#just the absolute absurdity of that conversation

[crispybureau]

(via @teecupangel )

Desmond was raised in a secluded group where everyone was treated mostly equal (leaving out the difference in treatment through ranks or skill) but there wasn't racism or homophobia so imagine how absolutely confused he was when he started working at the bar and some conservative came up to the bar, gave him a dirty look and loudly remarked "can I get someone who speaks English to pour my drink?" While glaring at Desmond. Meanwhile, young confused gives him a look and is like "I can speak english?"

They end up going back and forth for a few minutes with the conservative guy making all sorts of racist remarks and confused Desmond, shutting those remarks down. Eventually, the guy gets fed up and storms out of the bar, and Desmond's coworkers have to explain racism to him.

[mechieonu]

i need them to try to kill each other and i need them to make the other laugh

[trans-axolotl]

one of the reasons it's really hard for a lot of intersex people when intersex topics are on the news cycle is because the public's reaction reveals how little anyone knows or cares about intersex people, including people who call themselves our allies. almost every time intersex topics are trending, the discourse surrounding them is filled with misinformation. people who only learned today what the word intersex means jump into conversations and act like an authority. endosex/dyadic/perisex people get tripped up over things that are basically intersex 101, with tons of endosex people incorrectly arguing about the definition of intersex, who "counts," DSD terminology, and so much more. i've seen multiple endosex people say today that they've been "warning intersex people" and that we should have known that transphobia would catch up with us eventually, which is an absolutely absurd thing to say given the fact that consistently over the past ten years, it has often been intersex people sounding the alarm on sex-testing policies and also the fact that many, many intersex people are also trans, and already are facing the impacts of transphobia. there is an absolute failure from the general public to take intersex identity seriously; people seem not even able to fathom that intersex people have a community, history, and our own political resources. instead, endosex people somehow seem to think they're helping by bringing up half-remembered information from their high school biology class which usually isn't even relevant at all.

and this frustrates me so fucking much. not because i want to deny the impacts of transphobic oppression--i'm a trans intersex person, trust me when i say i am intimately aware of transphobia. this frustrates me because there is no way we can achieve collective liberation if our "allies" fail to even engage with basic intersex topics and are seemingly unaware of the many forms of intersex oppression that we are already facing every fucking day. if you are not aware of compulsory dyadism, if you are not aware of interphobia, if you are not aware of the many different ways that intersex people are directly and often violently targeted--how the fuck do you think we're going to dismantle all of these systems of oppression?

if you were truly an intersex ally, you would already KNOW that this is not new, and would not be surprised--interphobia in sports has been going on for decades. you would know that we do have a community, an identity, a history--you would have already read/listened/watched to intersex resources that give you the background information you need for allyship. you would know that although there is a really distinct lack of resources and political education, that intersex people ARE developing a political understanding of ourselves and our oppression--Cripping Intersex by Celeste Orr and their framework of compulsory dyadism is one example of how we're theorizing our oppression. It's absolutely fucking wild to me how few people I've seen actually use words like "interphobia" "intersexism" "compulsory dyadism" or "intersex oppression"--endosex people are seemingly incapable of recognizing that there is already an entrenched system of oppression towards intersex people that violently reshapes our bodies, restricts our autonomy, and attempts to eradicate intersex through a variety of medical and legal means.

you cannot treat intersex people like an afterthought. not just because we're meaningful parts of your community and deserving of solidarity, but also because intersex oppression impacts everyone!!! especially trans community--trans people will not be free until intersex people are free, so much of transphobia is shaped by compulsory dyadism, the mythical sex binary, all these ideas of enforced "biological sex" that are just as fake as the gender binary.

it makes me absolutely fucking livid every time this shit happens because it becomes so abundantly clear to me how little the average endosex person knows about intersex issues and also how little the average endosex person cares about changing that. i don't know what to say to get you to care, to get you to change that, but we fucking need it to happen and i, personally, am tired of constantly being grateful when i meet an endosex person who knows the bare minimum. i think we have a right to expect better and to demand that if you're going to call yourself our ally, you actually fucking listen to us when we tell you what that means.

okay for endosex people to reblog.

[hollandsangel]

voice | m. sturniolo

i had this idea a million years ago, please enjoy!!

summary: chris wonders if you can tell his and matt’s voice apart

warnings: super fluffy!! a bit suggestive at the very end, i’m questioning if it’s good or not

wc: 1.6k

gif by @mattsturnioloarchive !

“i call shower first!” you exclaim the second the garage door is open, sprinting past matt up the stairs to his bathroom.

“there’s three showers,” chris says matter-of-factly as you blow past him on the steps, holding a hand out in confusion.

matt sighs and follows behind you, passing chris as well, “yeah, but you don’t have to share,” 

you’re already on the mainfloor, running into matt’s bedroom to grab the change of clothes you’d left earlier.

“i’m so glad i don’t have a girlfriend,” chris mutters, earning a smack upside the head from nick, “jesus, fuck, what,”

“you’re just annoying,” nick says, deciding it’s a good enough explanation and getting a laugh out of matt.

“agreed,” matt’s still chuckling when they reach the kitchen table, setting down the take out the four of you had gotten on your way back to the house. he hears the water turn on in his bathroom, accompanied by the soft sound of your voice as you sing along to your music.

“oh she’s a nicki fan,” nick says to no one in particular, referencing the tik tok sound when he notices you’re listening to a nicki minaj song. 

matt looks up from the bag of food and laughs.

chris sinks into the couch but looks over at matt, arm slung over the cushions, “i wonder if she could tell our voices apart,” he says after a second. 

“what?” matt asks, thinking the question is mildy rediculous. 

“like do you think she could recognize your voice?” chris explains, wandering into the kitchen now. opening a pepsi and leaning up against the counter. 

nick chimes in now, having been fiddling with the vlog camera and battery, “like compared to you and me?” he asks chris, glancing back at matt as if to say ‘is this guy for real?’

“yeah,” chris nods.

“yeah, obviously she’d be able to tell my voice apart from yours,” matt is looking back at the food again, tone matter-of-fact, as if what he’d said was absolute common sense. 

chris is quiet for about half a second and matt thinks that’s the end of that absurd conversation. it isn’t, of course. 

“should we test it out?” chris asks through a sip of soda.

matt officially gives up on trying to set the food up, throwing his hands up in mock surrender before turning to chris, “and how are we gonna do that?”

chris shrugs, but nick has an idea, “chris, you could like, just go ask her for something, if you left something in the bathroom—“

“absolutely not,” matt shuts it down immediately with a shake of his head, “you're not going in the bathroom when my girlfriend is showering,”

“i won’t even go all the way in!! i’ll cover my eyes,” chris promises, but matt is still skeptical. “i’ll just like poke my head in the door and ask if i left like..a belt or some shit in there,” is chris’ next offer. 

matt sighs and thinks about it, weighing the pros and cons. of course you can tell his voice apart from his brothers…right? he’s making himself nervous, pysching himself out and worrying they all sound the same to you. it upsets him for some reason, he can’t quite decide why.

“fine,” he agrees after a beat of silence, convincing himself you know whis voice well enough to separate it from chris’, and if you can’t, he thinks he might actually feel a sick twinge of unjustified jealousy.

“yes,” chris mutters under his breath, always excited to pull a prank on anyone.

“this is definitely going in the vlog,” nick says, still messing with the camera and coming to sit at the kitchen table where matt is now.

“i can’t believe i agreed to this,” matt mumbles, rubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath. he stands from his seat and walks over to the wall where he can see the bathroom door, feeling some what protective, like he needs to supervise chris to make sure he doesn’t wander too far into the bathroom.

“what should i say?” chris turns back arms pulled in close to his body as if he’s nervous. he’s already grinning and trying to keep from laughing.

“ooh, call her sweetheart, matt always does that,” nick suggests, wiggling his brows in matt’s direction to tease him.

“oh my god,” matt groans softly, rubbing at his eyes, “i fucking hate you guys,”

“okay, i’m going in,” matt drops his hands at that, eyes on his brother immediately. chris puts a hand over his eyes, just as he said he said he would before knocking on the door. nick has the camera out to record and is trying to stifle his laugh in the collar of his hoodie.

at the sound of the knock matt hears your voice, calling out for him, no doubt thinking it’s him at the door. he has to cover his mouth, partly out of nerves but also to keep himself from saying anything.

“yeah,” chris starts, needing to take a second before continuing because he’s already making himself laugh. “yeah, sweetheart, did i leave my belt in here?” he asks, barely stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

“uhh, i think it’s in your bedroom?” you say after a slight pause, about to poke your head out from behind the shower curtain, but chris has already mumbled a ‘thanks’ and essentially sprinted out of the bathroom, closing the door and crumbling to the floor in giggles.

“you’re not fucking real,” matt shakes his head, laughing softly himself and pushing off the wall to go back to the kitchen table. he’s a bit bummed that you didn’t realize it wasn’t his voice, but he keeps that to himself.

nick pans the camera over to matt’s face, which seems expressionless, even with both his brothers cackling outside of the frame.

you come out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, heading into matt’s bedroom to drop the clothes you’d changed out of. matt is instantly sitting back up, the legs of his chair scraping along the hardwood floors.

“ooh, someone’s pissed,” nick turns the camera to himself, eyeing the now closed door.

“that was too fucking good,” chris says after a deep breath, still recovering from laughing so hard. he pulls a chair out next to nick and the two start to explain what had happened to the camera, eyes flicking up to matt’s door every few seconds.

in the bedroom you’re putting your dirty clothes back into your bag when matt comes in, looking a little bit pouty, “hey baby,” you turn towards him, laughing at the slightly pathetic look he gives you, “what’s up?” you wonder.

“m’ tired,” he tells you, slumping up against you for a hug. you wrap your arms around him and rub his back, letting him lay his weight into you.

“we’ll eat and go to bed, yeah?” you give his back another little pat when he nods against you, “mkay, let’s go,” you kiss his cheek quickly, only to have him turn his head in search of a real kiss. you oblige of course.

nick and chris have already started eating and updating the vlog on their day when you and matt come out of the bedroom. matt joins them at the table but you head for the fridge to grab a drink. “oh, did you find your belt?” you ask matt, still digging around.

“what?— oh yeah” he mumbles, gaze turned down to his fries.

“okay good. by the way you sounded so much like chris when you came in— it freaked me the fuck out” you say with your head in the fridge, still searching for the diet coke you know you left inside the door, “did one of you drink my coke–”

“wait what?” matt’s head snaps up, food forgotten.

“hmm?” you turn around to find all three boys looking at you. nick’s mouth open in a half smile and chris clearly trying not to burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. matt’s just staring at you with eyes a little bit too wide before he speaks up.

“what do you mean i sounded weird?” he asks, leaning forward. you notice nick’s shut up about whatever he was saying to the camera earlier, pointing the lens at you now.

“i dunno, when you said sweetheart it just sounded super fucking weird— why are you guys looking at me like that–” you have to ask, feeling slightly weirded out by the intensity of their gazes

“i knew it!!” matt cheers, punching the air and doing a silly little dance as nick doubles over and starts hitting the table.

chris’ jaw drops and he presses his fingers into his eyes as he laughs next to his brother, leaning on him.

matt bounds over to you with a grin, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the ground slightly.

“whaaaat,” you giggle, clearly confused by their reaction. 

“it was me,” chris manages to say between bouts of laughter, “we– we were trying to see if you could tell our voices apart.”

“of course i can tell your voices apart, especially your voice,” you turn towards matt, saying it like it should be obvious, like it’s silly they doubted you for even a second. 

matt’s just grinning at you, feeling a strange sense of pride swelling in his chest, “i knew you could,” 

“bullshit!” chris exclaims, both him and nick still leaning against each other as they laugh.

