#it's out of reach for me right now but i still dream about it

[inkandapex]

You're worth it

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando Norris and Y/N share an undeniable connection, but the pressures of F1 and personal hesitation have kept them in the "just friends" zone. Despite their close bond, an unspoken tension hangs between them, each moment charged with what-ifs. With a little nudge from fate, aka, their best friend Max, the two are pushed to give things another shot. Will Lando find the courage to make his move, or will Y/N slip through his fingers, forever just out of reach?

Words: 4.5k

Warnings: swearing, light angst, mentions of anxiety.

Lando’s season had been anything but smooth sailing. Sure, the car was leagues ahead of where it had been, delivering near-constant podiums and even his long-awaited first race win. He was sitting second in the championship, closer to the title than he’d ever been. On paper, it was a dream season. But pressure had a funny way of twisting even the sweetest moments into something suffocating.

Lando had always been good at managing the weight of the sport—keeping his mind sharp, his body stronger. But even the best-built machines showed signs of wear. His friends saw it in the way his laughter didn’t reach his eyes. His team noticed the uncharacteristic silence between debriefs. His fans, ever watchful, caught glimpses of something heavier behind the usual smiles.

Now, with a rare break in the chaos, it was clear that he didn’t just need rest. He needed reinforcements.

“The food I ordered half an hour ago? Yeah… they just told me the restaurant’s actually closed now,” Lando muttered

Max blinked, mouth slightly open. “So… they told you there’s no food, and you died on Tarkov? That’s a double fucking shitter, my jeez.” He dragged a hand down his face, visibly pained for his best mate.

Lando let out a defeated laugh. “Hasn’t exactly been the best couple of months for me, really.”

Max exhaled. “Mate, you need a personal chef or something. You’ve got too much on your plate.”

“I actually have nothing on my plate right now, funnily enough.”

“Right, well—eating weeks-old frozen food from your fridge isn’t exactly the fix, is it?” Max sighed, already knowing that’s exactly what Lando was about to do.

"Don't really have much of a choice now don't I mate?"

"Chat's saying you need a girlfriend" Max states rather matter of factly

"You could say that again"

-----------------------------------------------------------

A series of persistent knocks, followed by the sharp buzz of his phone vibrating against the nightstand, dragged Lando from the depths of sleep. He groaned, squinting against the soft morning light that seeped through the curtains, his brain sluggish as he reached for his phone.

A slight frown tugged at his face when he saw the caller—one of his closest friends. A couple of missed calls from both them and Max F. only deepened his confusion. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he pulled his hoodie over his head and shuffled toward the door, answering the call as he went.

“Y/N? I just woke up—sorry, could you give me a minute? I’ll call you back, someone’s at the—” He stopped mid-sentence, mid-step.

Because standing on the other side of the door, phone still pressed to their ear, was Y/N. Bags in hand.

"Hey… Max told me you knew I was coming. Him and P just dropped me off. They’re out running a couple of errands," Y/N said, ending the call and slipping her phone into her pocket.

Lando blinked at her, still processing. "No, actually, he didn't. I didn’t even know he was coming here. Did you just get here, or?"

"I landed about two hours ago," she said with a soft laugh. "Been standing here for the past twenty minutes, though."

"Shit, my bad, Y/N. I really didn’t know." Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair, his brain scrambling to recall any moment where Max might have maybe mentioned this.

"Hey, it’s all good! Sorry for dropping by all of a sudden—I really should’ve reached out beforehand anyway. I just thought you and Max had already sorted it out."

"What? No, Y/N, don’t apologize, silly." Lando finally snapped out of his trance and stepped aside. "Come in—fuck, I mean, the apartment’s a mess, but make yourself at home." He quickly reached for some of her bags, ushering her inside before shutting the door behind them.

"What exactly did Max say?" Lando finally asked, still scrambling to pick up the mess scattered across his living room. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you, but this is just so... out of the blue."

"Honestly? He was worried," Y/N admitted, grabbing a few stray items to help. "Said you didn’t seem to be doing too well. Thought maybe you could use some company during the break. Listen, Lando, I came here thinking you knew about this. I completely understand if you’d rather be alone right now—I know you’re busy and all—"

"No!" Lando cut in, pausing mid-cleanup. His expression softened, and for the first time since opening the door, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease. "I'm… I'm really glad you're here. Max is right. It hasn’t been easy." He exhaled, offering her a small, tight-lipped smile. "Thank you. For being here. I really appreciate it."

Then, with a playful tilt of his head, he spread his arms. "You gonna hug me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Y/N let out a small laugh, relief washing over her as she finally saw that familiar spark in his eyes. Taking a few steps forward, she let Lando wrap her in a tight hug, his hold warm, grounding. Exactly what he hadn’t realized he needed.

------------------------------------------------------------

The first day of Y/N being there was more housekeeping than anything else. Between cleaning up Lando’s apartment, clearing out the fridge, and fixing up the guest room, the day passed in a blur of chores. By the time Max and P finally arrived, the boys volunteered to head out and pick up some late lunch—partly because there was absolutely nothing to eat at Lando’s place, and partly so Max could finally discuss the sly plan he had cooked up.

A heavy silence filled the car as Lando gripped the wheel, his knuckles tightening against the leather.

"You’re awfully quiet," Max finally said, side-eyeing his best friend from the passenger seat.

"Oh yeah? Wonder why," Lando bit back. "Maybe ‘cause my best friend decided to go behind my back and plan shit without telling me. The fuck were you thinking not mentioning she was coming over to stay?"

"Mate, it was all in good conscience," Max said with an exaggerated sigh. "Plus, what happened between you two… it was months ago—"

"Exactly!" Lando snapped. "I haven’t even been back home to talk about it since. Fuck’s sake, Max… it’s weird enough I haven’t seen her in ages, but springing this on me? That’s insane, even for you."

Max groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Why can’t the two of you just admit you like each other like the grown, mature adults you supposedly are and get on with it? It’s honestly exhausting."

"You know why."

"I actually don’t. Please, do explain. I’d love to hear whatever shit excuse you’ve got lined up. Go on then."

Lando let out a slow, tired sigh. "I’m busy, she’s busy. I can’t just drag her along with me and make her leave everything behind so we can be together. And you know how the media is, Max. I don’t want her dealing with all that hate. You’ve seen how bad it gets."

Max scoffed. "And what do you think she just did? She dropped everything to be with you when you needed her, yeah? Her choice. She’s already doing work at Quadrant—her own volition, might I add—on top of her own career. And might I remind you, you were the one who didn’t want to go through with it. From what I heard, she was willing to make it work."

"Yeah?" Lando let out a dry laugh. "From what you heard?"

Max smirked. "Fine. P told me."

"Lando, mate. If it all goes to shit—not that I think it will—I’m sure you’ll sort it out. She cares about you. And I know you feel the same way about her."

Lando sighed, pulling into the parking lot and turning off the engine. He leaned back against the seat for a moment before finally looking over at Max.

"I know you have good intentions," he admitted. "And despite how insane this is, I do appreciate it. I’ll… see where it goes." Then, with a smirk, he nodded toward the door. "Now go pick up the food, ‘cause I’m fucking starving."

Max narrowed his eyes, pointing a finger at him as he unbuckled his seatbelt. "This conversation is not over, by the way."

Lando just laughed, shaking his head as Max climbed out of the car.

------------------------------------------------------------

Lando woke up to the unfamiliar yet oddly comforting sounds of pots clanking and the scent of food filling his apartment. It was so foreign that, for a second, he thought he was dreaming. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of his room, hair a complete mess, barely awake.

"Morning," Y/N greeted, smiling as she wiped her hands on a tea towel. "There’s breakfast on the counter. I’ve got meals sorted out for the rest of the week—followed your diet, so don’t worry."

Lando blinked at her, then at the kitchen, which now looked like a fully stocked catering service. "It’s 9 in the fucking morning, Y/N. What time did you get up for all this?"

"Like… 6:30?"

"Y/N"

"What? I have jet lag."

Lando squinted at her. "We’re in Monaco. London is one hour behind."

"Okay, fine," she sighed. "I wanted to make sure I had it ready for you. It’s nothing, really—it didn’t take me too long."

"Nothing?" Lando gestured at the sea of neatly packed containers. "My kitchen looks like McLaren hospitality right now."

"It’s not a big deal, Lan, really, I—"

Lando didn’t let her finish. He reached out, gently grabbing her hand and stopping her from cleaning. "Could you—please slow down for a sec?" His voice was softer now, his brows furrowing as he tilted her chin up so she’d look at him. "Y/N, you don’t have to do all this. You don’t have to take care of me."

Lando sighed deeply, his arms instinctively pulling Y/N into a tight hug. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, his heart heavy. "I don't deserve you."

Y/N’s arms wrapped around him, her voice soft as she spoke, her thumbs tracing gentle circles on his back. "You have me, either way"

Lando pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression clouded. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the words. "Look, Y/N... we can't. I can't do this right now. What I said about us—about this, months ago... that's still how I feel. I like you... a lot, trust me, I do. But this is too much, and I can't possibly ask you to—"

He couldn’t keep eye contact, his gaze drifting as if the weight of everything was too much to bear.

Y/N took a step back but stayed close, her eyes searching his. She offered a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I get it, Lan. I’m here for you. As a friend." She took a deep breath. "What I said, about me wanting to be here... to do this with you... I meant that too. I still feel that way. I told you I can wait. You’re worth it."

"You two done being sappy, or should I give you a couple more minutes?" Max's voice echoed through the apartment, making both Lando and Y/N jump and scramble to step away from each other in a panic.

"You little shit, how long have you been stood there listening? You fucking weirdo." In a swift motion, Lando grabbed the nearest object, a spatula, and tossed it across the room. It flew past Max’s head, narrowly missing him as he stood frozen in the middle of the living room.

"So sorry, guys. I told him not to come in without knocking." P finally steps into the apartment, giving Max a pinch on his side. Max let out an exaggerated yelp, squirming away from her with a pained expression.

"Ow! Everyone’s so violent this morning," Max groaned, rubbing his side as P smirked, clearly satisfied with herself.

"You're ridiculous. Just gonna run to the bathroom real quick then we can have breakfast and plan the rest of our day" Lando shook his head with a groan, but a small, amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaves the room

Max took the chance to walk over to Y/N, who was quietly setting the table for breakfast. "You good?" he asked, his voice low, careful not to let Lando hear.

Y/N glanced up at him with a soft, knowing smile. "Take a wild guess, Max. Bet you heard enough to figure out how I'm doing right now." She let out a quiet laugh, but it was tinged with something he couldn’t quite place, defeat, maybe?

Max took a breath, his tone shifting to something gentler, more understanding. "Look, he... you know how he is. As much as I want this for the two of you, you don’t have to wait for him. He can’t just expect you to be there until he’s finally ready. No one’s gonna hold it against you." His voice dropped.

Y/N shook her head slightly, her smile softening. "You’re really sweet, Max, but I’m okay. I promise." She was careful, though, making sure her words felt sincere.

Max gave her a small, thoughtful nod. "Just trying to look out for the two of you is all."

"I know," Y/N replied. She didn’t need Max’s concern to know what was best for her, but it was comforting, knowing that someone understood.

------------------------------------------------------------

Several races had passed since Y/N was last at Lando's apartment. Despite the distance, they’d kept in close contact—calls, texts, little check-ins whenever they could steal a moment. Lando was clearly doing better, each conversation revealing just how much he’d grown over the past few weeks.

Now, it was the Singapore Grand Prix weekend, and Y/N had finally managed to take some time off work. She’d been counting down the days until she could see Lando again, her excitement mingled with the kind of nervous energy that had been building up ever since she booked her flight. The anticipation was almost unbearable, especially when she considered how much her feelings for him had grown since their last conversation.

Despite the distance, despite all the unsaid things, she found herself thinking about him more and more, how his laugh had sounded over the phone, how his presence felt like a comfort when they’d been together. But now, standing outside of Mclaren's hospitality, waiting for Lando to step out his driver room after finishing free practice, everything felt good.

"Y/N! Hey, haven’t seen you around in a while. How have you been?" Zach, a close friend of Oscar Piastri, and someone Y/N had become friends with, walked over with a smile.

"Zach, it’s good to see you. I’m great, just been busy with work is all. The car seems good, Lando and Oscar are driving really well too" Y/N replied with a warm smile, happy to see a familiar face in the paddock.

"Things are looking great. We’re doing really well in the constructors, too. You waiting for Lando?" Zach asked, leaning against the railing casually.

"Mhmm, I’m catching a ride with him back to the hotel. He texted me, he’d be out in a bit." Y/N explained, glancing down at her phone to check for any updates from Lando.

"Right... listen. Are you free any time this weekend? Maybe even after the race? I was thinking—"

"Ready to go?" Lando's voice cut in, and he walked over to the pair, bag slung over his shoulder and phone in hand. "Oh, hey man, sorry, we gotta go. Got some friends waiting for us."

Zach smiled, stepping back. "Oh, don’t let me hold you back. I’ll see you around, Y/N. You still got my number, right?"

"Yep, I’ll catch up with you next time," Y/N said, giving Zach a friendly nod.

"Perfect. Hope you enjoy the weekend. It’s great having you back in the paddock," Zach said with a grin, stepping in to give Y/N a quick hug before patting Lando’s arm as he walked past. "Great stuff today, man. See you around."

Lando raised an eyebrow, his voice laced with slight bitterness as they walked toward the parking lot. "Didn’t know you two were close like that."

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, hello to you too, Lando. So great to see you after months, feels fantastic to finally be here with you."

Lando chuckled, though it was clear there was a hint of jealousy in his voice, "I didn’t mean it like that, just... you two seemed pretty chummy." He smirked at her, trying to play it off.

Y/N leaned back in the passenger seat, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Don't know, I actually think he's pretty cute."

Lando almost slammed the door shut in frustration, his face twisting into a scoff. "Cute? Right."

"What? You jealous?" Y/N teased, barely able to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm not," Lando grumbled, eyes focused on the road but his jaw clenched slightly.

"You so are. Your ears are red."

"I'm not" he repeated, his voice tinged with defensiveness.

"So you don't mind if I go out for dinner with him after the race then?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, her tone light but with a little edge, just to push his buttons. It was playful, but they both knew the boundaries—they weren’t together, not officially.

"No."

"No, you don't mind?" Y/N repeated, pressing him further.

"No, you can't" Lando snapped back, his hand gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

"Why?" she asked innocently, though a knowing smile played at her lips.

"Cause then you'll miss my victory party," Lando replied with a sly smirk, glancing over at her briefly.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, pretending to be unimpressed. "Oh wow, cocky now, are we?" She let out a laugh, though deep down, she couldn't ignore how his confidence was somehow making him all the more attractive.

"Wow" Lando gasped dramatically, glancing over at her with exaggerated disbelief. "You don't think I'll win this weekend? You're breaking my heart, darling."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. "Don't get too cocky, Norris. The race isn't over until it's over."

"True," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. "But I like to think I’ve got this in the bag. You better be there to celebrate my win, Y/N."

She met his gaze, her playful teasing giving way to something softer, something more real. "We'll see," she replied, a small but genuine smile on her face. "But if you win, I'll begin to think I'm your lucky charm."

Lando nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his expression. "You just might be."

------------------------------------------------------------

"We’ve got this in the bag, Lando. Stick to Plan A, do what you do best, and we’ll take care of the rest. Focus on the drive, and if anything shifts, we’ll adjust. We’re counting on maximum points from you two tonight." Will, Lando's race engineer, pauses, his eyes locking with Lando's, waiting for confirmation after his brief but crucial words.

"Lando."

"Yeah yeah. Maximum points, drive fast, got it." Lando mutters, his response flat, his attention half there. As important as this race is, his mind keeps drifting back to Y/N. She’s in the garage, talking with Zach. His Y/N. The thought pulls at him in a way he can’t shake.

Will’s voice cuts through the haze. "I need 100% of your focus, Lando. The race starts in 30." He hands him his earplugs, but Lando’s gaze is distant.

"Yep, heard." Lando mutters again, his tone quieter, his mind still elsewhere as he turns to leave, the weight of his thoughts lingering like an anchor.

Y/N and Zach were in the middle of an easy, lighthearted conversation. Lando, across the garage, could only watch, his gaze sharpening as he noticed how comfortable Y/N and Zach looked together. The laughter between them, the way they stood too close, it ate at him.

"Y/N, can I talk to you for a minute?" Lando’s voice cut through the air, direct and intense, as he strode toward them.

Y/N looked up at him, surprised but giving him a warm smile. "Yeah, what’s up? You nervous?" She didn’t get up from her seat, still in that calm, relaxed mood.

"Alone" Lando said, his tone sharper now, as the urgency in his words broke through.

"Oh—yeah, of course." She rose to follow him, a furrow crossing her brow, concerned by the intensity in his eyes. They walked towards a quieter corner of the garage, far enough from prying eyes and cameras.

As soon as they were alone, she looked at him. "Is everything okay? Do you need me to call Max or—"

Lando didn’t give her a chance to finish. "I don’t like this. You and him, talking... being all flirty. I don’t like it." The words spilled out of him faster than he could stop them, relief and frustration flooding his chest. It was all coming out at once.

Y/N blinked, trying to keep her voice steady. "I’m not flirting, Lando. He’s just a friend."

Lando’s frustration reached its peak. "I’m just a friend, Y/N! Fuck’s sake... I can’t get in the car like this, not with this on my mind. Not like this." He ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated.

She stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. "Hey, Lan. What’s going on? You wanted this—actually, no, you didn’t want anything right now, did you? You said so yourself. I’m not doing this to make you jealous or get back at you, He's just a friend. That’s it."

But Lando shook his head, his voice shaking with vulnerability. "I don’t know what I want, okay! But seeing you... with him? I don’t want to lose you, Y/N. I can’t lose you."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, though it held a touch of sadness. She gently took his hands in hers, stopping him from messing up his hair further. "You’re not gonna lose me, you silly boy."

Lando looked at her, searching her eyes for some sign that she understood, that she felt the same pull. "One kiss. Give me one kiss. Let’s pretend nothing else matters. Just right now, right here, with you. One kiss before I go." His voice was a whisper, full of longing and desperation.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze, her eyes softening. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing across his jawline as she spoke quietly, almost to herself. "Nothing else matters... I don’t have to pretend. You’re all I want, Lando. Why can’t you see that?"

Lando exhales quietly, his fingers grazing her cheek as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. They stand close, the world around them fading into the background, neither in a rush to break the moment. Their eyes meet, lingering, only flickering downward for the briefest second before finding each other again.

