of the guests, but seeing that you had been here for over an hour already, your social battery was slowly dying out. The dress you wore was a black number, floor length, form-fitting and plain except for the slit that reached up to a little above your knee. Perfect for an event like this, not too much and on power with what everyone else was wearing. 

Still, it was a little overstimulating. You guzzled down the rest of your juice and placed the empty glass down on one of the tables. 

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

You spun on your heels immediately at that voice, eyes widening and settling on the culprit who stood two, maybe three steps away from you. 

“Caleb?” You asked in disbelief, taking in his presence. He was wearing a suit.

“The one and only,” he grinned, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Here to rescue you from your boredom.”

“What are you even doing here?” To say this wasn’t his scene would be an understatement. He didn’t like wearing the whole suit getup, much preferring casual clothing. Hell, Caleb hadn’t even attended his high school prom (though when you asked why, he would never give you a straight answer), opting to spend the night in with you instead. 

He looked unfairly good. The collar of his shirt hid those lovely collarbones of his and reminded you of how you had bit down on them the other day, the bottom of it tucked into black slacks. He had even worn dress shoes, instead of the sneakers he so loved and a tie around his neck. The entire getup.

“I literally just told you why. To get you out of here. Are you hard of hearing now?”

You returned his jibe with an exasperated sound. “I meant here, at this thing.”

“Oh. Well, you did mention it was open to anyone yesterday,” he shrugged, grabbing a glass of juice and sipping on it. “So that editor of yours technically can’t complain about me being here.” 

That was true. Still, you found yourself bewildered as you stared at him. He was here. For some reason, even though he was allowed to be here, it didn’t make sense to you. You pressed your lips together and cocked your head to the side, studying him. 

“So you dressed up and came here.…only to convince me to leave?” The notion sounded strange even to you. Why on earth would he do that? He finished up his drink and put it down next to your empty glass, taking a step closer to you. The simple movement had butterflies erupt in the pits of your stomach.

What the hell?

“Stop thinking so much. Do you want to stay?”

You considered it. “Not really, no.”

“Do you enjoy arguing with me for no reason, woman?” he muttered dryly under his breath, his eyes catching on something over your head. “On second thought, I think you should stay a little longer.”

Now you were just plain confused. One moment he was talking about saving you from boredom, and the next he was insisting you stay? Before you could undoubtedly start another argument just to spite him, he took you by your shoulders and spun you around, pointing in a certain direction. When you figured out what, or rather, who he was gesturing to, you couldn’t hide your gasp. 

“Isn’t that the author you like?”

You could only nod dumbly. “Raymond.” Last year, you had a phase where you only read his books day in and day out, absorbing the stories he spun like a sponge. His books were the reason you had decided to start writing your own in the first place, inspired by his storytelling skills. 

Caleb nudged your side gently, “Go.”

“How–” you cut yourself off, looking up at him. “How do you even remember that?” You weren’t sure why this entire interaction with him was throwing you off so much, but you felt completely unbalanced. You hadn’t spoken about Raymond or his work in a long time, so how did he know?  He shrugged noncommittally. 

“I know you.” He said it so plainly, like it was something trivial and basic, but his eyes bored into yours. 

Had Caleb always looked at you with such quiet intensity?

He nudged your side gently, reminding you to move. Forcing yourself out of your stupor, you promised him you wouldn’t take too much time and walked over, buzzing with excitement.

The conversation itself wasn’t long, but it was insightful. He answered all your questions about the industry, and you even had the chance to share for appreciation for Raymond's work as well as ask him questions that you had about his novels. You gave him your utmost attention when he gave you advice, but when he started talking about his characters, your eyes and mind wandered.

Back to your best friend, who was waiting for you on the other end of the hall, leaning against one of the walls and scrolling through his phone. He didn’t give a flying fuck about this event, but had still come here for your sake, even when you hadn’t asked him to. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours, and flashing you a small smile.

Oh.

You looked away and back at Raymond, nodding politely and tuning yourself back into the conversation. Internally, however, you were freaking out. Something was very wrong; that was the only reason you could conjure up at the moment for what was happening to you. How else could you explain the sudden sweatiness of your palms, or the odd, fluttery feeling in your stomach? Maybe it was the excitement you felt from meeting the author you loved so much, but even as you considered this possibility, you knew it wasn’t the answer you were looking for.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

This could not be happening. You plastered a smile on your face as you tried to pay attention to whatever Raymond was talking about, but the damage was done. Your brain had never been one to let go of a single thought you had, especially ones that had to do with Caleb. He had a hold on you that no one else did, and why was that?

Because you liked Caleb.

The horrifying realisation hit you, startling you out of your rapidly spiralling thought process. Blinking, you realised Raymond was done speaking. 

“Thank you so much for your time,” You said, trying not to sound as troubled as you felt. The author smiled at you before turning to another student. 

Swallowing the newfound lump in your throat, you turned around and walked back to Caleb. This was bad. Having sex with him was already vaguely immoral and probably something that shouldn’t have happened– and shouldn’t keep happening like it did– but having feelings for him? That was out of the question.

“Good talk?” He asked, slipping his phone into his pocket. The genuine interest he had in your excitement made the entire situation worse. Why were you noticing all this now, of all times? It wasn’t like he had suddenly turned into someone considerate. He had always been this way; it was written into his DNA. 

You realised he had even tried to tame his hair for today. “It was great.”

“I’m glad. Now I can steal you away from this place.” His eyes were lit up with mischief, just like they did when the two of you were younger and he did something he wasn’t supposed to. Ever the rebel, this one. 

You felt a little guilty. All this effort for you? It seemed completely useless. “Okay, but Caleb, seriously, you didn’t have to do this.” 

He frowned. “Didn’t have to do what?”

“This!” You waved in his general direction and then gestured around. “I mean, you don’t even like wearing a suit, but here you are. It’s not like it's compulsory for you like it is for me. You could be doing anything else.” You were rambling, you knew, but it was hard to stop. He rolled his eyes. 

“Has that stopped me before?”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

“I show up to your newsroom even though I’m sure Jenna wants to castrate me for breaking the rules so much.” He raised an eyebrow. “I attended that lecture of yours when you had a presentation. You know I’m here because I want to be.” You knew he said stuff like this all the time, you always were the recipient of his support. This was normal.

But it didn’t feel normal. For fucks sake, this was the boy you had grown up with. He had seen you fall off your bike, fail tests and puke your guts out when drunk. In each of those situations, he had also been the one to pick you up and bandage your wounds, help you study and hold your hair back for you. 

Did he think it was an obligation now? 

“You….you shouldn’t feel like you have to do that.” You said slowly, but he didn’t let you continue.

“Oh, please. Everyone knows that where you go, I go too.” He flicked your forehead, immediately receiving a glare in return. “We’re like…….” He stopped for a moment, eyebrows furrowing and lips pursing like they always did when he was thinking hard about something. Then he snapped his fingers. “We’re like those yoghurt-granola snack packs!”

You stared at him blankly. “What?”

“You know.” He decided to explain his stupid analogy, as if your head wasn’t muddled enough. “Those things you can buy at the grocery store. The small yoghurt tubs that have a container filled with granola on top of them? Like, they’re both okay separately, but much better when together. People buy those packs for a reason.” He slipped his phone back into his pockets and beamed at you. “We’re like that.”

Oh my god. That barely made any sense. You weren’t sure if you were mortified because of that terrible explanation or because it hadn’t put a damper on your newfound feelings for him. “You’re such a fucking dork.”

He feigned offence, holding his hand over his heart. “Excuse me? You mean cute, right?”

Right. Wait, no, you didn’t. Ugh. “I think you’re ridiculous.”

“Are you coming with me or not, Pips?”

“But Jenna insisted-”

He rubbed a hand over his face in annoyance before fixing you with a droll look. “Would you rather be here or be with me?”

Be with you. 

You ignored the way your stomach flipped. You didn’t have the time or the mental stability to process everything that was happening to you right now. The logical part of your brain swooped in, telling you that you were just confused because of the sex. Yes, that was it. You did not have feelings for Caleb Xia.

Sighing, you relented. “You.” Saying that didn’t mean anything, after all. Nothing about the two of you meant anything, so there was no reason for you to be freaking out, even if it sounded like you had just confessed. A wide grin made a show on his face when he realised he had won, and he tilted his head towards the exit.

“Finally. Wanna get out of here?”

“Just to be clear, this is not what I meant when I asked if you wanted to get out of there.”

You huffed out a soft laugh, fingers curling around his tie as you tugged him closer. “No? Could have sworn you planned for us to end up in a janitor's closet.”

Caleb bit back a laugh of his own, knowing that making too much noise would get both of you in trouble. After leaving the event, somehow, his guiding hand on your hip had turned into the two of you making out in the hallway. You blamed the mess that your head was in for not realising what a bad idea that was immediately, but once you did, you did the most responsible thing you could think of.

And dragged him into the janitor's closet that was close by.

Naturally.

He braced a hand over your head on the cabinet that you were leaning against, essentially caging you in as he dipped his head to kiss you again. “Pretty sure that was you’re doing.”

“Excuse me? You’re the one who kissed me first!” You protested against his mouth, but could hardly complain when he kissed you like it was a relief to do so. Honestly, he was probably the best kisser you had ever experienced.

That must have been the reason for your spiralling thoughts. That and the amazing sex that you were so weak to. 

Yep. That’s all. Anyone could be susceptible to such things.

“Can you blame me? Have you seen yourself in this dress?” His free hand slipped into the slit at your knee, slowly dragging the rest of the dress up until it was bunched up around your waist. “You’re stunning.”

He couldn’t stop kissing you. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed you out there like he had the right to, because he was well aware of the unspoken rules of this arrangement, but he couldn’t help it. If getting too comfortable with whatever you had going on with him was a crime, a sin, then he was a criminal of the highest order. The worst part? He didn’t feel a shred of guilt.

But you were wearing that fucking cherry lip gloss, and god knnows he had waited long enough to taste it.

Warmth spread over your chest first before it rushed to the apex between your legs. The control he seemed to have over your body was truly astounding. In his hands, you were putty. 

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” You whispered back, loosening the knot of his tie and pulling it off completely, dropping it to the side. “This suits you.”

His lips twitched. “The suit suits me?”

“Shut up and kiss me, loser.”

He complied, grinning against your mouth as he pulled you into another earth-shattering kiss that did positively nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Stubbornly, you pushed down the feelings bubbling around the confines of your heart, refusing to give them any attention if you could help it. 

You gripped the front of his suit jacket, helping him peel it off his shoulders and letting it join his tie on the floor. Without warning, he pressed a knee in between your legs, and you nearly melted against him. 

Sex was great. Sex with him was phenomenal. This was just the lust getting to you. 

Caleb gripped the leg that your slit now exposed and lifted it, propping it up against his waist. He trailed his fingers against your inner thigh, his touch feather-light yet scorching at the same time. When his index and middle finger pressed against your clothed cunt, you were glad for the hot he had on you, pressed up against the cabinet, because you would have surely buckled if not. 

“Wow,” he mumbled amusedly, pushing your panties to the side and teasing your wetness. “You really like the suit, huh?”

The fact that this type of interaction was now commonplace should have been the first sign that things had gone too far. 

Usually, you couldn’t think straight when he touched you like this, but today it was all a mix of feeling way too much and dangerous, fleeting thoughts that made you want to tear your hair out. 

“Maybe,” You peppered kisses along the column of his throat, determined to get out of your head and focus only on how good he could make you feel. Pleasure and person were entirely separate entities, and you would make sure it stayed that way.

“Suit kink.”

“Never say that again.” 

He only smirked, plunging his fingers into you. All you could do was cry out as you gripped the front of his shirt, momentarily forgetting that you were supposed to be quiet. Quickly, his palm covered your mouth, muffling any further sounds you could make. “Can’t have you being loud here, princess. What if someone catches us?”

The way you practically gushed the moment he suggested someone catch you in such a compromising position was downright embarrassing. Raising an eyebrow, he leaned even lower and whispered. “Oh? You like that?”

You whined against his hand, cheeks flushing furiously. You began fiddling with the top buttons of his shirt, and he chuckled lowly. 

“For someone who likes my suit so much, you sure are trying to get rid of it quickly.” 

“For someone who was dying to kiss me two minutes ago, you talk too much.” You rocked your hips against his hand even as you sassed him back. He moved his hand from your mouth into your hair, carding it through gently, tugging slightly to tilt your head back for him so he could kiss you again, swallowing every sound you made. 

No one could sue you for being attracted to a hot man. That was just biology.

You could feel the familiar tightening of your core, signalling your impending crash. You broke away from the kiss, licked your lips and palmed him over his pants, earning a hiss of pleasure in return. 

“Don’t– don’t do that,” He choked out, and you smirked triumphantly, refusing to relent on your movements. Batting your eyelashes, you stared up at him through them in faux innocence, unaware that it affected him so much more than you thought. 

“Just fuck me already.” You whined, half out of desperation for him and party because now you needed him to fuck you to prove to yourself that this was just sex. To be able to brush away all the compliments he dropped that seemed to go straight to your head, to get the intoxicaing fucking way he kissed you out of your head and away from further dissection. To stop the slow-burning feeling of yearning that was growing inside of you for the boy you had grown up with.

Because you couldn’t possibly have feelings for him. You shouldn’t.

“Fuck, okay,” He slipped his fingers out of you and unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock. You would never get used to the sight of it, precum already leaning out of the tip; the image itself sending shivers down your spine in anticipation of him. 

He pressed back against you, grinding it against your fluttering pussy, going right back to making out with you. It was like he was devouring you whole, claiming every part of you like it had always belonged to him. You could feel yourself get carried away again, forgetting that this was just something he and you did now. 

And then he froze. 

“Shit,” he muttered. “I don’t have a condom.” 

You were too far gone to even care anymore. Cupping his face, you pulled him into another messy kiss, beyond delighted when he moaned, still rubbing his length through your slick folds with a want that rivalled your own. “Put it in.”

Caleb gritted his teeth. “Pips, thats–”

“I’m on birth control,” you kissed his jaw. “And I trust you. I’ve always trusted you.”

That was undeniably the truth. He was the one person in the world that you didn’t have to think twice about when it came to anything, no matter what the situation. He blinked down at you, pupils blown wide with desire but somehow still so focused on you, holding your sides so gently as he hesitated, silently dealing with the conflict in his head. 

“I…..are you sure?”

Oh, this sweet, considerate boy. How could you not love him? The thought was instantly forced to be a passing one as you push it away, refusing to acknowledge it. 

“Caleb, if you don’t stick your dick inside of me right now, I will cut it off.” The threat earned you a winded chuckle from his end, the strain in his face from holding back so painfully evident. Realising he needed another push, you looked into his eyes, bucking your hips against him and licking your lips as you purred. “Now, fuck me.”

There was a reason you phrased it like that. Crude and so filthy, the words set out a challenge for him. If there was one thing you knew about Caleb, it was that he could never back down from a challenge. His eyes darkened as he grabbed both your wrists and pinned them together above your head with one hand, positioning his cock at your entrance.

Without another warning, he slammed into you, once again covering your mouth to soften the obscenely loud broken moan that left you. He pressed his fingers against your lips, smirking mischievously. 

“This is what you wanted, hmm?” He groaned in your ear as he fucked you hard, making it increasingly difficult for you to stay silent. You knew he was doing it on purpose, remembering how he had briefly confessed that he liked it when you were vocal, but here? Here it was risky and stupid, and you couldn’t believe how into it you were.

“Yes,” You gasped, biting his hand at a particularly hard thrust, doing your utmost best to keep all your noises to a minimum. He was just so good, and the feeling of him bare inside of you was almost too much for you. 

“God baby, you feel incredible,” he panted, never relenting on his pace for even a second. His breathing was heavy in your ear, almost pained, along with soft grunts that only succeeded in making you even wetter.

“So b-big,” you could only whimper, too caught up in it all to speak properly. 

He had well and truly ruined you for anyone else. Your heart and mind were at war with each other, but your body was perfectly content with how he held you like this. With nothing between you, he fucked you raw, and it felt so much more intimate than you thought it would have. You could feel everything, hyperaware of every touch and kiss and overwhelming drag of his cock in your sobbing cunt. 

For a moment, you almost wished it wasn’t this good. If only you had never succumbed to your desires that day, maybe you wouldn’t have found yourself in this position, fighting so desperately against feelings that felt so wrong and right at the same time. All this was supposed to have been a temporary fix, a means to an end. Not the start of something you could never see through. 

When both of you came, it was intense and devastating, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered. You could feel him fill you up with his cum and as you went limp, one last terrifying realisation making itself known to you. 

It wasn’t just sex. 

A shattered breath escaped you at the revelation, and you shut your eyes, trying to reason with yourself one last time, but to no avail. Caleb surrounded you completely, holding you up upright with so much care, so deliberately, that it made total sense why you felt this way. With unending affection, he pulled you against him and kissed the crown of your head. 

“Thats my girl.”

Except you weren’t. And it would be better for everyone if you remembered that.

You were writing. 

It had been so long since you had been able to write like this, but the ability had come rushing back to you all of a sudden. Your fingers flew across your keyboard as you steadily typed, focused and satisfied at the work you were producing for the first time in months.

It was two in the morning when you finally snapped out of your concentrated state, yawning as you shut your laptop. Stretching, you quietly padded to your bathroom to get ready for the night and go to bed. You couldn’t believe you had written almost half of the sex scene when even the prospect of starting it had sounded so unachievable not too long ago. 

Courtesy of Caleb, you had plenty of material to pull from.

You splashed water on your face, hoping the cool temperature of it would help you stop thinking about him. To say you were frustrated with your feelings was an understatement; you outright despised them. 

This was your fault, you knew damn well it was. If you were going to get a fuckbuddy, it should have been someone who you weren’t so close to, someone you had no personal connections with. Anyone but the best friend you've had since you were seven years old, who you knew like the back of your hand, who knew you like it was second nature to do so.

Gripping the sides of the sink, you shut your eyes, grounding yourself to the moment. Part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. How on earth did you let yourself get in such a predicament?

You needed it to stop. For these confusing feelings to leave before things got even more complicated than they already were. Somehow, you needed to forget about them.

But how could you possibly do that? How were you supposed to forget the deliberate way he kissed you, or how good he made you feel when he looked at you that way? How were you supposed to get the scent of his cologne out of your sheets and closet, or pretend like you didn’t know what it was like to be touched by him? 

How on earth were you supposed to get over being in love with him?

You didn’t even notice him walking in. 

Writing for your book again meant that you had fallen behind quite a bit when it came to the work you had due for the paper. As a result, you had to stay behind and work late on the articles you had to present to Jenna, stuck at your desk in the newsroom when it was almost nine-thirty at night.

“Thought I’d find you here.” 

Your eyes flickered up to find Caleb standing in front of your desk, one hand stuffed in his pockets and the other holding a bag of takeout from a diner that both of you liked. He gave you a soft, knowing smile that made your mouth go dry. 

“Hey,” you straightened up in your seat, knowing that your posture tended to get worse the longer you wrote for. “You were looking for me?”

“Not exactly.” He grabbed a chair and parked it next to yours, sitting down. “I just figured you’d be working and forget to have dinner.”

“Oh.”

He was right, and you would have been embarrassed if this hadn’t happened before. Wordlessly, he began unpacking the takeout he had gotten. “Take a break for ten minutes and eat, okay?” 

This was just like him. Knowing exactly when you needed to be taken care of while being well aware you could do just fine by yourself. You bit the inside of your cheek as you watched him, apprehensively nodding slowly. 

“Okay.”

You grabbed a fry and began to chew, turning to face him and away from the computer. He looked the same as always, unkempt hair and all. It was like he knew you were tired and a little out of it today without you even having to tell him, falling into a comfortable silence as he ate with you. 

There wasn’t another soul in this world that knew you so intimately. In the past, this wouldn’t have scared you, because you were so used to him and the ways he fit into your life so perfectly. Now, it frightened you to no end, reminding you of how much you had to lose when it came to Caleb. He was the most precious person in your life, which made it so much easier to fear losing him. 

If there were rules when it came to having a best friend, you were certain you had broken all of them. Number one: Don’t sleep with your best friend. Already off to a rough start with that one, it seemed, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore. Number two: Don’t fall for your best friend. You doubted you even needed to go over the rest of the rules. Breaking those two had caused you enough damage. 

Finishing up his food, he took a sip of his soda, noticing you were watching him intently. For the first time in a long time, he couldn’t quite decipher the look in your eyes. It almost felt as if you were hiding it from him on purpose.

He tilted the soda cup to you, silently asking if you wanted some of his. You leaned closer and took the straw in your mouth, taking a couple of sips before looking away. 

Something was off. “Is everything okay?”

You pressed your lips together and gave him a half smile. “Yeah, everything's fine.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes at you, reaching out and propping a finger under your chin, lifting your face so you were forced to look at him. 

“Pipsqueak,” He mumbled, dropping his gaze to your mouth for a split second, but it was enough to make you feel like you were set on fire. Like you were made of porcelain, he swiped his thumb next to your lower lip, rubbing away a stray crumb that had stuck there from your food. Then he looked at your mouth again, subconsciously leaning towards you as if he was about to kiss you. 

Immediately, you jerked out of his touch. Guilt ate away at you when you noticed how he reacted to this, the flash of hurt that passed over his face as he frowned. As much as you hated being the cause of it, the way he was looking at you has started to inexplicably hurt. You were unable to stop the tenderness that unfolded in your chest anymore. It was potent, too real to fight against. 

“We should stop.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could think about them any further, inciting confusion. He retracted his hand, the corners of his furrowed eyebrows tilting upwards. “Dinner? Because we’re pretty much done with that anyway.”