“he’s right, you were freaked the fuck out,” nick manages to say between giggles, “you watched chris like a fucking hawk when he opened the bathroom door,” he looks over at you, his smile contagious, “he was definitely freaked the fuck out,”

matt groans and drops his head against your shoulder. you brush your fingers through his hair and chuckle to yourself, “awe matt,” you coo, “i definitely know your voice, i’ll probably be hearing lots of it later anyways.”

tags ! @st4rswrld @urfavvev3lyn @mattsturnioloarchive @averysbestyears @its-jennarose

[pucksandpower]

Under the Mistletoe

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando really wants you to kiss him under the mistletoe. Sounds normal enough, right? Wrong! So wrong

Warnings: 18+ content and description of an allergic reaction

The apartment is finally quiet. The muffled thrum of conversation and laughter that had filled every corner just hours ago has faded, leaving only the faint crackle of the fireplace in the living room. It smells like pine needles, spiced cider, and the faint citrus tang of your new body wash. You pad softly down the hallway in your slippers, the wooden floor cool beneath your feet.

“Lando?” You call, peeking into the dimly lit bedroom.

He’s there, of course, but the sight that greets you isn’t what you expect.

Lando is lying on his back, smack in the middle of the bed, arms folded behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s wearing nothing. Absolutely nothing … except for a single, strategic adornment. Tied with what looks like a strip of red ribbon, a sprig of mistletoe dangles provocatively from his dick.

“Seriously?” You stop in the doorway, blinking. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Happy Christmas,” he says, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s an invitation.” He tilts his head slightly, his curls a messy halo against the pillow. “You’ve got to kiss me.”

“Oh, I’ve got to, have I?” You fold your arms, biting back a smile.

“Under the mistletoe,” he clarifies, as if that makes it any less ridiculous. “It’s the rules. I don’t make them.”

“You absolutely made this up.”

Lando shrugs, utterly unrepentant. “Does it matter?”

You stand there for a moment, torn between amusement and disbelief. “You know, normal people just leave cookies for Santa. Not …” You gesture vaguely at him, at the ribbon, at everything.

“Not everything has to be normal,” he says, his grin softening slightly. There’s something teasing in his tone, but there’s sincerity, too. “Come on, it’s Christmas. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it.”

There’s no point denying it. You do love him — ridiculous, over-the-top antics and all. With a sigh that’s more for show than anything else, you take a few steps closer to the bed.

“Alright,” you say, pretending to consider. “Where exactly am I supposed to kiss you? The mistletoe’s not even …” You trail off, waving a hand vaguely in the air.

Lando smirks, his eyes dancing. “Where do you think?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you say again, but you’re already climbing onto the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and Lando watches, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re not protesting much,” he points out.

“Shut up.”

“You could have just stayed in the doorway, you know. Told me off or something. But no, here you are-”

“Lando,” you cut in, leaning over him.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Your lips are on his before he can say anything else, cutting off whatever smug reply he had planned. His hands slide instinctively to your waist, pulling you closer as you kiss him.

It’s not rushed. The night has been long, full of people and noise and obligations, and this moment feels like a welcome reprieve. Lando’s mouth is warm, insistent but unhurried, and you let yourself get lost in it for a while, your fingers tangling in his hair.

When you finally pull back, he looks up at you, flushed and grinning.

“Good start,” he says, his voice a little breathless.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admits, his grin widening.

Shaking your head, you shift your attention downward. The ribbon, the mistletoe — it’s so absurd you have to laugh.

“Did you seriously tie this yourself?” You ask, running a finger lightly along the edge of the ribbon.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Fine, yes. Took me a solid twenty minutes, too. Those stupid YouTube tutorials make it look way easier than it is.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, “you’re still here.”

You meet his gaze, your laughter fading. The teasing, playful look in his eyes hasn’t disappeared, but there’s something else there now — something softer, more vulnerable. It’s the look he gets when he’s reminding you, without words, just how much you mean to him.

“Well,” you say quietly, “it is Christmas.”

“And you’ve got to follow the rules,” he murmurs.

“Right.”

The bed creaks slightly as you shift again, positioning yourself more comfortably. You lean down, pressing another kiss to his lips — gentler this time, more lingering. Then you trail kisses along his jaw, his collarbone, the faint dusting of freckles across his chest.

Lando lets out a soft, contented sigh, his hands finding your hips again. “You’re taking this very seriously,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement.

“I’m nothing if not thorough.”

“Lucky me.”

You glance up at him briefly, smirking. “You’ve no idea.”

When you finally reach the ribbon, you pause, your lips hovering just above it. Lando’s breathing hitches slightly, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Merry Christmas, Lando,” you murmur.

“Best Christmas ever,” he replies, his voice low and fervent.

And then, with deliberate slowness, you kiss him under the mistletoe.

You pause for a beat, the mistletoe brushing lightly against your cheek. Lando’s breathing is heavier now, his chest rising and falling beneath you. He’s trying to stay still, but his fingers dig into your skin, betraying how much control he’s losing.

“You alright up there?” You ask, teasing, your voice low.

“You know I’m not,” he mutters, his words strained.

“Good.”

And with that, you continue. Deliberate. Unhurried. Every movement of your mouth is purposeful, every touch designed to unravel him. Lando groans, low and broken, the sound rumbling through the quiet room like a storm on the horizon.

“Fuck, you’re …” He cuts himself off, his head tipping back into the pillow. His hands flex against your hips, as if holding you steady is the only thing grounding him.

“Say it,” you murmur, barely pulling away for a second.

He glances down at you, his hazel eyes dark and glassy. “You’re killing me,” he manages, his voice hoarse.

You smile, the corners of your mouth curving just slightly before you return to your task. Lando’s hands slip from your shoulders, clutching the sheets instead. He’s completely undone now — his breathing ragged, his head thrown back, his body trembling beneath you.

“F-fuck … close,” he stammers, his words tumbling out like he’s barely holding them together.

You hum softly in acknowledgment, the vibration of it drawing a sharp, involuntary gasp from him. It’s all he can take.

He breaks.

A strangled sound escapes his throat as his body tenses, and you taste the telltale musky warmth on your tongue. You stay where you are for a moment, letting him ride out the high, his grip on the sheets going slack.

When it’s over, you pull back slowly, swallowing before wiping at the corner of your mouth. One drop clings stubbornly to your lip, and you swipe it away with your thumb, catching Lando’s hazy, satisfied gaze as you do.

“You alright there?” You ask softly, your tone light but full of affection.

“Barely,” he mutters, his voice thick. He exhales sharply, his chest still heaving as he lets his head fall to the side, watching you with a dazed grin. “You’re-”

“What?” You tilt your head innocently, wiping your hand on a tissue before tossing it onto the nightstand.

“Perfect,” he finishes, his voice soft and full of something deeper than just the moment.

You laugh quietly, crawling up the bed to lie beside him. He pulls you close immediately, one arm draped over your waist, the other brushing back a strand of hair from your face.

“Was this your master plan all along?” You tease, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Maybe,” he admits, still catching his breath.

“And?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” He grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You roll your eyes but smile against his skin. “Merry Christmas, Lando.”

“Happy Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with exhaustion and contentment.

For a moment, neither of you says anything more. The only sound is the quiet crackle of the fire in the distance, and the world beyond the bedroom feels miles away.

Eventually, Lando breaks the silence. “So … same thing next year?”

You shove him playfully, laughing as his grin widens. “Go to sleep.”

And with him wrapped around you, the warmth of his love settling over you like a blanket, you do.

***

The morning light creeps through the curtains, warm and soft, a stark contrast to the frantic energy in the room. You stir awake first, stretching lazily until you feel Lando shift beside you, letting out a low, uncomfortable groan.

“Ugh,” he mutters, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean, wrong?” You mumble sleepily, rolling over to look at him.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just shifts again, his body stiff and tense. Then he sits up abruptly, wincing as if every movement hurts.

“Lando?” You ask, more alert now.

“It … hurts,” he says, glancing down at himself. “Like, bad.”

You follow his gaze, and that’s when you see it. The redness. The swelling.

“Oh my God,” you say, your voice shooting up an octave. You sit up fully, the sleepiness disappearing in an instant. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” He exclaims, his face a mixture of panic and embarrassment. “It was fine last night!”

“Well, it’s not fine now!” You scoot closer, carefully inspecting the irritated skin. It’s blotchy, bright red, and looks alarmingly angry.

“It’s swollen,” he groans.

“No kidding.”

“What do we do?” He asks, his voice bordering on frantic.

“First, calm down,” you say, though your own voice isn’t exactly steady. “Second … oh my God, Lando, do you think it’s the mistletoe?”

His eyes widen as the realization hits. “You think I’m allergic?”

“Do you have any idea where that stuff’s been stored? It’s probably coated in dust or pollen or something. Or-” Your voice catches. “Do you think you’ve always been allergic?”

“I’ve never, uh … put it on my cock before, so how would I know?”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, panic simmering between you.

“We need help,” Lando says finally.

“Like … a doctor?”

“No!” He yelps. “We’re not going to a doctor for this!”

“Then what-”

“Call Jon,” he blurts out, cutting you off.

“What?” You ask, incredulous. “Your performance coach?”

“Yeah! He knows, like, medical stuff. And he won’t make it weird.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow but grab your phone anyway, scrolling to Jon’s number. “Oh, this isn’t going to be awkward at all,” you mutter as it rings.

“Hello?” Jon answers, sounding far too chipper for the situation.

“Uh, hi, Jon,” you begin, exchanging a look with Lando. “It’s Y/N. Lando and I have … a bit of a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Jon asks, his voice immediately shifting to professional concern.

“Well …” You trail off, glancing at Lando, who gestures frantically for you to continue. “It’s kind of … personal.”

“Y/N,” Jon says patiently, “you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Okay, fine. Lando’s … area is swollen and covered in a rash.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“… Come again?” Jon finally says, and you can practically hear him trying not to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” Lando shouts from the bed. “It’s serious!”

“Oh, it’s serious?” Jon repeats, his voice full of barely concealed amusement. “Alright. How did this happen?”

You hesitate, then mumble, “He … tied mistletoe to it last night.”

Jon doesn’t reply immediately, but the faint sound of him choking back laughter comes through the line.

“Can you help or not?” Lando snaps, his cheeks flushing red — whether from anger or embarrassment, you’re not sure.

“Okay, okay,” Jon says, his tone softening. “It’s probably an allergic reaction. Clean the area thoroughly, apply a topical antihistamine if you have one, and keep it elevated to reduce swelling.”

“Elevated?” You echo, frowning. “How are we supposed to-”

“Just do your best,” Jon says, clearly suppressing a laugh again. “And if it doesn’t improve in a few hours, you might need to, uh … consult a professional.”

“Thanks, Jon,” you say quickly, hanging up before Lando can yell again.

Lando groans, flopping back onto the bed. “This is the worst Christmas ever.”

“You’ll survive,” you say, grabbing the first-aid kit from the bathroom. “Now, let me see.”

“This is humiliating,” he mutters, but he doesn’t resist as you sit beside him, carefully applying the ointment Jon suggested.

“Hold still,” you say gently, your touch careful.

He winces but doesn’t complain further, watching you with a mix of gratitude and lingering embarrassment. After a few minutes, the redness looks slightly less angry, though the swelling is still noticeable.

Once you’re done, you sit back with a sigh, your hands on your knees. “Well, that was a bonding experience.”

Lando lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, not exactly what I had planned.”

You glance at him, your lips twitching upward despite everything. “So … was it worth it?”