"You take corners faster than this—are you gonna kiss me, or should I send in a request for DRS?" Y/N teases, tilting her head with a smirk.

Lando leans in, closing the small space between them, his lips pressing firmly against hers. It’s not their first kiss, there had been fleeting moments before, small pecks here and there, brief touches exchanged in passing, but this is different. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Their movements are unhurried, deliberate. It’s a kiss that speaks of everything unspoken, deep and certain, carrying the weight of something that had been waiting to happen.

She’s the first to pull away, though neither of them really want to. But reality tugs at Lando, he has somewhere to be.

Before stepping back, he presses a lingering kiss to her lips, another lighter one at the corner of her mouth. His lips brush her cheek, then her forehead, a quiet farewell without words. When he finally pulls away, he catches the flush creeping up her neck and smirks.

"I'm quick when it matters," he murmurs. "But some things are worth taking my time on."

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It was the kind of weekend that felt almost predestined, Lando wins in Singapore, by a massive 20-second gap to Verstappen in P2. But even with the trophy in his hands and the roar of the crowd in his ears, his eyes searched for only one thing.

And there she was.

Among the sea of faces, hers stood out effortlessly, beaming with pride, hands clapping in celebration. The victory was unforgettable, but this moment, seeing her there, cheering for him, was the one he’d carry with him forever.

Lando could hardly sit still. He’d been rocking on the balls of his feet, barely paying attention to the post-race interviews with Oscar, his mind already somewhere else. The second the cameras cut off, he was up, grabbing his things in record time, making Oscar chuckle at his urgency.

"Word in my garage is you’ve got yourself a little lucky charm now," Oscar smirked, watching as Lando fumbled with his phone, already dialing Y/N.

"Word spreads fast, huh?"

"Finally made a move?"

"Yeah, took me long enough," Lando laughed, giving his teammate a quick pat on the back as he pressed his phone to his ear.

The call barely rang before her teasing voice filled his speaker. "Why hello there, champ. Miss me already?"

A grin stretched across Lando’s face, warmth creeping up his chest. "Always, baby. Where are you? Need my post-race kiss, like, now."

"On your left."

Lando spun around, immediately spotting her seated outside the motorhome with Max and P. He didn’t even bother ending the call properly, just stuffed his phone in his pocket and made a beeline for her.

"There he is! Mr. 20-second lead. Mate, you were proper flying—"

Max didn’t even get to finish before Lando stopped behind Y/N’s chair, tilting her chin up and leaning down to kiss her. This one deeper, lingering, completely unbothered by the fact that they had company.

"Shit—when did this happen?" Max gaped, his arm tightening around P as if he needed something to ground him.

"Just before the race. Can’t believe you’re only finding out now, thought the whole paddock knew by now," Lando chuckled, hands rubbing Y/N’s shoulders as she sat there, visibly flustered, still adjusting to the attention.

"Well, damn. About time."

Y/N glanced up at Lando, still a little dazed, but the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered, made her forget about everything else. He pressed one last kiss to the top of her head before leaning down, voice just for her.

“You’re my good luck charm.”

She laughed softly, squeezing his hand. “Guess that means I have to stick around then, huh?”

Lando grinned, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Oh, baby, you’re not going anywhere.”

[nathanbatemanfucker]

In His Hands

summary: joaquin takes care of you in the face of your anxiety.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 2,018

contents: 18+/MINORS DNI, SMUT, established relationship, anxiety, oral sex (f!receiving), teasing, pet names

an: been thinking about joaquin being soooo accomodating + sweet, so here's the finished product. MINORS DNI i stg!!!

marvel masterlist

“Joaquin, don’t,” You whine, keeping your eyes on the study materials strewn about the coffee table. 

“Don’t what?” He asks, feigning innocence.

Though you can’t see him, you can hear the smile in his voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Ya sabes qué,” You suggest, reaching out to lazily brush his hand away from your shoulder.

He had started to rub them, massaging the tension out of your shoulders that always finds a home there. It’s sweet and you appreciate his care, but Joaquin’s touch is like a drug. Saccharine and sensual, it makes your insides warm in ways you didn’t know were possible until you fell in love with him. 

“Oh this,” He murmurs nonchalantly. His hands don’t stop, continuing to rub out the knots in your flesh. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m trying to study,” You say matter of factly.

“You’ve been studying all damn day, querida. You could use a break.”

“I can’t afford to break, the test is tomorrow. I need to cram as much information into my brain as I can.”

“You know so much already— look, it’ll be a piece of cake. You can do this, se que sí.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’re the goddamn Falcon. This is important to me, Quino. All I’ve ever wanted was to be a S.H.I.E.L.D agent and I know you know how that feels. To want something so bad it feels like you can’t breathe.”

Joaquin did know. Looking up to Sam for all those years, wishing and waiting— working harder than he thought was possible brought him to where he is now. But, he’d also had you for a lot of that. Always there to make sure he was taking care of himself, that he didn’t wither away who he truly was for his dreams. He would always repay the favor; it’s what you deserve. 

“I know, querida, I know. This is important, but so are you. You’re so stressed— feel how tight you’re wound,” He murmurs, taking your hand and placing it on your shoulder. He’s right, your shoulders feel like bricks. 

“I could help with that,” He insists.

“You aren’t playing fair,” You whisper, leaning your head back against the couch as he increases the strength of his hands.

“Never said I would, baby,” He teases, planting a kiss on your forehead. “C’mon, qué quires hmm? ¿Qué puedo hacer por ti?”

You shiver at the smooth sensuality of his words but still have the mind to tease him. “Aren’t you the one who distracted me? What do you want?” 

He guides your head to one side, rubbing at the base of your neck in a way that makes you pant. “That requires demonstration. Will you be my volunteer tonight?”

“I’m your volunteer every night,” You quip half heartedly. 

“I never hear any complaints,” His lips brush your ear as he strengthens the pressure of his fingers on your scalp. “Tell me, mi amor. What do you want?”

There’s no turning back now— he’s got you right where he wants you. And there’s no place you’d rather be right now. 

“Just…help me relax a little?” You breathe, letting your eyes flutter shut.

“Mmm. Stay right there for me. Don’t move a muscle, okay?”

“Mhmm,” You hum. A whine slips from your lips when you lose contact with his warmth, but soon he reappears, his hands smoothing up your thighs. 

“Lean back, head against the couch for me.” He watches you comply, grinning as he praises you, “Good girl. Now hips up, these shorts gotta go.”

You raise your hips without any defiance, and he slips them and your panties away, discarding them across the room. You’re nearly trembling with anticipation despite the fact that he’s barely touched you. 

He notices and in typical Joaquin fashion, refuses to breeze past it. Gently, teasingly, he sinks his teeth into your thigh before soothing the spot with a kiss. “I haven’t even started yet, querida and you’re already shaking. I do that to you, hmm?”

“Mhmm,” You hum again, becoming more malleable under his touch with each second that passes.

“Just me. Now, open up,” He murmurs, using his hands to spread you open for him. “There we go, mira qué preciosa.” 

“Quino, mi amor,” You sigh, letting one of your hands drop to card through his silky hair.

The picture you two paint right now is as sensual as it is explicit. Your head thrown back against the couch, legs spread beneath the coffee table to accommodate Joaquin and his touch.

All you can think about is what it would feel like for his mouth to finally be on you. At that  thought, your brow furrows…several moments have passed and you’re still without him. You squirm against him expectantly.

He huffs a laugh, breath warm against where you need him most. “You gonna tell me what you’re wanting?”

“Joaquin,” You murmur, beginning to grow frustrated by his teasing.

“You know how much I love to hear it.” He pauses, lips hovering just inches away from your sensitive skin, his eyes dark with desire. “You’re mine, querida. You know you are.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, his possessiveness only making you ache for him more.

“Touch me, Joaquin. This isn’t very relaxing, I thought I was promised that,” You challenge, tilting your hips up further to try and close the gap yourself. The words come out sharp, but there's a flicker of need in your voice that betrays the frustration of not getting what you want.

“Alright, querida, you got me there. Stay still for me,” He commands, his own blood now burning with desire. 

He starts a slow dance of laying sweet, alternating kisses on the delicate skin of your thighs. You know that he’s done teasing by the focused trail he’s leaving, the way his hands grip you and hold you open more firmly. And then his mouth is on you, tongue flicking gently against your clit. 

Heat pools in your belly, liquid and inescapable. You rest more heavily against the couch as you press up into Joaquin’s mouth, needy and mindless with want. There’s nothing like being at his mercy– he knows all of your spots, the speed and pressure you need to tip over the edge into ecstasy. He always takes care of you, never making you feel less than adored. 

He hums into your pussy, his nose brushing at your clit as his tongue dips lower to lap at your slick with more firmness. The taste nearly drives him into a frenzy, desperate to make you cum again and again for that concentrated taste of you. But he reminds himself that this is for you. This is to melt away your anxieties, to replace all the worry in your brain and body with nothing but pleasure and security.

Even as he increases his intensity, it's still steady with the intent to savor you. You continue to tremble against him, hips falling into a rhythm to match the pace of his tongue. He lingers when he feels your breath catch more sharply or when you whimper, reveling in how responsive you are to his touch.

“Mas, Quino, please,” You plead, your fingers gripping his hair more firmly.

He groans, eyes fluttering at the mix of pleasure and pain he gets from you tugging at his locs. “You sure?” 

He wandyou to be sure because he would be happy to lay here between your legs and serve you for the rest of the night. For the rest of his life if you let him, and god he hopes you’ll let him. 

“Yes. Please. Please, Joaquin.”

“Tranquila, baby, I’ve got you. Just relax, hmm? Let me make you cum on my tongue,” He coaxes softly and at the same time so slowly, he presses a single finger inside of you. 

“God, yes,” You groan, planting one of your feet flat on the ground so that you can buck against him. 

Even with just one of his fingers you feel so full, made to take him and him alone in any way that he’ll give it.

Joaquin’s mouth grows more insistent, and he leans back to get you wetter, spitting on your clit before his tongue glides through your folds. “Yeah? Like that?”

“Mhmm,” You whimper, your chest starting to rise and fall frantically.  

“Hips down, honey, let me do all the work. Let me take care of you, okay?”

“But, I need more,” You whine impatiently, hips not stilling. 

“I’ll give it to you. Anything you want, anything you need, I’ll give to you,” He promises, pressing in another finger.

The delicious stretch winds you, the smooth movement of your hips stuttering as you succumb to him feeding your body what it needs. He stops all the teasing, stripping himself of the patience he’d built up so that he can ravage you the way you need. 

He’s as starved as you in the way he eats you out, messy and rushed, his fingers hooking to press incessantly at the sensitive spot inside you, making your legs clench around his head. You and Joaquin worked together seamlessly, the sound of his fingers inside you growing wetter and wetter as he winds you tighter and tighter.

“C’mon, querida, damelo. I can feel you. Let go,” He encourages tenderly in direct opposition of the urgency of his mouth and fingers.

It's all you need to fall over the edge, tumbling and tumbling more deeply into a pool of pleasure. Joaquin doesn’t stop, extending your high. Your hand knots further into his hair, and you pivot up against his tongue, taking all you need from him. Once he’s rung every drop from your body he withdraws his fingers, placing one last adoring kiss to your clit. 

With grace, he maneuvers from between your legs and comes to sit beside you, gathering you in his arms. “How was that? Feeling relaxed?”

“Mhmm, very relaxed,” You lean into him gratefully, feeling floaty.

He drops a kiss on your temple. He strokes your back with slow, comforting motions, a gentle reminder that even after all this, he’s there to hold you—body and soul. “Good, mi amor. Tienes hambre?”

The faint smell of his cologne clings to you as you lean into him, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips.  “Mhmm.”

“Is mhmm all you can manage right now?” He teases.

“Mhmm.”

He laughs with his entire body, shaking the both of you. “Let me get up to get you something alright? Don’t say mhmm.”

“Alright,” You agree through a laugh.

He kisses you one last time before hopping up, heading towards the kitchen.

“Joaquin?”

He looks at you over his shoulder, raising a brow at you playfully, “Mhmm?”

“I love you.”

His face softens, grin goofy and adoring. “Te amo.”

—

“See? I told you you could, mi amor. Don’t doubt my girl or my methods,” He cups your cheek to kiss you breathless before producing the bouquet of flowers he hid behind his back. “I’m so proud of you.”

Your smile is childlike and giddy as you take the flowers from him. Leaning in once more you softly brush your mouth against his. You’re grateful for his presence, his support, his unwavering belief in you. “Gracias, Joaquin. No pude hacerlo sin ti.”

“¿Ah, sí? I’m the secret sauce, baby?” He teases lowly, crowding you against the wall despite being in a S.H.I.E.L.D testing facility.  

You feel your skin start to warm, butterflies breezing through your tummy. 

“You still feel warm, querida.” His voice dips, low and knowing. “Did I work you too hard?”

“You’re the worst.”

“And somehow the best. I can do it all.”

You roll your eyes playfully, pushing him back so that you can start down the hall. 

“We absolutely can’t work together in the field if you’re going to be so brazen,” You muse, studying the perfect bouquet in your hands. 

“Aw, cmon, I thought it would be fun. Let me change your mind,” He calls after you.

“You’ll have to work harder than you did last night to change my mind.”

His grin widens. “Challenge accepted.”

to join the joaquin torres taglist you must be 18+!

joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @moonymeloncholymoney, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuff, @lisiliely, @spider-steve

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

Dream (Dean Winchester x female reader)

You love Dean when he’s awake, but there’s just something about him when he’s sleeping.

Read it on AO3

My 2024 Kinktober series

Rated E. 1.2k words. Consensual somnophilia. Sleeping Dean. That's it, really.

You agreed on this a long time ago, but it still feels illicit every time you do it.

The case done, you catch up with some old girlfriends from college who live close by. They think you’re a traveling saleswoman, maybe part of a pyramid scheme, but the small lie doesn’t hinder the fun you have. While you dress up before the evening, tight jeans, breasts pushed up, Dean watches you intently.

“You’re gonna have a hard time keeping the local Neanderthals off you,” he says and you grin while you apply lipstick in the mirror.

“I have my ways,” you say, smacking your lips together, then looking at Dean in the reflection. He chuckles a little, but his look tells you he would prefer to bend you over something right now to you going out. Too bad your hair is already done, or you might let him. Later.

You get up, grab your bag, run a hand through your hair and Dean walks up to you. One arm goes around you and he looks at you like you’re a snack he can’t wait to get between his teeth.

“Have fun now,” he says and then inclines his head. “Just not too much fun.” You wink at him, give him a small kiss, then run your thumb over his lips to wipe off the lipstick there.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be,” you say and look into his eyes. “I’ll try not to wake you.” You see the second Dean registers what you say. He nods slowly, a smile playing on his lips.

The evening is full of drinks that are too sugary and that perfect mix of scandalous gossiping and soul-searching deep talk. You show the girls a picture of Dean and one of them, your former roommate, shakes her head.

“I would buy five of him, even if he wasn’t on sale,” she says, clicking her tongue. You grin.

“Believe me,” you say, taking a sip from your drink and playfully running your tongue over the top of your straw. “You don’t need five of him. One does everything you need him to.” The other women squeal and then suddenly you’re dancing, hugging each other, and there’s one or two Neanderthals but you couldn’t care less about them.

 It’s extra hard being quiet when you come back to the motel, because you’re a little tipsy. You unlock the door, sneak in. Bag goes on the floor, shoes are carefully kicked off. Then you look up.

Your eyes are still adjusting to the darkness but you can see Dean’s shape in the bed, sheets tangled between his legs. You bite your lip. Your jacket goes too and then you are crawling onto the bed, trying to move as carefully as possible.

That was one big challenge when this all started – Dean has the instincts of a hawk, so one worry was if he would actually stay asleep long enough for it to work. You got lucky, though. Apparently, your sounds and actions don’t register to his subconscious brain as threatening.

You just look down at him for a second. God, he’s beautiful, especially like this. Puffy lips slightly parted, long lashes resting on his skin. Unguarded, like he’s a living thing that could actually get hurt and not the god of war that appears once daylight breaks. It makes love and a good host of arousal run through you.

Then you extend your hand, and with the gentlest of touches, lay it on his crotch, over the boxershorts he wears to sleep. Small circles, that’s how you start.

Dean’s responsive as all hell. It’s one of the things you always liked about him. How all you need to do is to bend over, pretend to pick something up, look back at him and he’s ready to go.

It’s the same now, and after only a few seconds, you can start to feel him respond, his cock slowly hardening, growing, until it strains in his shorts. Your other hand pulls the waistband down slowly while you reach in and take him out. Perfection, you think as you lean forward on your elbows, and start licking at him. Curved and with soft skin and a pink head.

You nibble at that head now, spreading a little bit of saliva on it. Dean, all of Dean, twitches in his sleep, and you wonder what he’s dreaming. Wonder if maybe you can turn one of his frequent nightmares into a good dream.

You hear the side of his face hit the pillow when you take him deep for the first time. He tastes salty and slightly musky, and you would like to bottle him up if you could. You bob your head up and down, slowly, but go deep each time, the head of Dean’s cock tickling the back of your throat. You actually close your eyes at the feeling of him, because you are just that much of a lost cause.

He’s making some wonderful noises in his sleep so you speed up, letting more spit collect in your mouth to ease the passage. The sounds your mouth makes make you clench and for a moment you think to stop, to instead get naked and ride Dean. But you don’t want to stop, and you can be patient.

Dean whimpers a little, a light sound deep in his throat that he wouldn’t be caught dead making during his waking hours, and it’s enough to make your eyes flutter open, because you know what will happen next. You live for this part. You keep going, and soon you can feel the twitch that’s telling you he’s about to come.

Without moving your mouth off him or stopping your movement, you bring your hand to Dean’s arm, gently scratch your nails along the skin there.

The feeling along with the budding orgasm help bring him into wakefulness just as you feel his balls tighten. It’s not easy from the position you’re in but you just manage to look up at him.

You know Dean’s awake though when he twists his hands into the sheets, desperately fumbling for anything to hold on to, his hips bucking up and you make eye contact just before he shoots down your throat.

Beautiful, desperate whines leave him as his stomach muscles contract, sounds he would be much too controlled to make otherwise. You wish you could drink them down along with his come, you catch yourself thinking, and nearly roll your eyes at yourself.

You finally move off him, hand lazily pumping him a few more times while Dean catches his breath. His chest is rising and falling, and he looks so perfectly broken that you want to touch yourself just to how he looks right now. Guard down, spent, no pretense. Just the perfection that is him.