You could have taken advantage of his confusion and put this conversation off for a while, but you knew that letting this go on any longer would end up being torturous. 

“No, Caleb,” You looked away, trying to ignore the way your throat seemed to close in on itself. “I’m not talking about dinner.”

“Then what are you talking about?” His voice took on that impossibly soft tone it did when he was trying to understand how you were feeling to properly help or sympathise with you. It was something he did when you were younger and got hurt, and he wanted to make sure you knew you weren’t dealing with it alone. 

Sucking in a breath of air, you looked down at your hands in your lap, playing with your fingers. “I think we should stop having sex.”

A beat passed. You could feel the weight of his stare on you. “Okay.”

You weren’t sure where to go from there, your heart pounding within your ribcage like it was trying to escape. The light from your computer felt too harsh and the ticking of the clock hands was unnaturally loud in the stiff silence that settled over the two of you. Clearing his throat, he spoke again. 

“Did…Did I do something?”

“No,” the caution yet dejected way he said it made you blurt that out quickly, refusing to let him think something was completely wrong. “You didn’t. At all. It’s just…..” You trailed off, biting your tongue and regretting bringing this up already. “I….I wrote the scene.”

“The scene?”

“The sex scene. In my book.” The awkwardness in your cadence is foreign to your ears and his. You had never been so apprehensive around him because you had never had a reason to. This was a first you despised vehemently, scorning the way you had to phrase everything so delicately, as if you didn’t, the damage caused would be irreparable. 

“Right.” Now he had an unreadable look in his eyes too, matching yours. 

“Right,” you echoed softly. “So there's no reason for anymore…...research.” Because research had spiralled into forgetting your regular roles when it came to each other. Research had made you aware of feelings that had been dormant your entire life and should have stayed that way. 

In an ironic twist of fate, you had literally fucked around and found out. 

“I see.” 

You didn’t know what possessed you to keep talking when it was so obvious that both him and you wanted nothing more than to move on from this conversation. You risked a glance at him to find him aimlessly tracing the edge of his soda cup, eyes trained on the straw. “So we can go back to being just friends. Regular friends.” 

The clarification made you wince. When his eyes met yours again, you were surprised to find something different in the way he looked at you– those dark purple depths swirling with an intensity that superseded their usual levels, startling you. 

“We’ll always be friends, Y/n.”

Caleb didn’t call you pipsqueak. A minute detail that shouldn’t have shaken you at all, and yet here you were stuck on it in spite of the fact that he had just agreed to being friends again. Or rather, the normal definition of friends, because you weren’t ever anything more than that. You swallowed, turning back to your computer.

“Okay. I should get back to working on this article.”

Your dismissal of him was quiet but obvious. The air had started to get suffocating and you needed as much space from him as you could get until you sorted out the mess in your head, one that was your cross to bear. Your fault.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him nod and get to his feet, turning to leave, but hesitating for just a moment. 

It was only when he exited the newsroom that you realised it wasn’t any easier to breathe without him there. It felt even harder now, like someone had their foot over your chest and was putting all their weight on it, letting gravity do the rest of the work. You pushed yourself away from your desk, the wheels under your chair smoothly rolling away until the back of it hit the wall behind you. 

Even the impact of that wasn’t enough to shock you out of your misery. Surely, love wasn’t supposed to feel as cruel as it did right now, like claws sinking into your skin and making you bleed. It shouldn’t have felt wrong, but you knew that it was. Perhaps this was retribution for allowing yourself to indulge in something that was so clearly off-limits to you. 

A familiar pressure built up behind your eyes as you turned resentful. The sting of your sorrow manifested as tears welled up and caught in your lower lashes. You shut your eyes, but not before those tears slid down your face, cementing the bitter, indisputable reality of your heartbreak.

Caleb stayed away. 

He had known damn well that whatever was between the two of you wasn’t forever. It wasn’t even real, solely for the sake of your writing and the book you were so proud of. It was his fault for getting caught up in it all and expecting you to never call it off, to stay in that limbo with him forever.

Saying no to you was something he wasn't capable of. Not when he was ten and you were eight, and you wanted the last piece of cake even though it was his favourite flavour. Not when he was fifteen and you used to beg him to let you wear his shirts because you liked how oversized they were on you. Not when you would give him puppy eyes and sweetly ask him to cook those braised chicken wings you loved so much. 

And not when you needed help with writing about sex.

Even if it went against all his morals and everything he had forced himself to believe for the past twelve years he had known you. He had held himself together around you for as long as he could remember, hands to himself and thoughts strictly friendly. Caleb was used to the best friend role. He was good at playing it, even when the script pained him to recite, he did so anyway with a smile on his face.

Because smiling back at him was you. It was always you, with your bright eyes and angelic laughter. 

Caleb had accepted this role when he was only nine years old and had stuck to it ever since. He let it consume him, living in ignorant bliss as he silenced the pleas of his heart and what it wanted, no, begged for. 

How was he supposed to know where to go from here? The script had deviated too much for him to return to its safety. He knew how your lip gloss tasted, sweet and inviting and maddening, just like everything else about you. 

So he stayed away from you and your cherry lip gloss, hoping the marks it had left all over him would fade.

It had been almost two weeks since Caleb last set foot in the newsroom. 

Jenna was overjoyed and Tara was suspicious. The latter asked you where your ‘boyfriend’ was, to which you refused to look at her as you muttered the reminder: he’s not my boyfriend. It felt like you were reminding yourself more than her, lacking any of your usual annoyance. 

You supposed this was your fault as well. It wasn’t like you had made any effort to reach out either, stuck in your pathetic little cycle of self-pity and fear. You felt his absence, though, cutting deep into you and leaving you with a Caleb-sized hole in your life. The last time you experienced something like this was when he left for university for the first time and you were finishing up your senior year, suddenly having to deal with not having him around for months on end. 

At least he was calling you back then, and when you joined him at university, it never happened again. You hadn’t realised what a big part of your life he was until he was missing from it. 

God, you missed him.

You missed that stupid, smug chuckle of his when he knew you were getting riled up because of something he said, and his terrible sense of humour. The smirk on his face when you were losing an argument, and how he’d stick his tongue out when he was concentrating on something. Hell, you missed the sound of his voice and the comfort it brought you. 

After you finished your work for the day, you walked out of the newsroom and down the hallways of the university building. The cool evening air swept around you, making you think of one of Caleb's jackets that was still in your dorm from the last time he had been, draped over your desk chair. You almost wished you had it with you right now. 

Your feet carried you to the dining hall, reminding you of your need to eat through the wall of your troubled thoughts. It was not so much hunger as it was a necessity. Your appetite had been less than robust these past few days, your emotions weighing you down in more ways than one. You didn’t have him to remind you to eat or sleep, or run like a normal human being.

Grabbing an apple to appease your stomach, you bit into it and looked around, mentally going over everything else you had to do that day. Start an essay you had due the next week, beg the members of your group to do their parts of the presentation that was worth a whopping thirty percent of your grade and polish the last scene you had written for your book. 

It turned out that your turbulent emotional state had translated into you being more productive than ever, throwing yourself into your studies and writing like you had never before. Anything to avoid thinking about him and what you felt. An unhealthy coping mechanism for sure, but it worked for you. 

Kind of. 

Unable to stomach anything else, you tossed the core of the apple into a nearby dustbin and left the dining hall, eager to make it back to your room. You hadn’t slept very well lately, and you wanted to get all your work out of the way before crashing. Sleeping, you discovered, was another excellent course of action to take when you wanted to avoid facing something, and at least it wasn’t downright unhealthy. The dark circles under your eyes would certainly thank you. 

When you turned the corner, he was there.

Caleb stood there, just a few paces away from you in all his six-two glory. His back was turned to you, but you knew it was him, deep in conversation with his friend, Gideon. You were unable to do anything but stare, your pulse picking up in speed at the sight of him. You wondered if the chasm he had created between the two of you had affected him as much as it had you. 

When he bid farewell to Gideon and turned, you panicked. When he saw you, you remained rooted to the spot, watching as his steps faltered and came to a stop. He looked almost as tired as you felt, dawdling briefly before speaking.

“Hey.” 

Hey. Hey? Was that all he could say after refusing to look your way for over a week? Your apprehension flared up into anger, and you took three furious steps towards him, your docile stare melting into a glare. 

“You sure talk a lot of shit about keeping you informed for someone who has been avoiding me.”

He winced. “I wasn’t….avoiding you.”

“Oh really? Could have fooled me.” You scowled at him as you took another step forward. You were pissed, and rightly so, but it stemmed more from how hurt you felt rather than any genuine anger. 

Caleb didn’t bother to meet your eyes, opting to look off to the side instead. That stung a little more than you cared to admit. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “Have you eaten yet?’ Barely five minutes around you, and he had already jumped into trying to take care of you. It was so infuriatingly like him. 

Every time he didn’t want to face something, he would deflect and redirect the conversation. Your years together had taught you well, making it impossible for him to sidestep you even if he tried. You could tell he was avoiding you even when you were right in front of him. 

“Stop changing the subject.”

You watched as his jaw tightened and relaxed, something he did when he was conflicted. All his tells were so laughably obvious to you, and yet you couldn’t make heads or tails of how he was acting right now, so forcibly distant and detached, like being close to you was painful. Your eyes burned.

“Do you hate me?” You asked, hating how your voice suddenly sounded so feeble. His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and defiant. 

“I could never hate you.” The finality in the way he said it told you he was telling the truth, and yet, you couldn’t help but fall victim to the doubt creeping into your mind. He was looking right at you now– except he wasn’t really. It was more like he was looking through you. 

“Then…then why?” You whispered, taking another tentative step forward. The space that both of you created, consciously or not, was unbearable. You just wanted things to go back to normal, was that so much to ask for?

“I don’t hate you. You just don’t understand.” 

“Then make me understand!” You threw your hands up in the air in exasperation, wondering what the hell you had to do to make this conversation go somewhere, because right now it just felt like you were running in circles. “Caleb, please, just tell me why you’re avoiding me, because you are.”

He knew he was and hadn’t a single excuse, other than the reason he swore you never burdened you with. You were looking at him so pleadingly, grasping at straws to figure him out, but for the first time in his life, he found himself unable to give you an answer. Instead, his throat constricted, his anxiety keeping him silent. 

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Your face crumbled, and upon witnessing it, so did his heart. Your lower lip trembled like a leaf on a windy day, and you bit down on it to stop it from doing so, doing your best to stay composed. Running a hand through your hair, you let out a shaky sigh. “I knew it, I should have never– we shouldn’t have slept together. That should have never happened and now everything is fucked up, and its all because of me.” 

Yes. No. The answer wasn’t as straightforward as he needed it to be, and it paralysed him. The anguish you felt was on display for him and anyone who happened to walk by you to see, plain as day, as it twisted your features. It felt as if he had been stabbed in the gut when you backed away from him.

Turning away, you walked off. You had ruined things, you were sure of it, and it killed you. Once again, you let the rift between him and you grow with every step you took to escape the crash you had been responsible for. 

A hand on your wrist. You gasped as he caught you, spinning you around and forcing you to face him once again. 

Caleb had followed you into the gardens. 

“Do you regret it?”

The question cut through you, and you gaped at him. The fervour you were so used to seeing in him suddenly returned, burning brightly in his eyes as he pinned you in place with them, his grip on your wrist never letting up. Question for question, with neither of you getting the answers you wanted. 

You scoffed, rapidly blinking away the tears that you felt coming on. “If it's the reason things are weird between us, then yes! I do regret it. I need my best friend, Caleb. I need you.” 

How could you not need him? He was your constant, the one person who had been by your side through thick and thin. You needed him in your life, by your side, in whatever way you were allowed to, even if it wasn’t what you truly wanted anymore. 

He let go of your wrist. “I can’t do it.”

Your biggest fear was coming true right in front of your very eyes, and you hadn’t the faintest idea of how to stop it. It was taking form, bleeding into existence. You were losing him. 

“You can’t do what?”

“I can’t be your friend. I just can’t.” He shook his head, shutting his eyes like he couldn’t bear to look at you. 

Your voice comes out weak. Small. “But you said we’ll always be friends.”

“Well, I lied, okay! I can’t be your friend, not when–” He sucked in a breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried to reign himself in, stopping his outburst before it could happen. It wasn’t fair to you, none of this was, but he was at his breaking point. “I could do it before, but not anymore.”

“Why?” You whispered, those tears you had so valiantly fought off surging back. Once again, you felt like you had been trampled on, pinned down by a merciless gravity that had no regard for your need to breathe. You weren’t sure there was a reason to fight against it anymore. 

He looked up at the darkening sky, deflating. Staying away from you hadn’t made it any better– if anything, it had only made it worse, his yearning to be beside you bubbling to an all-time high. There wasn’t a point in hiding anymore, not when it was turning out to be detrimental rather than soothing. 

“Because,” he paused, peering up at the cloudy sky. He couldn’t see the stars. “I can’t go back to being your friend when I’ve tasted you. How am I supposed to act like I’ve never kissed you when I’ve had you in my bed? To pretend like I don’t know how it feels to have you like that? God, Y/n, I can’t do it.

Caleb, whom you had viewed as strong and untouchable all your life. Caleb, whom you had endlessly looked up to, sounded almost tortured, like it pained him to even have to tell you this. 

“What are you saying?”

You hoped you didn’t look as terrified as you sounded. It felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from beneath you, but the ground underneath it was falling apart too, leaving you to stumble around and try to find your footing amidst the cracks that remained. If you fell now, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to get up.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? You had already fallen, and hard. 

Caleb was stripped of his usual self-assuredness and confident smile. He was laid bare there in front of you, fixing you with a look that was so pained it tore through you. 

“I’m in love with you.”

The confession ripped through you, although you didn’t register it at first. Those five words felt so improbable to have been said by him to you of all people that the only thing you could feel was disbelief. It just didn’t make sense. Why would something you longed to hear so badly be said with such sadness? 

He mistook your stunned silence for aversion. He should have stopped there, given up and walked away, but now that he had finally, finally let it out, it was hard to stop. It was like a dam had broken within him; everything he had ever kept to himself when it came to you rushed out all at once. 

“I’m in love with you, Y/n,” he said again, scoffing slightly at himself. No nicknames, just your name spoken in that reverent tone, like you were a divine being he was a devout follower of. “And it kills me because I know you’ll never see me as anything more than a best friend. You’ve made that very clear, and I never want to overstep, so I stayed away from you.” 

“Caleb–”

He didn’t let you cut in. “I could do it when I didn’t know what it felt like to have you as something more than friends. The moment we crossed that line, it was all over for me. I would be your friend until I died if I didn’t know.” His hands were shaking, but they stayed by his sides, fingers curled into frustrated fists as he rambled. 

“I–”

“But I can’t, Pips. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t be your best friend when I’ve loved you my entire life.” And you’re falling all over again, gravity pulling you down, down, down as something unfurled in your chest. “So please just–”

“Goddamnit Caleb, would you just shut up for one fucking minute!?”

You hadn’t meant to snap, but he was seriously to piss you off, going on and on without giving you the chance to speak your mind. Immediately, he clamped his mouth shut, preparing himself for the inevitable rejection he had imagined too many times to count in his head. You, on the other hand, thought you were going to faint, overwhelmed by everything that had just happened. It was everything you had convinced yourself was impossible.

And yet…

You kept your eyes locked onto his as you closed the distance between the two of you, so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, combating the chill in the evening air. Swallowing, you asked. 

“You’re in love with me?”

He clenched his jaw and nodded. He knew what the consequences were, he was ready for them. It was about time he faced the truth anyway. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to start laughing. 

You clamped a hand over your mouth as incredulous laughter left you, eyes practically sparkling. Oddly enough, it sounded a little watery, like you were crying at the same time.

And then he realised you were, in fact, crying, tears streaming down your face. Alarmed, he stepped forward and cupped your face, instinctively wiping them away with the pads of his thumbs. This did nothing to dampen your hysterical laughter as you leaned into his touch. 

“What the fuck?” He muttered, concern overtaking his previous, heartsick expression. “Are you dying or something?”

“Or something,” you managed to get out, gripping his arms, “We’re so stupid.”

“That…..okay, I’m officially confused. And a little scared.” 

“Caleb,” you whispered once you stopped giggling, lethally soft. You looked up at him adoringly, eyes shining and tinged slightly red from your tears. “I’m in love with you, too.”

He froze, mouth falling open. He didn’t have to say anything, though, because honestly, he had said enough. It was your turn now. 

You leaned further into his touch, nuzzling your cheek against his palm. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time, but I only realised after….after everything that happened between us.” You flushed, trying to word it as delicately as possible. “And I drove myself crazy because I thought you’d never see me that way–”

“I’ve always seen you that way.” He breathed out, those captivating eyes of his trained on you in wonder. Butterflies came to life in your stomach. 

“– So I called it off. I said we needed to stop because I was so scared I’d lose you.”

By the time you finished, you were both staring at each other wide-eyed. His grip on you tightened, one hand falling to your waist as he tugged you closer. 

“You love me?”

“I love you,” you nodded. “It just took me a while to figure it out.” 

“Pipsqueak.” You had never been more grateful than you were right then to hear that stupid petname. “Oh my god, we are stupid.”

Without another word, Caleb pulled you into a kiss. You reciprocated instantly, wrapping your arms around his neck as you smiled against his lips, unable to contain yourself anymore. He kissed you like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do, holding you like you were precious, which to him, you undoubtedly were. It was your first proper kiss with him without any pretence or excuse surrounding it, and you couldn’t have asked for more. 

Chuckling when you dissolved into more giddy giggles, he wiped away any stray tears from your face and rested his forehead against yours. After all these years waiting and hoping that you’d feel the same way, he knew he’d never let you go now. 

“I love you, too.” It was a relief to say out loud and to your face, coming out of hiding and letting the truth of his feelings sit out in the light. You pecked his lips again and hugged him, revelling in his warmth and the delight of your feelings being returned. Your best friend loved you back, and everything in the world made sense again. 

“Don’t be my best friend,” You mumbled fondly, cheek against his shoulder as you laid out your final request. “Just be mine.”

He smiled, an expression so dazzling you’d never forget it. “I’ll always be yours.”

When Caleb looked back at the sky, he could see the stars.

“Are you done?”

“Shh.”

You rolled your eyes, flopping onto the pile of plushes on your bed as you pulled out your phone and went through your messages. To be fair, it had barely been two minutes since you handed him your laptop, but you were impatient, wanting to know what he thought as soon as possible.

Caleb’s eyes were focused on the screen as he read, humming occasionally as he scrolled through the scene. If anyone had told you a year ago that you’d be letting him read a part of your writing, let alone a sex scene of all things, you would have either laughed in their face or had a mental breakdown.

Yet here you were. Life sure had a sense of humour. 

Finally, after an agonising ten minutes, he spoke. “Wow.”

“Is it good?”

He shut your laptop and put it back on your desk carefully, before walking over to where you were. Then, he dropped himself onto the bed as well, purposely caging you in his arms and making sure you were trapped under his weight. Squealing, you hit his arm playfully. 

“Caleb!”

Your boyfriend laughed mischievously, lifting his head so you could see the smirk that curled on his lips. “It was good. Very good.”

You sighed in relief. “Thank god.”

“So I must be really good in bed, huh?” 

There it was. You groaned as you tried to push him off of you, even though you knew it was a futile task. “Don’t even try, you smug asshole.”

“What?” He asked, dripping in faux innocence. “I mean, you did use me for research purposes. Is it not a fair assumption to make?” He was so proud of it, and knew damn well that the entire sex scene he had just read had been falicitated because of him. Every part of it had been pulled from things the two of you had done, the thought of which made your skin heat up and your cheeks burn. 

“You’re so annoying,” you huffed, giving up on trying to get him to stop squashing you. Instead, you adjusted, curling into him. Accepting this, he switched your positions, pulling you on top of him and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately.”

You yelped when he pinched your side, but it dissolved into giggles when he began peppering kisses all over your face. Slipping his arm around your waist, he held you close, grining against your skin. If you had to stay like this forever, in his arms and under the glow of his radiant smile, you would be content. 

“You’re an amazing writer, Pipsqueak,” he cradled your face in his hands, his love for you so achingly obvious in the way he looked at you that you wondered how you had never noticed it before. Rubbing his fingers against your cheek, he kissed your nose. “It would be just as great even if I hadn’t– uh– assisted.”

Though you snickered at him, you couldn’t stop yourself from beaming at his praise for your work. “I’m glad you did though,” you let him pull you closer, arm looping around your waist as you propped a leg over his. “Otherwise we might have never figured our shit out.”

He snorted. “Thank god for research. You would have kept me in the friendzone forever.”

“Hey!”

He silenced any further protests that you could have made, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet kiss. All possible complaints fled your mind the moment he did, eagerly kissing him back. You didn’t think you’d ever get enough of this and you had no idea how you had survived for so long while denying yourself of it. 

Caleb had loved you for twelve years, steadily standing by your side and holding your hand even when you couldn’t see it. He had walked beside you through it all, the highest of highs and lowest of lows, lifting you up high over his shoulders with a grin on his face. He would never leave you behind, because he was your home. The one you had grown up with and wanted to wake up to everyday for the rest of your life. 

He had taught you love without imposing it on you, silently showing it to you with every little thing he did. Your best friend. Your love. It had taken you a long time to catch up, but when you finally made it to the finish line, you found him waiting there for you patiently, holding out his hand for you to take. 

The next time Tara called him your boyfriend, you didn’t correct her.

fin.