He grins, some of his usual confidence returning. “Next year, I’ll make sure to have an epipen ready.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Next year, maybe let’s stick to normal traditions. Like cookies. Or matching pajamas.”

“We’ll see,” he says, smirking as he leans back against the pillows. “I’ve still got a whole year to think of something even better.”

“God help us all,” you mutter, but there’s affection in your voice.

And despite the chaos, as you settle back into bed beside him, you can’t help but think it’s still a Christmas to remember.

[emmg]

Lucanis is 100% the passport dad of the group. He has a color-coded folder of everyone's documents, a pen, a backup pen, and snacks. He’s already memorized the gate number, and honestly, he’s just tired. Tired of all of them.

Meanwhile, Harding and Taash are at the duty-free perfume counter, trying to huff their way into new allergies. "What if I sprayed this directly into my eyes?" "Only one way to find out."

Davrin and Assan have declared war on a vending machine that ate his money.

Emmrich is in the VIP lounge, where he’s sipping a $20 coffee and having a full-blown academic debate with Johanna who happens to be taking the same flight. It’s about something absurd, like "Does the number of airport Wi-Fi bars correlate with societal decay?" Hezenkoss did not come to play, and now the barista is their unwilling moderator.

Neve’s at the bar. She’s on her third martini and halfway through some case files, glaring at anyone who so much as looks like they might strike up a conversation. She’s also definitely pretending she doesn’t know any of them.

And Bellara? Bellara is just gone. Like, not even in the airport anymore. Somehow she’s ended up in a completely different country. There’s a 50/50 chance she’s fine and living her best life, or she’s single-handedly causing an international incident. Wherever she is, she has absolutely no regrets.

[stormhearty]

Pushed to the Edge

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Trigger: angst, cheating, suicide, death

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You were the official seer of Night Court for nearly 500 years. the Inner Circle had always listened to you and your visions; however, when the Archeron sisters came and Elain started to show her powers, your family started to shift their attention to her visions. When you try to voice your warnings about the death-lord’s resurrection, everyone gave you the cold shoulder, ignoring your prophesies — this included your mate.

Note: no hate to Azriel or Elain, it just helped with the plot. and Also, I know it's completely unreasonable for Azriel to not have the Truth-Teller be with him at all times, just go with it for now. And I am working on “Reach Your Voice” Series, I’m still trying to figure out how to make sure each of our boys spends quality time with the reader.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue

<Pushed to the Edge> Masterlist

“That sounds absolutely absurd… How many times will you try to warn about something that will never happen?”

Your voiced died in your throat as you watched Rhysand look at you with apprehension before focusing on the paperwork in front of him.

You had ran into his office, waking up in cold sweat after another vision of another Death God crawling it’s way back into Prythian. You had tried to forewarn your High Lord for weeks on end ever since you first saw that vision. However, your warnings had been ignored by Rhysand. You knew that it sounded impossible, you knew that, Prythian had just finished a war — one that almost destroyed the world.

After the war with the King of Hybern, Prythian was slowly returning to its normal … well, attempting to fix what was broken by the King. The Night Court was healing, trying to rebuild itself again to its glory, helping other Courts to fix the damages that the war caused. Rhysand had been through an ordeal, losing his life to save Prythian and you knew that your High Lord was still recuperating from that tragedy. You knew that your High Lady was as well, almost losing her mate.

They didn’t need another war to happen when peace had barely returned.

But you also knew there was another reason your High Lord had been ignoring your for forewarning. You looked to the side, one where the rest of the Inner Circle was watching the confrontation. Cassian and Nesta, sitting close to each other, a glass of wine in their hands, whispering to each other, mostly likely about you and your vision. You could barely pick up with your keen Fae hearing on what they were saying.

“Do you think what she’s saying is real? That Koschei is trying to come back?”

“Elain hasn’t seen it though…”

The whisper of the middle Archeron child echoed in your ears as you looked at the Made Fae. She sat next to the window, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle like the sun rested on you before turning over to the male that she was sitting with. Your gaze followed hers to Azriel — your mate— but you can see that he didn’t bother to glance in your direction, only to focus on the delicate female next to him.

It hurt. You watched as the two of them conversed, glancing back in your direction before focusing on each other.

It was no secret, not for you, on Elain’s growing infatuation for the Shadowsinger, and in turn his own growing affections for the middle Archeron child — and in turn, losing his love for you.

You woke up in an empty bed, your mate missing from his side. You tried to talk to Cassian about how his day went, on if he would still train you with the Valkyries if he had time. You tried to converse with Rhysand and Feyre, seeing if they were healing properly after the war, wanting to make sure your High Lord and Lady were safe. You sought after you mate, wanting to spend even a second with him.

But they disregarded you so easily. Especially after they had found out that Elain had similar powers to you, one that was gifted to her by the Cauldron — one that was deemed more powerful than your own.

Your role as the Official Seer of Night Court was granted to you after Helion had sent you as an emissary for Day Court. Helion had found you wandering around Day Court lands. You had been a wandering child, with no real attachment to any Court, abandoned in the streets by your family at the age of five when your seer powers started to come into light. Helion had taken you in when you were ten, helped you hone your powers. Being a seer had been a mystery, no one in your heritage (that you were aware of) was a seer. And it baffled Helion on why such a remarkable gift had been casted aside.

You had stayed with the Night Court, gaining their trust and friendship for five centuries, gaining your own little foothold in their family. You had been a pillar when Rhysand had been trapped Under the Mountain for nearly fifty years. You helped Mor and Armen with the official Night Court Duties, trained with Cassian to ensure you were strong enough to fight when neither he nor Azriel was there.

During your time protecting Valeris from the eyes of Amarantha, your mating bond with the Shadowsinger snapped. It had been difficult at the start, both of you were still struggling with the disappearance of your High Lord, along with the weight of protecting the very city he hidden from view. But during that time, you became each other’s pillar, each other’s comfort in such a dark time. Falling in love with Azriel wasn’t difficult.

But keeping his love, apparently, was the most difficult.

When the Archeron sister’s came into everyone’s lives, it caused a tip in the scales. You loved Feyre, you loved your High Lady. You would do anything in your power to ensure she was safe and well cared for. But for the Cauldron-Made sisters, it was difficult for you to accept them.

They were different. You couldn’t see anything about them, as if the Cauldron had masked them from you powers. It made you terrified of them. Feyre and Rhysand had tried to assure you that the Archeron sisters deemed no threat to the Night Court. And you trusted them — trusted your High Lord and Lady without a blink of an eye. And yes, while their words deemed true, you did not realize that they were a different type of threat. One that would eventually lose your foothold in the Night Court.

You swallowed, your throat parched as you glanced from the sight of your mate and Elain speaking to one another to Rhysand and then to Feyre who had stood next to him. She gave you a worried look, wondering what you were wanting to tell them.

The air was tense, the declaration from your High Lord seeming to echo in your surroundings — he had deemed your vision to be false. And he had never done that before.

“… But…” you whispered, your voice nothing but wind in such a large room, “… I’ve seen it so many times, Rhys. Someone is trying to resurrect him. That they need a piece of something from the Cauldron — -”

“The Cauldron is with Miryam and Drakon… in Creta. There is no way that anyone would be able to use that power again,” Rhysand’s tone was taut, as if trying to drawn a line between the truth and your vision, “Your vision must be wrong, (Y/N). There is no way that Koschei can be resurrected from that lake.”

Another swallow, “But what if it doesn’t have to be the Cauldron itself. It could be something that was Made from the Cauldron.”

Rhysand’s eyes snapped up from his desk, up to you, eyes darkening at the words you were insinuating, “—- What are you trying to say, (Y/N)?”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes shifting down to your hands, fiddling with your fingernails — a habit that you’ve had ever since you were a child — one that would leave your hands raw from removing skin, ‘… Nesta and Elain were Made from the Cauldron. If it were to get word to the followers of Koschei, they… they could be in danger. The power that resides in them is the Cauldron… Nesta took something from the Cauldron and did not return it… They could be looking for that.”

It was already bad that you were trying to suggest a return of a Death God, months after a war with Hybern, but it was worse that you were even implying that the sisters were the center of being in danger again.

A dark shadow stood in front of you and you looked up to see Azriel. The golden string that connected the two of you sung, it had been weeks since Azriel went near you, but you knew that his side of the bond was shut, enshroud by shadows, completely shutting you out.

“Az—-” you said his name, as if it was a prayer, hoping he’d be the voice of reason. That he would back up you and your visions. As he always had in the past.

“How can we know that your visions are truth, (Y/N)? There are two Seers in the Night Court now, and yet you are the only one who sees this.”

Your ears rang, a high pitch noise echoing through them as disbelief shook your body. Azriel never distrusted you, never doubted your visions and your forewarnings.

The bond in you ached, as if it was burning you on the inside. Tears lined your eyes as you looked up at your mate, brows furrowing, “…How could you, Azriel?” you muttered, the pain lining your tone, “How can you not trust me?” your voice small.

“Because Elain hasn’t seen it,” was all he had to say.

Hot tears ran your cheeks, as you shakily stepped back from the male that had towered you. You glanced at Cassian and Nesta who looked at you, their eyes inattentive to the pain that you were feeling. You glanced at your High Lord, who looked at you with disinterest. You looked at your High Lady, the only person in the room that seemed to have noticed your pain and anguish, as she took a step towards you way, only to be stopped by Rhysand, his hand around her wrist.

“… So, just because the Cauldron-Made Seer hasn’t seen it, doesn’t mean that it is going to happen?” you asked, your question in the air for everyone to think, “… Just because I wasn’t a Seer Made by the Cauldron, that my visions and my words are not real? That I am a lesser of a Seer than her?”

“(Y/N)—-” Feyre, the voice of reason, called our your name.

You took a step back again, head shaking at them, “I’ve worked my life off for the Night Court. Ensuring that your city is safe, making sure that any danger would never step past the wards that you have put up. I have never hidden anything from any of you. I used my visions and my powers for all of you. And yet…” your voice shook at the end, not believing anything that was happening in front of you, “You disregard me… the moment a better Seer shows up. One that is Cauldron-Made… one that you…” eyes shifting to Azriel, “Deems more suitable for you.

“I’ve seen it. Not only in my visions but here with you all. You have decided to all turn a blind eye to it, decided not to tell me about it. Three sisters for three brothers, isn’t it, Azriel?”

Azriel’s form stiffed in front of you — he did not think that you would have heard that.

You were done, you were tired. You were tired of the lies and the deceit from whom you thought were family.

Feyre’s brows furrowed as she looked at you and then her elder sisters before the back of Azriel. Rhysand stood up as well, standing next to his High Lady at your declaration.

“… What are you talking about, (Y/N)?” Feyre asked, watching your form shake.

“Don’t you lie to me…” you muttered, glaring at your High Lady, “Don’t you dare lie that you have not seen it. Don’t you dare tell me that you have not noticed that Azriel and Elain have been together all this time. That you have turned a blind eye that a mated male would be infatuated, would fall in love with someone else that was not his Cauldron-bound mate. Don’t you dare lie to me you have not all seen it, and have ignored it and not tell me about it.

“You also have all disregarded me and my visions, ever since Elain started to show her own powers. You have all deemed, even without you telling me, that my powers are not worthy enough. That you all would listen to her cryptic visions rather than my own.”

Your words were rushed, you were hyperventilating to the point that your visions swam, but you shook your head, focusing on the scene unfolding — Feyre’s surprised look, Nesta and Cassian staring wide-eye at Elain before glancing at the Shadowsinger in front of you and your High Lord gripping the edge of the table, his violet eyes clearing as if he was in a trance, as if his mind has been cleared and he realized what he has done and what was unfolding with his family.