You wipe your hand across your mouth, then crawl up to him and snuggle against his side. His hand pats your arm, uncoordinated.

“Fuck,” he says and you grin. You bury your face against his neck and settle down to wait.

Dean is extra generous on nights like this. He’ll take care of you, filthily and thoroughly, in a little bit. But just now, this is all you want, all you need. To know that Dean has let go, and that you were the cause of it.

You grin to yourself. It’s gonna be a long night.

[hishumanbelle]

All I want is for Alastor to like the reader 🙏 and for him to blush at the smallest thing or get even goofier! I really can't find things like this, and even when I do, it's so hard

(Alastor's behavior doesn't have to be as I mentioned, just silly)

You didn't think much of it at first. It was just an offhanded compliment, something casual. You were both sitting in the lounge of the Hazbin Hotel, and Alastor had been talking—well, monologuing—about some old radio show he used to love. His voice was full of that usual eerie cheer, smooth and rich with old-timey charisma.

“You have a really nice voice, you know that?” you said absentmindedly, sipping your drink.

The moment the words left your mouth, the room shifted. The ever-present hum of Alastor’s static stuttered, cut out entirely—like a record player yanked off its track. You glanced up to find him staring at you, his grin frozen, his red eyes wide as if you’d just told him the most scandalous secret in all of Hell.

“Oh—” he let out a single, clipped chuckle, then slapped a hand over his mouth so fast you barely registered the movement.

You raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I—! Oh, HA!” the laugh that followed was too loud, too forced. He practically threw himself into it, tilting his head back dramatically, but you caught it—the twitch of his ears, the way his fingers fumbled against his cane.

And… was he blushing?

Oh.

Oh, this was golden.

“You like being complimented, don’t you?” you teased, leaning in just a bit.

Alastor’s entire body stiffened. “Hah! Preposterous!”, his voice cracked ever so slightly, and his shadow flickered—its edges fraying like it was trying to retreat. “Why, I—oh dear, would you look at the time!” he yanked a pocket watch from nowhere, squinting at it with exaggerated scrutiny. “Yes, yes! Time for me to be—anywhere else!”

He practically teleported across the room, straightening his tie with far too much focus. But even from there, you could still see the red dusting his cheeks.

“You’re flustered.”

“HA! I do not get flustered!” his grin was too wide now, his hands too twitchy. The air itself crackled with restless energy, like a radio struggling to tune in.

You smirked. “So if I said I liked your smile too…?”

Pop.

His shadow completely short-circuited—tendrils recoiling, curling in on themselves like dying antennae. His ears flicked violently, and for a split second, his entire face went redder than his eyes.

Then—

BAM!—he hit the floor.

Just collapsed, legs giving out as he wheezed through gritted teeth.

You stared. “…Alastor?”

“…Damn it.” His voice was barely above a whisper, forehead pressed against the carpet as his shadow flailed helplessly around him.

You had never, ever seen him look so defeated.

And you were absolutely going to use this against him.

You had expected Alastor to recover quickly. After all, he was a smooth talker, always on top of things, never truly caught off guard.

But no.

It had been days since you had called his voice nice, and he was still acting weird about it.

For example, right now: you were in the kitchen, just trying to make yourself something to eat, when Alastor appeared out of nowhere, as he often did.

“Ah, darling, you must let me handle that! A delicate thing like yourself shouldn’t trouble those lovely hands with such menial labor!” he reached for the knife you were using to cut vegetables, practically tripping over himself in the process.

You pulled it away. “Alastor, I am literally just making a sandwich.”

“Ah-ah-ah! That’s where the trouble starts! First, it’s a sandwich—then suddenly, you’re engaging in the culinary arts, and before you know it, you’re—you're—!” he hesitated, waving his hands wildly like the very thought was too much to handle. “Burning down the whole hotel!”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you saying I can’t cook?”

“No, no, not at all! I simply wouldn’t dream of letting you lift a finger when I could do it for you!” his grin twitched—too wide, too forced. “Why, I—ah—!”

You placed a hand on his wrist.

Just lightly. Just to push him away so you could finish your damn sandwich.

And that was all it took.

Alastor froze. Completely. His grin went rigid, his pupils shrinking, his whole body locking up like someone had yanked his power cord straight out of the wall.

You blinked. “Uh. Alastor?”

Silence.

Then—

Bzzt.

A short burst of static popped in the air. The room dimmed. The radio in the corner hissed. And then—

“Oh, DEAR—”

Alastor all but flung himself backwards, twisting his body so abruptly that he nearly knocked over an entire chair. His shadow—his ever-present, eerie, independent shadow—actually fled the room without him, slithering away like it wanted nothing to do with this.

You stared. “Did you just—?”

“I REMEMBER I HAVE SOMEWHERE TO BE!” he bellowed, voice cracking as he smacked his cane against the floor. “SOMETHING! VERY! IMPORTANT!”

“Uh-huh.” You crossed your arms, watching him scramble. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN MORE OKAY IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!” his ears twitched violently, and then, before you could say anything else, he vanished. Just—gone. Poof.

Silence fell over the kitchen.

You sighed, shaking your head, before taking a bite of your sandwich.

Yeah. You were definitely going to have fun with this.

You had already established that Alastor did not handle affection well. Or rather, he handled it about as well as a radio with a frayed wire—lots of static, sparks, and the occasional dramatic system failure.

Which is exactly why you decided to push it.

Just a little.

For science.

So here you were, leaning against the lobby counter, watching Alastor chatter away to Charlie about something. You weren’t really listening—not because it wasn’t interesting, but because you were too busy planning your next move.

You had complimented him. You had touched him.

But you had never done both at the same time.

Until now.

“Alastor,” you interrupted smoothly, stepping closer.

His attention snapped to you immediately, and oh—perfect. His ears were already twitching, his grip tightening ever so slightly around his cane.

“Yes?” his grin was steady, but his voice—just the faintest bit strained.

You hummed, pretending to consider something. Then, before he could say anything else, you reached up and placed your hand gently against his cheek.

The effect was instantaneous.

His entire body locked up, his spine going ramrod straight like a puppet whose strings had just been yanked. The moment your fingers made contact, a deep buzzing filled the air—his own radio frequencies betraying him as static crackled wildly around you both.

You leaned in slightly, looking up at him with the sweetest smile you could manage.

“You really are quite handsome, you know,” you mused.

BZZZZT.

Oh.

Oh, that one might have fried him completely.

Alastor stopped breathing. His eyes—normally sharp, always brimming with mischief—went completely blank. The static around him peaked, the air distorting like an overloading signal. His hand twitched at his side, and then—

“Oh NO.”

That was all he managed before his legs gave out entirely, sending him CRASHING to the floor with a dramatic thud.

Charlie screamed. “OH MY DAD, DID YOU KILL HIM?!”

“I—” You blinked, looking down at him.

He was flat on his back, completely sprawled out, one hand clutching his chest like you had just sniped him straight through the heart. His ears were flicking wildly, his shadow writhing on the walls like it was experiencing second-hand embarrassment.

Then, finally—his mouth opened, and he let out the most broken, wheezing laugh.

“HAHA! Ohhh, dear me—” his voice was weak, pathetic, like a dying radio host gasping out his final words. “I—I’ve been bested! What a cruel, cruel fate!”

Charlie looked horrified. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!”

You shrugged. “I just called him handsome.”

Charlie gaped at you, then down at Alastor—who was still collapsed like some kind of tragic Victorian widow, his fingers trembling against his chest.

“Ohhh, the humanity,” he crooned, his face still red as hell. “The sheer, unbearable agony of it all!”

You crouched down beside him, resting your chin in your hand. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, am I?” he cracked one eye open, still refusing to move from his self-imposed exile on the floor. “Tell me, darling, how am I meant to react when you so brazenly deliver a fatal blow to my very existence?”

“… You just fell over.”

“I was struck down by love’s cruel hand!”

Charlie groaned, running a hand down her face. “I can’t deal with this.” She turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

You, however, stayed put, watching as Alastor’s ears twitched violently the longer you stared at him.

Slowly, carefully, you leaned in just a bit more.

“You really are handsome, though,” you murmured, just for good measure.

Alastor made a garbled noise—like an old radio short-circuiting—before disappearing entirely, his static bursting into the air like a dying transmission.

… Gone.

You sat back with a smug little smile.

Yeah. This was way too much fun.

\\ I thought about this too last night. //

Alastor prided himself on his composure. He had faced eldritch horrors, orchestrated the demise of powerful demons, and smiled through it all like a well-rehearsed showman. Nothing rattled him. Nothing made his grin falter.

Until you.

You, with your impossible ability to throw him off balance. You, with your warm laughter that sent an unfamiliar sensation crawling up his spine. You, who were currently standing too close—far too close—as you adjusted his tie with the gentlest touch imaginable.

“Honestly, Alastor, how do you manage to mess this up?” you teased, tugging lightly at the knot.

“I—I most certainly did not mess it up!” he protested, his voice a notch higher than usual. “It was a stylistic choice! A statement of chaotic fashion!”

You raised an eyebrow. “So having it completely lopsided was intentional?”

Alastor’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. A rare silence followed.

Oh.

Oh, this was terrible. He never lost his words. But as you straightened his tie, your fingers grazing his collarbone, something warm and foreign spread across his face. He felt it in his ears first, then his cheeks.

Heat.

Oh, for the love of the airwaves—was he blushing?

His hands twitched, unsure what to do with themselves, so he awkwardly clasped them behind his back, rocking slightly on his heels. He had to regain control of the situation.

With a dramatic wave of his hand, he burst into song.

“♪ My tie was fine, but you made it divine, and now I—oh dear, my dear, I think I might die! ♪”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “Alastor, what was that?”

“A completely normal reaction!” he declared, twirling away from you. But as he turned, his foot caught on the edge of a rug.

There was a pause. A moment of realization.

And then—

THUMP.

Alastor, the terrifying Radio Demon, master of manipulation and chaos, was now sprawled on the floor, limbs tangled, staring at the ceiling in stunned disbelief.

You gasped before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. “Oh my Lord, are you okay?!”

Alastor shot up immediately, hands adjusting his coat as if nothing had happened. “Of course I’m okay! That was—uh—an illusion! A grand trick to keep you entertained!”

You crossed your arms, still giggling. “You tripped.”

“I did not trip!” he pointed a finger at you, his face still flushed. “You—You’re imagining things! You must have been dazzled by my impeccable charm and lost track of reality!”

You smirked. “So you’re saying I make you lose control?”

Alastor’s mouth opened again—before he immediately clamped it shut, red creeping up his face once more. His ears twitched violently as he let out a short, nervous chuckle.

“Oh, would you look at that!” he blurted, gesturing wildly to nowhere in particular. “The weather today! Isn’t it just swell?!”

You stepped closer, peering at him. “Alastor. You’re flustered.”

“I most certainly am not!”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m just radiating warmth!”

“Mhm.” You grinned. “Adorable.”

Alastor choked. Actually choked.

Then, with an over-the-top, dramatic twirl, he practically phased through the nearest wall, his voice trailing behind him.

“I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT RADIO BROADCAST TO ATTEND TO, GOODBYE FOREVER—”

You covered your mouth, shaking with laughter. Oh, you were never letting him live this down.

[twisted-tales-of-all]

BEEP BOOP ITS ME

Can I request “It’s hard to sit here and be close to you and not kiss you.” And “ meet me in my dreams and stay for a while.” With Yunho please 👁️👁️

Hello Love <3 don't melt too much reading it mkay?

Pairing: Yunho x gender ambiguous reader Genre: fluff, boyfriend!Yunho, idol!Yunho Rating: G/PG, E for Everyone, whatever you want to call it Word Count: 591 Contains: an absolutely gut-wrenching amount of fluff, a proposal, and a kiss, that's about it

"I don't want you to leave. I miss you so much every time you have tours." You whine at your boyfriend as the day turns to night.

Sitting on the rooftop and watching the sun slip fully behind the horizon, you sigh. Although you've always preferred the night and its glistening stars, this night brings alongside its beauty the reminder that Yunho flies out as the sun rises in the morning.

"I know, bun. Believe me, if I had the choice to bring you without putting any risk on you, I would never leave you behind. Ever."

He turns towards you with an intensity in his eyes you haven't seen in years; one you only witnessed directed at you when he insisted that, if you agreed to brave a relationship with him six years ago, he'd keep you safe from over-attached fans no matter what. You cannot help as your heartbeat speeds up; you cannot move nor look away despite the goosebumps attacking your body and trying to make you shiver. Time halts in the beat of silence before his next statement.

"I would love to keep you by my side forever. In this life and the next. Awake, asleep, no matter the time."

He pauses, but your nerves built up under his gaze cannot handle even the smallest moment of silence, so words stumble out from your lips, "Then, meet me in my dreams and stay for a while. That way, it won't feel so lonely while you're gone in the waking world."

Your comment seems to loosen him up a bit. His eyes soften, and he cracks a smile as a chuckle breaks through his seriousness. Shaking his head at himself, seemingly dismissing thoughts he was holding to himself, he finds his words again.

"Gladly. I'll find you in your dreams and on any other plane of existence we end up in. No matter how long it takes, I will always find you. Whether it's in a sea of people or amongst the thousands of stars above, I am yours so I will find you. So, if you'll allow me, I'd like to leave you with more than just dreams of me."

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box. Twisting his body completely in your direction, he ends upon one knee. Your breath catches in your throat and your senses still as he opens the box to reveal a ring even more gorgeous than you imagined. He implemented every little comment you've made about rings over the past years and added personalized touches that only Yunho could bring to life.

"Y/N, will you marry me?"

The tears clog your throat, and you already lost control of your body moments before his question, so you can't respond despite screaming 'yes' inside repeatedly.

"It is so hard to sit here and be this close to you and not kiss you right now. Even a small head movement will do if you can't speak."

The silly smile on his face gives you enough control to nod vigorously, so he leans over immediately and kisses you deeply before remembering the order he was supposed to go. Backing up slightly, he finds the proper hand and slips the ring on your finger.

"Y/N, you are perfect. I'm so far beyond happy that you're mine."

"I will be yours forever if you let me. As long as you can be mine forever, too."

"That sounds like a deal, and I will gladly shout it out to everyone, my love."

[himluv]

In the Dark

Chapter 41 of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Read it below, or over on AO3.

After an intense and blissful night, the team head out to Arlathan Crater.

Lucanis blinked, and for a moment the persistent dark confused him. He was warm, practically floating in a sea of comfortable heat, and the fragrance of soap mingled with sweat and a new scent – warm and a little acidic. 

Sexxxxxxx, Spite hissed.

Memories of the night before flashed through his mind. Rook, topless, his hands on her chest. Rook, in his bed, writhing while he touched her. Rook, crying out his name as her body clenched around his fingers. 

So, that hadn’t been a dream. It was real, as real Embria was now, lying fast asleep in his arms. His forehead was pressed against the back of her neck, his nose burrowed between her shoulder blades. She was so warm, her skin so soft against his that he had to struggle against the urge to run his hands all over her. To wake her up and do it all over again. But, he needed to let her sleep. 

He had a feeling she was going to need it. 

Lucanis climbed off the cot, lit a couple of candles, and dressed in the mostly dark pantry. His shirt and waistcoat were rumpled, but they would do for the time being. He also gathered up Embria’s clothes and stacked them neatly beside the bed. He doubted she would wake before he returned, but… just in case. 

Then he stepped out into the dining hall and started a fresh batch of coffee. He could tell by how rested he felt that it was morning. Spite let him sleep most nights these days, particularly after time spent with Rook. But, they’d had a relatively early evening, so he wasn’t sure if anyone else in the Lighthouse was up yet. 

He stared at the percolator as the coffee brewed, his mind wandering over last night’s events. True to her word, Embria hadn’t pushed. She’d let him set the pace and gladly met him where he was comfortable. They might be going slow, but they were making the most of it. 

At least, he thought they were. He hoped she felt the same. 

Behind him, the dining hall door opened. He glanced over his shoulder to see a disheveled and tired-looking Bellara enter the room. She approached the hutch and raised a brow at him as she reached for her tin of tea. 

“Long night?” She asked. Her tone made it clear she had some guesses as to how his evening had gone. Very inappropriate and potentially accurate guesses. 

He snorted. “You’re one to talk.”

She frowned. “Yeah,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep much.”

He watched her as she filled her kettle and set it on the stove to boil. “Everything all right?”

“Oh, you know.” She shrugged. “My gods have teamed up with a racist cult to snatch up my people to use in a massive blood magic ritual so they can take over the world.”

Lucanis grimaced. “Right. That.”

She sighed. “Sorry, Lucanis.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. That was careless of me.”

She gave him a little smile. Then frowned with worry. “How’s Rook holding up?”

He shrugged. “She was on edge last night,” he said. He looked into his cup and tried to control his blush. “She’s still sleeping.”

Bellara nodded, still watching her kettle, and then his words reached her. Her head turned so fast to look at him, her mouth open. “Wait,” she said. 

The heat in his cheeks increased and he had to look away from her. 

She hurried over to him, practically skipping in her excitement. “Lucanis!” She hissed, mindful this time of Rook asleep beyond the wall behind them. “Tell me. Everything!”

He scowled. “No.”

“Okay, okay. Fine,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But, like… something?” She gave him big, sad eyes and wobbled her lower lip at him. “Please? Harding won’t tell me anything about her and Taash and the last time I tried to ask Neve about Davrin she almost encased me in ice.”

He gave her a pained look. “Why don’t you ask Rook?”

She pouted at him. “I have!”

“And?” He poured himself a cup of coffee and took that first, blissful sip.

“She said no, because you’re a private person, or whatever.”

He chuckled. “And there you have it.”

She tilted her head back in frustration. “Ugh! You’re the worst!”

He hid his smile behind his coffee cup. “Have you asked Emmrich about Strife, yet?”

Bellara turned wide eyes on him. “What?!”

Lucanis grinned. “Or, better yet, ask Strife about Emmrich.”

She laughed. “I don’t want to get stabbed!”

“You think I won’t stab you?” He did his best to sound hurt. 

She snorted at him. “I know you won’t.”

He sighed. “Fair.”

The kettle whistled, and Bellara bounded over to it to start brewing her tea. A moment later, the dining hall doors opened, and Davrin stepped through them. 

“Hey, you two,” he said. “Have either of you seen Rook?”

Lucanis took a sip of his coffee. “She’s sleeping. Why?”

Davrin blinked at him and then grinned. “About damn time!”

“Mierda.” He rolled his eyes. “Must everyone on this team have an opinion on my love life?”

Bellara grinned at him. “It’s how we show we care.”