[ninasodiiva]

blooming season

what's blooming in your life this spring?⋆.ೃ࿔🌷

PAC reading

hi my loves! hope you're having a beautiful day, im back after a long hermit period (not painful don't worry) that's why i haven't posted any readings <3 plus i had so many projects and exams but im finally free!!!

to celebrate spring we are taking a look at what's blooming in your life during this season!!

how to choose your group?

take a deep breath and relax your body, look at all the pictures and pick the one you are the most drawn to, don't think about it to much. you might be attracted to the picture or the number. REMEMBER this is a general reading, take what resonates and leave what doesn't. nothing is set in stone. if you are not drawn to any of the pictures this might not be the reading for you loves. that said, let's get into it!

pile 1: flower girl 🪻

hi and welcome pile 1, happy spring and i hope you're doing amazing my loves 🤍 let's get into your reading.

be excited for spring because your reading is giving me MAJOR romcom girl vibes. there are not any signs of relationships or romantic interest in you're reading but i feel this season you're not looking for that. you're open to the idea but it's definitely not a priority! i feel this last months/ years you tried to make sense and figure out what you want your life to look like, your passions, environment, friends, career, goals... you had a white canvas in front of you but no colors to paint with. you felt "lost" because the person you once were no longer existed and at the same time you were discovering and building your new self <3 well this spring life is giving you the paint you needed to make a beautiful and unique

the chapter of surrendering to the unknown is over, spring is lighting up the way for you. your lust for life is taking over. spirit is saying you are TRULY starting a new life with a childlike wonder for everything. i was going to say that maybe you're starting a new project but really you're starting A NEW LIFE 🌷 taking risks, socializing, indulging in activities that make you feel like life is exciting and fun again!! this spring clarity is assured and the fog is clearing, you're moving on from your old life, friends, ways of thinking, girl even your own self. i feel so whimsical in your energy but grounded, you will find the balance to enjoy the beautiful life ahead of you while having a routine that makes you feel stable and secure. perfect balance between surrendering and control. i'm truly watching a master in action babe ✨ spirit is showing movies like enchanted, 13 going 30, uptown girls, how to loose a guy in 10 days, etc. and let me tell you that's the fucking vibe you are giving in spring!!! that main character in a 2000 movie excited for her new beginning and pursuing her passions and dreams 🧚🏼‍♀️ i see you working in a project that's very important to you, very driven, talented and passionate towards it good for you my love!!! like seriously this is a 10/10 reading you have nothing to worry about and all to be happy for <3 i also see you going to social events (could be with friends, a wedding, a party you're invited to) and having LOTS of fun 🩷

spirit is also advising you to compromise yourself to that project or goals and dreams you have. make a promise to yourself but don't rush and exhaust yourself. balance is a common theme in your reading and it's the key to maintaining the energy that's blooming this spring. ofc it's totally normal to feel down sometimes, don't beat yourself up over it!! i just see you so so SO happy and proud of the life you're building and that's what you deserve 100% 🪷🦢 prosperity is on your side and you're definitely in the right path (for those who needed to hear it). TAKE SPACE, DANCE, SING, PAINT, IDK JUST GET OUT THERE AND BE YOURSELF!!!!! trust please just trust and have fun. i'm hearing that some of you will connect with your loved ones more or if you had family problems lately spirit is advising you to resolve them. maybe call them, have a heart to heart conversation and try to find common ground if it's possible (take that as it resonates pls it's only for a few of you).

dear pile one, you've cheered me up with your energy so thanks for that lol 🪷 i hope this reading was helpful and i send you lots of love

Nina˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

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pile two: bumblebee 🐝

hi and welcome group number two, if you choose the cute bumblebee this is your reading for what's blooming in your life this spring, let's get into it!! <3

my loves right away it was SO easy for me to tap into your energy and focus in channeling, i think you definitely indulge in some spiritual practice. when i opened to your energy i felt like something was being hidden from you (not in a bad way!!), spirit is keeping something hidden from you because it's a surprise, and overall there's this mysterious vibe from you. there are so many synchronicities in your reading, for some reason most of your cards have people with their eyes closed and i've had this deck for a long time and never noticed that, plus the song The Lady In Red started playing. And omg the lyrics also mention "not seeing". listen to it cause i feel it may be a sign or message (and the song is so precious too 🤍)

i see that in the past you went through a situation where you were in a constant battle with someone (?). i strongly feel you were fighting for someone's love/affection/approval. you felt in competition with another person but things didn't end the way you'd hoped. to be honest this past energy feels a bit toxic, im picturing someone spying another's phone (not saying this is you), betrayals, playing dirty, etc. as a result from this your world crumbled into pieces and i feel the pain you felt. i'm being shown yourself from that time and you now and my loves let me tell you, you're a new person 🪷. that experience made you realize there's zero point in begging for someone's affection, far less fighting another girl for a boy 😭 (that's for some of you take it as it resonates). this situation put you in the path of self love and self respect and you're still learning my love (we're always learning don't be hard on yourself <3).

well that's the past, this spring i 100% see you so so SO focused in your peace, in pouring the love and care you deserve into yourself and taking your time and energy seriously, in a soft and ethereal way. it's giving me classic disney princess. they way they moved, talked, the way they see the world and how kind they are! all that but towards your own self 🦢🌷 you will be in your own world and you'll LOVE IT, because its the one you built for yourself, one that makes you feel safe to be your true self without anyone's approval. you're ignoring hate, toxic gossip (yes i believe there's healthy gossip lol), jealousy and judgement.

im so proud of the progress you made and the one that's in the future for you pile two, really. i see you in my minds eye, how you see the world with innocent and curious eyes. doing the things you love, being so genuinely kind to everyone and helping as much as you can. you will have love not only for others but for yourself too. okey snowhite i see you ;) ❤️

now with that said, i can move to the last message. since this spring you're in your own little world, you won't notice this new love coming in. you might now them already or not BUT LISTEN, this is not the past person we just talked about please. i know you are smarter than that and i also know the work you've done to heal, so don't be stupid babes. spirit is not telling me much... omg that's what the song i channeled was about shut tf UPPP. you won't see this person coming because you're in your own world doing your thing, but i see them watching you and planning on how to approach you. for some of you it could be through social media and they might be an earth sign (taurus, capricorn or virgo). yall its coming sooner than you think im so excited for you, be open to get to know this person because spirit and the cards are saying they are a really good match for you. oh and commitment is assured 🫶🏼

my loves i hope this reading resonated and gave you clarity. let me know how this unfolds for you!! i send you lots of love 🩷

Nina˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

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pile three: magical horse 🧚🏼‍♀️

hi and welcome pile number three <3 let's get into your reading. your spread is really complex and it's about career/studies/goals you're pursuing. if that doesn't resonate i suggest you to choose another group.

welcome my boss ass bitches i know a queen when i feel this type of energy ✨, spirit took over this reading and they want to give you advice, it seems important because i tried to ask for what's blooming for you in spring but they kept insisting on giving you guidance!! i see you are a person with so much ambition but you feel unhappy with your job. you have so many options to choose from but you're scared to take a leap of faith into a direction aligned with your goals. yall your workplace is EXTREMELY toxic, i see that some of you are scared to make this move because you know your boss or people in higher ranks will "punish you" for "betraying" them (wtf???). babes listen to me, these people are purposefully bringing you down, making you doubt yourself and gaslighting you in hopes that you won't noticed the power, influence and potential you have. they're trying to keep you in their shitty environment because they KNOW you have the power to succeed and most definitely outsmart them. you know that place is not for you group three, i can feel their energy and it's disgustingly manipulative. it reminds me of that video of Robert Downey Jr. visiting Wall Street where everyone is going crazy and he says "if money is evil then that building is hell" (you being Robert obv).

you're overthinking your next step as if you don't know the best option is to GET AWAY FROM THERE, like seriously this place is reminding me of Scientology girl idk where you work at or what environment are you in but you NEED to pack your things and leave spirit is saying. tell me why the song "you don't own me" started playing... BIG SIGN. okey for a few of you this has to do with legal issues and contracts, spirit says they have your back and there will be justice for you, because i see that maybe you can't leave because of a contract. don't stress over it, justice will prevail. trust your intuition, there is so much abundance, success and happiness on the other side. you're used to being in the dark you think there's no place better than in the shadows. spirit is saying you're meant for bigger things, i know you have that idea/project/goals that just thinking about it makes you shine inside out, DO IT ✨ its totally okay to be scared of the unknown but please trust that the best is yet to come 🩷. what's blooming for you in spring is this new opportunity for greatness but only if you take a leap of faith and follow your inner voice! you're a driven and powerful person i know you can do it!!!

i asked for more messages since they only gave you advice and this is JUST PERFECT. in spring you'll celebrate this new beginning in your career, i see social gatherings, traveling, planning ahead, and an overwhelming amount of happiness and love. so wholesome, i see your loved ones being there by your side celebrating this huge milestone. ⭐️ monetary and emotional fulfillment is coming for you this spring AS IT SHOULD!! i just heard the song "APESHIT" by Beyoncé and her ugly ass husband when he says "you need me i don't need you" PERIOD THATS LITERALLY THE BEST WAY TO DESCRIBE IT!!! listen to it now i feel it's a sign

pile three i believe in you and spirit does too, i hope this readings gave you clarity and let me know how this unfolds! 🤍with so much love

Nina˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Laswell and Nik watch Price play a Rugby match. Part 2.

cw: brief mention of injury, hand job right at the end.

Look, I just love the idea that Nik, Laswell and Price are good friends outside of work. I want to write more of it. All my work is self-indulgent but this is PURE self indulgence.

The plastic chairs were damn uncomfortable and Laswell was pretty sure she could have managed an extra pair of socks inside her boots, but the atmosphere was contagious. Jubilant, loud; people stamping their feet and blowing on their hands in the cold, old comrades meeting again after a long time, families gathered to see fathers, sons, husbands, play.

Plus, she had promised, hadn't she? And seeing her long term friend do something that didn't have the threat of a bullet mixed in was an opportunity she felt she deserved as much as he did.

"Here, Laswell."

A plastic cup of beer appeared in front of her face between the large fingers and thumb of her companion for the day, and she took it in two gloved hands. "Thanks, Nik."

"It tastes very bad," he informed her as he swung his leg over the chair next to her and fell into it heavily, taking a swig of his own with a grimace. "Da. Like barman pissed into a cup."

"Really selling it to me," she chuckled before taking a sip, nose wrinkling. "That is... quite the aftertaste."

Nik shrugged. "It is all part of the experience, and," he ferreted through his jacket, lifting his ass off the seat, and pulled out his hip flask, "ha." He offered it to her first, to which she shook her head, before he unscrewed the cap with his thumb and dumped a generous helping into the top of his drink. "How long?"

"They headed in from their warm up about ten minutes ago."

"Ah, he looked good, no?"

Laswell nodded, her eyes crinkling with her smile as she noted the blush of pride on Nik's face. John Price had, indeed, looked good. He had been rosie-cheeked and energetic through all the drills despite the cold, keeping up with the younger members of his team without any apparent issue.

And, perhaps most importantly of all, he had been laughing and grinning throughout, exchanging banter, and pausing to talk with someone he recognised in the stands, only ending the conversation with a handshake and bump of the shoulders when his coach - a Major something or other, according to the introductory leaflet - bellowed at him.

It was John's boyish glee that had caught Nik's attention more than all the tight woven shorts around thick thighs, the bulging biceps and full chests stretching through Underarmour base layers, and she had watched his eyes blow wide as he fidgeted in his seat, desperate clearly to be closer and bask in John's happiness rather than observe it from afar. She'd sent him for the beer to cool off.

It was an interservice friendly. Navy versus army. A pre-season warm up before the international competition began and the British armed forces would field a composite team of the very best. "Will they win this one?" Laswell asked, chancing another sip of beer and regretting it the moment it touched her tongue.

"Da. The Navy have uh, what to say, fast backs, but their forwards have bad... set pieces."

"Did you understand a word of what you just said?"

"Nyet." Nik grinned. He loved listening to John talk about the game and absorbed every iota of information he could to share in that passion. That didn't mean he was any better than Laswell in understanding what the hell was going on.

"Do you think he'll be selected for the internationals?"

"He has already been asked for his availability."

"Of course he has. Annoyingly, I don't think I've ever encountered an activity that John Price doesn't excel at."

Nik huffed a laugh. "He is an overachiever. Although, not such a good cook. I have never seen someone turn custard into rubber before."

"Aha! A weakness. I will store it for later use."

They lapsed into a momentary pause and watched the crowd find their seats. Nik checked his phone, and then nudged Laswell for a selfie to send to John. They toasted their crappy beers and Laswell conjured her cheesiest grin with a thumbs up. Nik sent it without filters, because he was brutal like that.

Nik (10.15): [image.jpeg]

JP (10.17): good-looking pair of muppets 👍

Nik (10.18): are you feeling ok?

JP (10:19): hammies tight but physio happy.

Nik (10:19): I will help with that later

JP (10:20): countin on it 👌💦😜

"You better not be sexting while I am right next to you, Nikolai."

Nik smirked at her and shook his head once. "He is fine. Nervous."

"You got 'nervous' from that?"

"Da."

"Nervous for a Rugby match but doesn't even bat an eye at leaping from a Hercules into an active firefight with a single page's worth of intel..."

"He feels out of practice. He missed the start of the tournament due to work."

"Ah. Story of our lives, Nik." They missed so much living due to work. Kate had missed the birth of both of her nephews, her brother-in-law's wedding, her sister's fortieth birthday party. So many big life events that would never repeat. But that's what made things like this special. It may be a forces match, but John was choosing to do it. He enjoyed it. Sharing in that enjoyment, that moment of happiness, that was special too.

"They are coming," Nik said like an excited boy on Christmas morning, having spotted the players at the mouth of the changing rooms. He stood with the rest of the crowd and Laswell rolled to her feet too, joining in the cheers and clapping as two lines of outrageously built men jogged out onto the pitch.

Nik and Laswell stood in respectful silence as the band played through the national anthem and the two teams lined up to bray along with it, hands on chests. The British national anthem was a damn drone, but at least it allowed everyone to pull it off. They sat down after the applause, when the two captains met with the referee in the middle of the pitch for the coin toss.

John tried to make the glance into the stands discreet, but the smile when he spotted Nik and Laswell - due to Nik's not so discreet full-armed wave - was difficult to hide. Hands on his hips, he looked down, scuffing the grass with his boot bashfully before turning to listen to the referee outline his expectations.

Sometimes she forgot about the sixteen year age gap between them; he was so brilliant at it all, so driven, so focused and relentless, he was her peer and her equal, but she had already been at the game for twelve years when he enlisted at 16. Whatever she felt in that moment at seeing John so pleased by their presence, his cheeks dimpling in that full-hearted grin he had, felt annoyingly maternal. She necked some beer.

Nik leaned in. "He will choose to receive."

"Mhm."

"Laswell," Nik said, feigning shock as she hid her smirk against her plastic pint.

The navy took the ball with them, the ref jogged backward with his hand in the air, and the two teams lined up. John was the 'fly half', which Kate understood to mean he was the decision maker of the team. It required effective leadership and communication to connect the forwards with the backline and navigate the enemy defence. The perfect role for one Captain Jonathan Price if ever there was one. Which explained the bright yellow captain's band wrapped around his bicep, clashing with the green and white jersey with its big number 10 on the back.

A single peep of the whistle marked the start of the game and the navy's number 10 put their boot to the ball, the rest of the team surging down the pitch behind it. One of the backline received the ball and immediately shipped it out towards the wings to begin making progress in the opposite direction.

The difference between American football and Rugby had always struck Laswell; the ball was the same-ish shape, there were set pieces for different scenarios, but that's where the similarity ended. Rugby was about keeping play moving. It was a relentless, brutal battle down the pitch, with hits that made her teeth shake and no padding between bodies and the impact.

The navy was playing aggressively, forcing the army's backline to reset. Every time the army's scrum half dug the ball out of the breakdown - which was what Laswell understood the huge pile of bodies on the floor to be called - John was there to receive it. He was agile, twisting, turning, everywhere at once; a testament to his own hard work to maintain his fitness and mobility.

One of the navy forwards was too slow off the mark and slammed into John once he'd passed the ball, bringing him to the ground hard with a shoulder to the gut. Nik was halfway out of his chair on instinct, and Laswell reached out a hand for his forearm. "It's part of the game, Nik. An honest mistake." The ref blew the whistle. Free kick.

John rolled to his feet, tugging the legs of his shorts down from the creases of his thighs before plucking the ball from the ground. He chose to kick into touch and gathered his team before the lineout. They hunkered down, listening intently. Laswell could hear his voice in her mind, imagined his tone, and when she glanced off to Nik and saw the look on his face, she knew he was doing the same.

John set the backline, barking over his shoulder and gesturing with his arm to get them in position, once he was happy, he indicated to the scrum half to take the throw in. The ball sailed over the heads of the two lines and found the hands of the army's flanker, who knocked it with practised ease into John's waiting palms. It sailed down the line quick, John sprinting behind the line. The navy thought they were going for a try at the wing and sent their players down to meet it. John cut in halfway and took the ball through a gap created by their miscalculation.

The hulking opposition forwards couldn't catch him once he had the space to open up with long strides, and he pushed one optimistic player off him like he was nothing. Laswell heard Nik breathe something in Russian, leaning forward in his chair, only to leap up the moment that ball touched the try line. She stood with him to clap and he threw an arm around her shoulder jubilantly. "He is so good, did you see? Like a jet, I cannot--" she missed the rest, because he was too busy celebrating, half his beer splashing onto the ground.

An orange five appeared on the scoreboard at first, and then John turned it into a seven when he kicked the ball over the middle bar between the two posts. "A conversion, Laswell," Nik informed her, toasting the scoreboard as it ticked up.

John's try seemed to turn the tables. Now that the army's side had seen the defence clinically dissected, it was like they were more confident in picking those holes. Seven turned to fourteen, fourteen to twenty-one. The navy managed to land a try shortly before half time but their fly half, John's junior by about fifteen years, missed the conversion kick, leaving the scoreboard at twenty-one to five.

Nik topped up their drinks while the two teams disappeared off the pitch, and returned with a flushed face after a suspiciously long time away. "You snuck into the changing rooms, didn't you?" She asked as she took the beer.

"Da," Nik confessed, shifting in his seat. "I did not stay long. He had a briefing to do."

"Of course he did," Laswell said, chuckling. No doubt Nik had gone to admire John in his kit up close; all that clinging lycra and polyester around John's frame. For a man, John had one hell of an ass. She was surprised Nik wasn't foaming at the mouth every time John bent over to receive the ball from the breakdown.

The second half started shortly after Nik's return. The army started with the ball this time, kicking it into the second half and chasing after it to shut down the offence before they could make ground.

The navy had apparently had what John would call a bollocking, because they were back to their form of the first twenty minutes, hitting hard and punishing gaps. Nik frowned as John was tackled for the third time in ten minutes. "They are targeting him," he growled.

"Oh yeah," a man to their left chimed in, "reckon their skipper told 'em to break that one's legs."

"Nik, it's trash talk," Laswell warned as the big Russian suddenly coiled with tension. "They will try to close down any advantages. He's one of them."

She, perhaps, spoke too soon, because the next hit made John stay down a bit longer, and he disappeared under a pile of bodies that dwarfed even him. When he finally got to his feet, there was blood streaming from his eyebrow. The ref blew his whistle and pointed at John's face, then the sidelines. He didn't even argue his case, chucking his armband to the scrum half's hand before jogging over to the medic, replaced by a sub.

Nik had been on his feet throughout, and now tracked John to the sidelines with his eyes, no doubt scrutinising his gait for abnormality. "It is superficial," Nik said, perhaps convincing himself not to vault the stands. "He will go back on."

"After being kicked in the head?"

Nik frowned, arms folded over his chest. He wasn't happy about it either.

As predicted, John returned to the pitch at the next blow of the whistle, his head wrapped in bandages and tape. The army had put up a valiant defence while he'd been off, and did so for the rest of the game, allowing only one more try to sneak through and returning it threefold. The final score at the end was forty-two to twelve in favour of the army, and the boisterous celebrations on the pitch carried on through the sportsmanlike cheers exchanged by both teams, followed by handshakes and cheers for the ref.

Nik and Laswell picked their way through the stands to the main bar to wait for John to emerge from the changing rooms. Another thing she quite liked about this sport in particular was that the players cleaned up in shirts and ties before they were allowed out. She had thought it was a services thing, a hang up about order and respectability, but no, they even observed the rule at club level. It was about respecting the clubhouse, the fans, the game and each other.

It took John about thirty minutes to arrive, his white shirt and green tie neatly pressed, wool trousers belted at his waist. Nik was on him in seconds, one hand taking his jaw, tilting his head left and right, to inspect the cut through his eyebrow. "Nik," John said through a soft laugh, "s'olright, been checked over."

"For concussion?"

"Yeah. Just a stud scrape. Nothin' dramatic."

Nik's hand slipped around the back of John's neck and Laswell could see the desperate desire to kiss his partner flash over his face, but in the end he only nodded and drew away. She sighed. So much had changed, and yet so much stayed the same.

"Kate, you made it," John said, that Quokka-smile in place and big arms enclosed her in a hug.

"Oh, I was in the area." She returned the embrace and then pushed the pint of bitter into his hands. "Well-earned, I think."

"Huh, yeah, 'm fuckin' knackered," he admitted, wiping the foam from his moustache after he took a sip. "A few of the lads want to do a crawl through the local bars, but I'm gonna turn in. Monday's chocka."

"I don't blame you," Laswell said, hopping onto a stool. "I thought you'd play soccer, you know."

"Rugby is a gentleman's sport and the captain is a gentleman." Nik sat next to her, his elbows on the bar. "Soccer is for thugs and idiots, no?"

"Hoohoo, shit, don't let Simon hear you say that, Nik," John said, leaning his hip against the bar at Nik's side. "You'd have to sleep with one eye open."