“No, (Y/N), that’s not what we meant…” he tried to reason, try to gain back your trust in the found family you had with them.

You scrunched your face, shaking your head as you looked at your High Lord before back at your mate, “…That’s what you have meant for the months you have been ignoring my forewarnings. Been ignoring me. Because Elain’s powers are better than mine, you have casted me aside…” Another step back, glancing at the grand door behind you before you glanced back at the family who had lost you, to the mate that had broken your entire being, “You had decided, to your own conscious, to fall in love with someone else, who is bound to someone else, just because you deemed that the Cauldron was wrong. I don’t understand what I have done to you, Azriel… when I have spent nearly five-hundred years with you, fifty years with you as your mate. And you, knowing Elain for a mere five minutes, throwing all that away…”

Azriel looked at you, his chest rising and falling quickly, his eyes staring you down. He watched as tears continued to flood down your cheeks, your form shaking even further. You couldn’t do it, you couldn’t just stand here and be the object that they throw away.

So, you ran, ran out of that room, your name echoing behind you as your dress swirled behind you. You climbed up the spiraling stairs to your shared room with Azriel, throwing up the strongest ward you can muster behind you and around you. You couldn’t handle it.

You couldn’t handle the echo of the bond in your chest, you couldn’t handle the empty stare of your mated looking at you. You couldn’t handle the thought that you were so easily replaceable. A sob escaped your lips as you rummaged through Azriel’s drawer of weapons, pulling out the one weapon that he never is without — Truth-Teller. Dark tendrils of shadow gripped your wrist as you looked around you, Azriel’s shadows surrounding you.

That was where his shadows went — they had always disappeared when he was around Elain, yet they were here with you.

Frantic knocks startled you as you grasped the weapon close to your chest, your head whipping around towards the door. You heard them — Feyre’s panicked voice, Rhysand’s apologizes, Cassian yelling your name. But you didn’t hear that one voice that you had loved — you knew Azriel wasn’t there.

That had pushed you. Gripping the weapon, you moved to the bathroom, the shadows following your every movement. As you kneeled down on the marble floor, you felt the tug of the shadows against your hand, trying to will the weapon out of your grip — attempting you to stop at a take of your life.

You had always loved the shadows that surrounded Azriel, both physically and metaphorically speaking. They had always comforted you, protected you, always had been there for both of you when times were tough. But this was one of the times that you didn’t want them protecting you, comforting you.

“Please..” you begged at them. Whether or not they would listen or sprint off to their master, they backed off, though a few tendrils stayed behind, slithering around your wrist, holding Truth-Teller, as if a reminder not to do it. But you had made your mind — you couldn’t stay and be pushed to the side. Not anymore.

And with a last breath impaled yourself with your mate’s beloved knife, the very knife he had handed Elain during the war, was the last thing you remembered. As your body fell against the marbled floor, your soul leaving your body, you felt the tendrils of shadow frantically skim over your body, as if to try to find a piece of life still clinging onto you. Eyes looked and watched as the ward was broken and your High Lord and Lady skidding towards your body as your soul left for the skies above, the cool feeling of shadow never leaving your body.

A gasp escaped your lips, the dull ache on your chest making you rub at it.

“— - What…” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as if not used for a century.

“That Shadowsinger did not know what he had decided to let go, huh…” A voice, one so dark and so familiar echoing.

You knew that voice, that voice that haunted you in your visions for weeks — the same voice that you tried to warn your family about. Eyes opening, you were surrounded by the dark, the voice of the Death-God echoing around you.

“I should have died…” you voiced to no-one.

A laugh echoed around you, “You did, (Y/N), but you forget that I am a Death-God… And I can resurrect anyone I wish. Now, that your family has abandoned you, why don’t you join me. Show them what happens when a Seer of your capacity has been cast aside. I should have had you when that original family of yours stranded you, but that damn High Lord of Day found you first. Anyway… come child…”

You laid there, in the darkness, before you shakily reach out a hand, before spiny fingers grasped onto yours and pulled you out of that darkness.

[mrsfancyferrari]

Birthday Boy

Summary: It's getting to Max's birthday and you know what he wants for it.

Song: Heartbeat by Childish Gambino

Author’s note: DUDUDUDU MAX VERSTAPPEN! Please like, reblog and share this! <3

Word count: 4.8k

Max's birthday was just around the corner, and you found yourself in a fortunate position, having a few weeks off from work. This time away felt like a blessing, especially considering how close you and Max had grown recently.

The aftermath of your breakup had been tough, filled with emotional turmoil and countless tears. Yet, through it all, Max had been your rock, offering comfort and support.

You often found solace in his presence, spending nights in his bed while he opted for the couch, a testament to the deepening bond between you two.

It felt perfectly normal, a natural progression of friendship, or so you thought.

As you enjoyed a leisurely afternoon playing golf, the sun shining brightly overhead, Lily suddenly interrupted your thoughts with a loud exclamation.

"Absolutely not!" she shouted, her voice cutting through the serene atmosphere. You turned to her, puzzled, as she continued, "You can't just sleep in his bed like that! It’s not just friends hanging out; it’s crossing a line!"

Her words hung in the air, and you could feel the tension rising.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "Lily, me and him are just friends! It’s not like we’re planning a romantic getaway or anything," you replied, trying to lighten the mood.

Lily rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. "Fine, but just remember, boundaries are important!" she warned, her tone softening.

Lily leaned back, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she took a swing at the golf ball, sending it soaring into the bright blue sky. "You know, you and I both understand that Max is head over heels for you," she remarked casually, a teasing grin spreading across her face.

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything around you faded into the background. Your heart raced, a sudden flutter of disbelief and excitement coursing through you.

This was the first time anyone had ever suggested such a thing, and the thought sent your mind spiraling.

"What? Are you serious?" you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. The revelation felt like a jolt of electricity, igniting a mix of hope and confusion within you.

You had always thought of Max as a close friend, someone who shared laughter and late-night conversations, but the idea of him harboring deeper feelings was entirely new.

You could hardly process it, your thoughts racing as you tried to recall every interaction you’d had with him, searching for signs that you might have missed.

Lily chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. "What? You really didn’t know? Wow, you two are like two peas in a pod, completely oblivious to each other’s feelings," she teased, shaking her head in disbelief.

"It’s almost comical how you both dance around the truth. I mean, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention? It’s like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face."

Her words painted a vivid picture in your mind, and suddenly, the world felt a little brighter, filled with possibilities you had never dared to consider before.

As they lounged in the sun-drenched golf park, Lily leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, there’s a way to find out if he really likes you," she said, a playful grin spreading across her face.

The anticipation bubbled within you, and you leaned in, eager to hear more. "How?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

Lily's expression turned conspiratorial as she glanced over at Alex, who was engrossed in a game of golf with Lando. "Guys secretly enjoy it when you gently cup their cheek or run your fingers through their hair," she explained, her voice low and teasing.

"That’s how I figured out that big guy over there was into me. It’s all about those little moments of connection." You watched Alex swing his club, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and wondered if Max would respond the same way if you tried something similar.

"Just think about it," Lily continued, her tone light yet encouraging. "If he doesn’t like you, he’ll probably pull away or act all awkward. But if he does… well, you’ll definitely know."

She nudged you playfully, her laughter ringing out like music in the air.

The thought of testing the waters sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t help but imagine the possibilities.

Would Max react positively?

The idea of a shared moment filled with unspoken feelings made your heart race, and you felt a surge of confidence at the prospect of taking that leap.

As they lounged in the sun-drenched golf park, Lily leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, there’s a way to find out if he really likes you," she said, a playful grin spreading across her face.

The anticipation bubbled within you, and you leaned in, eager to hear more. "How?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

Lily's expression turned conspiratorial as she glanced over at Alex, who was engrossed in a game of golf with Lando. "Guys secretly enjoy it when you gently cup their cheek or run your fingers through their hair," she explained, her voice low and teasing.

"That’s how I figured out that big guy over there was into me. It’s all about those little moments of connection." You watched Alex swing his club, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, and wondered if Max would respond the same way if you tried something similar.

"Just think about it," Lily continued, her tone light yet encouraging. "If he doesn’t like you, he’ll probably pull away or act all awkward. But if he does… well, you’ll definitely know."

She nudged you playfully, her laughter ringing out like music in the air.

The thought of testing the waters sent a thrill through you, and you couldn’t help but imagine the possibilities.

Would Max react positively?

After the golf session was over, your phone buzzed with a text from Max.

"Hey, come over to my place. I’ve got something cool to show you," it read.

Your heart skipped a beat, excitement mingling with nerves as you replied with a quick, "Sure, be there soon!"

The drive to Max's house felt longer than usual, every passing minute filled with anticipation.

As the door swung open, Max stepped into view, his presence commanding immediate attention. His muscular physique was evident even beneath the casual attire he wore; a fitted t-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and sculpted arms, accentuating the definition of his biceps.

The fabric of his jeans hugged his powerful thighs, hinting at the strength that lay beneath. With a confident stance, he exuded an aura of both approachability and strength, making it clear that he was someone who took care of himself while still embracing a laid-back style.

Max's features were striking, framed by tousled hair that added a touch of rugged charm to his overall appearance. His chiseled jawline and high cheekbones gave him a classic handsomeness, while his warm smile revealed a friendly demeanor that put others at ease.

The way he carried himself suggested a blend of confidence and humility, as if he was fully aware of his physical prowess but chose to remain grounded.

The casual outfit he wore—a simple t-shirt paired with well-fitted jeans—allowed his natural charisma to shine through without overshadowing his approachable nature.

As he stood there, the light from the hallway illuminated his figure, casting a subtle glow that highlighted the contours of his muscles. Max's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, suggesting a playful spirit beneath his strong exterior.

When you arrived, Max greeted you at the door, his usual easygoing smile on his face

"Glad you could make it," he said, leading you inside. As you stepped into the cozy living room, you couldn't shake Lily's words from your mind.

You found yourself glancing at Max, wondering if this would be the right moment to test her theory.

"So, what’s the cool thing you wanted to show me?" you asked, trying to sound casual while your heart raced.

Max's grin widened, a spark of excitement lighting up his eyes. "Come on, I'll show you," he said, motioning for you to follow him further into the house. The anticipation in his voice was contagious, and you felt a thrill of curiosity pique your interest.

As you walked through the hallway, the walls adorned with photographs and memorabilia hinted at stories and adventures shared within these walls.

He led you to a room at the back of the house, the door slightly ajar.

Inside, the room was warmly lit, and the first thing you noticed were two cats, Jimmy and Sassy, lounging comfortably on a plush armchair. Their curious eyes followed your every movement, as if they, too, were eager to see what Max had in store.

Just beyond the armchair, on a small table, you spotted a beautiful bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, elegantly arranged as if waiting for a special moment.

Max turned to you with a proud smile, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. "You mentioned you've never gotten flowers or chocolates from anyone, so I wanted to change that," he said, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

The thoughtful gesture took you by surprise, and you couldn't help but feel a rush of emotion. Max's attention to detail and the effort he put into making you feel special spoke volumes, deepening the connection you felt with him.

"Oh Max, you shouldn't have," you muttered into your hands, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.

The warmth of his gesture melted away any lingering doubts, leaving you with a soft, glowing sensation in your chest. Max's eyes softened as he watched your reaction, clearly pleased with the effect his surprise had on you.

The room seemed to shrink, the world outside fading away as you stood there, enveloped in a bubble of shared affection and understanding.

Max stepped closer, his voice gentle and sincere. "I just wanted to make you feel appreciated because you deserve it," he said, reaching out to gently take your hand.