Davrin shrugged. “I mean, good for you, I guess. But I was mostly rooting for Rook to finally land her quarry.”

Lucanis frowned in disgust. “I am not prey.”

He pointed at Lucanis. “And that’s how you know it was a good hunt. You never saw her coming.”

Bellara tilted her head back and forth. “Pretty sure he did last night,” she murmured into her tea cup. 

Lucanis choked on his coffee while Davrin guffawed. 

“Mierda! Can we please talk about anything else?” He glared at each of them, and while Davrin was still laughing, Bellara at least had the decency to look contrite. 

“Right,” Davrin said once he got his laughter under control. “I was looking for Rook because Strife and Irelin are here.”

“Already?”

“Word must have got across Arlathan fast,” Bellara said. 

Lucanis sighed, then turned to pour Rook’s cup of coffee. “Can you two keep them busy for a little while?”

“You got it,” Bellara said. “I have some questions for Strife and Emmrich, after all.”

“What kind of questions?” Davrin asked as he and Bellara headed toward the courtyard, and Lucanis returned to the pantry. 

To his surprise, Rook had actually slept through all the commotion only a wall away. He was beginning to suspect she was a deep sleeper, a trait he’d never had even before the Ossuary. Even before House Velardo’s coup attempt. His mother had joked that even as an infant Lucanis had been the most vigilant member of their family. 

“Embria.” He put a hand to her shoulder, gently shook when she didn’t wake. 

She moaned, eyelids fluttering as she frowned. “Why are you up?”

He chuckled. “Because it’s morning.”

“So?”

“I brought you coffee,” he said, his voice lilting to entice her.

She cracked an eye open at him. “What else?”

Lucanis blinked. “A kiss?”

Embria hummed as she considered his offer. “Two kisses and it’s a deal.”

He shook his head, but couldn’t help his smile as he ducked down to kiss her. Twice. Then he handed over the coffee as she sat up, careful to keep the blankets wrapped around her chest. 

“So,” she said once she’d had a few sips of coffee. “Last night…”

He tilted his head at her, suddenly worried that something was wrong after all. “What about it?”

“How are you feeling about it?” She asked. “Any concerns or questions or… regrets?”

“Regrets?” He tilted her chin up to look at him. “Rook, it took all my strength not to wake you for another round this morning.”

She chuckled at that, relief loosening her spine and shoulders. “Okay,” she nodded. “Good.”

“What about you?” He asked. “Are you having any regrets?”

“No, Lucanis. Not at all.” She shook her head. “In fact, I’m not opposed to that round two if you’re still up for it.” She grinned at him, a little bashful, but earnest. 

He groaned. She would be the death of him, and now he had even more reason to dislike Strife. “There’s no time,” he said. He winced as he glanced at her. “Strife and Irelin are here.”

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Wow,” she said. “That was fast.”

He nodded. “Bellara and Davrin are with them now. They should buy you enough time to get ready.”

Embria drank her coffee, her eyes far away as she no doubt thought about the day ahead. Finally, she nodded and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Okay,” she said. She stood, letting the blankets fall away to reveal her bare skin once again. Lucanis watched as she dressed, unwilling to lose a moment of the sight of her mostly naked in his room.

 Finally, she hauled on her overcoat and turned to face him. “Let’s do this.”

Lucanis hated everything about this. From their clothes to Neve’s disguise, to the magic so thick in the air his eyes burned. But, what he hated most was how well Rook played her part – keeping close to Neve, a deferent tilt to her chin, and how she avoided eye contact with everyone, even him.

These Venatori scum barely even let their gaze grace over her. Even worse were the few who did look at her. Whose gaze lingered and assessed her as if eyeing a cut of meat hanging in a merchant’s stall. 

Kill. Them, Spite seethed. Kill. Them. ALL!

Lucanis took comfort in the fact that, once they’d saved the Dalish, there’d be a trail of Venatori corpses in their wake. 

Ahead of them, a crowd of cultists had gathered to peer down into a ruin. A terrible, inhuman sound pierced the air. A cry of immense pain, desperate and keening. 

Rook’s head snapped up. “Halla,” she said. She glanced at him and then Neve. “What are they doing to the halla?”

Neve’s frown promised it was something bad, even for blood mages. 

Still, Embria moved forward, peering between shoulders to get a line of sight to the ritual. Lucanis followed her, unwilling to let her out of arm’s reach with so many cultists around. Though, he knew to touch her here with anything even resembling kindness would be blood in the water to these sharks. 

“We don’t have to watch,” Neve murmured. Her voice was tight, unnerved by the torture playing out before them.

The halla floated in the center of the ruin, blood swirling around it in a sadistic echo of the water that swirled through the air in Arlathan Forest. The deer bleated and moaned as its body warped and crumpled under the force of the mages’ power. It was a familiar scene. Zara and Calivan had mutilated many bodies in an effort to release their demons. But this helpless beast, the symbol of the Dalish, being tortured solely for the entertainment of the Venatori?

This was a whole new kind of vile. 

Embria’s body shuddered and thrummed a hair’s breadth in front of his as she watched. It took all of his control not to touch her, to try not to soothe her. Finally, she turned her face away. Her eyes were closed, but she hadn’t been able to keep her tears from falling. 

Lucanis did not look away. He watched, even as his guts churned and his blood roared like waves in his ears. He paid witness to the horror – one he knew so, so well – until the poor halla exploded in a spray of blood and gore. Then he put his mouth to Rook’s ear. 

“We will kill them all,” he whispered. “They will pay, one way or another.”

She looked at him and he watched as the horror hardened to fury in her eyes. She nodded once, then glanced at Neve. “Let’s go.”

Rook was not much of a planner, but what little plan they did have went to shit the moment Elgar’nan and his archdemon showed up. The self-proclaimed god had sensed them, had found their minds in the crowd and tried to ensorcel them all. It was only thanks to Bellara and Neve’s quick thinking that they’d managed to break free. 

So, now the plan was changing on the fly. Luckily, Lucanis was used to jobs going sideways – not one of his contracts with Illario had ever gone to plan. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Neve asked. 

“Uh,” Rook said as they scurried through the ruins, trying to avoid the Venatori hunting them.

“Rook!” Neve said. 

“I’m working on it!”

“Work faster!” He shouted as he parried a ball of energy from a mage that had appeared in the hall behind them. 

“Right!” Lightning erupted from Rook’s orb – arced around the ruin between several Venatori. “Same plan,” she said. “Save the Dalish, then get everyone out of here.”

“That’s not a plan, Rook,” he said. 

“More like goals,” Neve added as she summoned a blizzard down on their enemies. 

“At least they’re good goals!” Rook parried another blast of magic, only to have a Venatori executioner appear behind her. 

Spite launched them toward her, just in time to catch a sickle on his dagger. Rook took advantage of his aid and slashed at the Venatori before spinning away in a magical burst of feathers and knives. The cultist fell to her magic and his blades, the last of this wave of enemies. 

Mierda, protecting Rook was turning into his most difficult contract yet. 

“Thanks, Lucanis,” she panted as she jogged over to him. 

“Thank Spite,” he said. 

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and grinned. “Thanks, Spite!”

His vision went violet as Spite took over. “Protect. Rook,” he said. “Kill. Them. ALL!”

She patted his cheek. “Or at least as many as we can along the way.”

Spite growled his disagreement, but released control back to Lucanis without protest. 

“Right,” Neve said, peering back at them from over her shoulder. “Not sure I’ll ever get used to that.” She raised a brow and tilted her head toward the end of the hall. “Shall we?”

Rook nodded, and they all took off into a new section of the ruin. 

“Mierda, how big is this place?”

“At its height, the Elven Empire spanned all of Thedas,” Rook said. “If this place belonged to the Evanuris in their heyday, it’ll be humongous.”

“They certainly weren’t keen on subtlety,” Neve said. 

Rook scowled. “Especially not Elgar’nan.”

Spite growled at the mention of the would-be god. “Tried to. STEAL. Lucanis!”

The elven god had certainly offered up pretty things when he’d spoken into Lucanis’s mind, but not one of them was worth the price. “I’d rather die,” Lucanis said. 

Rook gave him a sharp look. “Elgar’nan isn’t getting anyone today,” she said. “Come on.”

She led them through what looked like the courtyard of a ruined temple. It was suspiciously quiet, after all they’d battled to get there. 

“Be ready,” he said. 

They passed a platform, its tile cracked and overgrown, with a gleaming diamond-shaped construct at its center. Then they met with a gate. 

“Ugh!” Rook shoved against the metal, but it didn’t budge. “It’s locked!”

“Rook!” Harding called from the other side of the gate. 

“Harding? Are you okay? Where is everyone?”

“We’re all here,” Bellara called from further back. 

“Whole and hale,” Emmrich added. 

Lucanis watched Embria’s shoulders drop, and for a moment she seemed so relieved she looked unsteady on her feet. He reached for her, but she waved him off. 

“Can you guys get this gate open? We’re stuck!”

“Leave it to us,” Davrin said. 

“And if we can’t unlock it, maybe I can burn it down,” Taash said. 

“Let’s try the old-fashioned way first,” Harding said. “Sit tight, Rook. We’ll get you through in no time.”

Of course, it took substantially longer than that, all while wave after wave of Venatori tried to make the most of the fact that they were cornered. 

“Harding!” Rook shouted. “We can’t keep this up much longer!”

Spite disagreed. Lucanis felt the demon’s glee coursing through him, rapturous laughter threatening to bubble up with each cultist that fell beneath their blades. 

YES! He shouted. Yes, yes, YES!

“Almost there,” Harding called. 

Lucanis panted and glanced at Rook. She looked pale. She’d been slinging a lot of magic around and there was a gash in her leather overcoat.

She caught him looking and shook her head. “Already healed,” she said. 

“And your potions?”

She looked away. “I have a few left.”

“Rook.”

“It’s fine, Lucanis.” She put a hand on his arm. “We just need to–” she looked over her shoulder at the rest of the team “–GET THROUGH THIS GATE!”

“We’re working on it!” Taash yelled back. “Elven vashedan!”

Lucanis felt like he had finally caught his breath when the construct in the center of the platform came to life. 

“Look out,” Neve called.

Rook shoved Lucanis as she rolled away from him. They both narrowly missed being smashed by the machine’s massive mace. 

“Rook?”

“Fine,” she called. “Focus!”

She was right. If he wanted to protect her, he needed to keep his head in the fight. 

The construct was a trying enough opponent, but the endless tide of cultists made the fight truly daunting. Even Lucanis was beginning to tire, Spite’s glee wearing down into frustration. 

“Just a little more,” Rook called. Her voice was strained, maybe even pained. He couldn’t see her through the chaos of the battlefield. Snow and ice, lightning and fire, and the sickening iron tang of blood magic filled the air. His eyes itched and burned and a dull ache thumped at his temples. 

He spun at the construct, and a great explosion followed as his knives connected and reacted to Rook’s magic. The machine fell to the ground, finally still while electricity danced across its body. Neve slung ice daggers at the last remaining Venatori while Lucanis scanned the courtyard for Rook.

“Harding?” She called. There, on the ground. She was on her hands and knees, panting. 

Lucanis ran to her, Spite’s wings flapping to speed them across the courtyard. “Rook?” He asked, falling to his knees before her. 

“I’m okay,” she said. “Catching my breath.” She looked up and gave him a shaky smile.

“Mierda, woman,” he said. He took her hand and hauled her up onto her feet. Then the gate finally screeched open behind them. 

Rook’s head fell back and she let out an exhausted laugh. “Thank. Fuck.”

Neve snorted at that. “Let’s go,” she said. “Before more Venatori show up.”

“More?!” Rook asked. 

Lucanis growled. “There are always more.”

“Like rats,” Neve said.

“Or roaches.”

“Crush. Them!” Spite added. “Kill. Them!”

Rook patted his chest. “You’re doing a great job of it so far,” she said. 

Spite preened at the praise, and Lucanis took over again before the demon could purr in front of all of their friends. 

Rook turned to face the rest of the team. “Good job, you guys.”

Harding winced. “Sorry it took so long.”

Taash loomed behind her, arms crossed. “Vashedan.”

Rook looked around, meeting the gaze of each of their friends. “We saw a section of the temple blocked off by the Venatori,” she said. “I think it’s where they’re keeping the Dalish.”

Bellara frowned. “That might explain the strange magical energy up ahead.” She gave Rook a worried look. “And lots of it.”

Rook nodded. “Sounds like our ritual site,” she said. “Bellara, you and the others find Strife.” She glanced at Neve, and then Lucanis. “We’ll keep going and see if we can’t free our people.”

Bellara and Davrin both looked like they wanted to argue. Lucanis didn’t disagree with them. It was their people in danger. But, he didn’t think he could handle letting Rook walk into this fight without him. 

He was glad she wouldn’t make him try. 

The team split up, and Neve and Lucanis followed Rook into the temple proper. Even rundown and abandoned, the temple was impressive – fountains lined with glittering tiles, tall, arched ceilings, and statues of wolves everywhere. 

“Well, look who it is,” Neve drawled. 

Lucanis glared at her. 

She raised a brow. “What? Just stating the obvious.” She gestured around the room. “He has quite the presence.”

“Which means this temple is old,” Rook said. “From before he separated from Mythal and the other Evanuris.”

“Why is Elgar’nan holding his ritual here?”

Lucanis snorted at that. “These gods are petty,” he said. “He’s taunting Solas.”

Rook frowned. “Sounds about right.” She glanced around, her gaze wary. “Keep an eye out,” she said. “It’s too quiet in here.”

Lucanis rubbed at one eye, the itching and burning sensation worsening as they passed through a doorway at the back of the room and into a hall cloaked with grey mist.

Wrong, Spite hissed. 

“Rook,” he said, stopping beside a long-dry fountain. “We don’t like this.” He glared at the mist. Was it… whispering? “Bellara was right, there’s a lot of magic here.”

“Too. Much.”

She slid her hand into his. “Are you all right?”

He nodded and blinked. “My eyes are burning,” he said. 

“Be ready,” she said to Neve. 

“Always,” she replied. 

Embria gave him a fragile smile and squeezed his hand. Then she released him and stepped into the mist, Neve and Lucanis following her into the dark. 

[15depressedducks]

Flowers Can Grow in Concrete C19

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58980931/chapters/162536140

(I'll fix archive link in a little, sry it's being weird :/)

The sun had just barely set. V was sleeping when N bolted upwards, he was breathing fast. V groggily looked up at him, he had his hand by his chest, tail wrapping around himself.

“N?” He jumped when he heard her voice. His eyes hollow, wide, and worried, lines under them with a trembling mouth.

“N? Are you okay?” V sat up too, hand reaching out to comfort.

“I-I-I-I-” N stuttered. What happened? “N? I need you to take a break, and recover from, whatever happened… okay?” N simply nodded.

N looked around and landed on Uzi, his paranoia seems to drop some.

“N? All it was was a dream-” He cut her off.

“No, I-I-I can’t be around Uzi…”

“What? N that was just a dream..?”

“No, nonono… I-I-I can’t let myself harm her!” N said in a hushed and panicked tone.

“Did you dream about killing her?” N slowly nodded.

“Oh, N…” V sympathetically replied. I know that feeling, too well. V placed a hand on his back.

“I-I’m a risk to her safety, I-I-I should just leave her with you, she’d be happier and safer that way-” V looked N dead in the eyes.

“N. No. You are not leaving Uzi with me. We both know she’s a two-drone job. And I know you won’t hurt her.” She spoke in a stern, yet caring voice.

“V! How can you guarantee that?! I'd be doing more harm than help!” N’s arms exploded with movement, worry and fear engulfed him.

“J told me how you killed that worker that tried to take her… Did the bodies look the same?” N froze, thought, then nodded.

“Your systems are just reusing what you’ve experienced. We all know you won’t hurt her.” V Gently started to scratch N’s back.

“I want to trust you…” N brought his arms back to his chest, tail swaying by his side.

“Then do…” V brought her right hand to his chin gently rubbing it.

“I-I-I need to leave, clear my head…” N stood abruptly and flew off, V followed suit. Calling after him. Seriously? Did they both leave Uzi with me?! This is worse than buying stock before it dropped! J watched from her nest.

Uzi started to turn a toss. Oh, she’ll wake up… Ugh, I don’t want to deal with her, I'll just fix the blanket. J flew down to the bed quietly.

J walked closer and grabbed the blanket, and laid it over Uzi.

Before J could walk away, Uzi grabbed her arm. “Oh… Uh… No?” J looked at the little drone with worry. Uzi squeezed it closer as J tried to pull away. Kid, please, no. 

J tried to pull away some more, but couldn't. Great… I'm not fond of this… let go kid…

Uzi didn’t let go.

J sat down beside the bed, Uzi clutching her arm like a toy.

—

It wasn’t long before Uzi aroused, her half lidded eyes scanning around.

Now you’re awake. Good. Uzi started to yawn and J looked to the exit, one of her real eyes remained on Uzi, who was also staring at her, mouth open all the way from the yawn. Does the kid know about our eyes? Wait, wh- J Suddenly felt pain, it was bland compared to what she knew, but still pain nonetheless.

The kid had bitten her arm as tight as she could, and slightly glared at J. “Kid, let go, that’s annoying…” The kid almost recoiled from the words, a confused look filled her face as she let go. Slight dents… huh… J thought as she looked at her arm.

“Why didn’t you yell? N and V do that… “It's funny.” Uzi tilted her head, before laughing slightly.

“Because… I have felt greater pain before… Pain your simple bite couldn’t compare to…” J looked off to the side, sighing.

“Then I’ll just try harder!” The kid lunged for her arm. Really? Ugh…

J’s arm moved before the child could react, and before she could fall onto the bed J grabbed her by the back of her shirt and held her up at eye level. “Pointless endeavor really. You’d have an easier time boiling the ocean…” The little girl pouted, crossing her arms and frowning. “And your hair’s a mess.”

Her eyes flared with anger. “My mama did my hair! It’s just like her’s!” She flailed around, swiping at J best she could.

“When was the last time it was done?” J asked unamused, her deadpan eyes watching the youngster fail to make contact with her.

The child froze. “Uhhhh… Before N found me?” She said, raising an eyebrow. Am I really about to do this? Ugh, It’ll just bother me later…

“Wait here, I’m grabbing something.” J flew to the pod, went inside and grabbed a hairbrush, then flew back. “You can have your hat back in a second.” J grabbed the hat, setting it to the side.

“Hey! My hat!” Uzi tried to grab it but J already had her in her grasp.

“Just do as I say, and you’ll get it back.” J sat down on the bed, and placed Uzi’s back in front of her. “Now stay still.”