"So, the Liverpool scarf is just for show." Laswell recalled the tattered old thing hanging up in a frame in John's office. It sat right next to his medals of valour and a photograph of the 141 in Belgrade.

"Naw, once a Red always a Red."

"That means something very different where I am from," Nik said lightly.

Laswell chuckled low in her throat and John threw his arm around Nik's shoulder for a squeeze. They stayed until the man of the match was announced and, unsurprisingly, John had been selected by the team for his try.

He received the award in the same understated way he did his medals; a thank you to his team and to the panel, then 'all the best' before heading back to his drink. Once again Laswell watched Nik swallow the desire to demonstrate the affection bubbling beneath his skin. She was glad for Nik that John would require plenty of care this evening; an opportunity to dote to his heart's content.

Despite the generally positive experience, she was glad to flop into the backseat of Nik's hired Audi, watching the streets of London flit by as they left the pitch behind. By the time they dropped her off at the hotel, John was struggling to keep his eyes open, slumped low in the front seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest as if to hold himself together. She exchanged a look with Nik in the rearview mirror, the creases around his eyes betraying his knowing grin. John was clinging on for her benefit. Sweet, but unnecessary.

She opened the door but leaned forward to squeeze his shoulder before stepping out. "Well done today."

"Cheers," he said sleepily, one of his big paws parting over the top of her palm. "Thanks again. 'ppreciate it."

"Any time, John. I enjoyed myself. See you soon."

She patted Nik's shoulder too and he touched her wrist in return, before she left them to head to a well-earned rest in their Premier Inn. Hopefully a kiss too, or Nik might just implode.

--

Nik managed to convince John into a bath with the promise of a glass of whiskey. Without it, he would be stiffer in the morning and not in a way they could enjoy.

Once John was settled amongst the bubbles, Nik sat at the side with a pillow beneath his rear, one hand in the water to stroke whatever part of John happened to be near, while the other held a novel open against his thigh.

"Thanks for comin' today," John said in the comfortable quiet. His voice was soft, his eyes lidded. He had sunk lower, the waterline lapping at his collarbone.

"Of course. I enjoyed watching you in your element, John."

"It was the... uh, first time someone's come t' see me play."

Nik let the novel fall closed and twisted, resting his chin on the edge of the tub. "Have you not invited the sergeants, or the lieutenant?"

"Ah, they have better things to do 'n come and watch me play rugger at the weekend."

"I think you underestimate how much your team loves and admires you."

John hummed in the way he did when he wanted to argue but knew it was a losing fight. Nik got that noise more and more these days when it came to John's perception of other's opinions of him. He had an accurate and pragmatic understanding of his own abilities when it came to work, but that didn't seem to translate into a sound understanding of how much he was admired. The hum was a step forward towards acceptance, in Nik's opinion.

"You will invite them next time."

"Oh will I?"

"Da. And they will feel honoured by the invitation."

"What if I get my arse kicked? Almost did today."

"Then they will be there to pick you back up again, as they are in the field."

John fell silent, heaving a sigh through his nose. Nik gathered his legs underneath him and slipped his second hand in the water to caress the aching body within it. He ran the backs of his fingers over John's chest, down the valleys of his abdomen to the v-shape dips of his hips, and finally to his thighs.

"How are these?"

"Sore. They'll be fi--mm, Nik...'

"Is good?"

"Mmhm."

Nik rubbed his thumbs in firm circles, feeling knots and tension pop beneath them, and watched John's expression melt back into relaxation. He moved from one leg to the other, working his way up slowly across the large expanse of muscle to John's hip.

"Enjoyin' yerself?" John asked, an eye popping open to study Nik's face.

"Da. Watching your legs today was... hm, it made me want to spread them in the shower and demonstrate my admiration."

If it wasn't for the warm water, John would have flushed, but Nik was content by the shy smile he got instead. "In front of the entire team, eh? Filthy git," John mumbled.

"If you would enjoy others watching me make love to you, then I would consider it."

"Fuckin' 'ell, Nik," John said, scrubbing a hand across his face. His body betrayed him though, because the mere thought of it has caused his prick to harden enough to peak just above the surface. Nik tickled up the inside of John's thighs to his sac, fingertips stroking the heavy weight of it in the warm water. John's knees tilted out to give Nik access and he reached for Nik's chin with one wet hand, guiding him down for a kiss.

Nik kissed greedily as he played gently between John's legs, revelling in the vulnerability of his lover's exhausted body surrendering to the tenderness he offered. His tongue swept into John's mouth, licking the taste of whiskey from his teeth, the tip brushing the ridges of his pallet, sucking his tongue, his lips, before sinking lower to kiss his neck.

John made soft noises of pleasure, his heels skidding across the ceramic of the tub, damp fingers winding into Nik's hair. In the warmth of the water, his skin was soft, sensitive, and Nik knew how to touch him. Had spent many a night learning what made John moan and sigh, how his entire body was a map of erogenous zones desperate for a gentle hand that Nik was more than willing to provide.

When Nik encircled John's prick, stroking slowly back and forth, John let out a pleased sigh. "Fuck, Nik... Dunno whether I have the energy."

"You do not need it. Let me look after you."

"Would prefer t' give as good as I get. Ahh, fuck, Nik..."

Nik soaped his hand using the pump at the side of the bath and returned to John's eager prick. Tired he may be, but his body yearned for Nik as much as Nik's did for him. Nik kept a firm pressure, squeezing a little former on the upstroke, precum splashing over the edge of his fist. "John, you are so beautiful... You are so desperate for me."

"Yeah, Nik, haa, ah, god fuck, I'm close already..."

"Come for me then. Do not hold back. I will have you tomorrow, spread your legs and take what I want..."

"Fuck..."

"I know you wanted me to take you in that changing room, your blood running hot--"

"Ahh, Nik, fu--"

"--I know you wanted to touch yourself in the shower, thinking of me--"

"Mm, yeah, yeah, please, Nik..."

"I know what you need, I know how you ache for it, how you want to be filled by my cock and fucked well."

John latched onto the edge of the tub as he came, his thighs and stomach pulling tight, head pushing back as his cock pulsed in Nik's hand. Nik slowed his stroke, milking out the aftershocks as John gasped.

Nik kissed him lightly on the lips as his pleasure faded to throbbing embers, releasing his softening prick to rinse his hand. "Beautiful."

"Just nutted to dirty talk. Not sure beautiful's really the word."

"You do not see yourself as I do," Nik replied, admiring the brightness in those blue eyes, the ruffled hair, the flush. Beautiful was too empty a word for the majesty of John Price, but it would suffice for now. "Time for bed, John. Come."

Nik helped John out of the bath, teasing him about his shaking legs as he helped dry him with a second towel. John slipped naked into the soft, clean sheets Nik wasn't complaining; it would be easier to tease him open tomorrow morning. He was asleep and snoring softly before Nik had even switched the lamp off, the pillow clutched under his head.

Before Nik could sleep, he worked himself over to a swift and gutless orgasm that would allow him to sleep, knowing full well he would be satisfying himself in John come the morning. He fell asleep admiring the peaceful lines of John's face, eternally grateful he had the honour of calling John his.

[mercury2venus]

“Sometimes I hold you closer just to know you’re real.”—

Just something I wrote at random. I love Louis fine self so much.

I was selfish with Louis. As he was with me. But we truly couldn’t help it. I indulged in him as if he was my favorite chocolate during the holidays. From simple glances to throes of passion his form was committed to my memory.

“ we have to leave the bed at some point darling.”

He whispered in my ear. Our essence tangled within the sheets, I cuddled to him closer “ no we don’t, we can stay here forever.”

Louis laughed deeply. His smile always touched his eyes. “ yea we can but I have business to take care of sugar, and that little one inside of you is going to be needing food soon. Now let’s get up so I can feed my girls.” He gently smiled.

How are you so sure it’s a girl ? I asked with a giggle

“Saw it in my dream. A little baby girl sat on my lap and called me papa.” He said sweetly

Well if it is a girl what we naming her ?

“Claudia, we’ll name her Claudia.” He responded

I smiled. I like that name.

There are things I have yet to know about Louis De pointe Du lac. He’s given me bits and pieces of himself and slowly I’ve been able to put together the puzzle. It’s been quite a journey.

“You gonna be gone long Lou? “. I needed to know if his business would have him out all night again.

“I’ll be home in just 2 hours Cleo. Don’t worry about me. “

“I can’t help but to worry” I mumbled

“It’s not good for the baby, I’ll be back sooner than you think.”

After making a quick meal, Louis gave me and my tummy a kiss before embedding himself into the darkness once more.

That night i heard Louis stumble in. I kept my eyes shut tight. Whatever demons he’d been fighting I pray they do not find their way to my doorstep. Louis had trouble in the past, he was honest about that, but it didn’t ease my nerves when he came waltzing in here after midnight.

“ Cleo ? You awake baby “ his thick New Orleans accent rang through the quiet room.

“Yea I am.” My voice was small, I wasn’t afraid of Louis but there was a shift in the air and that unnerved me.

“ Cleo baby girl we’re going way for a bit, i don’t have much time to explain. I’m packing our things just please get dressed.” His voice was frantic.

I didn’t ask questions. Because I knew Lou. He didn’t fear anything. Not even death itself. So whatever spooked him, was serious. I scrambled out of bed and began to throw on anything. After getting dressed we walked out of our home.

I seen 2 figures waiting for us. As I got closer I seen one blonde white man and the other of Indian descent. Their eyes travelled to Louis and I felt my legs want to give out. They looked at my Louis the way I did, and when their eyes reached me ?

Well, death seemed easier. I could just feel the earth begin to swallow me whole and—

“Cut that shit out Lestat. Don’t you dare invade her mind.” Louis spat

A smirk played on the blondes lips. “ of course “

We entered the car, as we pulled off lestat decided to make small talk

“ so any baby names” I didn’t miss the venom in his tone as if I was beneath him. Like I wasn’t worthy

“ Claudia. Right Lou ? “

I felt Louis hold me tighter. He kissed my temple and smiled.

“ yea, Claudia”

The car grew silent.

The tension began to choke me

I’d follow Louis anywhere but for the first time, in his arms was the last place I wanted to be. “ please dont say that.” louis whispered.

“Hmph. Well I am Lestat the man next to me is Armand we are old friends of your boyfriend. “

“Husband. We’re married.” I corrected him

We came to an abrupt stop.

“ Lestat keep driving. Please. “ mumbled Armand

I watched the blonde man rush out the car, to stand on the side of the road. Suddenly he doubled over and vomited.

“Dramatic.” Armand muttered.

“Is he okay” I asked with concern. Armand looked back to me then Louis then rolled his eyes

“Ask your husband.” Louis sat back with his eyes closed.

“ just sit back cleo and take a nap. You and the baby need rest.” My mind whispered.

I felt myself lean back and drift off.

OMNISCIENT POV

Armand watched Louis through the mirror.

“ don’t say anything to me” Louis spoke,

“You love her I can see that.” Armand responded curtly.

“Yea. Yea I do.” Louis ran a hand down his face.

“Be honest with her “

“I’m trying”

“She’s in a car with 3 of the undead. You’re not trying hard enough”

Please lay off this. Louis spoke into his old lover’s mind

Lestat entered the car eyes red and voice gravely.

“This was a mistake. But it is too late I suppose.” He took a pause. “Is she aware of what grows inside of her? “

“It’s a regular human child”. Louis responded wearily.

“Oh ! So that’s why we’re taking a road-trip, you’re afraid.” Lestat shook his head and focused back on the road.

Louis looked to Cleo eyes brimming with tears.

“I am. He whispered. I’ve never been more afraid.”

[livingfiction]

YA'LL I GOT A WRITING IDEA/PROMPT!!!!

I just came back from watching Sinners for the first time( I was gonna wait , but I was scared it was gonna be out of theaters by the time I planned on watching) and I have so much to say but I have to get this idea out before I lose my nerve SOOOO.... BARE WITH ME

I was thinking about a modern Sammie x Pearline story.

POTENTIAL SAMMIE PLOT IDEAS:

A young Sammie, still a preachers kid (though a rebellious one) around 22 or so meets a (unhappily and sexually unsatisfied) married Pearline (around 30 or 31) at his cousin's smoke and stack newly opened club

he's starting indulging in his true passion...music despite being a recent college graduate working a regular 9 to 5 (something boring and unsexy like accountant, engineer, maybe even tech) and trying to appease his father by living a straight and narrow life unlike most of his father's side of the family.

Sammie has no desire really for fame or fortune, he just loves music and sees at a chance to escape his oppressive upbringing and is one of the only times he feels free and alive...until he meets Pearline that is.

Maybe he moved from MS to Chicago, IL for work (better work opportunities) where he reconnects with his cousins

Kind of a coming of age for Sammie in a sense. He's a young man that's away from home and the people he knows and who know him so he trying to figure out this new identity and this new freedom away from the scrutiny of the people he's always known.

POTENTIAL PEARLINE PLOT IDEAS:

Pearline married before she was ready because she felt it was what she was supposed to do

Was more of a fun loving and free girl in her early twenties (a real bad bitch) but became more conservative and toned down after marrying her straight laced and boring husband

She met her husband around the age of 23 and he seemed like a great man though he was never the best in bed, but he displayed manipulative and emotionally abusive tactics that wore away at her confidence and self esteem. Her family loved him and pushed the marriage as well as his. He's good at hiding his true nature.

By the time the made it to the alter Pearline's self esteem was whittled away and she truly felt like he was as good at it gets

She maintains her friendships just barely due to his overbearing and controlling nature

PEARLINE & SAMMIE:

Pearline's friends convince her to get dressed up and go out to the new club that everyone's been talking about (her husband's out of town for work)

While there she see's sammie perform and they connect and he becomes infatuated with her ( much like in the movie)

She's attracted to his confidence, lover boy nature, as well as his open minded way of thinking ( much like hers)

They start to build a connection due to their similar natures and he brings out the old her and also gives her some much needed vitamin D among other things ( he's young but he's experienced and knows what he's doing-partly thanks to his cousin stack 😉who gave him advice years ago on the art of pleasing a woman)

Sammie does feel some jealousy over her marriage and begins to urge her to leave her husband)

Things come to a dangerous head when the husband begins to suspect her affair and goes as far as trying to confront Sammie in the club ( with smoke and stack present so shit goes REALLY bad for him) and maybe...he locks Pearline in the house (not saying he holds her hostage but he holds her hostage) and Sammie helps her escape

There relationship isn't one sided but Sammie is THIRSTY for Pearline and is on her body BAAAADDDDD

I don't really see them ending up together in my mind but I'm not the writer so....

I honestly just really loved the two of them and I'm sucker for that infatuation shit! Also I liked how confident and upfront Sammie was anytime he was with her. It's like the hesitant boy disappeared and a confident man showed up. He knew what he wanted and applied pressure to get it. He wasn't concerned about her husband (asking her if she was happily married) or the religious aspects of committing adultery. Throughout the movie you see that he is a strong minded individual despite the lifestyle his cousin's introducing him to being new and against everything his father preached about.

IMPORTANT NOTE:

THESE ARE JUST SUGGESTIONS AND THOUGHTS I HAD. I AM NOT A WRITER THUS I CAN'T TELL ANYONE HOW TO WRITE A STORY. I truly love and respect all the work, time, and energy you talented and beautiful ladies put into this craft and I would NEVER come along demanding a story be written a certain way because I know for a fact ya'll can come up with shit 10x better than anything I could imagine. I would just love a modern story about those two and I had to get these ideas out before I lost my nerve.

SOOOOO.....any takers??? 🙂🙂🙂 ANYONE???

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @keyaho @megamindsecretlair

[mangohgeckoh]

Chemical Reaction (SilcoxOc!reader)

Chapter 2

“The Good Ole Times”

(Part 3 of 3)

-

Vander and Silco were not surprised to see their close friend singing on the counter of the bar, no, it was when a cloak was chucked at them from across the bar. “OuR LoVE~” Felicia’s drunk voice rang throughout the bar. The cape slowly fell off the brother’s faces to reveal an interesting sight: the newest addition to their ally list was also hammered, laying on the bar next to the dancing woman.

“‘Atta girl!” Vander boomed. Even though he was caked in coal and soot he had no issue sprinting across the bar to indulge in some late night-debauchery. Silco stood feeling a headache coming on as he watched helplessly as his friends got drunk on the bar’s already limited stock. “IS a BuRniNG foUntaiNN~” Felcia’s heavily hammered singing continued, Vander only supported as a backup singer. Ophelia laughed at Vander’s singing voice and turned her head as her neck started to get stiff on the wooden counter. Her eyes met Silco’s, but her drunk demeanor made her smile at him, thinking his scowl was the most funniest thing in Runeterra.

–

As months passed, the four of the trencher’s relationships grew. Ophelia grew comfortable with bar-friends so much so that she allowed her friends from camp to tag along for a few evenings. Of course, those not of age were not allowed to drink. The boy she had picked up from the streets months prior became particularly attached to one of the regulars at the bar, a young man named Benzo. The boy with white hair was always sitting on the countertop near where Benzo was. He often tried showing Benzo his new trinkets that he’d make from scrap metal. They were crude, yes, but there was a brilliance tied to them. Ophelia kept an eye on the young man with the boy he rescued, but it was when the boy shared his name with Benzo, a feat that Ophelia nor her camp friends could obtain, that she realized he had found a home.

It wasn’t easy letting Ekko go with Benzo, but the more she became acquainted with him the more she saw their father-son bond grow. She felt honored that she was able to help Ekko find a new home.

-

It had been a year now since the two families had intertwined. A tradition had well been solidified by now, every Monday, Friday and Sunday Ophelia would leave for The Last Drop to meet up with Vander, Felicia and Silco. Benzo and Ekko would always leave earlier, Benzo would argue it was because Ekko had a bedtime, but since Benzo was the oldest, Vander had always joked that it’s because he is getting old. Unless Ophelia brought anyone with her, it was just the four at the bar.

The Last Drop increased in popularity as time went on. Vander would become better at mixing drinks, allowing for more orders and money into the bar. Though, it was on the rare occasion that one of the late nights that Ophelia visited would be slow. Those were her favorite as it allowed more time for talking. Vander knew her long enough that he would eventually let her in on his real plans. “Sure, having a bar where Zaunites could mingle is great,” He’d say. “But I want to show Topsiders what true community can be.” He’d speak with such passionate vigor that Ophelia would be drawn in. Silco, who was always quiet during her visits, only talked the most when the subject of Zaun was brought into conversation.

One night, Felicia was working late at the mines while Vander and Ophelia had been talking about this Nation of Zaun when a few patrons came in, leaving Silco and Ophelia at a table on the side of the bar. This was the first time Ophelia ever heard Silco talk freely without being prompted to start a conversation. He shared indepth plans of Zaun. His Zaun. The plans were more ambitious than Vanders but nonetheless aligned. The way Silco spoke about his dreams was so encapsulating. It was like being told a beautiful fairytale, she couldn’t help but rest her chin on her palms while he pointed at a map of the Undercity. He had just finished his rant about the difficulty of crossing the bridge Piltover had built when Ophelia pointed to something on the map. “Don’t those gutters lead out to the Topside's sewers? It isn’t ideal but that may help to get a lay of the land.”

He bit his lip. “Gutters?” Ophelia was across the table so she went to stand next to Silco to make sure she was remembering the location right. She nodded, “Yes, I used to use these to get into the markets. The sewers are a network under the city.” Silco’s eyes sparkled. “I see…” He was silent the rest of the night, making Ophelia focus on Vander’s gang brawl stories.

-

Silco’s chest puffed up at her gasp. “Brilliant.” Ophelia’s ears were honed in on Silco’s newest contraption he had placed on their table. He and his brother had gotten into an argument that, from what she gathered, was about a dispute about Piltover. Across the room, Vander and Felicia were conversing at the bar.

-

It was a special night. Vander had reached enough patrons exactly a month ago to be able to quit his job at the mines while Silco had finally mapped out Piltover’s secret entrances from the gutters Ophelia mentioned weeks prior. It was a night to celebrate, Vander closed the bar early, of course to the annoyance of his many regulars. Ophelia sat a few seats away from Silco at the bar, despite it being a special occasion he was consumed in paperwork that we would rather die than putting off. There was one more missing though, but she wasn’t gone for long.

“I hate the mines!” Vander, Silco and Ophelia turned to see Felicia groaning, slamming the door. Usually she strides on up to the bar to get hammered but this time she was attracted to Vander’s shiny new jukebox. Ophelia giggled and turned back to the counter she sat at, taking a sip of her whiskey. She was way past being comfortable with drinking.

Her ears twitched.

‘Coin.’

‘Disk moving.’

Soon a familiar song started to play from behind them, making Ophelia groan due to the drunken memories associated with the song. Though, she did noticed Vander’s eyes lingering on Felicia. “What’s the occasion?” He asked while cleaning a glass from earlier. Felicia chuckled. “Can’t a girl be in the mood for a familiar song?” Silco was still focused on his work as Vander responded. “Not this lady,” The towel he had used to clean the cup returned to his shoulder. “And not this song.” He pointed out. Ophelia giggled and watched Felicia dance her way over to the bar. Vander quickly poured four glasses-worth of the most expensive liquor he sold.

Felicia sat at the bar, joining her friends. Taking a breath, she began. “Tonight, a hair-brained scheme these three bozos cooked up to turn a daint crack in the earth into a thriving healthy community became a reality.”

Vander smirked, eyes twinkling. “Tonight, aye?” He adjusted his position behind the bar, shooting Silco a look. “You hear that, bozo two?” Silco took a spoonful of porridge, turning to Vander. ”We made it, we’re done.”

“No,” Silco shook his head, grabbing his glass. “You're sadly mistaken,” He grinned at his friends. “I’m bozo number one.”