The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself looking up into his eyes, feeling a connection that words could scarcely capture.

Overwhelmed by the depth of emotion his gesture had stirred within you, you found yourself stepping forward, wrapping your arms around Max in a heartfelt hug. His warmth enveloped you, and for a moment, it felt as though time had stopped.

Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, a spontaneous act that seemed to convey all the gratitude and affection words could not express.

Max's breath hitched ever so slightly, and when you pulled back, his eyes were shining with a mix of surprise and happiness.

He gazed at you with a softness that made your heart flutter, and it was clear that the moment had deepened the bond between you. "Thank you, Max," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion. "For everything."

Max smiled, a tender expression that spoke volumes, and he squeezed your hand reassuringly. The two of you stood there, silently promising each other that this was just the beginning of something truly special.

"I got you your favorite chocolates," Max muttered, a shy smile playing on his lips. You looked at him, puzzled.

"But they don't make them here?" you replied, confusion evident in your voice.

Max's smile widened as he watched the realization dawn on your face. "I had them specially ordered," he explained. "I know how much you love them, and I wanted to do something that would truly make you happy."

Your eyes widened in surprise as you processed his words. The effort and thoughtfulness behind his gesture left you speechless. "Max, I can't believe you went through all that trouble just for me," you said, your voice trembling with emotion.

He stepped closer, his hand still holding yours. "You're worth it," he replied softly. The sincerity in his eyes made your heart swell with gratitude and affection, solidifying the special bond that had formed between you.

Eventually, the two of you left the room and went to sit with each other on the sofa, leaving only a small space between you. The TV was on, but after ten minutes, neither of you was paying attention to it.

The quiet murmur of the show served as a background to your own thoughts and the unspoken emotions hanging in the air.

You glanced at Max, catching his eye, and he smiled softly, a silent acknowledgment of the shared moment. It felt as if the world outside had faded away, leaving just the two of you in this bubble of newfound connection.

You decided to try Lily's theory. "Max, there is something on your face," you muttered, not waiting for him to respond as you cupped his face with your hand.

He blinked in surprise, a puzzled look crossing his features as you gently brushed your thumb across his cheek. "What is it?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"It's nothing," you replied, your eyes locking onto his. "I just wanted an excuse to be closer to you."

A blush spread across Max's cheeks, and he chuckled softly, the sound a mixture of relief and amusement. "You don't need an excuse," he murmured, leaning into your touch.

He closed his eyes and leaned against your hand, his breathing steady and calm. The warmth of his skin against your palm sent a comforting shiver down your spine.

You could feel the unspoken words that lingered in the air, the depth of emotions that neither of you had fully expressed yet. It was a moment of pure intimacy, a quiet understanding that spoke volumes more than any words could.

As the night wore on, the comforting presence of Max and the emotional weight of the evening began to take their toll. You felt your eyelids grow heavy, and before you knew it, you had drifted off to sleep on the couch, cradled by the warmth of the moment.

The last thing you remembered was the gentle rise and fall of Max's chest beside you, and the soft hum of the TV creating a soothing lullaby.

When you awoke, the first thing you noticed was the lingering scent of Max on the throw blanket draped over you. It was a mix of his cologne and something uniquely him, a smell that brought an immediate sense of comfort.

You blinked, trying to shake off the grogginess, and realized that Max was no longer beside you.

The room was quiet now, the TV turned off, and a sense of emptiness replaced the warmth that had been there earlier. . . .

The long-anticipated day had finally arrived: Max's birthday celebration. Although Max had expressed a desire for a low-key gathering, his friends Lando and Charles had other plans.

They were determined to throw him a memorable bash, and before he knew it, you found yourself hailing a taxi to a trendy club that promised an extravagant night. As the city lights blurred past the window, you felt a mix of excitement and anxiety bubbling within you.

What if Max didn’t enjoy the party? What if he felt overwhelmed? These thoughts raced through your mind as you approached the club, its vibrant atmosphere pulsating with music and laughter.

Stepping out of the taxi, you hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of uncertainty. The entrance loomed ahead, and the thrumming bass from inside made your heart race.

Just as you were about to gather your courage and walk in alone, you spotted a familiar figure leaning casually against the wall, seemingly lost in thought.

It was Max, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a hint of contemplation. You felt a wave of relief wash over you, and without thinking, you called out, "Max! What are you doing out here? Aren't you supposed to be inside celebrating?"

Your voice cut through the noise, and you watched as his expression shifted from one of mild annoyance to a bright, welcoming smile.

"I was waiting for you, of course," Max replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. The tension in your chest eased as he stepped closer, the warmth of his presence making the bustling club feel a little less intimidating.

"I thought I’d give you a chance to make a grand entrance," he teased, nudging you playfully.

You laughed, feeling the camaraderie between you two. "Well, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. I was just trying to muster the courage to walk in there," you admitted, gesturing toward the club.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "You know I’d never let you face this alone. Let’s go in together. It’s my birthday, and I want you to enjoy it as much as I do."

As you both stepped inside, the club's vibrant energy enveloped you. Neon lights flickered overhead, casting colorful patterns across the dance floor where people moved rhythmically to the beat of the music.

The air was thick with the scent of cocktails and the sound of laughter, and you could see Charles at the bar while Lando was being the DJ, waving enthusiastically as soon as he spotted you.

You made your way through the crowd with Max by your side, feeling a little more at ease with each step. As you approached the bar, Charles greeted you with a wide grin and a raised eyebrow.

"Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence," he teased, his eyes darting between you and Max. "I was starting to think you two had run off for a private celebration of your own."

Max rolled his eyes playfully, nudging you with his elbow. "Oh, come on, Charles. You know we wouldn't miss your expertly mixed cocktails for anything," he retorted, reaching for a drink that Charles had just finished preparing.

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as Charles gave you a knowing wink. "Just saying, you two seem pretty inseparable tonight,"

Charles added with a chuckle. "But I'm glad you're here. Now let's get this party started!"

As you navigated through the bustling crowd, you felt a warm sense of connection as Max's fingers intertwined with yours. It was a surprising gesture, one that felt so unlike the sober Max you knew, who typically kept his distance in social situations.

Yet here he was, leading you through the throng of partygoers with an air of confidence that seemed to defy his usual demeanor.

"Can you believe I actually agreed to this?" he chuckled, glancing back at you with a playful smirk.

You could see the hint of discomfort in his eyes, but he was trying to make the best of it, and you admired him for that.

Max had been thrust into the role of the gracious host, forced to thank each guest for attending his birthday celebration, even though he had made it clear he wasn’t keen on the idea of a party in the first place.

"Thanks for coming! It means a lot," he said, his voice dripping with a forced cheerfulness as he greeted a group of friends. You could see the strain behind his smile, and it made you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

"You’re doing great," you whispered encouragingly, squeezing his hand tighter. He shot you a grateful glance, and for a moment, the weight of the party seemed to lift just a little.

As the night wore on, the inevitable questions began to surface. "So, are you two dating?" one of Max's friends asked, a teasing glint in their eye. Max's response was quick, a playful grin spreading across his face.

"Oh, absolutely! We’re planning a wedding next week," he joked, his tone light but his eyes darting to you for a reaction. You couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a rush of warmth at the thought. "Or maybe we’ll just stick to being best friends," he added, shifting the conversation away with a wink.

You felt a mix of amusement and affection for him, knowing that beneath the humor, there was a genuine bond forming between you two, one that was becoming increasingly hard to define.

You liked Max more than you cared to admit, and each shared smile or inside joke only deepened that feeling. His ability to switch from playful banter to genuine warmth made your heart flutter in ways you hadn’t experienced before.

Tonight, seeing him step out of his comfort zone for the sake of others, you admired his resilience and adaptability. It was a side of him you rarely saw, but one that made you appreciate him even more.

As the party continued, you found yourself gravitating towards him, drawn by an invisible thread of mutual understanding and unspoken feelings. Every touch, every shared glance, seemed charged with a new, electric energy.

You wondered if he felt it too, or if you were simply projecting your own hopes onto the night.

Either way, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant was unfolding between you, something that went beyond the confines of friendship.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself nursing a drink, careful not to indulge too much. The last thing you wanted was to wake up the next day regretting a bold confession of your feelings for Max.

The thought of revealing your heart to him sent a shiver down your spine, but the atmosphere was electric, and you could feel the tension building.

Lando, Charles, and a few others were gathered around, their laughter echoing through the room as they engaged in a lively game of truth or dare.

You were lost in your thoughts, contemplating the fine line between friendship and something more, when suddenly, a light tap on your shoulder jolted you back to reality.

“Hey, it’s your turn! Truth or dare?” Lando’s voice rang out, playful and teasing, pulling you from your reverie. You glanced around the circle, the eager faces of your friends urging you to make a choice.

“Um, dare,” you replied, a mix of excitement and apprehension bubbling within you. You felt a rush of adrenaline, as if the game itself was daring you to step outside your comfort zone.

Lando’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, clearly relishing the moment. “I dare you to sit on Max’s lap for the rest of the night and kiss him,” he declared, a knowing grin spreading across his face.

Your heart raced at the suggestion, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. The room fell silent for a moment, all eyes on you, waiting for your reaction. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and thrill coursing through your veins.

Max, sitting just a few feet away, looked equally surprised, his expression a blend of curiosity and amusement. “You heard him,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

With a deep breath, you made your way over to Max, your heart pounding in your chest. As you settled onto his lap, the world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you in that electrifying moment.

The laughter of your friends faded into the background as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his, igniting a spark that had been waiting to be unleashed.

Max immediately cupped your cheek with one hand, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through you, while his other hand rested on your waist, pulling you a little closer.

The connection between you was undeniable, a magnetic force that neither of you could resist.

His lips pressed against yours with a tenderness that made your heart flutter, and for a moment, it felt as though time had stopped.

As you pulled back slightly, your eyes met his, and an unspoken understanding passed between you. The room erupted in cheers and applause, but their sounds were distant, muffled by the intensity of the moment you shared.

Max's eyes held a newfound softness, a hint of vulnerability that mirrored your own.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"Max, you're drunk. You don't mean that," you dismissed his words with a nervous laugh, though your heart was pounding even harder at his confession.

You tried to brush it off, convincing yourself it was just the alcohol talking, but the sincerity in his eyes made it difficult to ignore. Your mind raced, torn between the desire to believe him and the fear of what it might mean if he was telling the truth.

Max's hand remained on your waist, holding you in place as he shook his head slowly. "No, I mean it," he insisted, his voice steady despite the slight slur of intoxication.

"I've always felt something for you, but I never had the courage to say it. Tonight just gave me the push I needed."

The vulnerability in his gaze was unmistakable, and in that moment, you realized that perhaps the alcohol had simply loosened his tongue, allowing him to finally voice what had been in his heart all along.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked into his earnest eyes, and you felt a wave of emotions crash over you. "Max," you began softly, "I've felt it too, but I was always too scared to admit it."

His grip on you tightened slightly, a silent encouragement, and you continued, "Maybe we should talk about this when we're both sober, but I don't want to ignore what we're feeling right now."

"Will you say the same thing tomorrow?" Max asked, his voice tinged with fear. You could feel the weight of his question, the uncertainty that mirrored your own.

"I promise, I'll still feel the same," you replied softly, your heart hammering in your chest. "But let's give ourselves a chance to wake up and see if this moment is just as real in the light of day."

"Tomorrow, you might just earn yourself a girlfriend," you added with a playful smirk, trying to lighten the mood. Max's eyes sparkled with a mixture of hope and relief.

"Want to get a taste of her before the night ends?" you asked, leaning in closer.