Uzi grumbed, but did as she was told. “You promise..?” J gently ran her fingers through Uzi’s hair, feeling the knots and tangles it had accumulated. Kids and their need to know, geez…

“... I promise…” J grabbed the brush and gently went through the hair, It snagged occasionally, but J never pulled hard.

“Owowowoww! Stop!” Uzi’s hand went under her hair, holding down what was being pulled on. “That hurt!” Her voice alarmed.

“Woah, calm down, I’m not pulling hard am I?” J moved the brush away as she gently grabbed her shoulders to turn her around. V was always better at this, kids ‘n stuff… But if I was able to do it with Tes her… Then Uzi should be no problem…

“No…” Uzi shyly replied, lowering her hand. J continued slowly. I think this might be harder than I first interpreted, but nothing I can’t do.

J gently brushed Uzi's hair, who whimpered every now and then from the tension of the brush and her hair. J kept on talking softly throughout it, a faint smile forming from memories of before.

“Hey… We’re almost done, okay?” J ran the brush through her hair again, It glided along smoothly.

“Okay…” Uzi dejectedly replied, holding her arm.

“Is there a reason you don’t like it being brushed? Also turn around real quick please.” Uzi turned, a tear dropped from her eye.

“I don’t like it pulling… I always cried when mama did it…” J started stylizing the hair back to how it was.

“I see, But hey, look I’m done now, okay?” J set the brush to the side and admired her work, softly smiling.

“...Thank you… Now can I have my hat back?” J muffled her laugh, causing Uzi to grin.

“Yeah yeah, here you go.” J haphazardly tossed the beanie to Uzi, who failed to catch it as it flew over her head.

“Hey! That was too high!” She stomped her foot.

“...Whoops.” J smugly replied. “But you could have jumped.”

“Bite me!” She stomped her foot again, fists formed by her side as she pouted.

“N would kill me if I did, so no.” J smirked.

“IT’S A METAPHOR!” 

“I know that, it’s just funny how mad you get.” heheh, dumb child. Uzi glared at J, And stormed off to find her hat. If looks could kill…

J smiled as Uzi looked around, then N and V came back, and her smile was replaced with a dull expression. V looked slightly worried, but N’s face told a story of too many thoughts, and none of them helpful.

“Mom! Dad! You’re back!” Uzi ran to them as they landed, and N displayed a false smile.

“Ay! Uzi! How were you?” His voice lied about how he was feeling. N picked her up, and spun around, causing her to giggle.

“I was good! J brushed my hair…” She smiled.

“Oh? That explains why you don’t have your hat.” V chuckled then gave J a questioning look. Ugh… I can do nice things without a secret reason. J flew off to her nest, a strange bitter taste resided in her mouth.

I forgot to put the brush back… oh well… J landed in her nest, and layed down, Right as V showed up, a clawed hand holding her up. J grumbled.

“J-” V started before J cut her off.

“No. I simply did that because you guys left, and I didn’t need to deal with her cries.” J lightly glared at V, who was slightly shocked.

“I was just going to thank you?” Oh… “And I’d like to ask something… Why did you brush her hair?” V raised a digital brow.

“It was a mess.” J notchelantly replied.

“How were you able to brush it though? Whenever we ask her, she refuses…” V climbed into the nest, sitting by the edge of it.

“I somewhat forced it?” J sat up too, her voice slightly unsure.

“Of course you did… How was she then?”

“...”

V’s eyes narrowed. “J… Please tell me.”

“She may have been slightly upset?” J could feel V’s anger. “But she said it was from the pressure! A-And I promise I was gentle!” J slightly panicked.

V starred, contemplating on what to say next.

“I will possibly stab you.”

J half-heartedly smiled. “Understandable.”

.

Beta readers: What do you have there?

Me with 5 unfinished fics: A smoothie.

Hi guys! know it's been sometime! (3 months to be exact...) Glad to be able to give y'all an update! I have been writing... but unfortunately for other fics (-_-;)"> This will NOT be forgotten, just motivation is weird, so when I can I'll update it!

[ilium-ilia]

In Limbo

simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist

Chapter Ten: silent night

tw: gore

You’re dreaming of your dad again. 

Crooked fingers grip the steering wheel in front of him as he sits in the driver’s seat, maneuvering through swirling streets with faceless pedestrians. You’re cuddled in the back seat, covered in heavy blankets that weigh you down like you’re chained in a prison. They’re tight, serpentine binds. So much so you find it hard to breathe. Fat snowflakes flutter past the window as the engine revs, speeding through London with no regard for traffic lights or stop signs. If there were other cars on the road, your dad would have crashed long ago. 

Quiet megrim suffocates you as your ringing ears attempt to make sense of the song playing on the radio. Static drowns the notes, fuzzies them until you can barely hear it. Your dad hums the tune in a different key. Sweet, and off beat. He’s always been tone deaf. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

The acrid scent of blood fills your nose the moment you find his eyes in the rearview mirror. Thick patches of it stain his face, crusting around fat lacerations on his eyebrows, lips and nose. It dries; flakes off his skin just to be replaced by a fresh stream. Pulled stitches fray at the ends as they protrude from his skin like grotesque teeth, being devoured from the inside out by wounds he can’t outrun. Wounds that will never heal. 

“Comfortable?” he asks. 

Your legs squirm as you try to shift but the cocoon of blankets grows tighter around you, hugging your limbs close as if you’re trapped in a straightjacket. It’s so crowded that your ribs have trouble expanding, and a breathy cough leaks from your mouth. It burns, like smoke in your lungs or mint on your tongue. 

“You should slow down,” you warn him. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” The song repeats. You don’t think you’ve heard it make it past the first stanza. A bent record, forever scratching, doomed to repeat a song and never finish it. 

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he assures you. 

“Dad, please slow down.” 

The engine sputters and quiets down as the brakes engage with a gentle tap. Wheels dwindle and slow until the car halts in the center of the road. Traffic suddenly dashes by with quiet whooshes, as cars appear out of nowhere. Maybe they’ve been following you the entire time. They’re all black—like a funeral procession. Exhaust mixes with iron. The concoction is enough to turn your stomach as the scent sears your sinuses. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

“Are you afraid I’m going to end up like him?” your dad asks. Disfigured, bent, and disgusting fingers still grip the steering wheel despite the motionlessness of the car. You try not to stare, but the horror of it has you transfixed. “Like Aelin’s dad?” 

Your bottom lip juts out and trembles. “You already did.” 

He laughs at you, and it’s warm like velvet. Comforting just like it used to be when you were a kid. It reminds you of when he would read you stories before bed, keeping his tone even yet engaging—just calming enough to get your eyes heavy. Your skin itches to throw the blankets off of your body and wrap yourself in his mirth instead, but as usual, you are not strong enough. 

“I’m right here, darling,” he chuckles. “I know the accident was hard on you, but it’s not your fault. It could’ve happened to anyone. You don’t have to be afraid of it.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap. 

“Silent night, Holy night.” 

Leather seats shift under your dad’s weight, and his eyes no longer look at you in the rearview mirror. You want to ask if he looks away in shame, but the question doesn’t quite reach your tongue. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asks softly. 

You swallow. “I don’t know. I just… wish you didn’t leave me like that.” 

“But I didn’t leave,” he assures. 

“You did! You died! You’re dead and now I have nothing,” you retort. 

There is no denying that you are aggrieved. Betrayed in some aching way that still haunts the marrow of your bones and the ridge of your spine. He smiles and speaks as softly as he did when he was alive, but your father’s shadow looms over you, heavy and thick like a brume you can’t outrun. You’re not sure there has ever been a moment of your life where it hasn’t followed you. 

You’re not sure it will ever stop. 

“Silent night, Holy night. All is calm, all is-” 

The radio dies just as the engine does and a wave of tinnitus rings so loud you’re certain it can’t be coming from inside your own head. Someone else must be hearing this agony; it can’t just be you. You blink and witness in abject horror as your dad twists in his seat, hands leaving the steering wheel, torso turning so that he can fully face you. 

He looks just like he did all those years ago. Clothes perfectly pressed, dress shirt steamed, cuffs neatly creased. He always joked about how the first time he would ever wear a suit would be at your wedding—instead, he wore his first suit at his own funeral. They did a good job at making him look normal. Human. At covering the abrasions and scratches. At setting his fingers and nose straight. Still, there’s something wrong with his skin. There’s no fresh blood, it’s all pooled in his body. Heavy. Weighing it down. 

The mortician did a good job, but no amount of wax can fix the chuck of bone and flesh missing from the side of his skull. 

“Dad, please,” you beg. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Sorry, darling,” he says, but his voice is warped. Wrong. Gargled like his vocal chords decayed long ago. “There’s not much you can do. Not anymore.” 

Your only solace is the alarm on your phone. 

It vibrates next to your head where it echoes throughout your box spring mattress like a hollow cavern. It kickstarts your heart until it pounds so violently in your chest that you’re certain your sternum will shatter. You need it to stop. Need it to shut up. Need to kill it. Sucking in a shuddering breath, your hands fumble with your phone as you tap on the screen, shutting off the alarm and plunging your apartment into silence. 

Throwing yourself on your back, you stare at your water damaged ceiling as you try not to deliquesce into the bed. You can already feel it happening. Muscles convulsing until they liquify, bone marrow seeping out from your pores, soft duvet soaking up the essence of everything that once made you human. You feel the pillow beneath your head and the cotton of your pajamas as you try to ground yourself to the earth that threatens to crush you everyday, but your mind is always stronger. There is nothing you can do to free yourself from the heat of a car engine, or shattered glass in your lap, or the gunshot pop! of an airbag—

Once more, your phone buzzes. It’s soft, and non-intruding. A gentle nudge that pulls you back into your bed just as the heater kicks on with a quiet hiss. You breathe in the scent of your apartment. It’s stale. Stagnant air and old dish soap. You’d like to invest in a candle or wax warmer—like the ones your mom used to have. Maybe that way you could pretend that you’re still with her, if only for a moment. 

Everything feels lighter when you force your mind to remember where you are. That doloriferous anxiety wanes until it’s nothing more than a dormant beast in your chest. Sighing, you twist your body to grab your phone. It’s just before eight in the morning, and a text from Simon has your heart fluttering. 

Good morning sweetheart. I’ll be there in an hour. Need me to pick up anything for the trip? 

Not even the primal terror lurking in your chest can stop the small smile that pulls at your lips as you read his message. Always so proper. So kind and considerate. For a moment, you forget all about crooked fingers and half formed skulls. You swallow back any tremulous sensation as you type your response back to him. 

no thanks, should be good (: excited to see you

You push your anxiety into submission—it’s Christmas Eve, and you have somewhere to be. 

A quick shower is all it takes to get your mind functioning properly again. Lukewarm water washes away the nightmare sweats and leaves you with a clean slate. Fresh, untouched skin. There’s a draft that seeps through the gaps of the bathroom window, causing your skin to prickle and tighten as you dry yourself off in front of the foggy mirror. On windy days, you can hear it whistle as it seeps through the gap. The cold prompts you to get ready with a sense of urgency, and it isn’t long before you’re swaddled tight in comfortable clothes as you shove last minute items into your travel bag. 

Simon arrives just when he said he would, and you can’t tell if your eyes are playing tricks on you, but his jumper seems to hug tighter around his shoulders than usual. Muscles shift in his shoulders as he rolls out the morning tension, and you find your greeting tumbling out of your lips on a tongue that suddenly feels too fat. He stares at you with careful eyes, always assessing you like the good worker he is. He soaks up the buzz tingling through your nerves as you fiddle with your travel bag. Heat drenches your skin so thickly he can almost feel it from where he stands. 

Smirking, he reaches forward, fingers brushing against yours as he slips the bag out of your hand, leaving you no choice but to relinquish it. He keeps the straps firmly in his hand as he steps back, gesturing to the stairs. 

“After you, sweetheart.” 

Breakfast and warm tea brewed in a to-go cup waits for you in Simon’s car. It’s the very first thing you notice when he opens the door for you, and the sight has you biting into your lip. You try to mutter something about how he shouldn’t have, but he only shushes you as he ushers you inside. Really, it makes a good distraction. Focusing on trying not to leave crumbs as you devour a bagel sandwich leaves you little time to worry about why he didn’t bother to get anything for himself. 

It’s good. Better than good. Perfectly toasted bagel, melty cheese, seasoned avocado—it’s something too fancy for you to have ever ordered on your own. The tea is still warm by the time you hit the motorway, and a comfortable silence settles over you as the engine hums along the road. Towering grey buildings dwindle into quaint homes which then shapeshift between natural scenery and city views in the distance.

You try to remember the last time you left London. Escaped the prison that’s held you by the throat for the last few years, even if it were only temporary. Nothing comes to mind, and you feel your blood sing in excitement. 

Simon shifts in his seat next to you, and your eyes dart over to him. He’s only adjusting himself, getting his legs comfortable for the long ride ahead—he mentioned something about arriving around one—but your eyes can’t help but wander. You glance at the roll of his hips and the way his thighs fill out the fabric of his jeans. His stomach is soft, and it expands slightly as he sighs. His lips sit in a tight line while his eyes scan the road ahead, one hand on the steering wheel, thick fingers wrapped around the edge—

You blink and they’re crooked. Bruised, bent, and wrong. Compound fractures—bone piercing flesh. Jagged knuckles, fingers like the ridge of a mountain; you feel your stomach twist as that nightmare continues to haunt you. 

Before its tendrils have the chance to wrap around your spine, your hand dives into your pocket. Frayed string brushes against your skin, and you hook it like a fish on the end of your line before yanking it free. It’s the same distraction you always end up running back to. It keeps you moving and your mind focused on formations as you twist them into designs—always flowing, never stagnant. 

Even now, you can hear your father’s voice. You can feel his hands guiding you just like he did all those years ago when he taught you how to play. Move your left hand. They’ll cross if you don’t.

You move your right hand, and it knots; candle sticks now a cross. 

“Cat’s cradle?” Simon asks. 

As you unwind the string from your fingers to begin again, a nostalgic smile creeps on your lips. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone recognize it before. “Yeah. I play it sometimes to keep myself occupied.” 

“Didn’t know you could play it by yourself,” he admits. “Always thought you needed someone else.” 

“You can’t do as many moves as you can with another person, but it’s still fun,” you chuckle sheepishly. 

He hums as he adjusts the position of his hand on the wheel. His free arm rests on the center console next to you—his fingers twitch. “You should teach me.” 

A breathy laugh escapes your lips; you think he’s joking. It’s a stupid game with string. Nothing that means anything. Yet when you look at him and find his eyes flickering to you—his dark hue reading your expression—you realize he means it. 

You swallow, then smile. “If you’d like.” 

He shifts once more, leather seat creaking beneath his weight. You try to ignore the way your heart hurts at the sound. “I’d like doin’ anythin’ with you.” 

The whole ride feels warm after that. Bubbling mirth lurks beneath your skin, lighting it on fire, heating your cheeks and the tips of your ears until you swear you can feel the skin melt from your bones. It’s that same feeling that afflicted you the previous week after Christmas shopping. This fervor. This want. It continues to fester and metastasize until it lurks deep in your brain where it whispers. The susurrus gets louder the closer you are to reaching Manchester as the reality of your situation hits you. 

You’re going to be meeting his family. 

But as a friend, or something else? 

That question plagues you as Simon pulls up to a small home with effulgent lights lining the rooftop. They illuminate the sparse layer of snow that coats the city in crystalline sparkles, and for a moment you’re convinced you’re seeing stars. A thick evergreen wreath adorns the front door, and the sight of it is so nostalgic it nearly hurts. A tremble ails your knees as you climb out of the car, useless joints turning into jelly as you watch Simon retrieve both of your bags. Your hands reach out, ready to receive yours, but he raises his eyebrow as he closes the door with his elbow. 

“C’mon,” he urges. “Freezin’ out here.” 

Your legs shake with each step you take up the stairs to the door. A TV drones from somewhere inside of the house as quiet chatting mixes with whatever programme is playing. Giggles blend seamlessly into faint music and fuzzy, Old-Hollywood dialogue, and a faint sillage of cinnamon bleeds through every pore of the house. Voices cease as Simon clumsily knocks on the door, bags hitting against the wood as he attempts to balance everything on his own. A high pitched gasp bleeds through the door, followed by what you think is someone asking for Uncle Simon. 

You swallow your heart thudding in your throat as the door swings open and you’re met with a mess of bright blonde hair. Simon was right—Tommy isn’t bigger than him at all, yet he still towers taller than most. He grins at his brother, crooked teeth and all, as he slaps his hand on Simon’s shoulder. 

“About time you showed up. Joey’s been beggin’ for you all morning,” he teases, though he can’t quite mask the way his eyes flicker to you as you stand meekly to the side. “C’mon in. We just started a game of Candyland.” 

The moment you and Simon step through the threshold of the house, you’re enveloped by the aroma of fresh cinnamon and the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas. A fat evergreen tree sits in the corner of the living room next to a coffee table that sports board game pieces and snacks strewn about its top. You recognize Joseph and his mother, Beth, who sit next to the table on the floor, rug cushioning their knees from the wood. The very moment his eyes land on Simon, little Joseph bolts to his feet. 

Suddenly, it’s a reunion. Everyone stands on their feet to exchange hugs and kisses while Simon attempts to return them with his hands occupied with bags. The walls echo the laughter shared between everyone, and your left ear buzzes and rings. Still, you stand there with a quiet smile, soaking in the familial love as you stay out of the way. Joseph clings to Simon’s leg, white teeth on display as he looks up at his uncle, and you swear you’ve never seen Simon smile or laugh so hard before. 

“Simon?” a voice speaks up from the kitchen. 

You turn to find a grey haired woman drying her hands off on a lighthouse themed tea towel. She’s short; surprisingly so for the two boys she’s brought into this world. Rose tint dusts the apples of her cheeks as she slowly crosses into the entryway, arms spread wide to envelop her son as best as she can with her frail frame. 

“Missed you, mum,” Simon whispers as he returns the hug. 

“It’s always good to see you,” she says, pulling away to look up at him. Her lips tighten as her fingers squeeze the side of his arm. “My sweet boy.” 

It isn’t long before her eyes begin to wander. They’re drawn to you, and she doesn’t even bother to fight against the magnetic pull. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think she was eager to see you. She removes herself from her son as she approaches you, hands reaching for yours as she pulls you away from the door and into her home. 

“It’s so good to meet you, Chip,” she says, hands patting yours. 

She already knows your name. 

You swallow. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Riley,” you stutter back in response. 