Vander raised his glass, proud of their accomplishments. “A night of revelations.” The friends toasted to that, but something was wrong. Ophelia could sense it.

Felicia didn’t drink when her friends did, rather, she squeezed her cup nervously. “I’m knocked up.” There was a long awkward silence that dawned over them. Ophelia cut the tension as Vnader and Silco processed the news. “How?”

Felicia scoffed, giving Ophelia an aggravated look. “Well when two trenchers love eachother very much…” Ophelia rolled her eyes but Vander finally regained himself. “How do you know?” He asked, pouring Felicia a cup of juice, replacing her old glass. Silco readjusted himself so he could sit closer to comfort his friend.

Sighing, she responded. “Wasn't really part of my plan…but guess that's everything when you're living week to week” Ophelia nodded solemnly. It was tough living in the Undercity, everyone is constantly trying to survive another day. Vander began to look concerned. “What did Connol say?”

A shade of guilt covered her face. “I haven’t told him.” Ophelia could tell that her friend was struggling, she couldn’t imagine what Felicia was going through. ”Working up the nerve.” Felicia continued on.“I don't know anything about kids. I get sweaty being alone with one” Her eyes looked as if they could start crying at any moment. Sensing this, Vander held her hand. “Hey. You're going to be a great mother.”

She shook out of his grasp. “Shut up. I’m not ready for that. I started trying to come up with a name and it hits me that this one word is a decision shes gonna live with her whole life.” She sighed. “I can't protect her all the shit down here and work out how to be a parent at the same time.” Suddenly, a vixen-like smirk grew from her mouth. “Then I realized I don't have to.”

“Hm,” Vander took a sip of his whiskey. “Why’s that?”

She leaned in as if she was about to tell a secret. “Because the second I told you, I put you on the hook.” Ophelia exchanged looks with Silco, Vander gulped. “You three are going to figure this Zaun thing out.” Silco gave her a look of awe as she explained. “I don’t care if you have to carve it out of bedrock and cover it in blisters.” She pointed at her friends, giving them a light threat. Ophelia felt something boil within her with how Silco looked at his friend. But she decided to push it away, her friend’s needs were more important.“ You're not allowed to fail anymore. For her. For me.” Felicia finished, narrowing her eyes at Vander who nodded. “What's the point if we can't raise an ankle biter or two?”

Silco chuckled. “To Zaun, then.” He raised his glass and met Ophelia’s eyes. “Blisters and bedrock.” The other three raised their glasses and toasted. “Blisters and bedrock.” After taking a drink, the bar became quiet again. Until Vander hummed. “I’ve always liked the name violet.”

-

[jaymoriarty-knight]

MoonDevil first kiss anyone?

It was around half past one in the morning, and Marc Spector was irritable. He wasn't dressed for the chill of New York's mid-winter and he was complaining about it.

"It's fucking freezing Matt."

"Would you stop calling me that? I wear the mask for a reason." Matt snapped. He was dressed in his old costume, black mask, and rather civilian clothes, in Marc's opinion. The red armored suit was being repaired after an intense gun fight.

"Right. But what are we doing outside?"

"You can leave. You're the one who wanted to come."

Marc crossed his arms. "I can't in good conscience let you do this on your own without your suit. You're at risk."

"You do realize this is how I started off, right? Before I became the Devil of Hell's Kitchen."

"Yeah, and you got the shit beat out of you constantly."

Matt scowled behind the mask. "I don't think that's any of your business. You weren't here."

Marc felt a stir deep in his chest. He didn't like that he wasn’t there for Matt, even if they hadn't met back then. Something has changed between them, a feeling Marc hadn't felt since he'd first met Layla. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with these feelings or how to express them. And of course, Matt's Catholic, right? He wouldn't go for men anyway. Marc wished he had someone to talk to about it.

"I know I wasn't. But that doesn't mean—"

Matt tilted his head toward the alley they were standing above. "Shut up."

"Murdock—"

"I said shut it!" Matt hissed. "Trying to listen."

"You could be nice—"

Matt shoved Marc hard against the wall of the stairwell down into the building, clamping a gloved hand over Marc's mouth. "Zip it, Spector."

Marc was certain, super senses or not, Matt could hear his racing heart.

Matt started to turn, to focus on the alley again. Marc grabbed Matt's face with both his hands and yanked Matt into a kiss.

It was hardly a nice kiss. Marc had used too much force, causing their teeth to clack against each other and putting Matt at an odd angle.

Marc pulled away first, certain he'd crossed a line. But he wasn’t cold anymore, that's for sure. His body felt like it was on fire.

"Matt, I—"

"Shut up Marc."

Marc nodded, avoiding looking at Matt. Matt gently cupped Marc's cheek with one hand, slipping the other around the back of Marc's neck. Matt pressed his lips against Marc's in a much softer, more passionate kiss. Matt slid his body right up against Marc's. Matt could feel Marc's racing heart reverberating through his chest and reveled in the proximity.

Marc's hands found their way to Matt's hips, holding him lightly.

"Matt..." Marc whispered, pulling away first.

"Marc," Matt murmured against Marc's mouth.

"Do you..." Not for the first time Marc didn't know what to say to Matt.

"Do I what Marc?"

"What does this mean? For us," Marc gestured between them as best he could. Matt was still awfully close.

"What do you want it to mean?"

"Boyfriends," Marc replied instantly.

Matt laughed a little. "I'd like that."

"I wasn't sure. You know you... You're Catholic and all..."

"That doesn't change how I feel about you, Marc Spector."

"I..." Marc swallowed hard. "It's been a long time since I've felt this... connected to someone. It means a lot to me. I don't want to lose that."

Matt smiled. "You won’t. Foggy wouldn't let me. He thinks you're way too cool for me."

"You told Foggy how you feel?"

"Of course I did. He's my best friend."

"That... yeah, that makes sense." Marc nodded, more to give himself something to do than anything else. Matt was practically confessing his love and Marc had never experienced that before. Layla was different. Things between them just seemed to make sense, to fit into place without any effort. That was probably part of the problem within their relationship, but that was a problem for Marc at a different time.

"He likes you you know."

"I didn't know. Not exactly anyway."

"Well he likes that you watch baseball and are willing to indulge him with it. He likes that you take my blindness into account. He likes that you can protect me." Matt smiled. "He likes lots of things about you."

Marc tugged on Matt's hips, bringing him closer. "I like Foggy. It's nice to have a friend."

"You have more than one."

"I know. But...there's something different about Foggy Nelson."

Matt laughed, "that there is." Matt rested his head against Marc's collar bone. The position should be uncomfortable, seeing as Matt is taller than Marc and has to lean down to make it work, but Matt is perfectly content.

Marc felt pretty damn content himself. He knew Matt was interested in him, he was safe, he was warm. Their stakeout was forgotten in favor of feelings. Marc couldn't bring himself to care. The chill of the night was entirely forgotten with Matt's warm body pressed against his own.

When are you going to tell him about us?

@kityri-imera

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 10

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; none. idiots in love

notes ; ITS YEARNING HOURS BAYBEE ‼️ for the first time ever, a bit of childe’s POV, wowie zowie!! also a bit of a cheesy chapter LMFAO, it’s just these two dinguses “reaching” the realization that they want each other so bad, it makes them look stupid.

also a smidgen hint at the end towards the next phase of this dumpster fire of a fic >:3

ok and finally- i know i already made a post abt it but like. would u guys still love me if i posted a luke castellan fic? it’s SO self indulgent bc i’m brain rotting from the percy jackson show so idk yet :>

previous | next | masterlist

old wooden planks creak with each step childe takes.

he’d long lost the count of the days he’d spent in this peculiar inazuman domain— the mystic omnyou chamber, his companions called it. though what a fascinating domain it was, ever-changing and ever-puzzling but most of all, ever-deploying more enemies for him to fight his way through. he feels like only now he truly knows what teucer must’ve felt like in front of all those mr. cyclopses all those months ago.

he felt as though he was given a little too much breathing room by the motherland, still being stationed in liyue with you whoever knows how long his mission was finished, so it was no less than perfect to hear the news of scaramouche’s disappearance from inazuma after taking the gnosis for himself. as much as he disliked to have to leave you in northland bank with the promise of the two of returning together still at hand, he dully needed to take up on his responsibilities as one of her majesty’s harbingers.

still, he could fair by through the remembrance of you and his love for combat.

it’s amusing how freshly burned into his mind the memory of your time together at dottore’s lab was, even when he was half-conscious and at his physically weakest. how you soothed away his wounds with the cool breeze of your cryo powers, how you kept him company while he recovered, how you called him a pret-

“psst— you’re doing that thing again.”

“h-huh..?”

the harbinger is snapped from his daydreaming by paimon naggingly whispering to him. as childe finds himself back in reality, he registers the sight of the traveler, xinyan and shiki taishou walking ahead distractedly through the narrow dusty hallways of the domain, while paimon had fallen back alongside him.

“are you back now? ok good.” the travel guide snides, hands sassily placed at her hips.

childe chuckles sheepishly. “i-i’m sorry, paimon, but i’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.”

“oh, come on, it’s so obvious! the entire time we’ve been here, you’ve been doing this thing where you either doze off thinking about y/n! y’know as someone so passionate about fighting, you really need to get your head in the game right now.”

he feigns an offended scoff. “that is entirely untrue, comrade. my focus is solely on figuring out this domain’s mysteries and defeating its monsters.”

there’s a brief pause, where childe thoroughly reevaluates what paimon just said.

“wait, how did you know i was thinking about y/n? i-if i were dozing off and possibly thinking about them!”

she scoffs. “puh-lease, you’ve been babbling about them since we got here! almost everything you’ve said has somehow trailed off into y/n, so much so that even shiki taishou is caught up on what’s happened with you two!”

paimon was someone known to be a bit eccentric and overreactive at certain moments, but she also had her moments of being very bluntly honest in other situations. this was one of them. the harbinger deliberates for a moment, out of all the time he’s spent venturing this domain with the paper doll, just how much information had he unwillingly retained about you.

suddenly, a moment of clarity washes over childe and he vividly recalls all the moments during his venture in the domain where he’s talked about you. saying things such as ‘i wonder how y/n is doing right now…’, or ‘hah, y/n’s cryo attacks would demolish these enemies.’ or even ‘oh! that reminds of this one time, when y/n and i were kids…’. lest we mention the multiple times he’s said ‘i can’t wait to return to inazuma with y/n and show them this.’ whenever he’d been exploring the electro land’s scenic locations.

poor shiki taishou.

but then again, is it truly his fault that the mystic omnyou chamber had so many moments and details that were so clearly reminiscent of you? o-or maybe… maybe this was just a domain and everything reminded him of you regardless. but that’s the more unlikely possibility.

he curses scaramouche in his mind for a brief moment. it was all because he decided to go rogue that childe had to leave so abruptly— just when he’d made amends with you, just when the two of you were restoring your friendship. just when you’d started to flash him that devastating smile of yours again, instead of the standoffish snarl you’d presented during his mission in liyue. gods, he could feel his heart pang against his chest. surely it was just the adrenaline of battle, though. even if the group hadn’t faced enemies in more than ten minutes by now.

an even further tucked part of childe’s mind curses paimon next, for pointing out how much he speaks of you, because now he truly cannot stop. he looks ahead towards the end of the corridor and he can’t see what’s next, can’t see the next tatami matted arena where he’ll face a new wave of enemies, something he thinks he wants— no, all he sees is you.

it’s like your face is burned into his retinas, your fond laughter burned into brain and the warm feeling of when he slept against your shoulder burned into his skin.

childe doesn’t doesn’t fight as well as before in the next battle, he’s sloppy and distracted. after the arena is cleared, he’s left with a scratch across his bicep— which, thankfully, the domain grants a healing sigil to mend.

but it’ll never cure him like you do, never soothe the very core of his being like your powers do and it’ll never look at him the same way you did, caring and attentive.

he remembers how he felt lookup up at you then— like you were the stars in the night sky. he needed to get this mission over with as soon as possible.

—

you could almost hear your mother’s nagging tone telling you to not play with your food. as delicious as liyuean cuisine was, you’d lost your appetite halfway through your meal- as well as interest in the tale the restaurant’s storyteller was telling.

it’d been probably the dullest week you’ve had in a while, no new assignments from the motherland, no events happening in the city and… admittedly, no childe.

you can’t find the effort to lie to yourself and say it’s fine that he’s gone, that it’s for the tsaritsa’s noble cause— you don’t care about it. scaramouche could screw off with the gnosis and live his life, as far as you were concerned. in fact, you’d say he deserves it, given all he’s gone through with the doctor, even if he could be an astronomical asshole at times— well most of the times.

and now you can’t decide who to blame for childe’s absence, the balladeer or the tsaritsa. either way, it’s affected you more than you’d ever admit out loud. it’s been such a monotone week not just because of the distinct lack of anything to do in liyue lately, but also because of a distinct lack of… someone to worry about. yeah, that’s what it was, just an unusual sense of calm and nothing to stress over, that’s all—

“even in all my years, i’ve rarely seen someone stare at an unfinished bowl of dragon beard noodles with such intensity.”

a rumbling, baritone voice quips jokingly from across your small table and you’re startled away from your thoughts. looking up, the comment is revealed to come from mr. zhongli, the consultant from wanshe— oh, who were you kidding, the now former geo archon.

you hadn’t formerly spoken to him since the mission to take, well, his gnosis. after the situation with osial was diffusd, you beared witness to an unsettlingly diplomatic exchange between mr. zhongli and the fair lady, where he gave away the very culmination of his divinity like it was spare change. of course, you’ve spotted him countless times around the harbor— merely enjoy the little things the city had to offer. you can’t truly fault him for making the decision that he did, six thousand years is, unspokenly, too much time to not peruse the fruits of his labor from up close.

“a-ah, mr. zhongli! it’s been so long since we last spoke.” you scramble to politely greet zhongli and briefly wonder if you should stand up to bow to him, which he seems to notice.

“my apologies for startling you, doctor— may i?” he gestures to the seat in front of you and you nod.

“yes, it has been some time. i recall you being there for the completion of my contract with the fair lady, but the last time the two of us had the opportunity to meet casually was the very same night we first met.”

you nod curtly— you’re tense, you don’t know why. you know he’s not an archon anymore, you were there to see it, but perhaps the real weight of being in the presence of someone so powerful, not just an archon but the oldest of the original seven, seems to have only settled in now. you feel almost as choked as when in the presence of the tsaritsa, which you know all the same that you shouldn’t be. zhongli chuckles amusedly.

“i ask you to treat me as though you would’ve that night in liuli pavilion, like any other acquaintance. chatting with a mere consultant of a funeral parlor requires no formalities. now— have you been well, doctor?”

you can still only bring yourself to nod wordlessly in response, there’s no need for zhongli to know how royally miserable you’ve been lately.

“and.. may i ask why you held such a glare towards your meal? is it not your liking?”

“oh, no the noodles are just fine, amazing even! i was just… contemplating wether to finish it or not.”

great cover.

“hm,” zhongli hums with playful suspicion. “while a reasonable topic of contemplation, it did very much seem as though you were rather staring through the bowl, as though there is something on your mind. i would not mind hearing what is it that vexes you, doctor— if you’re comfortable to share, of course.”

yeah there was no fooling a, again, six thousand year old divine being with a half-assed excuse like yours. you sigh.

“well— yes, you caught me. the last few days have been, uh… less than peachy for me.”

“what exactly is it troubles you these days?”

“i wouldn’t say it’s trouble but, there hasn’t been much to do at northland bank lately. and childe has been out on a mission for some time now— b-but it’s mainly the lack of assignments!” you stammer.

“is that so? i did hear of childe’s sudden departure for inazuma but it is curious that you’re being kept stationed here with essentially nothing to do. but, if i may— has childe been absent for as long as you’ve felt dull at work or would you say there is no relation?”

already at so few words out of sheer nervousness, zhongli managed still to render you completely and utterly speechless. what are you even supposed to respond to this?

“i-i uhm, i… alright, i won’t even try.” you sigh in defeat and zhongli looks coyly pleased. he patiently awaits for you to gather your thoughts and actually say more than two stammered sentences.

“i truly can’t tell what it is. i feel like i’m supposed to be worrying for him— as if he’ll get injured again or injure someone else o-or even worse, do something stupid but there’s just.. nothing! it’s like i’m so used to being aware of his presence and now there’s nothing and it’s- it’s frustrating.”

“you miss him.”

you pause. do you miss him? no, it can’t be so simple— you have a medical degree, it is most certainly improbable that you’ve been trying your brain over just missing childe. well, sure it was great that the two of you were starting to make amends and stopped being so on-edge around each other but… there’s no objective reason for you to miss him.

right?

“i would not say i even near the level of an expert on matters concerning relationships between people, but i’ve seen a lot in my time. enough to tell you with confidence that it’s most likely you just.. miss him, doctor. and that it is okay to feel this way. the two of you do not stand at odds anymore, you never have— it is reasonable for you to be affected by his absence.”

you furrow your eyebrows. “how do you know if… childe and i stand at odds, mr. zhongli.”

“well, i have witnessed it. both directly and indirectly— the tension and misunderstanding between the two of you during our meeting at liuli pavilion was quite evident and i’ve heard of how you opposed him in battle at the golden house. but that is all it has ever been, misunderstandings and disagreements, but you’ve never truly disliked each other.”

“h-how do you know-“

“he speaks quite highly of you, doctor.”

“wh-what?”

“childe has only ever spoken highly of you— i recall mentioning that had been looking forward to meeting you in person during our dinner, it is all because of how grand his description of you was. plus, during our eventual meetups, you’re mentioned at least once every time. and you, as we’ve discussed, do seem to hold some care towards him, to the extent that you first concern is his health.”

your heart aches and you hate it. it’s a terrible, void sensation that frustrates you to no end. why? why did childe have to make it so difficult for you? why can’t you ever feel simple feelings when it came to him? why couldn’t you ever just feel one way towards him with no smaller part of your brain saying something else? even worse, why couldn’t your brain ever think about anything else— literally anything, instead of just constantly orbiting around the mixed emotions you felt when it came to childe?

you just constantly, restlessly and unendingly seem to care about him.

“you know what, mr. zhongli, i think y—“

“ah, there you are, sergeant!”

a less familiar voice calls out from behind you and you turn around with a bit of surprise— it’s a man clad in fatui uniform, who you recognize as mikhail, one of the officers stationed at northland bank. he’s not exactly someone you interact much with, just a mere coworker you greet every other morning, so you’re perplexed as to why he’s seeking you outside the bank.

“mikhail, what is the occasion?” you ask, briefly eyeing zhongli to find that he remains with a neutral expression awaiting the exchange.

“i am deeply sorry for interrupting your lunch, sergeant, but ekaterina urged for me to find you as soon as i could. a letter has come in from lord dottore for you specifically— she says it is of utmost importance.”

—

the wharf is unusually crowded today.

an untimely flux of either tourists or returning immigrant citizens, perhaps it is an important time of year in another nation— although, childe could truly care less at the moment. he’s doing his best to politely push his way through the sea of people leaving their respective ships while almost unconsciously seeking you out within it. he knows you wouldn’t be here, as his return to liyue was unannounced, but his eyes fly to latch onto your likeness anyway.

childe ends up finding you right in the center of the harbor’s main street, practically right below the catwalks that lead to the bank. you’re slowly pacing back and forth, a piece of paper clutched in your hands and a vacant expression on your face— childe can’t find himself to clutch to those details right now, he just needs to get to your side. he makes large, determined steps towards you, big grin invading his features, and while he’s still approaching you, you spot him and your eyes widen even more. once childe is a mere two steps away from you, he stops.

“y/n! oh, it’s so good to see you!” he heaves out gladly.

“ajax—“ you reply in a quiet voice and his heart swells at the use of his real name. he truly can’t contain himself anymore and tackles you into a tight hug, one so strong that stumble back a bit.

his arms snake tightly from under your arms to above your shoulders and his head lowers from being against your own to reaching your shoulder blade— it is as close as he physically get to you, while trying to be respectful of your space, of course. you’re still in shock for maybe five seconds of the hug, but eventually you just let yourself slowly wrap around him and squeeze ever so slightly. both of you have your eyes closed to sink into the moment.

the hug is long, maybe twenty seconds so, and as childe becomes satisfied with its duration and pulls away, he remains with his hands to your elbows in a gentle hold. he sighs with said satisfaction and beams towards you.

“i have so much to tell you about inazuma! unfortunately, i couldn’t find scaramouche there but i managed to see so many beautiful places, so many amazing experie- wait.. what’s wrong?”

the harbinger pauses mid sentence when he notices the numbness in your expression and his bright grin falls into a concerned frown— you feel like the most terrible person for making him lose such excitement. your mouth opens and closes as you find what to say, but you eventually whisper it out.

“ajax, i-i… i have to go to sumeru.”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

[soft-persephone]

The Distance Between Our Galaxies

Jake Lockley (Moon Knight system) x Ballerina!Fem!Reader x Luke (Jake Johnson)

T // WC: 1.45k // warnings: descriptions of flesh being ripped // series masterlist //main masterlist

Jake woke up and immediately stilled his body.

A woman, soft and sweet was pressed up against him.

Fuck, Marc.

Jake woke up to the smell of your hair. It washed over his senses, filling him with a distant memory, transporting him to a hazy dream when he was younger. A boy, barely a teenager in the back of Marc’s mind.

You reminded him of that girl he fell in love with when he was younger, much younger.. He never got the chance to touch her. To talk to her or be with her in any capacity, not sure how to reach out and make his presence known.

Taking his chance, he indulged in a deep sniff. Letting his head rest on yours. For just a moment, lingering.

Your hand was strewn across his waist. Your legs were tangled in his. A distinct taste lingered on his tongue.