The tension melted away as he pulled you into another kiss, this one filled with a newfound certainty. The world around you faded once more, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared emotions and possibilities.

"Get a room!" Lando yelled from across the bar, his voice cutting through the intimate moment. Max didn't miss a beat, raising his hand to give Lando the middle finger while still kissing you.

You couldn't help but laugh against his lips, the absurdity of the situation adding a light-hearted touch to the intense emotions swirling between you.

As you finally pulled away, both of you breathless and grinning, Max's eyes held a promise of tomorrow. "Let's get out of here," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours.

"I want to spend the rest of my birthday with you, just us." You nodded, your heart full and your mind clear for the first time in a long while.

Together, you made your way out, hand in hand, ready to face whatever the morning would bring. . . .

[junosmindpalace]

can you make a scenario where saiki accidentally makes his s/o cry so now he literally panicking trying to calm her down? and then out of guilt for the next few weeks he doing all these sweet things for her?

lots of fluff please!

hi there! thank you for your request!

Last week, Saiki was caught up in an incident.

There was just a lot going through his mind, alright? His parents were on his case about errands--particularly his father, exhausting his powers for his own needs--and his friends kept finding ways to drag him along in their endeavors, and he was worn out; both physically and mentally. 

The second he thinks he gets a mental break to himself to recover, you come along and try to make conversation with that irritatingly cheerful voice he’s been having to listen to as people tear him from limb to limb trying to get him to do this and that for them.

So he accidentally comes off a little harsh when he tells you with a murderous glare to just leave him alone. 

And you know Saiki, and Saiki knows you. You know the stress he’s often under, and he knows you just want to spend some time with him. Neither of you have a problem with either of these things usually, but today, it was just a jumble of emotions and some miscommunication that made it all fall apart. 

You try to understand, and you do! But even still, you couldn’t help feeling bad for upsetting him, and are unable to prevent the stray tears that pricked at your eyes from rolling down your cheeks. You immediately wipe them away with the palm of your hand and give him an apologetic smile, but Saiki immediately panics. 

He panics a little simply recalling the incident, even a week later when you’ve practically forgotten all about your crying and getting your feelings hurt. Still, Saiki feels bad, and ever since the incident occurred, he’s been trying to dull the guilt and sense of obligation to compensate for his actions in his heart. 

But though it doesn't seem like he's doing anything unique to an outsider who may not know him very well, you can tell the small shift in his attitude toward you in the weeks following the incident.

Seeing you splayed out in distress over a desk is a sight Saiki has become accustomed to with all the time you spend studying together. Typically, a couple of "motivating" words from him telling you to just pull yourself together and break down the material is enough to get you to begrudgingly pull yourself up and work. As of late, however, he'll tells you to stop moaning about your work when it gets too difficult to understand or you’re too tired to comprehend any of the material, and to just copy off him. He words it in a way that makes it seem that it's to his benefit, but usually Saiki wasn’t the type to lend you his work, believing that you should put in effort yourself, even when you’re whining about it. 

He sacrifices life and limb to help you with your daily tasks. Mundane things he knows you can handle yourself, but now his absolute first instinct is to immediately look for ways he can help you, even if he rolls his eyes and reprimands you at first. Lost something of yours? He’s using clairvoyance to track it down. Forgot something at a certain place when you go out? He’s fighting off traffic, interrogations from his friends, and all the other absurd obstacles he often finds interfering in his everyday life just so he can bring it back to you without raising suspicions of his powers. 

And if all those things weren’t obvious enough he’s been trying to atone, he buys you sweets. All of your favorites over the past couple of weeks, paid in full by him whenever the two of you order or stop by a bakery or restaurant. Maybe one found on your desk throughout the school day. He even shares with you his own if you ask or eye them longingly. 

All of these seemingly menial acts leave you a little suspicious, especially since it had been days since the event happened, and it hadn't taken much time for you to come around from the incident and continue being yourself. You expected that his offer to listen to your rant would be the extent of his atonement. Could he really still be stuck on it?

Your speculation is pretty much confirmed that these things were all attempts at making up for his poor behavior when he finds him yet again in a similar situation, exhausted and frustrated thanks to all the nuisances in his life. And then you come skipping along happily, greeting him with news of your day. His brows furrow, his eye twitches, and he’s about to open his mouth. And then he meets your gaze and he pauses. Takes a second. Remembers what happened last time, can see a flash of that pained face you made. 

You give him a look of confusion as you observe his expression. At that point, he can only sigh and slump back. 

"Saiki?”

"Let’s just go home and talk.”

You might catch onto his drained attitude, and offer to take him to one of his favorite dessert places as a treat to refresh and an apology for not recognizing his burden sooner. He’s immediately brightened by this, of course, and you end off with a win-win situation, with Saiki being able to wind down with some treats, and you being able to spill about your day sitting across from him.

[solxamber]

Hiiii so I really liked your unhinged reader x Leona fic and I just saw your post about mal and vil

If you have the time, could you do the same thing for mal and/or vil?

Vil and Malleus with an Unhinged reader

thanks for the request <3 it's always fun writing for mal and vil!

Vil Schoenheit

Vil Schoenheit prided himself on his poise. He prided himself on his grace, his refinement, his ability to maintain control in any situation.

And then there was you.

A walking, talking whirlwind of chaos with absolutely no regard for personal safety or the consequences of your actions. You had this thing—this habit—of showing up wherever Vil was, just appearing out of thin air like a feral cat who found a way into the palace.

“Vil!” you called, striding confidently into the Pomefiore lounge one afternoon, without a care for the looks you were getting from the perfectly groomed students. “Guess what I did today?”

Vil didn’t look up from his tea. “Do I even want to know?”

You, with the biggest grin on your face, flopped into the chair across from him like it was a casual meeting and not the sanctum of beauty and refinement. “Okay, so. Hear me out.”

“No.”

Ignoring him completely, you launched into your story. “So I was in the botanical gardens, right? And I saw this big, fancy plant, and I thought, ‘What if I just… take it?’ You know, for science or something.”

Vil lowered his tea slowly, eyeing you like you’d just declared you were going to break into a highly secured vault for fun. “You what?”

“I took it! It’s in my bag!” You looked so proud of yourself as you patted your bag. “I was thinking it’d look great in your room.”

Vil blinked at you, mouth slightly open, as his brain struggled to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. “You stole a plant? From the botanical gardens? For me?”

“Yup! Because you like pretty things, right?”

A strangled sound came from Rook, who had been quietly observing the conversation. Vil shot him a glare to silence him before returning his attention to you. “Let me get this straight,” Vil said slowly, carefully, as though speaking too quickly would cause his head to explode. “You, with absolutely no regard for rules or consequences, took a rare and likely highly poisonous plant, stuffed it into your bag, and brought it to me?”

You blinked innocently. “It’s poisonous? Huh. Well, that explains the rash.”

Vil’s hands went to his temples as he let out a long, pained sigh. “You have a death wish, don’t you?”

“Pfft, nah. I just get bored.”

There it was. The sentence that encapsulated everything about you—no self-preservation, questionable morals, and an insatiable hunger for something, anything, to entertain you.

Vil leaned back in his chair, staring at you as though trying to comprehend how someone like you even existed. “Do you realize how dangerous that is? How reckless? How utterly insane?”

You shrugged. “Danger is subjective, really. And anyway, you’ve faced worse in your overblot, right? At least I didn’t curse anyone.”

“That’s not the point!” Vil snapped, standing abruptly and fixing you with a glare so intense it could wilt your newly acquired plant. “You’re acting like an absolute menace!”

“And yet,” you said, leaning forward with a grin that could only be described as unhinged, “you still keep letting me hang around.”

Vil opened his mouth to retort but stopped. He couldn’t deny it. No matter how infuriating you were, no matter how many ridiculous situations you threw yourself into, he never really tried to distance himself. Sure, he scolded you, lectured you about proper behavior and responsibility, but at the end of the day, you were still there, waltzing into his life like you owned it.

“And,” you added, leaning even closer, “you can’t deny that you like it. Admit it. You’d be bored without me.”

Vil scoffed, turning his nose up. “As if. I have plenty of things to occupy my time.”

You tilted your head, that same manic gleam in your eye. “Oh really? Then why haven’t you kicked me out yet?”

Vil’s eye twitched. You had him there. He could list a dozen reasons why you were the worst—your lack of decorum, your disregard for rules, your baffling ability to be where you weren’t supposed to be—but at the same time, you were… fun. Infuriating, yes, but you always kept him on his toes. You were different from the people who usually fawned over him, who tried to impress him. You didn’t care about any of that. You just did whatever you wanted.

He took a deep breath and turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Fine. I’ll admit it. You’re… amusing, in a way.”

You grinned wider. “See? I knew you liked me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Vil said quickly, trying to maintain his composure. “You’re a menace to society and a walking disaster waiting to happen. But…” His voice dropped to a soft murmur, “you’re not entirely unbearable.”

“Wow, that’s practically a love confession coming from you,” you teased, still beaming like you’d won some sort of grand prize.

Vil turned away to hide the faint blush creeping up his neck. “Don’t get any ideas. I simply tolerate your existence.”

“Tolerate it all you want,” you said with a wink. “But I’m still going to hang around and cause chaos.”

Vil rubbed his temples again, as though trying to stave off the headache you were undoubtedly giving him. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Liar,” you sing-songed.

He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it. “One day, you’re going to get yourself killed. Or worse—ruin my skincare routine.”

You laughed, pulling the now-wilting plant out of your bag. “Wanna help me plant this in the dorm garden?”

Vil stared at you in disbelief. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You say that now, but I’ll grow on you. Just like this plant.”

“I am going to bury you and that plant together.”

You winked. “As long as I’m with you, Vil.”

Vil groaned, but he didn’t kick you out, didn’t storm off in disgust. And somehow, that was all the confirmation you needed.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia, prince of Briar Valley, feared and revered by many, could handle just about anything. He’d faced fierce enemies, commanded respect with just a glance, and maintained an air of elegance befitting his royal status.

And then there was you.

You, with your complete and utter lack of self-preservation. You, who seemed to treat life like an ongoing game of “how can I make the Grim Reaper quit?” You, who treated Malleus Draconia like just another guy in your chaotic orbit.

“Tsunotarou!” You barreled toward him one evening, skidding to a halt at the last second, as if barely remembering that you shouldn’t throw yourself headfirst into the chest of a centuries-old fae prince. “You’ll never guess what I did!”

Malleus blinked, tilting his head in curiosity. “What have you done this time, Child of Man?”

You grinned like a cat who’d eaten the canary. “I may or may not have… accidentally started a small fire in the potionology lab.”

Malleus’s eyes widened slightly, though he remained composed. “A fire? Are you unharmed?”

“Oh yeah, I’m totally fine! But Crewel’s coat definitely wasn’t. That thing went up in flames like it was soaked in gasoline.” You waved your hand dismissively, like setting your teacher’s coat on fire was a normal Monday activity.

Malleus stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a soft chuckle. “You are truly fearless, aren’t you?”

“I like to think of it as ‘enthusiastically living life without regrets,’” you replied, crossing your arms proudly. “Besides, if something goes wrong, I have you to bail me out.”

“Do you intend to make a habit of relying on me to prevent your untimely demise?” Malleus asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You shrugged. “I mean, if the shoe fits. You’re like my own personal dragon-shaped safety net.”

Malleus blinked. “I am not a net, Child of Man.”

“No, no,” you waved off his literal interpretation. “You’re like the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. Like, if I almost die doing something dumb, you’ll just bring me back, right?”

Malleus paused, tilting his head again, as if genuinely pondering your question. “I could… but do you not fear death?”