Everything falls into place after that like a perfect line of dominos. Simon vanishes for only a short moment to put your bags away in some unseen room, and he returns just in time for Joseph to drag the two of you into the living room for a board game. There’s hardly any time for proper introductions as Joseph directs the game all the way down to what color pieces everyone uses—both you and Simon are assigned green—and despite your apprehension, it’s like you’ve been here the whole time. Instantly welcomed and assimilated into the Riley Family like you’ve never belonged anywhere else. 

So much information is shared in such a short amount of time that your brain begins to throb with the knowledge and fatigue. Questions are thrown about as everyone takes turns drawing cards and moving pieces along the board. You learn that Joseph’s favorite color is red because it reminds him of his mother’s hair, and how Beth works with school aged children as a teacher. Tommy works as a mechanic and is one of the reasons why Simon has a motorcycle, and the two brothers can banter well enough to go pro, especially with one another. The table erupts into laughter and playful cursing more often than not. 

They ask questions about you, too. They gently poke, prod, and peel back the layers you try so hard to wrap yourself up in. They don’t allow you to hide, and after a few hours of games, snacks, and movies, you start to think you might not want to anymore. Tucked into Simon’s side, lazy arm around your shoulder as he chuckles and laughs with his family, you start to realize this is the most at home you’ve felt for a long time. 

You attempt to remember the last holiday event you attended that you enjoyed, but the memories that emerge taste sour on your tongue. 

Halfway through How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Simon squeezes your shoulder. It’s soft—a gesture that warns you he’s going to move well before he does. He removes his arm from around you, body shifting forward on the couch, yet he makes sure to replace the airplane themed blanket on your lap that Joseph gave you because you look cold. You blink at him with heavy lids. 

“Gonna step outside for a smoke,” he assures. 

“Okay. Well, I’ll keep our seats warm,” you smile as he stands. 

Manchester is bitter and dark when Simon steps out into the backyard. His skin tenses and trembles through the fabric of his jumper as he lights the cigarette sitting between his teeth with a shudder. A hiss bleeds between his teeth as he exhales, hands burrowing deep into his pockets to stave off the cold. 

Truly, he is happy to be home, but those walls make his skin crawl. Old scars burn and itch every time he sees those photos hanging up on the walls, or when the wood floors creak a certain way. No amount of pine tree pollen or holiday cinnamon can fully cleanse the stale alcohol that permeates every pore in that house from shattered bottles and spilt cans. Each time he visits, he tries to override the memories. He tries to erase them and let them decay—create something new from the lingering pain. He’s tried to convince his mom to let him buy her a nicer place, or at least fix that damn bathtub, but she refuses every time. 

He swears that he’ll one day tear out every tile in that bathroom. 

A squeak sounds behind Simon as the sliding glass doors open, then quickly shut. He hurriedly exhales the smoke in his mouth before turning around, not at all surprised to find Tommy approaching him with his arms hugged to his chest. 

“Tryna bum a smoke?” Simon asks as he shoves the cigarette back between his lips. 

“What, and have Beth maul me in my sleep?” Tommy chuckles as he jams his thumb over his shoulder. “Been clean for nearly six years, and I don’t plan on throwin’ that away any time soon.” 

Dead grass crunches beneath Tommy’s feet as he approaches, but Simon’s chuckle drowns it out. “Good man.” 

Tommy hums as he stops next to his brother, still a good distance away so as to not get the stale scent of nicotine on him. Blue eyes keep flickering to the door where you, Beth, and Joseph continue to watch the movie, idle chatter filling the gaps of the film you’ve seen a million times over. He smirks, and it looks an awful lot like Simon’s 

“Didn’t realize you were bringin’ a girl,” he admits. “No wonder why mum seemed extra adamant ‘bout cleaning. How long have you two been together?” 

At that question, Simon takes a particularly long drag. It expands in his lungs; fills the space until there’s nothing left. When he exhales, it’s slow. Long. “We’re not together.” 

“Oh?” Tommy questions with a poorly restrained grin. “So, you just brought this completely random bird home to see the family? Nothin’ more?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon deadpans. 

“Ah. Complicated. Bullshit,” Tommy retorts. 

The brothers fall silent as laughter bleeds through the doors behind them. Both men turn to find Joseph wrapped in Beth’s arms, swaying side to side as he points at the TV. You cover your laugh with the palm of your hand, but Simon catches on to the way your shoulders shake with the movement. 

“When are you gonna settle down? Start a family of your own?” Tommy questions, eyes still on his wife and son. “Sure mum’ll appreciate you gettin’ married before she’s too old to know where she’s at.” 

In an attempt to hide his laugh, Simon chooses to scoff instead. “I couldn’t do better than you ‘n Beth.” 

“Couldn’t you?” Tommy challenges. 

For a moment, Simon entertains it—the thought of a family. The thought of you. He’ll admit, he thinks of you often, but he can’t determine if it’s because he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, or because he’s still trying to solve the mystery of you. Of Andrei, of your reclusiveness; of everything. He can’t tell if his heart quickens because of you, or what might be chasing you. 

What a silly idea. With his line of work, and your obvious anxiety, he’s certain you’d want nothing to do with him if you ever found out what he does for a living. 

He doesn’t think he’d see you again if you ever caught sight of the blood that stains his hands. 

“I mean it,” Simon says, standing firm. “Buildin’ the life you did after everythin’ you went through, findin’ an amazing woman and havin’ a good son… I’m proud of you.” 

Tommy scoffs at Simon’s adulation like he’s about to spew something sarcastic at the man, but instead his lips pull into a reverent smile. Nodding, he sighs, breath spewing out in a fit of frost that’s quickly smothered by the bitter air as it rises and vanishes. An airplane flies overhead, its lights gently winking in the distance. 

“As the older brother, I think I’m supposed to be praisin’ you but… yeah. I’m proud of myself, too,” he admits. “To think about all the shit I had gotten caught up with. Fuck, surprised Beth ever saw anythin’ in me. Nearly got myself killed over drugs. Over that stupid fuckin’ debt. Needed my little brother to come save my arse. Still, I’ve got them. Somehow… I have them. Wouldn’t change that for the world.” 

Hot embers begin to burn too close to Simon’s fingers, and he discards the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and stomps out what remaining life it has left. He looks up at Tommy, but his eyes are focused on the smoldering remains of ash at his feet. 

“Do you run into him at all?” Tommy asks. 

“Who?”

“Marco.” 

Ravenous acrimony eats away at Simon’s chest at the name alone. Memories resurface—an overconfident prick with beady green eyes. He rubs at his knuckles as if he can still feel the way they split all those years ago. He presses against his fingers until they shift; their crack echoes dully off the dead grass and glass door. 

“If I did, he’d be fuckin’ dead,” he assures. 

Tommy chuckles, clearly caught off guard by his brother’s bloodthirst. “Well, I wouldn’t ever ask you to go that far, but… the cunt would deserve it. Besides, with your line of… work, I reckon it’s not too difficult to make people vanish.” He coughs, clearing his throat of any lingering second-hand smoke before he continues. “Speakin’ of that… does Chip know?”

“Know what?” 

“That you run with Price? That underground shit? The fuckin’ mafia?” Tommy clarifies. Simon’s silence is the only answer he needs. “You haven’t told her?” 

“It’s complicated,” Simon reiterates. 

Some facetious response dances on the tip of his tongue—Simon can see it in the way his mouth twitches—but Tommy stays silent. He sighs, then nods before looking back through the door. Their mother is on her feet, slowly maneuvering around the living room in a slight waddle in order to open the door. 

“Yeah. I know it is. Just… be careful,” he mumbles just as the door slides open. 

“Dinner’s ready! You two should come back inside. It’s freezin’ out here,” their mother urges. 

Both men glance at one another with a curt nod before trudging through the grass back to the house. The very moment they step back into the warm embrace of their childhood home, everything else seems to fade away. It vanishes the moment Simon looks at you—still curled up on the couch, ready for a cat nap. Any worries—any sour memories and old scars—all of it lingers in the backyard with the smoldering remains of Simon's cigarette; unimportant, and long forgotten.

[guardianspirits13]

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Disney's worst movies are better than Dreamworks' worst movies.

But Dreamworks' best movies are better than Disney's best movies could ever dream of being.

[burger-goblin]

.

[mosabsdr]

🌍✨ A Voice from Gaza: Fighting for Hope ❤️‍🩹

Hi, my name is Mosab , and I’m from Gaza. Life here has been harder than I could ever imagine, but today I’m sharing my story with hope in my heart, because your kindness has already given us so much strength.

This journey hasn’t been easy. The war has taken 25 family members from us—25 beautiful souls we loved deeply. Their laughter, their presence, their love… all of it is gone, leaving behind memories that are both precious and painful. Every day, I carry the weight of their loss, but I also carry their spirit, which gives me the strength to keep going.

Our Journey So Far

When I first reached out, I couldn’t have imagined we’d make it this far. Your support has been a light in these difficult times, and we are so deeply grateful for every single contribution.

But the road ahead is still challenging. Every day, we’re reminded of how much we’ve lost and how much we still need to rebuild.

Here’s what life in Gaza looks like for my family right now:

🏠 Safety: The uncertainty of tomorrow weighs heavily on us.

😢 Loss: The absence of the 25 family members we’ve lost is a pain we carry every moment.

💔 Dreams on Hold: The future feels so far away when survival takes all our strength.

How You Can Help Us Cross the Finish Line

Even the smallest act of kindness can make a difference:

$5 might not seem like much, but it could mean a meal, clean water, or a tiny bit of hope for my family.

Can’t donate? Reblog this post to help us reach someone who can. Every share matters more than you know.

Why Your Support Matters

Your kindness isn’t just about helping us meet our goal—it’s about reminding us that we’re not alone in this fight. It’s about hope. It’s about survival. And it’s about giving my family a chance to rebuild our lives, even in the face of unimaginable loss.

Thank you for helping us get this far. Your generosity and compassion have already brought us closer to a better tomorrow, and for that, I’m endlessly grateful.

With all my love and gratitude,

Mosab and Family ❤️

[cloverapple]

How I Shift On Command + How You Can Too

I don’t plan on posting anything other than this or starting a blog, so I don’t need anyone to “believe” in me. The only person you should trust is yourself—trust yourself to resonate positively with what you see online and click away if it doesn’t serve you. This is here for you to take from if it resonates. I literally only made this blog to post this here. My hope is that it reaches at least one person who can take something from this and apply it to their shifting journey. If not, and this post ends up here untouched, I’m just glad to finally get everything down in words and off my chest. 

Jumping straight to the answer because I’m not going to make anyone sit through a long post for it. The rest, the "advice," is here if you want to read it.

The "method"

I figured out what works specifically for me as an individual instead of following everyone else’s journey. Everyone has their “thing” that makes shifting click, a sweet spot that makes reality shifting possible. For me, it’s a combination of the law of assumption and inducing an altered state of consciousness.

During the day, I spend time affirming—or sometimes just reminding myself or keeping a little note nearby—things like:

I can shift.

I know how to shift.

I could shift tonight.

Shifting is accessible to me.

At night, I watch videos, look at Pinterest boards, or listen to music that reminds me of my DR. This ingrains where I’m going in my brain. Sometimes I do this for fun, and other times I skip it entirely.

When I lay down, I always lie on my back and stay somewhat still because I like the feeling of my body going numb. This isn’t necessary to shift, but I enjoy it—it lets me feel the symptoms of hypnagogia (that in-between state of wakefulness and sleep).

To meditate quickly, I count from 1 to 100 with a few affirmations in between to remind myself of what I’m doing. I do this until my body goes numb, and I start messing up the counting. Usually, the mistakes or random, nonsensical thoughts are my signal to start shifting.

At this point, I begin affirming the things I affirmed during the day:

I could shift right now.

I have the ability to shift.

I have the power to shift at any moment.

While I do this, I focus on the feeling of being in my DR—not my surroundings, not my senses, just the internal feeling of being there.

This is where “brazen impudence” comes in. I hard-force myself to feel like I’m in my DR. It’s not about imagining my surroundings but purely about embodying the feeling of being there.

Hypnagogic imagery and sensations like floating often kick in at this point. These are symptoms of your body falling asleep so your awareness can take shape in that sweet spot for shifting.

I continue this, then stop and start counting from 1 to 100 again, with affirmations like:

I can shift.

I know how to shift.

I could shift right now.

Then I repeat the process: using brazen impudence to force myself to feel like I’m in my DR.

Eventually, I reach that threshold between sleep and wake—a liminal state of pure consciousness. Body asleep, mind awake, I call this the “rabbit hole” which is honstly just a deep state of hypnogogia. It’s a state where anything is possible: lucid dreaming, astral projection, slipping into the void, shifting—anything.

When I’m in this state, I use brazen impudence to force myself to feel like I'm shifting to my DR and don't take no for an answer (I tell myself I'm in Barbados and shut the door in my own face). This can involve affirmations or just talking myself through it, either way I wake myself up there. Occasionally, I simply relax, expect to wake up in my DR, fall asleep, and wake up shifted.

Does all that sound complicated? Let me simplify:

Lay down and get comfortable.

Count from 1 to 100 on a loop with affirmations in between until you mess up the counting, get sleepy, or have your mind wander. Like this:

Me: *counts from 1 - 100* Me: *says a few affirmations/askfirmations* Me: *counts from 1 - 100* Me: *says a few affirmations/askfirmations*

On a loop until...

Persist in the feel of being in your DR—not focusing on surroundings or senses, just the feeling. Feeling is the secret.

Alternate between steps 2 and 3 until you’re in that relaxed body asleep/mind awake state, OR just straight up hypnogogia tbh. (That is, if you don’t already shift lol)

From there, choose what feels right: shift from a lucid dream, affirm, slip into the void, or just feel yourself in your DR like I do, convince yourself that either you shifted and are there, or are shifting and will end up there.

One thing I’ll tell you now—regardless of your circumstances, how long you’ve been trying, how long it’ll take, who you are, etc—is that you already know how to shift. You, reading this right now. You know how to shift, and there’s nothing you did to learn it. There’s nothing you can do to unlearn it. It’s something that will stay with you until the end of time.

Why do you think people shift randomly without prior knowledge of shifting? Even people who don’t believe in it? It’s because everyone can shift. You can shift.

Right now, stop reading this post and say in your head or out loud, “I already know how to shift.” Or, if that doesn’t feel right, “I already have the ability to shift,” “No matter what, I have the power to shift,” or “My mind knows how to shift no matter what.”

Can you argue that? No, you can’t. And if your mind starts throwing out “buts,” go back and read that again.

Shifting isn’t difficult, and no one struggles to shift. I’m sure you’ve heard it before—that shifting is simple and happens in seconds—because it does. You don’t struggle with shifting. You can shift; everyone has the power to. What you “struggle” with, so to speak, is figuring out what works for you, what your brain likes, how it operates—because everyone is different.

What ended up working for me more than anything was figuring out how I operate and modifying shifting to fit me—not forcing myself to fit shifting.

Will my method work for everyone? I have no idea. Unless you assume it will work for you, this is what works for me. I’m me, and you’re you.

Before you say “Oh, but I’ve tried everything and nothing has worked so far” and expect me to sit here and ask you “but have you really tried everything? <3” , listen to me. 

I could shift perfectly well with my own personal method before I started shifting regularly. I knew it worked well for my brain, but the thing that “blocked” me (so to speak) were my assumptions. 

When you sit there and say “I’ve tried everything and nothing has worked” that’s your assumption about yourself. You believe that nothing works for you, that you don't know how to shift, that you’re this powerless, lost baby shifter who needs guidance. 

There’s nothing wrong with this, it’s not your fault, and theoretically you could shift even with your “blockages” (I really hate that term), as shifting waits for no one.

This is why so many people shift randomly and with poor assumptions without meaning to. But you clicked on this because you want to know how you can shift consistently + on every time, and this is the answer I’m giving you. 

You find out what works better for you, be it affirming, visualizing, scripting, shifting awake, shifting asleep, shifting with hypnagogia, shifting with hypnopompic, shifting through lucid dreams, shifting with brazen impudence, through SATs, robotic affirming, through letting go, through putting your DR on a pedestal, through listening to music, through law of assumption alone, and many more. 

If that sounds overwhelming, please note that all of these are the same vehicles that get you to your destination. Just in different shapes and colors. Like how some people drive a car, others drive a motorcycle, others walk, others swim. The movement forward is always the same. 

What you’re doing, no matter how you’re doing it or in whatever state of consciousness you’re doing it from, will always be:

Assume it's true, feel it, receive it. “Assume and persist,” “ground yourself in the assumption,” you’ve heard it all before. 

How to Find What Makes You Shift On Command

You could either test different techniques (affirmations, visualizations, scripting, lucid dreaming, etc.) and see what feels natural to you. 

You could (and I love this one because it’s a cheat code) Assume you already know what works, and let the law of assumption guide you. “Manifest it” so to speak. 

Pay attention to your life, because you already shift on command, you've been doing it your whole life, but I guarantee you haven't noticed it. Pay attention to you, like how easily you slip into hypnagogia, your dream recall, or how strong your intuition is, maybe you put too much emotion into a scenario you don’t want in your life and it inherently manifests, things like that. Pay attention to the thing that makes you go “huh, that was weird”

“But Clover, I tried everything you mentioned above and still haven’t found my method!” 

My darling. Listen up. Come closer—I’m about to let you in on a secret. The way you apply the law of assumption isn’t one-size-fits-all, because assumptions and beliefs are not linear. It's the same every time, yes, it's a law. But just like you, the way you can use it is unique to each person.

Let me tell you how easy it is so you don't think I'm over-complicating it

You could, for instance, believe you’ve got $1000 in your bank account right now and act like it, fully living in the end. Or you could believe you’re going to have $1000 in your account and act like it’s already on its way. Or maybe you believe something’s going to happen that’ll bring you that $1000.

The same applies to shifting. It’s been a game changer for me. I used to struggle so much with things like:

“You’re already in your DR, just act like it.”

“Ignore the 3D.”

“You’ve already shifted.”

Do those methods work? Absolutely, they work beautifully. But like I said, if it doesn’t feel good or true to you, don’t force it.

My dearest, darling reader. If the story you see in your 3D is that you can’t shift, can’t find what makes you shift, are you just going to sit there and accept it? What is more satisfying? Think with me here: accepting that you don’t know how to shift and cannot shift, or persisting that you do know how to shift? 

“Clover, but I’ve been trying for 4 years! I’ve tried everything and I still haven’t shifted”

So that's your story? Your story, your assumption is that you’ve been trying for 4 years and haven’t shifted? If you’ve resonated with the phrase above, that’s your story. And there’s nothing wrong with it, but! there will be no magic solution for shifting. Or a magic method. Or a person like me giving you advice, that can make you shift without you changing your assumptions first.