You.

He was a kid again. He couldn't quite remember what age, but it was young. However, old enough for his first kiss. Their first kiss.

Marc always seems to get them first.

Mirabel’s rich skin, the specific hues of her undertone was something magical, her full lips, and pretty white smile. Jake remembered the hazy moments he was present in the body, quiet as whispers.

Little Bel was a ray of sunshine in their youth. A getaway from the wretched plight that was home, but when they– mainly Marc was with her. It was the first time he didn't have to worry.

He didn't have to take over.

It was a blessing, but also his curse.

The entire experience reminded him of his own personal mortality. His living purgatory of being alive, but being unknown. A deep aching curse to want the things he could never have. He was a fleeting memory in the lives of a few, real for only one moment in time.

He was real once. Scattered in accros time in a world he used to know, but he’s been away so long. His friends might not even remember him. He had no one in London. He didn’t know anything or give a fuck about Europe.

There was no one to recognize him or remember he was ever there.

So all he had were the memories.

In his own universal plane of existence. A fleeting whisper in the wind. He knew he was real, but it would be nice to have his own life back. To make his own world known.

Every moment he was present in the body was a tribute to his own existence, his mustache, his own personal style, his walk, the way he talked. It was the time when body was his and only his. So he interacted with the world around him, outside of Marc’s reserved abrasiveness, and despite Steven’s best efforts to be sociable, it rubbed people the wrong way. He was nice, but they had a habit of not sticking around.

Most likely Marc’s fault.

So he had to hold on and cherish every moment. Every experience, thought, word, touch, feeling, every-everything. Because they were his.

So he cherished his time with you because when else was he going to get another chance.

He gingerly placed a finger on your full lips, slowly tracing them, relishing in the warmth of your breath, tickling the pad of his fingertips.

They were so soft.

His chest ached. His palms suddenly felt sweaty.

He suddenly rmemebrs how Mirabel’s eager plush lips and equally as eager tongue, swiped over theirs with a heated fervor they didn’t quite know was possible. Neither of them good at it, but it was one of Jake’s most precious memories. Her lips crashing awkwardly but passionately along Marc’s, unaware that you were kissing him too.Marc unaware of the boy inside that took his most brutal beatings.

There was no explanation for how Marc’s hand tightened on her side. There was no explanation for how he desperately needed to touch her hair. How he had to kiss her more firmly. How his tongue becomes less aggressive, just cherishing the moment. It must just be how much he liked her was all he thought. The conclusion he came to.

But no, it was him, Jake.

He somehow got control, for just a brief moment, to make his first kiss his, just as much as it was Marc’s.

Marc didn’t deserve most of the women that came into their lives.

He always managed to push them away, but the good one’s stuck around.

As much as Jake wanted to take over and show you a true man. A gentleman even, he couldn’t intervene.

Not like this.

You needed someone to meet you where you were at. To help you process your grief healthily.

The memory rushed over him. Blending with the present.

With one final brush of his thumb on your cheek. He sighed before returning to the unknown.

He didn’t have to think.

He was out of your bed without waking you up. He whisked the battered bloody clothes out of your hamper into a trash bag that took him more than a long time to find.

Jake hated large houses that needed maids. Everything was too far and hard to find.

Any evidence of Marc’s presence he scrubbed away.

“Spector had the body too long. There is buis—“

Yeah yeah, Jake replied back in his mind, shoving Khonshu away. You don’t have to tell me twice.

And he didn’t.

Khonshu was annoying.

Being Moon Knight just passed the time. When it was worth it and the work was honest, it could be a purpose.

He missed New York. He missed his cab, Crawley and Gina, her boys. God, those two knuckleheads.

It didn’t take long until he was out the front door of the house

Depsite his best efforts, he couldn’t shake it.

He couldn’t shake you.

But the thoughts started flowing, his mind racing, landing back onto you.

He was thinking about what your life might have been before you met your husband, who you were when he was alive and you both were happy. Leading him to think about his own life, the massive overbearing weight of his own life.

Hard, dark, and heavy, but it was carryable.

A little hard to carry, but he could carry it.

He made a call to steven’s job, doing his best british accent. He updated them on the phony family emergency, so he wouldn’t get fired, but they were running out of time. There was only so much FMLA Steven had left.

You were on his mind. Despite his best efforts to focus on the task at hand.

You felt far away.

The pain was heavy inside his chest, making his heart beat feel wrong. It gnawed at him like a wild dog. A ferocious desire eating him from the inside. The fear of not being fed makes it fight harder and harder. It’s teeth gnashed and bit down on his soul. Ripping him apart and leaving his strown flesh and guts in the cold, what’s left of his heart beating out of his chest.

Jake ignored it, donning the mask and suit of threads. Perhaps the suit's healing factor could stave away at the wild untamed longing.

It must be from Marc’s.

The foreign wild emotion was unlike anything he’d ever felt. He ignored it as he jumped in the air, running across rooftops. He ignored it as he glided through the air. He ignored it as he landed on the fire escape of the little run down hotel room he’d got temporarily for them as Marc did fuck all with the body.

Opening the closet door he looked at the little evidence board he’d been making.

“If you had listened to me, you’d know by now that you need to go back to the large house. With the. . .girl.”

“She’s a grown woman.” Jake blinked. “Why do I need to go back?”

“The spiritual disturbance is in the house.”

“But that’s just—“

“Not. The husband.” Khonshu bellowed. “It’s following him.”

This wasn’t good. Not one bit.

Whatever magical disturbance Khonshu had Jake chasing the past couple of months was getting worse. The nights spent keeping the magical monsters and powers at be from hurting ordinary people were getting longer and longer.

They were running out of time and Marc hogging the body only made things worse.

You don’t need me to tell you what you must do…” Khonshu started, his looming form’s glow faded into the shadows out of his vision and back into the apparatus of his mind. His voice became the memory of a distant echo in his mind. “The gnawing,” his voice faded even farther away, “is of your own creation.”

[megu-meow]

kiss it better - Gojo Satoru

gojo x fem. reader

Summary: Gojo is sad after your break-up.

TW: angst, some swear words, heartbroken Gojo (I feel like he's out of character too, sorry)

There are not many instances Gojo Satoru remembers where his feelings got the best of him. Growing up he developed an attitude through which he didn't get too involved with anything, however, he had a strong sense of what's worth fighting for and what is not. When he met Megumi after killing his father, Gojo couldn't let the boy go through his childhood alone, without a parental figure around, so he took the raven-haired boy in.

When his best friend went rogue, he made a pact to not let anyone feel alone again. At that time, he voiced this to Shoko as well, but the young healer misunderstood him. You see, Gojo Satoru never felt truly alone in his life. He was surrounded by people throughout his life, some were closer to him and some were mere acquaintances, but he never felt lonely, contrary to Geto. Of course, the possessor of the six eyes thought that Suguru was weak for dealing with his feelings by developing insane beliefs, but he couldn't blame him for one second, not even on the day of his death.

Gojo Satoru has strong opinions and an unshakeable sense of self, he doesn't really need anyone to rely on or to be by his side. He just wants to keep the people around him safe, he wants to ensure a brighter future for all of his students, and all in all, he wants the world to be a better place.

So why is it so hard for him to get out of bed lately? Why is it hard to do his job? When did his favorite desserts stop making him feel better?

He knows the answers to all of those questions, but he doesn't want to admit it. He lost a lot of people in his life, and the sorcerer world is full of grief, but you walking out of his life is on a very different level.

The two of you met a couple of months back, you were a new addition to the sorcerer squad in Kyoto, but you requested a transfer to Tokyo after an incident with Principal Gakuganji, you nearly killed the old geezer after you found out that he wanted to have some cursed kid executed. Gojo thought the whole situation was hilarious and he waited curiously for your arrival. He didn't expect you to be so perfect. You were stunning, with a lovely personality. You were passionate, a strong-willed woman with insane abilities and a strong desire to reshape the jujutsu world. You and Gojo quickly became good friends, the two of you fit together like two puzzle pieces. He loved the way you acted with his students, you were easy-going and fun to be around, and you often radiated crackhead energy like Yuji did, the two of you were always up to no good. You often lent books to Megumi, and the raven-haired boy enjoyed talking to you about philosophy and other serious topics, Gojo noticed how the boy often decided to seek your advice in different situations. You also took Nobara shopping a lot and the two of you would often indulge in girly nights where you did your nails or hair and talked about makeup.

It didn't take long for Gojo Satoru to develop feelings for you. How could he not? You were everything the didn't know he needed. You were easy to talk to, you remembered everything he shared, and you kept checking up on him. The last person to ask him about his well-being was Geto and Satoru sometimes felt guilty for comparing you to his best friend, but he couldn't help it.

He asked you out after a few months of meeting you and for some reason, you accepted his advances. He was a great guy, caring and goofy, but he could also give amazing advice due to his many life experiences. It wasn't hard to fall for him and you didn't mind becoming his girlfriend.

"Pretty girl, you are the love of my life, you belong to me. The next time Sukuna makes an appearance and asks you to sit on his throne just tell me and I'll show him the ways of the Honored One." he said playfully one time after Yuji mentioned how the King of Curses had a crush on you.

"Satoru, sweetheart, jealousy is not your color."

"You wound me, my kikufuku. Just say you love me back, pleaseeeee." he whined, embracing you a bit too harshly and you rolled your eyes, amused by the white-haired sorcerer's antics.

"I love you, Satoru. You don't have to worry about anyone else, I'm here to stay."

So what went wrong?

Gojo knew he fucked up. He knew he was an open book and an enigma at the same time. There were things he willingly shared with you and there were some he kept a secret with all he had. He witnessed as the two of you started drifting apart slowly, his own secrets forcing you to start building a wall around yourself so that you could keep yourself safe, away from heartbreak. You could read people easily, especially when it came to Satoru. You didn't need to snoop around to know he wasn't completely honest with you, he kept his missions and anything related to them a secret, you never knew if you were gonna see him the next day or if he would be gone for a few days. It killed you to watch the person you loved the most keeping such important aspects of his life from you. In his defense, everything he did was to protect you from the horrifying truth of what his life actually was and the gloominess and grief he had to carry on his shoulders. He wanted to give you everything that was good and bright in this world, he didn't want you to feel bad ever again. He didn't realize how bad he was hurting you with his attitude.

When you broke things off with him your eyes were full of tears, the salty drops of water were racing down your cheeks and your voice was scratchy and broken. He never wanted to feel the way he did that day. He never felt so heartbroken, not even on the day of Suguru's death. He knew his best friend was a liability and that there was no way to save him, but your breakup was avoidable. He could have changed, he had many opportunities to be honest with you, but he kept his secrets. He could have spared your fragile heart from all the misery he brought upon you.

"Gojo, you have to wake up. I can't take on any more of your missions, they're getting out of hand." Nanami implored, as he stood at the foot of the white-haired sorcerer's bed. Satoru was hiding under a pile of blankets, one with cute Dalmatian puppies sitting on top. It was one he bought on a mission knowing that the animated movie 101 Dalmatians was your childhood favorite. You left it there on accident and for some reason, Gojo failed to put it away after your breakup.

"Okay, I'm up." he groaned, getting out of bed and walking into his closet to put on his uniform. Nanami observed his senpai, he looked... rough. The bounce was missing from his steps, his hair was messy, tangled into his blindfold and he didn't make any silly remarks towards the blonde since he arrived. The Strongest was truly heartbroken, no-one knew how to make him feel better.

"Fucking breakup." Satoru muttered as he kept punching the special-grade cursed spirit that he was ordered to exorcise upon his return to Jujutsu Tech. Apparently, beating the living shit out of ugly creatures was a great coping mechanism. "Fuck feelings! It doesn't matter how ugly you are, you'll never be as twisted of a curse as love." he said to his opponent, delivering the final blow. He observed as the curse disappeared, heavy breaths were leaving his chest and the bruises on his knuckles healed up in an instant.

"You told me love wasn't a curse after all." he instantly turned around upon hearing your soothing voice. He took in your appearance, you didn't look your best either. Your uniform was hanging looser from your body than before, your skin got paler and your eyes were red and puffy.

"Well, I don't know what to think anymore, because it sure as hell feels like you cursed me when you broke things off." he confesses sadly, his covered eyes glued to his shoes. He feels your energy getting closer to him and he contemplates whether he should stop you or not.

"Toru..."

"Please don't! You're gonna break my heart even more..."

You don't listen, stepping closer to him, touching his cheeks gently. He leans into your touch on instinct, enjoying the close proximity. He knows he'll hate himself later for letting it happen, but he needs this. He needs your touch, he needs to hear your voice, he needs to hear your heartbeat. He needs you.

You slowly lift his blindfold, the soft material feels damp and you instantly notice the salty tears running down his face. You pull him down a bit and you start kissing away the droplets racing down his cheeks. He can't help it, he embraces you, soft and silent sobs wreck through his lanky but muscular body.

"I'm so sorry, my kikufuku. I promise I will never keep anything hidden from you, not again. Just please, come back to me. I can't live without you. I love you, you're my sunshine, my source of happiness, the one that keeps me grounded. Please..."

"I love you too, 'Toru."

"You do?" he asks with hopeful eyes.

"Of course. This breakup was the most horrible thing I had to do, it was torture. I don't want to spend more time away from you…please forgive me, lover boy."

He slightly steps away, but he doesn't hesitate to cup your cheeks, pressing his soft, pink lips on yours. You feel his tears mixing with yours, but you longed for this feeling for weeks now, ever since you two broke up. Suddenly, it feels like a curse has been lifted, everything falls back into place, and Satoru thanks every single god there is that you're back in his arms.

[tuliptired]

Good Trouble on The Lake

Pairing: kid!Ray Stantz/kid!Egon Spengler

Summary: Ray Stantz was always great at making friends! So great, he got Egon Spengler out of his shell. Enough to almost die in the woods, anyway.

Sorry this one is kinda long 😣

read it on Ao3!

It’s a fairly uneventful afternoon in the Ghostbusters’ headquarters. Winston and Peter volunteered a supermarket run (dish soap, paper towels, miscellaneous snacks) in order to escape how slow the morning was, and somehow, someway, Raymond Stantz didn’t have a thing to do.

Miraculously, Egon Spengler was also overtaken by the monotony of the day, and by the grace of some god, was actually taking a break. For the first time in Ray’s life, he sits along as his friend studies a newspaper, rather than a manual. Ray can’t blame him, as he attempts to read a classic paranormal novel, though he’s really just rereading the same sentence and thinking of nothing while laying on the couch. 

“Ray,” Egon breaks the silence, tone as interested as the scientist can express, “it says here that they’re looking to close Camp Little Tupper.” Ray’s brows shoot up. He could almost laugh at hearing the abysmal name again, if it wasn’t under such sad circumstances.

“No way!” He moves to sit up, this news now much more interesting than his book. “Gosh, I can remember that place like it was yesterday. Swimming, building robots…”

“Mosquito bites, swirlies…”

“Stargazing! Math-a-tho-”

“Food poisoning. You almost killing me.”

Ray scoffs. “Not true at all! Those were just inconveniences. You turned out great, Eges.” Egon was technically right. He definitely could’ve died that day, but the memory brings an even bigger smile to Ray’s face, and by the look of Egon’s slightly elevated eyebrows, he was equally as bemused. “It was fun, huh?”

“I must concede, had I never gone, we may have never developed such a long term partnership.” Gee, Egon really knew how to misconstrue the word “friendship”.

“You’re very welcome! We’ve gotta go back before they shut the doors- we never found the Tupper Banshee.” Ray’s eyes nearly sparkle as he thinks about all the possibilities; studying such a solid entity, upgrading their tech, and revisiting old memories with an even older friend. Nothing sounds better on such a dull day, really. “Why’re they closing, anyway?” He adds curiously.

Egon’s eyes scan multiple paragraphs, multiple pages, but he can’t find an answer. “Nothing so far, but if anything I’d bet it would be the terrible environmental impact.” Ray just snorts, thinking back to everything that happened to him the second, and final, summer he spent there. 

It was a warm summer sometime in the 60s, and Ray’s parents had just dropped him off out of the city and into the woods for his second year at Camp Little Tupper. Though it was a combined science and athletics camp (he found this out his first day his year prior), he always felt very excited to indulge in the hobby he was passionate about. He was a bit of a camping connoisseur, much to his Mid-Western parents’ delight, after many years of camping out with them in almost any suitable woodland area accessible by car. He fondly remembers going back to Camp Wacanda every summer, but that was with family, it was time for him to be a little independent and freely geeky. 

So, he pleaded and begged his parents to enroll him , “ They do experiments! I’ll never mix stuff in the shed ever again!” , until they finally gave in to his sad eyes and relentless reminders. He loved his first year so much, though he had to share the space with some less-than-academic-types, and his parents were willing to see him off again if it meant he’d smile that long again. 

As he carried all his belongings through the woods, in a group of other boys around 11 and 12 like he was at the time, he felt unbelievably giddy at the sight of the cabin he’d already spent time in. They were let in, but upon his entry he frowned to see that almost every bed was taken, top bunk as well as bottom. He suddenly felt smaller, anxiety betraying the months worth of anticipation as he carried his backpack close to his chest, looking around for a free spot.

On the top bunk of a bed in the very back, a small boy sat cross legged, unpacked and already reading to escape the loud noises of his roommates. Ray’s excitement returned, and he didn’t question it as he approached him eagerly. The unknown boy had dark, curly hair, cut only a little from falling below his large ears, and a pretty untamable fringe. His glasses were thick, and almost comically big for his face, almost like his clothes- a short sleeve button up (pocket protector included! And Ray thought he was nerdy) tucked into khaki shorts. His face was unamused, but Ray was not deterred as he looked up at the kid. 

“Hi! I’m Raymond. But call me Ray.” He beams. The kid just stares down at him, then suddenly speaks, as if he forgot that introductions typically elicit responses. 

“Egon Spengler.” 

Ray can only chuckle, hanging off the other boy’s bunk with his forearms while his feet graze the ground. Maybe he was invading his space, but excitement will do that to you.  “That’s a funny name. But it’s ok. My grandma says a unique name means a unique person.” The boy stares at him for a second more, his eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly if you looked impossibly close enough. “Sure,” is all he responds with. 

Ray sheds his heavy bags on the bunk below him. “Is this your first time here? What made you wanna come? Not that you’re not welcome,” he unconsciously rambles as he digs into his cargo shorts for something he can’t yet find. 

The other boy, Egon, seems to have eased into conversation slightly more. “My parents thought I needed more enrichment. The Royal Society doesn’t take summer students, so our Rabbi suggested,” he looks over his glasses, nose scrunching ever so slightly as he takes in the cabin around him. It was undeniably full of bodies, and boys (regardless of social standing, nerd or jock) will continue to be chimps, tossing things around and roughhousing. “This place.”

Ray laughs at that. Egon disregards his book, as he notices Ray has no intention of staying quiet for too long. He’s still digging in his shorts, though. “I bet your siblings are green knowing you get to spend the summer in such a cool place,” he laughs to himself.

Egon’s brow quirks once, quickly. “I only have a twin. He’s in Yosemite, studying ecology under a ranger.” 

“Man. Guess you’re happy to be away from him.”

“I am incredibly jealous and I’d give anything to trade places.”

Ah. “Well, the black bears at Yosemite can’t have smores.”

Egon’s legs are draped over the edge of the bunk now. “No bear can have a smore. They don’t have thumbs.”

Ray’s taken to scouring through his backpack instead. Where did that thing sneak off to? “I only have a sister. But we live in a big house with our cousins! Aunts and uncles and lots of babies and a bigggggg St. Bernard.” Ray can’t help but feel a little homesick, even if his sister was happy to see him go. It was a house full of people who all loved each other, at the end of the day. 

“That sounds abysmal,” was all Ray heard as he finally, finally found what he was looking for. He pulls out 2 Now and Laters like they’re the holy grail- which, to 2 11-year-olds, they are. To this day, he swears he can see a twinkle behind his new friend’s eyes. Egon slips down from the bunk, oddly industrial boots hitting the wooden floor.

The boys are called outside to start the festivities. “My dad told me to share with a new friend,” he smiles gently as Egon silently unwraps the candy. “And if we’re friends, you hafta help me take apart some smoke detectors.” Egon had no protests.

This was the start of their “partnership”. Life at camp was everything a nerdy kid could dream of, on a fairly low budget. Life and potential surrounded them, afterall. Of course, they were mandated at least one session of physical activity, much to Egon’s dismay. They were only excused when Egon threw up on the sidelines of a flag football game, and Ray joined him because “it gave them more time to finish Dune”. Though, he always snuck off to join baseball games, and Egon just filled him in on what Paul did before bed.

Once, at lunch, Ray couldn’t help but stare at his friend. In the past few weeks, it was like his hair grew this way overnight. Instead of being cut before it could touch his neck, it was round and untamable and long, his ears full on disappearing and his fringe touching his glasses. Of course, many boys grew their hair out while they were away-there was a barber readily available, but he cut way too close to the head so many just bore with the added weight. But a style of these proportions? Uncharacteristic and NOT Egon. But, to be scared of a haircut? Very Egon.

“Hey, Egon,” he starts. He picks off the lettuce and tomato from his sandwich, passing them to the boy on his side, whose nose is in a book as he adds the vegetables to his own and passes the meat and cheese to Ray in return. “Are you too scared to get your haircut?” He asks, in the middle of a bite.

Egon bookmarks the page. “Not necessarily. This is my own personal rebellion- my mother sent me away to a summer camp, I’m trying to test the extent of her anger if I come back-”

“Looking like curly Led Zeppelin?”

“...yes.”

“D’you think she’ll be mad? Like, spanking mad?”

Egon sighs slightly. “Enough to drive her to spit. I’m terrified.”