“Nah. It’s not that big of a deal.” You grinned, clearly thrilled by the look of confusion that passed over his normally composed face. “Besides, it’s boring to worry about things like that.”

Malleus stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if trying to comprehend how you could be so nonchalant about life-threatening situations. He was used to dealing with those who were cautious around him, who feared his power or treated him with excessive reverence. And then there was you—just casually asking him if he could resurrect you after you threw yourself into danger like it was a sport.

“What am I to do with you?” Malleus mused, more to himself than to you.

You perked up. “Take me on a super dangerous adventure?”

Malleus blinked. “I was thinking more along the lines of keeping you out of danger.”

“But that’s boring!” You leaned forward, poking his chest with a mischievous grin. “C’mon, big guy, don’t you ever just wanna go wild? Let loose? Maybe blow up a tower or two for funsies?”

Malleus raised an eyebrow. “Blow up a tower?”

“Yeah! Like a good ol’ fashioned castle demolition!” You threw your hands up in the air like you were some kind of crazed architect.

Malleus let out a soft sigh, but there was an undeniable hint of fondness in his gaze. “I believe we have different definitions of fun.”

“And that’s exactly why you need me,” you said with a grin. “You need some excitement in your life! Can’t just sit around being all broody and regal all the time.”

Malleus looked at you, something unreadable flickering in his emerald eyes. “You are… quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

You beamed. “That’s because I’m awesome.”

“That is certainly one word for it,” Malleus said, suppressing a smile.

“And you like that about me,” you teased, leaning even closer with zero respect for the concept of personal space. “Admit it. You enjoy the chaos I bring into your life.”

Malleus chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “It is… refreshing.”

“Ha! I knew it!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You love my reckless, devil-may-care attitude!”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it love…” Malleus started, but you were already on a roll.

“Face it, Tsunotarou! You’re absolutely smitten with my chaotic energy.”

Malleus watched you with that same fond amusement, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “You are certainly… something,” he said, his voice soft, yet filled with warmth.

“And don’t you forget it!” You twirled dramatically, like you’d just won some invisible competition. “Now, let’s go scare some people in the hallways. We’ll use your glowing eyes and spooky fae vibes to freak everyone out.”

Malleus sighed again but stood up, towering over you with a resigned yet playful expression. “If I agree to this madness, will you at least promise not to throw yourself into any more dangerous situations today?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. No promises, but I’ll try.”

“That is the best I can hope for, it seems,” Malleus murmured, shaking his head with an affectionate smile.

As you grabbed his hand and began to drag him toward your latest scheme, Malleus couldn’t help but think that, for all your recklessness and lack of self-preservation, you brought a kind of chaos into his life that he hadn’t realized he was missing.

And strangely enough, he didn’t mind it.

Masterlist

[creamflix]

cw: some more college frenemy turned lover sukuna, mentions of seasonal depression. reader's implied to be shorter than sukuna. mentions of sex [nothing too detailed], needy sukuna & ovulating reader. reader is sick [no specifics] but recovers. part one part two

[pre-relationship]

it had been one of those days, or maybe one of those weeks, when everything felt heavy. the good ol' seasonal depression had wrapped itself around you like an unwelcome blanket — making you short with people, prone to snapping at anyone who dared talk to you. the crying jags came in waves, always in private, because god forbid anyone saw you like this.

you’d hit the peak of it that day, lying on your dorm bed with the lights dimmed, wallowing in the uncomfortable mix of self-pity and disgust. you couldn’t even bear to look at yourself in the mirror.

god, this fucking sucks, you thought, curled up under a blanket you hadn’t washed in weeks.

so when the knock on your door came, your first instinct was to ignore it. but whoever it was didn’t stop.

“open up, woman,” came the unmistakable growl of sukuna’s voice, muffled through the door.

sukuna? of all people? no, absolutely not.

“go away,” you yelled, voice hoarse from earlier tears. “i’m not in the mood.”

“too bad,” he replied. there was a click as the lock turned, and your door creaked open. of course, the bastard had your spare key.

you glared at him from your cocoon of misery as he strolled in, completely unbothered. “what the hell, sukuna?”

but he didn’t say a word. instead, he set down a bag on your desk, pulling out containers one by one. it wasn’t takeout — no, this was the real deal.

you could smell the savory warmth of a proper, home-cooked meal, the kind you hadn’t had in weeks.

“what are you doing?” you asked, voice cracking halfway through.

“what’s it look like? you looked like shit last time i saw you, so i figured you weren’t eating,” he said, not even sparing you a glance as he set up. “i made extras. don’t read into it.”

you blinked at him, utterly speechless. sukuna, the guy who could barely sit through a conversation without teasing or insulting you, had checked on you. had brought food.

“don’t just sit there staring. eat before it gets cold,” he grumbled, handing you a pair of chopsticks.

you didn’t know what came over you. maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation, or maybe it was the crack in the walls you’d built around yourself, but the tears started up again.

“are you — shit, are you crying?” he asked, looking genuinely alarmed.

you shook your head, laughing through the sobs. “no, i just — this is stupid. you’re stupid.”

“yeah, well, so are you,” he said, but his tone was softer than usual, almost hesitant.

and that was when it hit you — this man, this brash, stubborn idiot who usually drove you up the wall, had just done something no one else had thought to do. he’d shown up, no fanfare, no dramatics, just... him.

you didn’t know if you were crying out of amusement or the slow, dawning realization that you liked him.

not in the “i want to beat the shit out of you” way you always spoke about, but in a way that made your chest ache and your hands tremble as you accepted the bowl of food he pushed into them.

sukuna, for once, didn’t say anything. he just sat across from you, eating his own portion in silence, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

sukuna had always thought of himself as untouchable, even back in his reckless college days. he was the guy — cocky, brash, and always down to settle things with his fists.

but apparently, third-year bravado wasn’t enough to stop a couple of fourth-years from giving him a thorough beatdown after some trash-talking got out of hand.

he sat slumped on the back steps of the dorms, his knuckles split and bleeding, a bruise already blooming on his cheekbone. he looked like a mangy alley cat that had lost a turf war, sulking in the dim light. his pride was bruised worse than his body, and the last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him like this.

so, of course, you showed up.

“what the hell is wrong with you?”

his head shot up, and there you were, standing over him like a storm cloud ready to unleash. he groaned, leaning his head back against the brick wall. “not in the mood for this, woman.”

“yeah? too bad,” you snapped, dropping your bag and crouching in front of him. “who the hell told you to pick a fight with people who could bench press your ass?”

he scowled. “they started it.”

“oh, real mature, sukuna,” you shot back, and before he could stop you, your hand reached out to prod at the gash on his lip.

“ow, fuck! what the hell, woman?” he hissed, jerking away.

“good. serves you right,” you muttered, but your tone had softened, just barely.

normally, anyone poking at his wounds like that — literally or figuratively — would’ve had him snapping back, but you? you were different. there was no pity in your eyes, no overly sweet words of comfort. just your usual fire, tempered with a concern you couldn’t quite mask.

“seriously, you’re such an idiot,” you muttered, shaking your head as you pulled a crumpled tissue from your bag and dabbed at the blood on his temple. he could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat.

what the fuck?

“if you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself killed before you even graduate,” you added, tossing the tissue aside.

“and then what? who’s gonna be left to annoy me, huh?”

and there it was — the real concern, hidden in your usual brashness, the kind of care he hadn’t realized he needed until now. it hit him like a punch to the gut, harder than anything those fourth-years had thrown at him.

shit, he thought, watching as you rummaged through your bag for more tissues. this is bad. this is really bad.

because sukuna, for all his bravado and pride, had never met anyone like you. someone who didn’t sugarcoat things, who could yell at him and still make him feel cared for, all without losing an ounce of their fire.

and in that moment, bruised and bleeding on the back steps of the dorms, he realized he didn’t just like you. no, it was worse than that.

he was falling for you, and he almost wanted to slap himself for it.

it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. just a party, one of those things where music blared loud enough to drown out any coherent thought and the smell of cheap beer lingered in every corner. you weren’t one to shy away from fun, and when your friend threw a house party, you were there — decked out, dancing like no one was watching.

except someone was watching.

and that someone was sukuna.

he wasn’t the type to dance. ever. the guy barely showed up to parties, and when he did, he was more likely to hang back, leaning against a wall with a drink in hand, sizing people up like he was too good for all of this.

so when you felt someone move in behind you on the dance floor, your first instinct was to spin around and yell — because who the hell dared to — but then you saw him.

sukuna.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said, loud enough to be heard over the music, crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

“what?” he shot back, one brow raised in that infuriatingly smug way. “you’re the only one allowed to have fun?”

“you? fun?” you retorted, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “don’t make me laugh.”

but then he stepped closer, moving with a confidence that was almost infuriating. “what, scared i’ll show you up?”

and somehow, against all odds, there you were — dancing with sukuna, of all people.

the height difference was almost comical. you barely reached his chest, and the way he had to lean down slightly to match your movements made you want to punch him and laugh at the same time. but then the lights shifted, flashing dark and soft, and you caught a glimpse of his expression.

he wasn’t smirking. he wasn’t teasing. no, he was just...looking at you.

and maybe it was the music, or the way his hands hovered near your waist, almost as if he wanted to hold you but wasn’t sure if he should. maybe it was the heat of the moment, or the fact that his presence was so overwhelming that it made your skin tingle.

but for just a second, you forgot how much he pissed you off.

for just a second, it felt like there was no one else on that dance floor.

it’s just dancing, you told yourself, stubbornly ignoring the flutter in your chest.

but a small, treacherous part of you whispered otherwise.

and sukuna? for once, he didn’t have a snarky comment ready.

because maybe, just maybe, he felt the same.

sukuna wasn’t supposed to be here.

you didn’t invite him, didn’t even know how he managed to sneak past your dormmate without some sort of confrontation. yet there he was, sprawled out on your bed like it was his own, watching you from behind with that insufferable expression he always wore.

“what?” you asked, not even looking at him as you lined your lips in the mirror, the curve of a soft hum escaping between phrases of a song playing from your speaker.

he should’ve had some snarky response locked and loaded, but all he could do was grunt and cross his arms, hating how comfortable he felt in your space. hating the way he couldn’t seem to look away from you.

watching you do your makeup was...annoying. not because of what you were doing — hell, it was a miracle you weren’t barking at him to get out — but because you looked so damn at peace.

the way you focused, brows furrowed just slightly, the way your lips moved to the lyrics, and the subtle glow of your skin under the desk lamp — all of it was maddening.

“what’re you getting all dolled up for?” he finally muttered, though it came out harsher than he meant.

“what do you care?” you shot back, smirking at him in the mirror.

he wanted to laugh, maybe make some comment about how ridiculous it was seeing you, of all people, sitting there with your brushes and powders. but he couldn’t.

not when his chest felt tight, not when his heart was doing that thing again.

the thing it did every time you smiled at him, or laughed at something he said, or even scolded him for being an idiot.

he hated it.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you teased, breaking his spiral as you turned to look at him fully. “what’s your problem, huh?”

he scoffed, leaning back like he was trying to hide how flustered he felt. “nothing. you’re just taking forever.”

but the truth was, he could’ve sat there all day, watching you hum to some dumb song and seeing you completely oblivious to how much space you were taking up in his head.

and he hated it more than anything.

sukuna didn’t know what possessed him to say it.

one second, he was mindlessly doodling on the edge of his notes while you ranted about some equation, and the next, the words slipped out.