“But I don’t want to reprogram my mind! It doesn’t work for me. I don’t want to do robotic affirming 24/7, I want results now!” 

I know, right? It’s annoying having to do these 100-step methods, and drink charged water, and have to beg the universe for your desire, and loop affirmations in your mind that directly contradict what you’re experiencing in the 3D.

“Oh ignore the 3D, the 4D is your only real imagination!” they say, as you sit there, clutching your phone, rocking back and forth in bed, repeating affirmations you don’t resonate with while dreaming of being railed by your S/O.

Believe me, I've been there, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I asked myself why couldn't these basic steps that worked for everyone else work for me. I blamed myself for not trying hard enough, for being lazy, for inconsistent. When all that time, the answer was me. I needed to manifest/shift in a way that felt good for me.

Just remember, the law of assumption isn't complicated, and the way you apply it is not one-size-fits-all. Reprogramming the mind through continuous repetition and affirmation works, and if that resonates with you or feels effective, you should absolutely go for it.

However, at its core, you don’t inherently need to reprogram your mind. It’s as simple as assuming your mind has already been reprogrammed and watching it unfold before your eyes. You do what feels right to you.

For example, if person A does better with visualization and listening to music, why on earth are they affirming and listening to subliminals?

If person B feels better scripting in a notebook, why the hell are they reprogramming their mind?

If person C feels good reprogramming their mind, why are they taking the simple route?

Funny, isn't it? Which is why if you've read all of this so far, and you have not resonated with it, just click away. Go find another post or advice that feels true to you. The words I'm writing right now are not universal, they're not the absolute truth. That's the beauty of the law of assumption. Whatever you believe to be true, becomes true.

I didn’t feel good with the affirmations “I’m already in my DR” and “I already shifted.” Do they work, are they true? Yup, but I didn’t feel good ignoring the 3D, even when I knew the 4D was the true reality. So I swapped them for affirmations like "I'm shifting to my DR", “I’m going to shift to my DR”, swapping things like “I already shifted” to “I’m shifting” because those are the kinds of affirmations my brain loves. 

I've heard a silly bit of misinfo that these affirmations stating future events put you in an infinite loop, and that they don’t make you achieve your desire. That’s not true? At all? Makes me laugh, really. Because here I am, “master shifter” or whatever name people give it in this reality, shifting as much as I want to wherever I want with these types of affirmations.

Yet here I see every day on the internet, people implanting stubborn little rules and regulations to a practice that has been done for ages, a universal law that will work even when you don’t care for it to work. 

How I Shifted The First Time

The law of assumption is what made me shift in the end. Initially, I surprised myself at the beginning of my shifting journey because I shifted three months after starting it. I woke up one morning in my DR room, felt it was real, knew it was possible, but accidentally shifted back because it was too good to be true. 

What followed was a period of losing my mind; I shift back to my DR for a few seconds (mini-shifts), fully shifted to different rparallel ealities, and filled the hell out of shifting journals with my discoveries as I went along. But I never fully shifted to my DR and stayed there. I wanted to permashift. I was so focused on leaving my CR and going to my DR permanently, frustrated because I knew I could shift, knew how to in theory, but was stuck in this endless loop of assuming I couldn't make myself shift and had to rely on spontaneous shifts.

And then one night it clicked when I was reflecting on the law of assumption and reality shifting. I knew shifting was real. I knew I could shift. Everyone can shift. I had shifted before. I would continue to shift even if I gave up on shifting. I could shift that night if I wanted to. I could shift that night even if I didn't want to. I knew how to shift. And so do you.

These are all assumptions I went to sleep with in mind, laying there, feeling like an idiot as it all clicked for me. 

If there was no doubt in my mind that I could shift that night, why wouldn’t I be able to shift? 

What followed was an overwhelming sense of peace washing over me. I let go. What more was there to be done? I could shift. There was no crying or screaming that could make me shift more than I could right then. 

I laid there and started my process. Just like I mentioned earlier. I began counting from 1 - 100 on a continuous loop. With affirmations that I could shift, I knew how to shift , I could shift that night.

And then I reached hypnagogia, and began inducing the feeling of being in my DR, just like I mentioned earlier. That liminal space rabbit hole shortly followed. I could go anywhere I wanted then. I could lucid dream. I could astral project. I could slip into the void. I could shift, and I did. Just…letting go and inducing the feeling of being in my DR. Not the surroundings, not the 5 senses, no affirmations. Just knowing that I was in my Dr. 

It was peaceful. 

I was at ease. 

And then I was woken up by a violent crack of thunder because my dumbass scripted my DR wakeup scenario to be in the middle of spring, and it was raining -_- 

I woke up in my DR, fully grounded, fully there, pinching my skin purple because I couldn't believe I was looking out the window at my DR city.

I wish I could tell you that I remained cool, but I so didn’t. I sat in bed for a good 10 minutes, mouth agape, repeating “oohh fuck it’s real….ohhh my god it’s real…whaaat the hell.” 

And then I paced around my room panicking, giggling like an idiot, checking my DR phone because all my friends and DR life was on there as evidence, opening drawers, looking at myself in the mirror, and straight-up freaking out. 

What followed after that was incredible, something I lack the words to describe. I spent a few weeks in my DR before shifting back, spending a few weeks here and then shifting back–here, back, here, back and forth, spending more time in my DR then my CR to the point where I consider my DR my true reality, and this one as my “other” reality. 

I shifted back here in early December of last year, and I’m here now before I shift back permanently—meaning, I’ll shift there, and then the next time I shift will be to another DR or a waiting room somewhere in the multiverse. I’m taking a "break" so to speak and hanging out here until events I scripted in my DR start to happen, and my life changes (positively, all good things I assure). 

I’m not sure if the person or people who find this post will care, but my other reality was originally called my “Witch DR”, where, as the name suggests, I’m a witch :) But not the fun kind, with a broomstick, a cauldron, and a pet cat though 😂The kind where I have to be up early for work in the mornings, can’t keep a cat because the building I live in doesn’t allow it, and have more responsibilities there than I do in this reality. 

One thing I didn’t expect about shifting before I lived there the first time is that—it’s life. You will have good days. You will have bad days. You will fuck up. You will laugh so hard that soda comes out of your nose. You will cry more than you ever have. And the people you once saw on a TV screen are very real, and can be very annoying lol. I miss my DR friends dearly right now, but I can’t go poking around the internet for videos and pictures of them because it feels so weird. 

Gut feelings are strange. I use them as a compass in both realities whenever I have to manually flap the butterfly’s wings and take a route. I felt compelled to write this post, and I’m not sure why. But if what this post has the power to help one singular person and help them realize their power, I'll be beyond happy.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

blue sweater - r.c.

(season 4 bf!rafe x gf!reader blurb, 2.4k words)

content smut, p in v, this gorgeous man and his afformentioned blue sweater, 18+ minors do not interact!!

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You’d fallen asleep on the couch, waiting up for him again. You didn’t fault Rafe for working so hard, you just miss him so fucking much when he’s in back-to-back meetings all day. 

The couch dips below you, pulling you from your dreams. A large, warm presence settles next to you on the sofa. You didn’t have to open your eyes to know it’s him.

“Hey,” you mumble sleepily, eyes still closed.

He’s smirking down at you, you know him so well you can picture exactly how he looks without actually seeing him. 

“Hi,” he leans forward, planting a sweet kiss on your cheek. “I’m sorry, that last meeting ran so long.”

Finally opening your eyes to meet his, you’re almost startled by the sight. Somehow, in the dim evening light, they’re more deeply blue and beautiful than ever.

“Nice sweater,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers along the hard edge of his shoulder. Even though he looks so soft and pretty right now, he’s tense, and you wish you could ease the worry that furrows his brow.

He smiles knowingly, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling in the cute way that makes your heart ache for him.

“Thanks, my girlfriend got it for me.”

“She has good taste,” you joke as your run your hand gently up and down his bicep, the soft fabric such a contrast to the hard muscle below. 

“Yeah, she’s all kinds of good,” he winks.

“Then why’d you make her wait for you all night?” You pout, sticking out your bottom lip so he’d know you’re just teasing.

“I said I’m sorrrrry,” he whines as he leans over you more, adjusting to bring his legs onto the couch. You make room for him instinctually, his body fitting into yours like you were designed for each other. 

He lets his full weight down slowly, sinking you both deep into the cushions. Nuzzling his head into your neck, he drags his lips against the skin below your ear so gently, it sends goosebumps racing across your skin. He can feel your excitement and starts kissing you more firmly, leaving little wet spots up the column of your throat.

Your hands splay out over his big, firm back, rubbing circles into the tight muscles. You press deep, working out his stress, and he groans at your firm touch. Your hands work slowly down his back, pressing as you go. When you reach the hem of his sweater, you slip your hands underneath. Rafe flinches at your touch, a shudder running through him.

“Your hands are cold!” He exclaims, his voice muffled.

“Oh sorry, love!” you start to pull them away, but he reaches his arm behind him and pins your palms to his skin.

“No, it feels nice, don’t stop.”

You obey, the pads of your fingers digging little figure eights into his lower back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“What’s got you so stressed baby, hmm?” You ask.

“Just got too much going on,” he shakes his head so his buzzed hair tickles your earlobe. You giggle at the sensation, his head rising and falling with the shake of your chest.

“Poor baby,” you coo, making him smile against you. “Just need a little help to relax?”

Rafe nods against you, moving slightly to lay his head against your chest so you can run your nails along his head like you know he likes. You bring one hand up, the other still under his shirt, the motion making you open your legs wider so you can stretch. He slots between them perfectly, and when you drag your nails over the fuzzy hairs right at the nape of his neck, you can feel him twitch against your core, already half hard.

“Someone’s needy,” you hum, delighted that you can make him so hot just by touching him tenderly like this. “Want me to make you forget all about your bad day?”

“Please,” he groans into your collarbone, pressing his hips down harder so you can feel him fully against you now. Your wetness pools immediately, soaking through your panties as you arch your back and return the pressure. 

“Shit, baby, that’s so nice,” he praises.

“‘I’ve been waiting for this all day,” you confess.

“Then we better not make you wait any longer.”

Swiftly, he lifts his head from your chest and finds your lips with his. It’s hungry and sloppy, the wet skin of his lower lip sliding against yours as your mouths collide. You’re fully grinding up into him now, and there is nothing semi-soft about him, his hard cock threatening to rip the seams of his pants. You writhe, desperate to feel his length. You know it like the back of your hand, picturing his perfect cock clearly as you rock against it. You’ve got every vein, every throbbing, pink inch memorized. 

“Take your pants off,” you breathe into his open mouth.

With a cocky grin that makes you impossibly wetter he drawls, “now who’s needy, huh?”

You roll your eyes and reach for his waistband, if he’s gonna be an ass about it you’ll just do it yourself. He mirrors you, undressing you with the same shaky fervor. Your shirt goes first, he’s delighted to see you’ve opted for no bra. In the cold evening air, your nipples harden immediately, and he can see the goosebumps spreading across your torso. 

“Ohh baby, you really are freezing.”

“Mhm,” you nod, lip pulled between your teeth. “Warm me up, Rafe.”

A throaty groan rises from his chest as he takes over your work on his pants, ripping them off as best he can without standing, his boxers following. You slip your thumbs under your shorts, doubling up to slide your panties down with them until you’re bare for him. Only one piece of clothing remains between you, the soft blue sweater you bought for him. He starts to pull it off, but you stop him, your hand wrapping around his wrist.

“No, leave it on,” you instruct.

“Whatever you want, angel,” he smirks at your unusual request, but obliges without complaint.

He lays down on you again, his lips hovering over yours as he lets his cock press into your inner thigh. He’s so hard you gasp, inhaling sharply at the sweet pressure against your leg. He kisses you again, more tenderly this time, like he’s trying to imprint the taste of you onto his tongue. As he lets his weight settle on you, the soft threads of his sweater rub over your sensitive nipples, the sensation making your eyes squeeze shut and a strained moan echo from your chest.

“Y’okay?” He asks.

“It feels so g-good,” you croak out.

“What does, baby?”

You blush, feeling silly for it, but something about the soft material against your hardened skin is so delicious, you’re sure your pussy is dripping onto the couch by now. 

A little embarrassed, you admit, “the sweater on my tits feels really good.”

“It does?” He questions, amused.

“Just stay on me baby, don’t stop.”

You and Rafe have been known to argue about almost anything, but he never argues when you tell him how to make you feel good. He flattens his chest against you fully, rutting his dick against your leg, causing his chest to rub against yours as requested. Your head falls back into the throw pillows. You let him continue to move you both until you almost can’t stand the friction anymore.

“I love that,” you whimper, eyes still squeezed shut. “But I need you inside.”

“Can’t wait any longer, huh?” He chuckles. Once again, you don’t need to see him to know what he looks like, his eyebrows are surely arched high and his lips quirked to the side as he looks at you in amusement.

“Rafe I’ve been waiting for like twelve hours,” you complain.

“I know, baby, I know,” he quells you. “I got you, alright?”

Propped on one arm, his sweater leaves your chest for a moment so he can line himself up at your soaked entrance. You wait with closed eyes, bracing for impact as you know it will take a minute to adjust to his size, it always does. But he doesn’t enter you, just grumbles with annoyance as he shuffles above you.

Your quizzical eyes open to find him fumbling with the collar of his sweater, preparing to pull it off.

“What’s the problem?”

“I want to see you, but this fucking sweater’s in the way,” he explains. You lift your head and look down to where your bodies should be meeting to see the hem of his sweater hanging in the way, blocking the view. “I’m just gonna take it off.”

“Nuh-uh!” you object. 

“Baby,” he whines.

A solution comes to you, causing you to break into a wide grin.

“Open up,” you say, and he’s never looked more confused.

But then, you reach down and pull the hem of the sweater between your fingers, making his stomach flinch as you brush against it. You lift the hem up to his mouth, revealing the sight of his dick dangerously close to your entrance. He puzzles it together, and teasingly rolls his eyes before letting you place it between his teeth. He bites down on it obediently, considering a protest before looking down to see he now has a perfect angle to his favorite sight in the world.

It feels so good when he finally slides in, stretching you so deliciously and filling you like only he can, that you almost actually cry. He moves gently, considerate enough to know there’s probably an edge of pain to your pleasure.

“You don’t have to go slow,” you assure him. “Take your stress out on me, I can take it.”

“Yeah?” He tries to sound cocky, but it’s muffled from the fabric between his teeth.

The way his jaw clenches in frustration makes you giggle. Rafe usually does most of the talking, knowing the sound of his low voice in your ear makes you come so much faster.

“I’ll do the talking, just focus on my voice while you fuck me, m’kay?” You purr.

He nods in agreement, picking up the pace until he’s rocking into you, continuously hitting the perfect spot that makes you both shudder with pleasure. He’s going so hard you have to lift your arm above you and steady yourself against the arm of the couch. His eyes flit between the sight of you taking him in so perfectly and the way your tits bounce with each thrust.

You keep your promise to talk him through it, starting with, “just like that, Rafe- mmmph- feels so good. God, I can feel you so deep.”

His brows furrow in concentration, thrusting harder, desperate to drag more praises from your kiss-chapped lips. Your eyes train on the veins in his neck, throbbing with effort. You reach your other hand up and grab his chin, pulling his face so his eyes pierce yours.

“Shit, you look so good, fucking me like you needed to,” you cry.

As much as he loves the eye-contact, he’s still wearing this stupid sweater for a reason, and he needs to remind you. He matches you by placing his hand on your face, soft but firm, and directing your gaze down to see him pistoning into you.

“Oh my god, that’s so hot,” you smile, admiring the creamy mess you’re making on his shaft. “You’re fucking covered in me, baby. Made me so wet comin’ in here looking this good.”

He removes his hand from your head, looking for a non-verbal way to thank you for your compliments. He presses his thumb to your tongue, and you don’t need words to know what he’s doing. You get it nice and wet, swirling spit around his thumb with your tongue. Once it’s ready, he lowers it to your clit, rubbing back and forth a few times before forming steady circles.

“Ah- fuck- yes, Rafe that’s so-” Your commitment to keep talking falters as pleasure floods your mind, robbing you of your voice.

He knows what you need, he always knows what you need. He pulls your hand from his chin and places it on his chest, you bunch the fabric of his sweater so he can release it from his teeth.

“There ya go,” he coos. “Need me to talk you through it, huh?”

You nod desperately, confirming what he already knew.

“Couldn’t even concentrate in my meetings,” he begins, panting with the effort he’s putting in, not letting up his pace. “Thinkin’ about you here waiting for me, walking around the house in those little shorts. How am I supposed to close deals when I can’t stop thinking about bending you over the kitchen counter and fucking this perfect pussy, huh?”

His words have exactly the effect he was hoping for, you are beside yourself, moaning and squirming beneath him. Letting out the sweetest little “oh, oh, ohs” as his cock rocks your whole body. He's losing tempo, both of you nearing the edge. You bring your other fist up to bunch his sweater, too, grasping so tightly you're afraid you're gonna tear it. You clench around him as he keeps talking.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze me as hard as you can - fuck!” He's unraveling, needing to find the words to get you there so he didn’t finish first. “Fuck, that’s my good girl.”

Just as he expected, that’s what finally did it for you. You cry out his name as sparks exploded in your tummy, coming so hard you have to bury your face into his chest to keep from screaming. He follows behind you almost immediately, his hot cum spurting into you as his primal groans and grunts echo through the room.

A few minutes later, you’re cleaned up and cuddled in his bed, now wrapped up in his sweater, the stretched-out fabric engulfing you. He smirks as his hands run over the material, rubbing over your stomach and waist lovingly.

“Might have to wear this thing every day if that’s how you’re gonna react,” he teases you.

“Uh-huh,” you giggle. “Good luck getting it back.”

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a/n: omg i'm so sorry I just literally couldn't not, the chokehold this sweater has on me is unnatural like y'all don't even need to read this it was just a passion project for me. all hail Blue Sweater.

[wonryllis]

TEMPTING THEM DURING NO NUT NOVEMBER.

─────𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖸 𝖢𝖠𝖵𝖤 𝖨𝖭. 汚い ❛ 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, "𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗍" ❜

featuring. enhypen hyung line with fem!r wordcount. 1250 ( around 300 each ) check out the catalogue?

warnings. ⚠︎PG18! public teasing, groping, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, dry humping, car sex, riding, handjob, shower sex, choking, clit rubbing, p in v obviously.

𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚

heeseung knew he fucked up the moment he agreed to take on the challenge. he knew it so so well, yet he decided he could do it and he could pull through the entire month if tried just hard enough. that he could keep his dick in his pants and not in you.

and it was hard. it is hard. his fucking cock twitching underneath his boxers as you discreetly palm him over his suit pants. right in the middle of a dinner with all his friends sitting around the table. unaware of your indecent touches and the looks you throw at your boyfriend.

batting your lashes at him while biting your lips, grabbing his thigh and then moving your hand up to squeeze his cock. it is absolute torture till it lasts. till his resolve breaks and he immediately drags you along to the nearest bathroom. his friends looking at the scene knowing he's done for— just a week into november.

“shit you just had to make me lose didn't you?” heeseung slaps his hand over your mouth, muffling your loud moans as he drills his cock into you. fast and rough; holding your thigh around his waist in a grip so tight it'd probably leave purple bruises.

he tugs you closer on the counter each time you move back from the force of his thrusts, skin slapping into red, painfully pleasurable marks,“couldn’t keep your hands off my cock for once,” he grunts, brows furrowing as you clench around him every two seconds.

“if you keep doing that baby, i might just knock you up with how much i cum,” he moves his hand from your mouth, his lips immediately find yours in a messy lock, nibbling on your lower lip in supressed groans and pants, his balls tightening up when he feels yours walls clamping onto him hard.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚

if muscles could tear off easily. jay would be in shreds right now. the sheer amount of restraint it is taking him, each part of him painfully tense— beyond he ever felt in his entire life. absolute hell he is going through watching you prance around in just a croptop and freaking bikini bottoms.

his eyes almost popping out of the sockets with drooling desire and want for you as he follows along the way you bend over or reach up for absurd and insane reasons. purposely to tease him of course.

he is aware of what you are trying to do. he really is. but he still just can not seem to look away for the sake of his cock and the expensive dinner on line for losing. gaze continuing to follow you as you settle into his lap, arms draping over his shoulders and your ass resting right on top of his now hard cock. oh he's about to lose.

“had this dream last night and— fuck princess you couldn't keep your hands off me and— oh god it was so hot,” jay rambles, his hands gripping your waist guiding you as you grind your drenched folds across his hard cock. back and forth, back and forth. your wet bikini bottoms sliding off to the side each time you reach up to his tip. warm slick smearing over his twitching cock pulled out of his sweatpants just enough.

his soft gasps and grunts filling the room,”gonna lose the no nut but it's worth it,” his eyes stay fixated on your face, watching the way it twists with pleasure and how your lips form an o when you let a moan amidst the constant mewls.

only two days left, but jay just can't resist it anymore. feeling your thighs shake against his and your eyes roll back when he nudges just the tip inside.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡

jake's knuckles turn borderline white against the steering wheel. grip so tight he might as well rip it off the console. he tries so hard to focus on the road, to keep his eyes and his mind on the lane. but god you make it impossible with your hand caressing his thigh. his gaze drifting down each time your pinky rubs against his balls. and mind drifting off to danger zone of no nut november.

a sharp intake of breath and a silent curse falling off his lips when your fingers trail over his bulge in a feather light touch.

calm down, calm down, calm down. jake chants repeatedly— don't get hard, don't get hard, changing the words when he inevitably feels himself throbbing and growing stiffer by the second— fucking don't get hard damn it, all futile for his cock practically springs against the fabric of his cotton pants after you brush over his tip. should have worn the goddamn boxers.

“oh yeah— oh fuck yeah— your pretty pussy feels so good baby,” jake groans against your parted mouth, the sounds leaving you, the way you bounce on him, the sweat trickling down between your breasts; oh he doesn't care it's only been four days since he decided to participate in no nut november.

“how did i even think i could live a month without you cumming on my cock,” his hands squeezing your ass, guiding your movements as the car flaps with your lewd squelches in the backseat. the windows fogged up and filled with your moans and jake’s dirty mouth running rampant.

noticing your face scrunching up in pleasure, he immediately moves his hand over to rub your nub in quick circles,”god yes you're gonna cum for me?” his feet planting firm onto the floorboard before he starts pounding up,”me too baby, gonna fill you up so well.”

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡

the cold shower did nothing to help his raging mind. and his raging cock. images of you begging for his cock flashing before his eyes on repeat. you were such a vixen when it came down to sex. knowing exactly how to tempt him in a way he would not be able to be resist.

it's only been ten days. sunghoon reminds himself, a hand rubbing down his face as he tries taking in deep breaths. coming home to you waiting for him right by the front door with fucking bedroom eyes was not something he was ready for. and especially not for the way you tried to persuade him to give up the challenge. pulling him closer by his sweatpants and throwing out the most sensual begs he'd ever heard from you.

it took every cell in him to deny you, rushing into the shower to avoid you before you could notice his boner. he did not lock the door though—

“fuck doll, keep doing that and i’ll cum so hard,” sunghoon throws his head back, water running down his chest and over your pretty little hands jerking his hard cock in sloppy strokes. his hips buck involuntarily, furious and wild despite all the warnings flashing red in his subconscious.

“shit shit shit— fuck wait—” as the tight coil in his stomach threatens to bust, he instantly pulls away. albeit only to push you against the glass wall, haul up your left leg, and shove his cock inside in a brutal thrust. his forehead resting against yours as he fucks rough. rough and mad.

his other hand reaching up to grip your throat in a light choke,”you were so desperate to be fucked, you just had to ruin my challenge didn't you?” thumb pressing onto your windpipe just enough while he stares into your glazed eyes,”so desperate for my cum,”

taglist . . open ! @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn @jayjw16enxp @laylasbunbunny @riribelle @ancnymcnzjy

[thebibliosphere]

I’ve had an increase in rainbow aura with my migraines lately (I used to get them once a year, if that. Now, I’ve had it twice in one month) so I’ve become somewhat paranoid whenever something flashes over my vision.

Sometimes, it's just light reflecting off my phone, but it still makes me freeze up in a fear response when it happens because it usually means I’ve got about 20 minutes before I’m in agony.

Apparently, this new paranoia extends into my dreams now, too, because I was running down a long corridor, aware that there was something behind me that I needed to escape, but all of a sudden, in my dream, rainbow zigzags consumed my vision, and I stopped, dead and went, “fuck, migraine.”

That's when I became aware of James Bond/Daniel Craig standing beside me, gun drawn.

“Oh, shit. Do you need to lie down?” he asked while I stared at him.

I said, “What about the thing chasing us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, darling. If you need to lie down you can lie down. I’ll just kill them.”

I blinked at him for a bit, still winded from running then said, “Sure,” starting to get to my knees, ready to lie down on the cold stone floor beneath us.

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Kill ‘em. I’m just gonna...” I gestured vaguely at the floor. “Be right here, I guess.”

“You can go upstairs, you know,” he said, loading a fresh clip into his gun. “This museum has a hotel on top of it.”

“Oh good,” I said, starting to suspect this was a dream and not Daniel Craig about to murder the people chasing me because I had a migraine. “I’ll do that then.”

So I got back up and started climbing the stairs that looked an awful lot like the stairs in the Kelvin Grove Art Gallery, only to abruptly walk into Deathstroke and Nightwing doing their best to kill each other in the corridor of what was clearly a hotel based on the room service tray Nightwing was using to deflect projectiles.

They froze. I looked at them. They looked at me. “I’ve got a migraine,” I said,

“Shit, sorry,” Nightwing said, putting down his tray as both men stepped back to let me walk down the decimated corridor. “We’ll be more quiet.”

“Room 13 is open,” Deathstroke helpfully informed me.

“Is there a body in it?” I asked, now leaning against the wall, less walking along, more sliding.

“Not anymore.”

“Do you need anything?” Nightwing asked, “pain killers? Ice pack?”

I waved them off and made my way into room 13 where David Jason dressed as Detective Jack Frost looked up at me from the book he was reading on the bed.

“This is a dream,” he informed me.

“No it isn’t,” I said, despite knowing it was as I hobbled over to the bed and flopped down beside him. “And this room was supposed to be empty.”

“Open, not empty,” corrected Jack Banon who had taken David Frost’s place, dressed like young Alfie from Pennyworth as he sat beside me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. “There’s a very distinct difference between the two. Oh, don’t look at me like that. Who do you think moved the body?”

“I need to sleep,” I said, “if I can fall asleep, the migraine might go away.”

“That's all right,” he said. “You do that. I’ll make sure no one else comes in. Oh, just one thing before you do.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn't quite see and held it out to me. “You’ll need this.”

“What is it?” I said, my brain doing the dream thing where it refuses to read books or interpret numbers correctly. “I can’t see, what is it?”

“Oft, sorry. Can’t tell you that. More than my job’s worth.”

“You’re job...”

“Yeah.” and thats when he leaned over, stuck me with a needle and said, “Night night.”

And I woke up to the sound of @mothman-etd getting into the shower and Holly Mop wiggling under thre covers with me.

First words out of my mouth were, “What the fuck?”

And then I immediately pulled up Tumblr to write this down before I forget it because what the fuck.

Didn't wake up with a migraine though so... *knock on wood*

[irndad]

i wish i knew you wanted me - s.r.

a/n: okay this ended up being so so long forgive me!!! i hope you like<3 summary: based loosely on 'bad habit'. spencer got asked out by reader 5 years ago, when he was recovering from his dilaudid addiction, and turned her down. now, he's in love with her, and pining for her. also, jealous!spencer. she fell first, he fell harder. wc: ~2k

She’s very pretty. It’s distracting. Right now, she’s staring intently at his hands, and he feels hot under her gaze. It’s been a while since he’s done this, the little rocket trick, but she’s visiting the office, and Garcia had mentioned he’s a magician. 

“That’s incredible!” She exclaims, a giggle in her laugh, and he feels the swoop of his stomach, the butterflies of it all, “You got them so high up!”

“It’s just physics,” he laughs, meeting her warm gaze. Her smile is one for the ages. 

She’s here dropping off a file. They’ve known eachother a really long time, actually. She was an expert witness for them, once, years ago. She spoke with ease, both on the stand and in person. Equal measure kind and measured, and Spencer had adored her on first glance. They’d met when he was just getting clean from Dilaudid, and Spencer’s been in love with her since not long after than first meeting. That’s pretty much the only thing about her he wishes he could take back. 

He still has a hard time thinking about it, the fact that he met her when he was barely himself. Still, she’d been kind, listened to him talk and let the others tell her that he was…going through something. It was on his two month sobriety date (which she’d had no way of knowing) that she’d asked him out. 

Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he replays the memory in his head. How she works just south of their office, and how they’d meet at the café nearest, and chat for an hour before calling a cab home. 

On the other side of the veil, he can picture that night, years ago now. How she’d looked with the snow kissing her nose, dotting the edges of her faux-fur hood. She’d stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake, and he’d almost combusted and the adorability of it. 

“You look nice,” she’d said, although at the time he’s pretty sure he looked gaunt. He’d only recently started to gain the weight back- but still, her praise felt like stardust. 

“You look nicer,” he’d said back, gently bumping her shoulder as a fond gesture. Her little grin is well-worth how awkward they both look on the street.

“Listen,” she had said, stuffing her hands into her pockets, the size of the coat causing her hands to disapear from sight entirely, “I asked JJ and Morgan, and they said you’re not seeing anyone.”

“Oh, yeah. They love reminding me of that. Not everyone can be like Morgan and have dated half the western hemsiphere.”

He felt embarrassed, her watching him. It’s nice, but sometimes feels like staring into the sun. 

Her chuckle was nervous, not fully reaching her eyes. 

“You okay? 

“Yeah,” she swallowed again, before speaking, “I was wondering, um, if you might want to grab a drink with me?”

“Sure,” he’d replied back, amenably. He couldn’t tell why she looked so nervous, “I can’t really do hard liquor, though. Maybe we can invite the team.”

“No, Spence, I was wondering if you and I could go on a um, a date.”

And he’s frozen. Because this might be the second time he’d ever been asked out, and second, this might be his dream girl. She’s gorgeous and kind and she’s in front of him, asking him out. 

“I um,” his mouth was dry. He’d be a bad boyfriend. He was a recovering drug addict who already was bad at talking to people, and she lit up a room whenever she walked in. She finds him easy to be with, easy to care for and he’s bound to fuck it up. He couldn’t imagine giving that up because he was too greedy to take what he got. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He almost took it back with incredible speed, with that flash of disapointment on her lovely face, and the knowledge that it’s because she wanted him, before she quickly regained her speech.

“That’s totally alright! We’ll just be good friends, yeah?”

In the here and now, they are friends. Best of, really. And he made the right choice. He’d lashed out at Emily a month later in a withdrawl, and he knows that he’d have done the same to her, and now, she’s still in his life. 

The drawbacks of course, to being her friend, means she has dates. Boyfriends, as well, and he’s been a…friend, through it all. Good friend. She’s never suspeced him of anything more, of course, after he’d categorically rejected it. 

(Even though this rejection plays in his head all the fucking time, like a torturous groundhog day.)

She’s beautiful today, a blue blouse with a scarf lazily around her neck, and the way she’s leaning over his desk to see the  trick before she drops off her analysis. 

“Alright, Spence,” she says, her rose perfume wafting in the air prior to her hopping off the corner, “Did you need anything else? Today is my half-day, and Harry wanted to take me to Art Insititute.”

Harry, is the boy on rotation at the moment. Spencer has no impulse control and a super-computer expert best friend, so Spencer knows that Harry is 6’0 on his Driver’s License, and is a Financial Analyst. Spencer knows from her own mouth that this will be the third date, and that he’s a little boring but she’s attracted to the fact that he was direct and wanted to go out again. 

Low bar, but one Spencer couldn’t even clear. He doesn’t say any of that, though.

“That sounds fun,” he says, instead of saying that he’d love to walk her through the inscriptions on each art piece, love to kiss her in front of something thats’ beauty does not come close to her’s. “Are you thinking it might run long, or are we still doing the bookstore and TV at mine after?”

He’s been looking forward to this all week. He bought special marshmallows for her cocoa. He also htes to imagine her date running long. 

“Nah,” she smiles, “besides, he’s just some guy. You’re Spencer.”

Morgan doesn’t say anything when he looks down at his. paperwork, and scribbles instead of thinking, the best he can. 

________________________________

Don’t think about the fact she was on a date. Don’t think about how Harry might have got to kiss her. Just don’t bring it up. 

“How was the date?”

She shrugged, pulling at the spine of a hardcover novel. 

“It was fine. Like I said, he was kind of boring.”

“So why’d you go out with him again?”

“I dunno, Spence, I just… I want a boyfriend, you know? I want someone to want to be with me.”

She is so beautiful. She laughs with her whole chest, and she listens to his stories and chimes in with her own expertise. She has a voice that seems like it’s spun gold thread, and he’d give anything to kiss her. 

“I get that,” he says, instead of anything he’s thinking. She’s wearing brown lipstick, transfer proof. He’s in love with her. “There’s got to be guys lining up for a girl like you.”

“That’s a nice thought, Spence. Not the ones I’d like.”

___________________________

This thought haunts his evening, and when he parks and they start the walk-up to his apartment, a confession hammering at his throat, a physical urge. She’s giggling at some long physics joke he’d made, and he’s addicted to the soft bell of her laughter.

His apartment is small and lovely, and he enjoys having her in the small and dark of the night, the sun set over what he wishes were two lovers. 

“You are really pretty, you know,” he says, once she’s settled into his chest, a sick satisfaction of knowing Harry got a quick thank you text before she darted over to Spencer’s arms. 

“Thanks, Spencer. You’re a good friend.”

“Why do you always say that?”

“That you’re a good friend?”

“I’m not saying you’re pretty because I’m a good friend. I’m saying it because it’s true, and I enjoy saying true things.” 

“You don’t…I don’t know why you’re saying that, Spencer. We’re friends and I adore you and I’m here right now, but you don’t need to make it harder on me.”

She looks nervous, and a little disapointed. He wants her to know, that even if he’s missed his shot, she’s not going to be alone. He’s gonna spend the rest of his life hating whoever knew to take the best thing offered to him, but Spencer- he knows he is not going to be the last to love her. He grabs her hand without thinking, her doe eyes peering into his with some emotion he can’t pin down. 

“Hey, I’m not trying…to make anything hard for you. I don’t ever want to do that. I just… some day someone’s gonna see you and want to be with you and I’m going to watch it and know it was inevitable.” 

The words taste like barbed wire. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg, I’m ready now. I’ll do it right. 

Is that even true? Is it just that he wants her bad enough he’s willing to risk not doing it right?

“You’re so sweet,” she sobs, and oh, she’s crying. Just a little, but tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “You make it so hard to be your friend. And I know that’s my problem, that you’ve always been straight up with me. I asked you out and you said no, and I know that-“

“I know that I was too late, and freaked out about being with someone like you when I was still so fucked up.” they’re so close to eachother, he can smell her chapstick. His chest aches. “Sweetheart, that had nothing to do with you. It was all me. It’s a train I missed that I’m gonna spend the rest of my life wishing I’d caught.”

He feels uncomfortably bare, even in the oversized sweater that she’d gotten him last Christmas, and that he’d pretended had been from his lover all of that week. But it’s important that she knows.

“What do you mean, ‘too late’?”

Her voice is small, so quiet he barely hears it. She threads her nimble fingers into his slender ones, and his heart is hammering. 

“I-I was on Dilaudid, or just barely off, you know- you wouldn’t want to be with someone like me. You asked me out when you didn’t even know that.”

“I know you now. Years worth of knowing.”

“And you haven’t asked me since.” 

“Spencer,” her voice is warm, rich like silk and grainy old music, and he wants to drink this image in, her fingers stroking the side of his face like he’s holy. He wonders if he’s dreaming, with how good she feels to be so close to. 

Ask me again, he wants to beg. I’m ready, now. 

“Spencer Walter Reid,” she says, properly holding his hand, bringing her soft lips to his hand, kissing his knuckle. He feels anointed, blessed by a higher power. “Could I take you out on a date?”

“Yes,” he says, finally. Five years of waiting melts away as he kisses her, warmth and light seeping into existence, a dream brought to tangible life, to touch and reality, “Actually, wait,” he says, and finishes before her face can fall, “Would you be my girlfriend?”

It’s maybe playing his cards too much, but her wide, ear to ear splitting grin is everything he needs to see, everything he might need to see for the rest of his life. 

“Took you long enough, boy-genius.”

“All you had to do was ask again!”

If she has a complaint about that, it certainly couldn’t be heard by the many, many kisses that would follow.