Ray touches his friend’s shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, it’s an experiment! She’ll get over it.”

Egon doesn’t say anything. He opens his book again, thinking over the new perspective.

Activities in camp were fun. But the two boys found themselves criminally bored. So they made a few adjustments to the experiments. It started small, no one knew it was them; a few cleaning products taken from the supply closets, of course they don’t know who’s baking soda volcano melted a hole into the metal table. The nails holding the swings together suddenly missing as the pair coincidentally had the material to make copper wiring.

But they got ambitious, and a little sloppy. It was dark out, while every other camper was by the lake, Egon and Ray opting to take care of the wild platypus they’d let into their living space. She resisted eating the leftover snacks and sleeping soundly in the crafty pile of blankets Ray left under his bed, him and Egon huddled in fear on Egon’s bed as their new pet ravaged the cabin. Just then, the door handle clicked open.

Ray grumbled as they were locked inside, forced to clean up the items desecrated by the animal he thought was his friend. Beside him, almost straining to hear, he heard a small sniffle.

Egon was facing away from him, fistfuls of pillow stuffing trembling ever so slightly. Ray frowned. Egon never cried, not even when their kayak drifted out from the other boys’, and they were floating away. With no food. As it rained. In mosquito breeding territory. While Egon was in day clothes because he was terrified of water and refused to swim. He made a resolve.

“Don’t cry, Eges! It’s like you’ve never been hollered at before,” he tried joking to alleviate the mood. Egon only turned to look over his shoulder, his face chagrin and his eyes just barely glossy, lips threatening to break out in sobs had he had a little less pride. 

“Hey.” Ray slid into a spot on the scratched up, dusty floor next to him. “You wanna know what the ladies in my family say?” He can remember his mother repeating these words when he would cry for minutes on end over small things, like when Bambi was all alone in the forest, or his sister was out on his bike without asking. Egon didn’t say anything, but kept on peering at Ray through the gap between his frames, a sign to keep talking.

“They all say: ‘Raymond, did anyone die? Is anyone hurt? Will the sun come up tomorrow?” Egon looks at him incredulously, unamused by the teachings of Heartland mothers. Ray keeps going.

“Egon, did anyone die?” 

“Egon, was anyone hurt?”

“The camp ranger when Maria Skłodowska-Curie scratched him.”

“Egon, will the sun come up tomorrow?” No tangible response.

Ray unconsciously moves a little closer, scraped and dirty knee brushing Egon’s slightly cleaner one. Egon would be damned if he didn’t notice, but what to make of it was hard. Ray was always moving, like a motor that never knew when it ran out of gas. It was different from other boys their age, he wasn’t ever trying to fulfill the societal pressure to be physical, or whatever the reason young boys felt the need to wrestle or hit or roughhouse. It was almost like he was…searching for stimuli. Egon actively avoided it, he knew what limited things he enjoyed and he stuck to those things. But being here, with Ray, challenged him. He was a constant, but a chaotic one. Egon was puzzled, and whether his face grew warm because of these discoveries, coming down from almost crying, or an unknown 3rd thing, he couldn’t deduce.

“My mom says there’s bad trouble. That’s stuff you can’t fix easy, like hurt feelings or broken windows.” Ray tries as hard to be as smart as his mom, as insightful. As open and caring. Egon sees it, and he’s never met the woman.

‘But there’s good trouble too,” Ray grins, sickening optimism breaking through again. “Scientists make good trouble. It’s stuff that works out. Like making a mess when you make the girl down the street cookies.” Egon lets out an amused puff of air through his nose.

“Or,” Ray interjects, scared of alienating his friend with the analogy for whatever reason, “growing your hair out despite your mom not wanting you to.” His smile was knowing as he dipped his head into Egon’s space. He quickly sat up a little straighter.  “Because- uh, it looks nice! I wish my hair was curly like that, my sister says I’ll be bald by 20. Not that bald isn't cool! Sigmund Freud was bald…A lot of…Jewish guys…are bald…” He almost whispered, his mouth snapping shut. Raymond Stantz never whispered, maybe a stage whisper if the situation was dire. He toyed with the sand in between floorboards, head down.

Egon could only breathe out a laugh, shaking his head slightly as he stuffed a ruined pillowcase into a trash bag. “Good trouble.”

He doesn’t feel 12 right now. And he’s sure Ray doesn’t either.

So days of good trouble followed them, and in turn they spent most of their time “grounded”, locked in their bunk for entire days while their cabin mates were free. The first day was a little rough, Ray watched on as his friends excavated fake Egyptian artifacts, hands on the glass almost comically as Egon sat, reading. They both agreed their jailing was uncalled for, and that some teenagers couldn’t really “ground them”, so with Egon sputtering under Ray’s 12 year old weight, they clammored out the bathroom window and into the woods. 

They were able to conduct their experiments, test any hypothesis that arises, away from everyone else. They searched for ancient ruins, tried carbon dating rocks (to no avail) and built god knows what out of any metal and scrap they could find. They were back every night, findings scrawled in a notebook and supplies haphazardly tucked under Ray’s bunk. 

This wasn’t a foolproof way of operating, and they would get caught with a soldering iron or thermos of motor oil every now and then, and then days stuck in the cabin became more and more common. For whatever reason, no counselor thought to lock the windows.

Miraculously, they had streaks of good behavior. And they were allowed to sit at campfires with the other boys, though they were stared like criminals until the stories at hand caught campwide attention.

A counselor leaned in close to the fire, fingers wiggling and voice dark as he recalled the stories of spirits trapped in bathrooms, eternally tethered to the lake. The other boys refused to believe him, partly because all the ghosts he spoke of were girls, partly because “ghosts weren’t science”. Both Ray and Egon went back to their cabin early, and silently, smores in hand.

Egon sat on his bed, as always, reading a book, but not the same, thick one with worn pages Ray had gotten used to seeing but never asking about. His head appears in the corner of Egon’s vision, climbing onto his bunk. He simply moves his legs to make room, finding himself not minding how his blanket will wrinkle and smell like Ray.

“I have to tell you something.”

Egon blinks once, eyes widening. He sighs, reaching behind his pillow for a pen and notepad. “This was bound to happen eventually. When did it start?”

“A few years ago, why?”

Egon blinked again, discarding the notes. “We’re thinking of different things.”

“I’m talking about…me believing in ghosts!” He lets it spill out like a rotten secret. He can tell that such a smart guy like Egon would just laugh in his face at the thought, but he can’t hold it in anymore. Ghosts were his thing! They’ve been his thing forever- supplied by an endless trove of paranormal books at his disposal at the bookstore his mother worked at, and summers spent in the deep history of the semi-rural United States. He was 100% a believer, from the dead opossum his neighbor is convinced haunts her basement to ancient demons to aliens watching over him every night. Ghosts, and how to see them, were always running through his mind. It was why he wanted to pursue science, not just because machines were his first love, but because with every discovery he poured over he was closer to making contact.

“Do you…think they’re real?” Ray’s heart beat in his ears, his friend’s expression unreadable.

“Duh.”

Ray could hit the ceiling then and there. His nervousness dissipated as he smiled, hard, probably the hardest he had smiled since June, not when he got an old microscope to work with Egon’s help or he found a way to get steady radio signals, but now. He lept of the bed with fervor, so much so that Egon scrambled after him for fear of his knees buckling. Unscathed, he ducked under his bunk and felt around for something. He emerged with a large, worn out pillow case.

Dumping its contents onto the ground, they tons of were old paranormal journals, ghost stories, photo albums. Egon wondered if this was what Christmas felt like. Breaking out of his stupor, he found his bag tucked neatly in a hidden corner, and took out 3 books. Each had a library sticker, a testament to how little freedom he had to indulge in his interests.

“Part of the reason I came here was to test its psychokinetic energy,” He explained, “my parents would eviscerate me if they found out.”

Ray could jump for joy right then and there. For seemed like hours, probably 30 minutes, they indulged themselves in stories, theories, methods. For once, despite his easily made friends and large family, Ray felt seen on a new (and intellectual) level. For once, in light of his quiet life and authoritative family, Egon felt like fate, and being destined to meet someone, was real.

They ended up sprawled out on the floor, books open around them, plans for this machine and that computer drawn out. “Have you read about the Banshee of Tupper Lake?” He offered suspensefully. Egon didn’t speak his answer, his eyes conveying his interest as he turned his head to his friend.

Ray lifted his hands in the air, almost painting the story he’d read in “Old Tales of Old Spooks in The NorthEast”. “In 1872, peak ghost season, there was a town out here, on the very soil we’re sleeping on! It was sizable, a few hundred, but they were all mormons. I know! Mormons, all the way in New York? Anyway, it’s said they’re only here because someone, or some thing chased them out of Pennsylvania. In the summer of 72, 1872 that is, women were going mad. Running into the lake, screaming mad. The town became mostly men, and they had no choice to marry what girls were left. One night, during the world’s awkwardest wedding, one of the mad women named Mary Crocket rose out the water, rotted body and all, proclaiming that the next man to marry off a little girl was gonna turn up drowned the next day.”

Egon stared at the ceiling, as if Ray’s words were projecting the very moment above the pair. He turned back. “Fascinating. And progressive for Victorian era Mormons.”

No words were passed between them for what felt like forever.

“We gotta see her”

“Absolutely.”

That was easier said than done, as they waited weeks for the right time. They conducted smaller experiments, like testing each other every day for psychic powers, though their results were never favorable. Ray noted that he would need to find…maybe a tarot reader or a really skilled psychologist to help with this part of their study. They tried communicating with the 50 year old statue that greeted campers on their way in, but they never got a response. Ray tinkered with Egon’s fairly primitive PKE meter fashioned out an old radio, and promised that if he ever wanted to visit his house when summer ended, he’d get him the proper electronic additions for a proper reading. In the process, they were “grounded” more days out of the week than otherwise.

One morning, the day Ray proposed would have the best conditions (humidity, camp taking a hike all the way down the opposite side of the lake, insect activity), the boys sat on, watching everyone else prepare for their trek. 

“You delinquents better enjoy yourselves here, and think long and hard about what you’ve done. Joey, grab your bug spray.” Ray didn’t think he was deserving of being talked down to by a 16 year old with red hair, tube socks, and braces, but there he was. 

The cabin cleared out, and as soon as they disappeared on the horizon, Ray jumped up, grabbing his emergency camera (which he borrowed without telling his mom) and his bag, full of everything they’d need. He offered Egon his rain boots and coat, but he was proud to turn around and see his friend was already well equipped. Crossing along the bank of the river, Ray proposes it would be easier to find her place of death if they went through a shortcut in the trees, and as he started to disappear in the flora, Egon didn’t have much of a chance to protest.

Not only was it humid, but it was hot. Peak heat in the last few weeks of August beat down onto Egon’s head, and he was reconsidering having grown his thick hair out this much as it felt like a weight rather than an act of autonomy. Mosquitos and sharp, untamed grass grazed his ankles like barbs, and he sweat profusely under his raincoat. This was the price of science, however, what if she wanted them to follow her into the lake? He wouldn’t do it, but he wasn’t messing up a good shirt. Ray, somehow, didn’t complain once, though sweat and condensation was visible on his skin as he panted, still smiling.

Ray stopped, and Egon followed suit as he looked around. Ray didn’t say anything as he pulled out his copy of “Old Tales” for cross referencing, and Egon took the opportunity to relax. He bent over a bit, catching his breath, until he felt something brush his cheek. Unmoving, he could hear the buzz of a bee, and suddenly, the pinch and surge of venom.

“Raymond”

“Huh?”

“Reach in my bag and grab my epipen.” Egon eased himself to the ground, staying calm.

Ray’s eyes widen as big as saucers. “You got stung?” He asks, a fairly dumb question, as he drops his book.

“Grab my epipen.”

“Oh, oh geez. You’re not gonna die , right Eges?” Ray stutters, wringing his hands. Oh god, his face was turning red.

“Not if you get my epipen.”

“You're…gonna die…” Ray teared up at the thought, before full on weeping. 

“RAY! Get my epipen.” Egon could feel his eyes swelling shut. It was a little harder to breathe as he panicked himself.

“And…you’ll never get to see my radium collection or my dog…” He blubbered into his hands.

“PUT THE NEEDLE IN MY LEG!” 

Ray shuffled over at the worst time to be shuffling, digging into his friend's bag and pulling out things that were clearly not an epipen. “Is this it?” He sniffled, words barely intelligible as he held up a regular, ballpoint pen.

‘It’s an orange box with the words ‘Epipen’.” Ray recovered it, hands shaking. 

“Take it out, pull the cap off..” Ray’s face was wet with tears and snot.

“Stab it into my leg. Fast.” Egon took in a hiss of air as he braced for a pain that would never come.

Ray’s pupils shrunk. He wailed, leaning against Egon’s slowly asphyxiating and swollen body, going on about having to hurt him and losing his best friend. It would’ve touched Egon, if he still had the ability to see and feel his tongue. He wouldn’t mind dying here, if it was next to Ray- at least there was a chance of haunting the boy until he went insane. He could visit Einstein, compare notes. Tea with Louis Pasteur ought to be interesting.

His thoughts of passing on, unlike Ray’s crying, ceased as he heard many different footsteps approaching, and commotion as his leg was punctured by the anti-venom.

Their time at camp was, to say the least, cut short. Egon spent 2 days in hospital to monitor his reaction. His parents were silent the entire visit, not commenting on his hair or the fact he was ghosthunting when he almost died. To make things worse, his father smiled when addressed by a nurse. He knew he was in for it when he was discharged. Maybe a year of cleaning the chimney? Swimming lessons? He shuddered at the thought.

All wasn’t lost, surprisingly. Ray’s parents apologized about 100 times to the Spenglers, promising that “Ray was a smart boy who makes dumb decisions” and “he gets it from his father’s side” . He felt oddly at ease at seeing Mrs. Stantz, a strong-looking, full figured woman with short blond hair, green eyes, and wrinkles around her red lipstick and warm eyes from smiling, grabbing his hand and doting on him more than his nurses. Mr. Stantz was tall, and had a short beard, hair slightly red, and looked just as strong as his wife, eyes equally as kind as voice as boisterous, as Egon always thought a dad should be. He felt safe when the man asked him “how ya holdin’ up, buddy?” Hm. Many developments to be taken away here.

To his displeasure, he got the least amount of time with Ray. He was hidden behind his mother’s back in guilt, until he worked up the courage to apologize, taking to crying again as he threw himself onto Egon in a tight hug. 

He blinks a few times as the boy tears stain the collar of his hospital gown. “Ray, did anyone die?” Ray weakly laughed against his friend.

They spent the rest of their time going over the piles of research they conducted, mishap not taking away their zeal to study their shared field of interest. Ray had even brought his own copy of “Tobin’s Spirit Guide”, gifting it to Egon because he knew his borrowed books would have to be relinquished soon. He even traded addresses, so they could continue to write. Soon enough, hospital staff were ushering them out, but not before the Stantz family left behind gifts of pie, bean chili, fried chicken, cinnamon rolls, and even more pie. Egon waited until his parents were gone before he ravished the containers.

Upon their return home, both boys were justly punished. Egon’s worst nightmares got even more hellish- he was put into dance classes. Ray was kicked out the camp for life as if he’d lose sleep over it past age 14 (he lost an hour or two every few months) and he took up doing every family member’s chores until his parents thought he’d learned a lesson. It got better though, especially when letters with Einstein stamps appeared in his mail. He tried to continue fulfilling his need to be outdoors by signing up for boy scouts, “there is absolutely no way anyone can get hurt here, mom” and wrote to Egon urging him to join as well, only getting a full sheet of paper with the word “No.” His loss, he lost 5 cents. Ray was kicked out in the winter for, again, stealing smoke alarms from his scout leader’s house and taking their Americium.

“I found it, Ray,” Egon tilts the paper in his friend’s direction. 

“Alleged ghost sightings along the lakeshore.” The alarm goes off just then, as Janine leans over the staircase to fill them in. 

“Some camp up North saw a lady crawling out the lake.”

[vipsonly]

Venus moves into Scorpio.

In Vedic Astrology, Venus just moved into Scorpio! Now is a time of deep passionate love. Although it may not always be said, it is constantly felt. It is unconditional love OR can be extremely toxic and terrible. Remember: If it hurts, it isn't love. Check below to know how it effects you individually.

Venus transits 1h / Scorpio Ascendant

You are entering a time of feeling good about yourself and the way you look. You also are feeling really good about who you are. Many people are taking notice of your attributes and you may receives lots of compliments. People are highly attracted to you during this time and may flirt with you. Old friends reach out and want to make plans. Distant friends contact you more to create deeper bonds. Love is coming in! Abundance comes in from your outer world.

Venus transits 2h / Libra Ascendant

Money and financial abundance is coming you. You are feeling secure financially and in concern to material possessions. This is a good time to acknowledge how you feel emotionally and if you're secure in that area. How do you feel about yourself? Where do you feel insecure? You are going to be working hard diligently and silently. You're making big moves.

Venus transits 3h / Virgo Ascendant

You are getting more involved in your community! Maybe you are helping out neighbors, or maybe you're taking on a position in your local organization. Or maybe you're just hanging out with your siblings more. Now is a good time for short travels and quick trips, be spontaneous. Also be open to communications and confessions of love... <3

Venus transits 4h / Leo Ascendant

Happiness and love in your family and home life. Your mother or other maternal figure may be going through a great period right now that is attributing to your good feelings. It's possible there's some sort of fertility in the family, but that's only for some. You may spend more time at home right now, it's okay to relax. You're eating more and drinking more. Indulge in the finer things in life!

Venus transits 5h / Cancer Ascendant

Possible new love interests coming in! If in a committed relationship then look out for some romantic gestures <3. You may be indulging in different forms of entertainment like films, movies, videos, songs, plays, music, etc. Enjoy it, follow your curiosity.

Venus transits 6h / Gemini Ascendant

You are developing new routines! Everyday was getting boring so you're switching it up a bit to create a more comfortable routine. The way you were living before just wasn't realistic or sustainable. Also you may be getting a new pet or pet-sitting during this time :)

Venus transits 7h / Taurus Ascendant

Watch out! Love is in the air! Love from the past may return, new love may be found, or seeds may be planted for a later love. Beware of triggers and past emotions resurfacing. It's likely to happen. Take a deep breath in and out. Instead of worrying about if they like you, ask yourself if you even like them. Get to know them. If you are in a committed relationship, it is becoming deeper. Superficiality is being cut out OR the surface/tip of the iceberg is being embraced. With Scorpio it's all or nothing. Your connections are about to be boring as hell or completely alter the course of your life.

Venus transits 8h / Aries Ascendant

You are changing habits and going through a transformation. You are asking yourself: How can I nurture myself more? You are giving yourself more life and more love. This is a beautiful energy actually! You may lose some relations and reconsider the way you feel about people in your life. Embrace the change you're going through. Embrace this mini-death. It'll be okay, you've been through more.

Venus transits 9h / Pisces Ascendant

Your curiosity is guiding you! You may be studying something right now. Maybe this is formally through schooling or just on your own time. You're investigating and further discovering. This is also higher knowledge so you may be learning more about religion or spirituality. You are feeling good and taking a light journey. You are aware that there is no rush and you're eager to be a student of life.

Venus transits 10h / Aquarius Ascendant

This is an amazing time for your career! You're making huge moves and it'll pay off! You may get a new job, a new promotion, or some sort of new opportunity. If you have interviews scheduled, trust they'll go well! Embrace opportunities that come your way! This is a great time to expand your public image :)

Venus transits 11h / Capricorn Ascendant

You are deepening your connections with your community, organizations, and friends! You are also further deepening your vision of the future. Where you see yourself in 5 years? What's your plan for next year to work toward that vision? Your friends are supporting you right now and your aspirations. Dream big, imagine reaching your highest potential!

Venus transits 12h / Sagittarius Ascendant

Past loves and connections may resurface. They may pop up in the 3D-Physically OR they may haunt you mentally. Now is a time to do shadow work and ground yourself. You will feel really good some times but awful other times. This is going to be a hard but extremely healing time. If you hold a lot of grief in your heart this is going to be painful. Now is a time to feel, release, then heal. Come to terms with who you have let go, who has walked away from you, and who has made you angry or hurt you. Acknowledge all the feelings you hold and forgive yourself too. Take time everyday to silence your mind and tune into the knowledge within.

[vesselandmoon]

XX -  The Way That You Were

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Sleep Token fanfiction exploring lore and a few things between. I will TW scenes/chapters as needed, if I miss something please DM me.

Please be aware that this story is 18+

CW: Minor implications of past suicide attempt

Previous Chapter - XIX- Space Between Pt. 12 - Sigils

Word count: 1654

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Whisper spoke with passion in a way Vessel had not experienced with her.

She looked as she did in the bathroom mirror the night he and Sleep had destroyed her. The flashes of human, of flesh and bone, but her expressions were happy, full of life and devoid of the pain he had caused. No blood, no tears.

A flush in her cheeks. A light in her eyes. She gestured with delicate hands as she spoke of alchemy and the mysteries of old sciences. Ancient landmarks, connections and puzzles and the missing pieces of those puzzles. Vessel was amused. She’d never spoken to him of these things before and yet the moment felt oddly familiar. Like a memory of a long-forgotten dream. Faceless forms surrounded her, friends he presumed but there was something strange about this scene.

Vessel had been here before.

Whisper’s words were his own. This wasn’t déjà vu but a true memory.

Someone changed the subject and Whisper paused, a smile still on her face as confusion pricked the surface of her mind. The others followed the new line of thought, laughing and joking as Whisper’s shoulders slowly sank, her smile less genuine. She laughed with them. Put in a word here and there but all that passion was gone. She twisted a lock of dark hair around her finger as she stared into the depths of a cup of coffee.

Sounds beyond the conversation trickled to Vessel’s ears and the scene expanded.

He was in a small café down the street from where one of his friends once lived. This happened years ago but instead of Whisper, that had been him sitting there. That was one of the moments in which he had begun to realize he had to temper himself for others. That he had begun to pull away from them and no one noticed.

Was this a dream? It blurred along the edges in a way that Sleep’s realm never did. Words on menus were jumbled or missing and people had no faces other than Whisper. There were no scents like in the dream world. He was surrounded by people indulging in coffee, tea, sweet pastries, and still there was nothing.

When Whisper stood to leave, Vessel mouthed the words of the excuse he had used to escape that situation.

“I’m meeting a friend for a movie.” An easy lie. He met with no one.

Whisper walked through him as though he were the ghost, the shadow in the hallway, and he turned to follow her. He couldn’t remember what he had done that night only that he had felt defeated. Broken.

Her boots on the sidewalk became his focus, as if the rest of this world was too much of a blur and though he did not move his own feet, he was pulled along behind her. Suddenly there was stone beneath them and the flickering of candles.

Yes, the cathedral. Rows of pews with lifeless forms sitting scattered in silence. No, not silence. Quiet whispered prayers drifted in and out of his awareness as she approached the altar. For a time she stared up at the crucifix and he came to stand beside her. Was this the same night? He couldn’t recall. She was paler than before. The flush gone from her cheeks. She seemed… thinner. Wasting away.

Had he been through such a change back then? He touched his cheek. Surely he’d seen himself in the mirror. Seen himself withering.

There was a time in his youth when he had seen an old friend struggle. He could recall the conversation in detail. His friend stared into nothing, smoking his cigarette and Vessel had asked what was wrong.

“I’m just tired,” his friend had said and with good intention and innocence, Vessel had told him to rest. To sleep.

The friend smiled and said he wished it was that easy.

Vessel hadn’t understood what his friend meant then, but the years following had shifted his mindset entirely and though that friend had succumbed to his exhaustion, Vessel always remembered the conversation. Almost obsessively ruminated on it at times. What he might have said differently had he known.

When Vessel felt himself drifting, he’d been upset with his friends for not noticing his decline but Vessel himself ignored the more dangerous signs for far too long. Besides, he was guilty of the same. He noticed that one friend’s struggle and yet he said nothing. Didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to help. Sometimes he wondered if he could have saved him or if… or if it would have happened despite any effort he might have taken. Was it inevitable?

Vessel could see that same tired expression in Whisper’s gaze.

He blinked and suddenly they were in his old flat. She lay naked on the floor of his bedroom, the light from the window crossing her pale form but cutting off at her collarbones. He remembered this and yet Whisper was different. Her body bore not only the scar on her side from when he had stabbed her, but his own scars from years accepting a blade as comfort. For a split second he thought she was dead lying there, but she began to hum a little to herself and he exhaled.

Yes, he had gotten close that night. How much time had passed between the first scene and this? The calendar beside the bed was a jumble of numbers and symbols.

Strange, he felt no emotion at these visions. Nor did he remember humming. He did, however, have a moment when he felt oddly calm. Not rested, but no longer on the brink. Had that been Whisper? If she was him, she was always a part of him. Was she the one who brought him comfort that night as some internal peace?

He blinked again and he saw his own body laying there and Whisper as a ghost beside him, humming softly and touching his hair.

Over and over he saw these visions, heard familiar voices, remembered discouraging words. All the things that made him lock away pieces of himself until all that remained was the man that currently existed. That time before. The passion he felt. The joy and innocence. The way she was in the beginning when he had smiled at her excitement… that was what he missed. The way they were. The way he was.

His Eden. A time in an easier world when the weight of existence hadn’t yet buried him.

How had he missed the warning signs? He blinked and was in his own flat, in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

Vessel inhaled deeply and realized he was awake.

Down the hall he could see the flickering of the television and he slowly eased out of bed. Whisper didn’t notice him watching but she stared at the screen, unmoving. She was as he knew her. A shadow. Not the humanlike woman in his dream. The clock on the wall spun constantly and faster than it should. Was he still dreaming? Light passed the window, birds chirped at an accelerated rate, then it was dark again and the cycle continued. The images on the screen flashed by so fast he couldn’t tell what they were, and she remained still. Silent. Unblinking.

Days passed in a matter of seconds and without realizing at first there was no sound, he startled at his own voice repeating all the things he had said to her.

“Are you a demon?”

“All I can see is your smile and your pupils and that's spooky as hell.”

"You can help by going away."

Her body began to take form. Instead of swirling shadow she became solid. Her skin dark and hard like stone. Still she remained.

"Leave me alone, Whisper."

"Fuck off. You don't feel anything."

“Wear my mask.”

Not just his words but his thoughts toward also became audible. Every time he’d yelled at her, been rude or sarcastic. The times he was disgusted at her form or annoyed at her very existence. These things swirled in the air and she began to crumble. She fell away as if she were made of ash. There was no screaming. No pleading for him to stop. There was no blood to stain his hands, she simply faded away without a trace.

Vessel woke gasping for breath. Sweat beaded his forehead.

“Whisper?” he peered over the edge of the bed to see her sleeping on the floor nearby.

She was still in his clothes and was curled up tight like a cat. Was this guilt he felt toward her?

Whisper didn’t stir as he rose from bed and approached. He could hear her gentle breathing but when he knelt to lift her, his arms moved through her, pulling the clothing into distorted shapes as they were forced through her body. He collected them up into his arms, the chill of her body lingering on the fabric like the cool side of the pillow.

He sat beside her instead, trying to figure out if the dream was from Sleep, or from his own subconscious. It had to have been him. Right? Sleep’s dream world was beautifully detailed and complete at all times. What he had experienced was flawed and strange. He’d been so cruel to Whisper and for what?

“No,” he huffed and stood, unwilling to allow his heart to soften toward her.

Sleep warned him. Told him that a person’s shadow was like a demon trying to separate man from their gods. If he was to remain loyal, to give himself entirely, he’d have to shield his heart and mind against the being that sought to rip him from his devotion.

He went to the living room, wanting distance between himself and the creature on his bedroom floor. Heaviness settled into his chest. He’d feel better once he was in Sleep’s arms. An offering had to be made.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Chapter 7- Clandestine

Guys. I am not being dramatic when I say that I suffered from so much Writer's Block during this chapter. I know it's not amazing, but that this point I just needed to put something out there. Please please leave notes and comments and kudos, I need encouragement. CW: Walburga is in this one, guys. Nuff said? If not, transphobia, dysphoria, child abuse, unsafe binding, misgendering, deadnaming, all of those things.

The dream was always the same, now. His mother and father, backing him into a corner, wands raised, jeering at him.

Screaming his old name.

Repeating insults and promising horrible things, choking him with frills and lace.

He would always wake with a scream.

Barty and Evan swore he was cracking with the pressure of exams. Barty suggested drugs. Regulus chucked pillows at him.

-

“We have a plan, Reg,” Sirius reassured him one warm day in May.

It was true. They had a plan. That was all Regulus could remind himself as the days continued to warm.

A month at home. Then, he was to go to Dorcas’s and Sirius was to go to the Potters’.

A month. He could do that. He’d done it before. He had Sirius.

“I still don’t understand why Mother and Father agreed to my going to Cas’s house at all,” Regulus murmured back, not meeting Sirius’s concerned eyes.

That was how Sirius usually looked at him now- with worry and concern. He hated making Sirius worry, hated making anyone worry, but It didn’t help that he was a mess, with deep circles under his eyes and constantly wincing when he moved because of how tight he kept the bandages.

Sirius suggested, once, that he loosen them, but he refused. He hated the feeling of being without them. The nausea. The cold chills. And they kept him grounded, somehow. A reminder that he could fight against his body. Even though he felt, some days, like he was losing. Losing against everything, really.

“I…I think they’re just thankful that you want to be friends with a girl,” Sirius suggested gently.

Regulus mulled that over. He’d always rejected associating with girls, always pushed so much to not be grouped with his girl cousins, that his parents were probably rejoicing at the idea of him spending time with a pureblood girl. As if maybe Dorcas would have a good influence on him.

“Well, if they think she’ll make me more girly, they have another thing coming,” Regulus chuckled humorlessly. Dorcas was fierce and passionate and intelligent and relentless and bold. But she rejected bows and dresses almost as much as Regulus did.

“Yes, but they don’t have to know that,” Sirius grinned, knocking Regulus with his shoulder.

-

It was strange, how the days seemed to pass faster and faster as it got warmer. It was as if they were trying to run away, like they knew Regulus was grasping to them for dear life, and they would do anything to escape his hold.

The idea that he would only have to be home for a month sustained him. It kept him from completely freaking out. He felt the panic underneath his very skin, but he didn't let it break free.

Admittedly, he got sick of the way Sirius and his friends kept looking at him- like he was going to burst into tears or have some sort of fit. It made it worse. Like they thought he was fragile. Girls were fragile. He was not. He was...he could be...strong. He didn't want to worry anyone.

He was terrified, too, that if he became a burden, people would be less likely to indulge him. That they would see him as an inconvenience and stop helping him.

That was the only problem with the happiness that came with being who he was. He was petrified to lose it. And he needed people's help, at least for now, to continue.

He hated needing them, but he did need them. He needed Sirius's old uniforms and Pandora's biology know-how and Dorcas's haircutting charms. He needed them to call him but his name and remind him he wasn't crazy.

So he held the nerves and emotions inside, fearful of being too much, and reminded himself over and over again.

Only a month. Only a month.

-

His parents still had no idea he was called "Regulus" at school- that he was in the boys' dorms and was accepted as a boy there. He'd managed to hide his original letter from Hogwarts. So, he and Sirius decided he would avoid leaving the train for as long as possible when they arrived. That would stop anyone from referring to him as “Regulus” in front of his parents, and stop his parents from using his old name in front of his friends.

So as the train squealed to a stop and students piled out, he sat in the window, watching those he knew reunite with their families.

Dorcas ran to her exhausted-looking grandparents and hugged them eagerly, allowing her siblings to surround her and embrace her as well. She looked so thrilled, so relieved to see her family. The children were dressed in threadbare clothing but they still looked happy. Their smiles and rosy cheeks somehow made up for their mismatched outfits and array of obvious hand-me-downs.

In stark contrast, across the platform, Barty walked up to a very smartly-dressed man. It was clear this man had money- the way he held himself just oozed affluence. The man, Barty’s father, looked down on him with obvious distaste, gesturing towards Barty’s Slytherin tie. Regulus inhaled a bit as Barty visibly deflated, shrugging and making some sort of halfhearted comment back, only for the man to turn quickly and lead his son from the station. Anger riled a bit in Regulus’s stomach.

He then spotted Evan and Pandora walking slowly and waving goodbye to friends and towards Regulus on the train, looking around for their parents. Regulus realized only a moment after Evan and Pandora, themselves, that their parents weren’t there. His chest constricted as he saw a very meek-looking house elf walk towards them. They exchanged a glance before walking toward the elf, who they seemed to recognize, and the three of them walked towards the Floo connection in the back of the station wordlessly.

As they disappeared, Regulus took a moment to control his fury. Their parents didn’t even come for them. As they returned from their first year of Hogwarts. They sent the house elf. He wanted to punch the wall. He realized with a pang that he wasn't the only one of his friends who was in for a difficult summer.

In an effort to distract himself from this thought, he turned his head to watch someone else. Anyone else. And of course, his eyes found James Potter. They did that a lot.

He was walking toward a tall, handsome man with dark hair and glasses, who was grinning from ear to ear; and a shorter, chubby woman with tan skin and kind eyes, whose hair reached all the way down her back.

It was clear, very quickly, that the man and woman were Potter’s parents. Their features, their warmth, their laughter…even if they weren’t both hugging Potter, it would have been easy to see.

And then Sirius approached, waving a bit hesitantly. And in one fell swoop, the woman pulled Sirius in her arms, making him grin and blush a bit, as the four of them began talking quickly to each other.

And Regulus felt the insane urge to join them. To place himself in the middle of their four-way embrace and just drink in the obvious warmth there.

He felt the slightest tinge of jealousy seep through his body as he watched Sirius so easily meld into their little family, so easily receive love.

While he waited on the train alone.

-

“How was your first year, Regina? I trust you did well?”

The question at dinner that night hit him hard, the name stabbing white-hot, even more than usual after not having heard it for a year. He resisted the urge to upend the table.

What should he say?

“Regulus is top in his class, Mother,” came Sirius’s cold-but-proud voice from across the table.

Regulus fought back the urge to smile at Sirius’s pride. It was true. He’d aced every single one of his final exams.

But there was a beat of silence as it seemed Mother and Father were trying to decide how to react to Sirius’s statement.

Finally, Mother said, in a voice filled with cold fury, “Regulus?”

It was clear what she meant. She did not mean to address him. She meant to ask what Sirius meant by the name. Why he was still using it.

And suddenly, Regulus felt as if he was at a crossroads. He could submit to his parents for the summer, like he had been terrified to do. Play their games, allow them to scare him and control him. Or…

He looked at Sirius, who was looking back at him, that same sympathetic expression on his face. And all at once, he felt a stab of anger and bravery strike him.

He pasted an angelic smile on his face. “Yes, mother?” he asked politely, as if responding to his name being called.

Sirius’s mouth popped open and he grinned.

Regulus felt a moment of triumph and pride.

But then both he and Sirius yelled out at once, an invisible spell striking them both in the face.

“Do not use that name in my house,” Mother growled, chin raised and eyes flashing. "And if you dare embarrass our house with this little...illness anymore, Regina...your father and I will have to resort to more drastic measures.

Fighting back the sense of for guilt getting Sirius hurt but unable to be scared, Regulus just slammed his silverware down and left the room silently.

-

Was it better to get something you’ve yearned for for so long only to have someone try to rip it away from you again? Or just not get it at all?

This was the thing Regulus contemplated constantly over the next few weeks.

His parents were ruthless.

They seemed to still believe he only acted like this at home, that it was still a phase- an act of rebellion- and they had the chance to change it. It was as if they’d made an agreement to come down even harder on him this summer, to try to physically stomp the fight out of him. Like they’d agreed that, if they tried hard enough, they could exorcise any evidence of masculinity in him. Like a demon.

If he dared insist he was a boy, he was locked in his room. If he had the gall to correct anyone on his name, he was hit.

He was refused multiple meals for point-blank rejecting the dresses Mother bought him and had spells shot at him for continuously washing the makeup off his face when she wasn’t looking.

But this year, it was different.

He remembered, last year, the place he had been in. The shell he had become. He had been so tired, so hopeless, so frustrated. He’d tried to fight, but he’d had no idea who he was or how to be who he was. Despite Sirius’s best efforts, he’d never been given a true chance. The fight that had left him and the numbness he had felt had been like a trickle of water into his lungs, slowly drowning him without him even realizing.

But after a year at Hogwarts, a year of living, he couldn’t feel like that again. He couldn’t force himself back into that box. He knew better.

So he found it easier and less scary to fight and take the pain, because he knew it was better this way. Better than the way he reacted when submitting to their expectations or being someone he was not.

So, really, having gotten to be who he was for just a little while gave him the fight to remember who he was when he was being hurt and questioned and screamed at. When they tried to force him to forget.

-

After three weeks, though, it still took a toll.

He survived.

He lost far too much weight from the meals he wasn’t given.

He had layers of magically hidden bruises from his Mother’s wrath.

He winced and groaned as he pulled the bandages around his growing chest tiger still. He had heat rashes, now, and his skin was on fire.

He hated his body.

But he kept quiet. He didn’t allow anyone to see him in pain. He felt like that would be admitting defeat.

He also knew that if he showed his pain too much, Sirius would try to do more for him. And part of him was scared that Sirius would get sick of that. That he would leave him alone. Like he had when he'd gone to Hogwarts the first time.

Only twice did Sirius catch him crying. And both times, Sirius's startled look sent them both into waves of tears.

They survived together.

-

He’d stressed for days about going to Dorcas’s with long hair. He tried not to let it show, but he knew Sirius knew.

At Hogwarts, he cut it regularly. Dorcas knew a charm. But Mother and Father had taken both his and Sirius’s wands, and hidden anything sharp. They’d insisted he would do well to grow it out.

Instead, he worried.

But Sirius snuck into his room the night before they were both due to leave and led him to the bathroom, sitting him in the tub and taking a pair of scissors out from his pocket.

“Where’d you get those?” Regulus breathed, hardly daring to speak in more than a whisper. Mother and Father had been a lot more vigilant about checking to see if they were sneaking into each other’s rooms- they thought that Sirius was a bad influence.

“I sent Procyon to James and asked for a pair. I didn’t tell him why,” Sirius murmured, gently sitting on the edge of the tub behind him and snipping away.

Procyon was the family owl. But he was usually locked in his cage when not in use. “How–”

“Remus taught me how to pick locks the Muggle way,” Sirius cut him off, a smile in his voice. Snip. “It took a few nights of trying, but I finally got him out. Good he got some exercise, it’s not like Mother and Father use him often.”

Walburga and Orion preferred Floo calls or in-person meetings. Something about the post not being trustworthy.

“So they didn’t catch you?” Regulus asked, trying to hide the emotion in his voice.

Snip. “Don’t think so. Hold still, you’re squirming.”

But Regulus had to turn to face Sirius. Again, he was risking being caught and subsequently punished. Just for him. “I…thank you. For doing that.”

Sirius studied him for a moment, then smiled softly. “You’re worth it, Reggie.”

And Regulus turned away, not sure how to respond to that, instead just focusing on the feeling of the cool metal brushing his skin.

-

Let it be known that Sirius did not gain his dramatics in a vacuum. Walburga Black was known to be vindictively theatrical in her own special way.

Or maybe she was just pissed about his hair. Either way, she waited until the morning to tell them: Regulus was only allowed to go to Dorcas’s if she deemed Dorcas and her grandparents “appropriate.”

Regulus panicked. There was no way. Dorcas was the farthest thing from what his parents could count as appropriate- her fiery personality was far from ‘ladylike’ and she certainly would never refer to him as anything other than “Regulus.”

And the worst part was that Regulus had no way to warn her. Sirius had left before him for the Potters, and he was the best at coming up with plans. It all happened in a matter of moments. One second, he was packing, and the next Walburga was insisting she needed to make sure that Regulus would finally be around a 'good influence.' That she no longer would just be sending him through the Floo, she would be apparating him and meeting Dorcas and her family properly. Without leaving much time for argument, she dragged Regulus out the door.

-

Dorcas’s house was small. Especially for a family of seven. As they approached, Regulus took in the run-down lawn and obviously old exterior. The lawn was not cut and the paint of the house was peeling. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought back to the obnoxiously expensive way his parents had decorated their own house.

Walburga didn’t hesitate and rapped on the door firmly, sending birds in the tree nearby flying away.

Regulus’s heart hammered as they waited. He started picturing all of the things Mother could say to completely mortify him. Yes, Dorcas knew. But they had never discussed what she was going to tell her family. And she had never seen Regulus around his parents. The way his mother treated him. Maybe she saw him as a boy now, but after Walburga was through? Things would change, he was sure.

The door opened slowly. “Hello, can I help you?”

It was Dorcas. Thankfully, she looked decently put together. (Not that Regulus minded- he’d seen her in her pajamas enough to not care. But he knew his mother would judge.)

Walburga still looked down her nose at Dorcas, of course. And then…“Yes, is your mother home?” she asked snootily. Regulus blanched. He had told her. Told her that Dorcas was raised by her grandparents. Why was she so insensitive–? “My grandmother is here,” Dorcas answered simply, not allowing her expression to change.

Regulus tried to shoot her an apologetic glance even as he wanted to strangle his mother.

Dorcas left, only to return with the older woman from the train station. “How can I help you?” the woman asked politely.

With no introduction, Walburga started in. “I’d like to talk to you about my daughter before I leave her with you. I want to make sure your home is….appropriate for Regina.” Walburga spoke in almost a snarl, not bothering to keep the accusation out of her voice.

Daughter. Her. Regina. He fought back a gag. His hands shook. He felt goosebumps all over his body, as if his own skin was trying to reject the words. He studied Dorcas’s face, searching for disgust there, his heart pounding with fear and anticipation.

But Dorcas spoke up, confidently, her expression seemingly warm, but Regulus could detect a hint of fakeness. “We’re very excited to have Regina. We’ll make sure she’s very safe here.”

Regulus’s mouth popped open audibly, and he felt tears form in his eyes before he could stop them. Hearing his old name come from Dorcas’s mouth was worse, somehow. Why was it worse? His brain reeled and he felt his stomach roil, but then Dorcas threw him a sharp glance, tilting her head just slightly at Regulus’s mother.

His visibly pleased mother.

And it clicked.

“Yes, Dorcas has told me all about Regina,” Dorcas’s grandmother agreed brightly, also throwing Regulus a meaningful look. “She’s always welcome and safe here.”

Regulus blinked. He looked back and forth between the two adults, who seemed to now be in some sort of stare-off. He decided to go for broke and really sell it. “Cas promised to teach me how to straighten my hair,” he murmured, trying to make his voice sound high-pitched and excited, while simultaneously holding back his breakfast.

Walburga looked at him for a moment and Regulus knew he had her. As protective of her reputation as she was, Walburga would never outright ask if he was introducing himself as Regulus in school or telling his friends about his ‘problem.’ That would be admitting in the first place that he wasn’t the 'perfect daughter.'

So all she could do was…

“Alright. Lovely to meet you, then.”

And that was that.

-

Please please leave comments and kudos and love and read the WIP here!

Credit to @betweendyingstars whose beautiful fanart partially inspired a scene in this chapter, though their version of Sirius and Reggie are older.