"you know," he said, leaning back in his chair with a lazy smirk, "if you spent half as much time looking at me as you do those numbers, maybe you'd actually get something worthwhile."

the silence that followed was deafening.

you froze mid-sentence, blinking at him like he'd just declared his undying love for algebra. the sheer audacity of his comment caught you so off guard, it took you a moment to process it.

"sorry, what?" you asked, lips twitching like you were trying to decide between laughing or strangling him.

shit. he tried to play it off.

"relax," he said, rolling his eyes and tapping his pen on the table. "just wanted to try it out — thought it'd work on some chick, y'know?"

but even as the words left his mouth, he hated himself for them. he didn’t want to try it on "some chick." hell, he didn’t even care if it worked.

because the truth — the one he couldn’t bring himself to admit — was that he only wanted to use lines like that on you.

the way you narrowed your eyes at him, a flicker of amusement breaking through your confusion, made his chest tighten.

“oh, please,” you scoffed, turning back to your notes with a shake of your head. “your charm’s as subtle as a punch to the face.”

he let out a low laugh, rubbing the back of his neck to cover how flustered he felt.

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, though his smirk lingered. “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

and as you rolled your eyes and muttered something under your breath, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking:

if spending a lifetime throwing stupid lines your way meant seeing that spark in your eyes, he’d happily do it forever.

[post college]

jealousy wasn’t a concept that fit neatly into the dynamic you and sukuna shared. it wasn’t the clichéd, possessive, screaming type of jealousy; no, you both knew better. your bond wasn’t fragile enough to crack under a stray glance or a whispered comment.

still, it didn’t stop that little itch of annoyance when the world decided to test you.

like when the two of you were out, maybe just walking through the park or sitting at a café, and you’d notice a group of women openly staring at sukuna. the bolder ones would even giggle behind their hands, casting you a pitying glance, as if you were second place in a competition they didn’t know you’d already won.

your reaction? subtle but telling. your hand would slide into his, your fingers curling with a bit more force than necessary, or your arm would snake around his waist, tugging him closer. sukuna never said anything about it, but the ghost of a smirk would creep onto his lips when he felt you cling tighter.

on the flip side, sukuna’s patience ran razor-thin whenever men stared at you.

a simple grocery run turned into an internal boxing match when some random guy decided to ogle you. sukuna noticed everything: the way their eyes lingered too long or the way they adjusted their posture, suddenly trying to puff up like they had a chance.

his solution? pure, unspoken possessiveness. he’d sidle up behind you, lean down slightly, and pinch your waist with those stupidly sharp fingers of his. “yo, you done taking forever with the eggs?” he’d grumble, his tone casual, but his eyes screamed a warning to anyone watching.

“sukuna,” you’d hiss, swatting at his hand.

“what? you’re hogging the cart,” he’d tease, his grin wide and borderline feral.

despite the undercurrent of irritation, neither of you let it escalate. you knew the truth — they could stare all they wanted, but at the end of the day, it was you and sukuna at home.

and what a home it was.

the two of you, lazing on the couch, matching face masks making you look ridiculous. a bottle of wine cracked open, your glasses clinking every so often as you toasted to nothing in particular. sukuna’s legs stretched out while you curled into his side, scrolling through your phones or chatting about nonsense.

“those girls today were embarrassing,” you’d snort, leaning your head back against him.

“you’re one to talk,” he’d reply, tilting his head to glance at you, his lips quirking up. “you almost crushed my hand back there.”

you’d roll your eyes, but your cheeks would burn. “and you didn’t have to pinch me at the store like that, idiot.”

“you liked it.”

“in your dreams.”

despite the bickering, the quiet security between you spoke volumes. jealousy had no real place when you both knew where your priorities — and hearts — truly lay. sitting there, face masks peeling, wine glasses half-empty, the two of you had the last laugh.

because who was really winning? you were.

every single time.

there were moments when sukuna despised himself for feeling this way. like some hormonal teenager with no control over his thoughts — or his body. it wasn’t that your sex life lacked anything; far from it. but sometimes, the gaps between those moments stretched longer than he liked, leaving him restless.

still, he never wanted to pressure you, so he let that frustration churn quietly, manifesting in ways he thought were subtle but were anything but.

he’d start hugging you from behind more often, leaning his chin on your shoulder as his hands rested on your waist. sometimes, those hands would wander, not entirely inappropriate but lingering long enough to leave a warmth buzzing under your skin.

then there were the patterns he’d draw on your bare arm or thigh, tracing slow, deliberate circles and lines that felt more like a challenge than idle affection. his touch grew heavier, like he was silently willing you to notice the tension coiling in him.

and of course, the biting.

sukuna didn’t just bite; it was a teasing nip here, a playful graze of his teeth there, as if testing how far he could go before you caught on.

sleep became a whole other battlefield. when he held you at night, his arms felt just a little tighter around you, his breathing a little more labored when your body shifted against him. and god help him if he woke up sporting a hard-on. the sheer embarrassment of it was enough to make him curse himself silently, knowing full well you’d tease him mercilessly if you noticed.

but you did notice. you always did.

at first, you chalked it up to his usual antics, but the signs became impossible to ignore. the extra clinginess, the not-so-innocent touches, the way he grumbled under his breath when you’d wriggle out of his grasp. it clicked one evening when he bit you for what felt like the tenth time that week, muttering something about how you “tasted too sweet to resist.”

you didn’t even call him out on it directly. instead, you turned around, cupped his face, and kissed him — deep, slow, and deliberate. it was enough to make him stiffen in surprise before pulling you in with a low growl, all pretense of subtlety abandoned.

the next morning, you woke up tangled in his arms, your hair a mess and your body sore in all the best ways. sukuna was still half-asleep, his hair sticking up in odd angles and his expression dazed as he blinked at you.

“what’re you smiling at?” he grumbled, voice thick with sleep.

you bit your lip to keep from laughing outright. “nothing. just thinking how demanding someone’s been lately.”

his groan was immediate, his arm pulling you closer as he buried his face into your neck. “shut up.”

“make me,” you teased, only to yelp when he nipped at your shoulder.

even in his flustered state, sukuna didn’t miss the way your laughter rang through the room, filling the space with a warmth he’d never admit he craved.

you hated how sukuna always seemed to know.

even without saying a word, the bastard could read you like a book. it was during that time — ovulation, the dreaded period of feeling like your hormones were running a marathon — that he seemed to turn into some kind of smug mind reader.

it wasn’t just his ability to track your cycle; no, it was the way he started doing the most mundane things yet somehow making them seem... irresistible.

he’d be in the kitchen, flipping omelets like some five-star chef, forearms flexing just right, wearing that damn apron that only added to the appeal.

or he’d be dusting the house, his sleeves rolled up, exposing those tattooed arms that seemed carved by the gods themselves. and the worst part? he wasn’t even trying. sukuna was just living his life, completely oblivious — or so you thought.

but in reality, sukuna was absolutely aware. he’d caught on to your little quirks long ago — the subtle huffs of frustration, the way you avoided looking at him too long, and how your voice got quieter, almost shy. he lived for the way you tried so hard to act normal while clearly fighting the urge to pounce on him.

and sure enough, it happened. you were sitting on the couch, pretending to read something on your phone, but your eyes kept darting toward him as he stood by the window, adjusting his tie for work. his hair was perfectly messy, his shirt clung just right, and he smelled faintly of that cologne you loved — the one that always made you weak in the knees.

was he always this manly? you thought, biting your lip to suppress the idea forming in your mind.

finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. in a voice barely above a mumble, you blurted out your request, staring at your hands like they were the most interesting thing in the room.

sukuna paused, one brow arching as he looked over at you. “what was that?”

“you heard me,” you snapped, cheeks already burning.

his smirk grew, slow and deliberate. oh, he definitely heard you, but making you repeat it was just too much fun. “nah, say it again, brat.”

you glared at him, but your words came out softer this time. “i said... can we — ugh, forget it.”

but sukuna wasn’t letting you off the hook. he crossed the room in a few strides, leaning down so his face was level with yours. “you want something, sweetheart?” he teased, his voice low and infuriatingly smug.

“don’t call me that,” you muttered, but the way your face betrayed you had him grinning like a wolf.

inside, though? sukuna was practically doing cartwheels. he’d been waiting for this, playing it cool while secretly hoping you’d cave. hell, he’d even spritzed on that cologne just in case.

“guess the cologne worked,” he thought smugly, straightening up and offering you his hand. “come on, then. don’t just sit there sulking.”

you grabbed his hand, muttering something about him being an insufferable show-off, but the warmth in his gaze told you he didn’t mind one bit.

christmas was no longer the wild, chaotic blur it had been in your college years. gone were the days of cheap beer and blurry memories; now, it was the season of deadlines, adult responsibilities, and the quiet kind of teamwork that came with sharing a life together.

this year was no different. the two of you were neck-deep in work, scrambling to finish your projects before the holidays while juggling the ever-growing to-do list at home. the tree needed decorating, gifts had to be wrapped, and the house needed to look at least somewhat festive. but every time one of you lagged behind, the other seemed to pick up the slack without a word.

sukuna always acted like it was no big deal, like he didn’t just string up the lights you’d abandoned halfway through in frustration. when you came home to see the house glowing softly, you couldn’t help but smile. the bastard had even arranged the ornaments more symmetrically, something you knew he had no patience for.

“nice of you to finally show up,” he teased, leaning against the wall with that signature smirk. “thought you were gonna leave the lights looking like a toddler’s art project.”

“yeah? well, maybe i wouldn’t have left them if someone wasn’t holed up in meetings all day,” you shot back, tossing your bag onto the couch. but your tone lacked any real bite, especially when you saw the small pile of neatly wrapped presents on the coffee table — ones he had been too lazy to even look at yesterday.

“don’t mention it,” he grumbled, catching your gaze. “figured you’d just complain if i didn’t do it.”

and yet, there was a softness in his voice, the kind that reminded you of all the ways he cared without having to say it out loud. you didn’t mention how his gift-wrapping skills had gotten a lot better since last year, either.

you weren’t innocent in this silent game of covering for each other, though. while he’d been at work, you’d tackled the dishes he left stacked by the sink, cleared out the spare room, and even hung the stockings he’d forgotten about. and the look on his face when he noticed? priceless.

“didn’t know santa’s helper was working overtime,” he muttered as he hung up his coat, eyeing the spotless room.

“someone has to pick up the slack,” you shot back with a grin, earning a scoff from him.

this was your rhythm — quiet gestures, little acts of service that meant more than any grand romantic gesture ever could. by the time the two of you collapsed onto the couch that night, the house felt a little more like christmas, and neither of you felt the need to say thank you.

it was understood.

you hadn’t always been the woman you were now — brash, sarcastic, and unapologetically yourself. there’d been a time when you tried to fit into a box that people expected of you. you wore the smiles that didn’t reach your eyes, softened your voice to avoid being “too much,” and stayed quiet when things didn’t sit right.

but somewhere along the way, you grew tired of the charade.

now, you weren’t afraid to stand your ground, to call people out on their nonsense, or to let your emotions show when they threatened to bubble over. people called it “unladylike,” but you felt it was real. and sukuna? he never flinched.

from the moment he met you in college, he didn’t look at you like the others did. no raised eyebrows or snide comments, no attempts to tone you down or “fix” you. if anything, he leaned into it, meeting your fire with his own and somehow finding a rhythm that worked for both of you.

“damn, woman,” he’d tease when you got into it with someone over something trivial, a smirk tugging at his lips. “you’re scarier than me sometimes.”

but you knew better. sukuna didn’t just tolerate you — he admired you for it.

he admired the way you stood up for the things you believed in, even when it wasn’t your fight. like that time at the grocery store when you stepped in to tell off some jerk berating a cashier. or when you put your foot down at work, demanding the credit you deserved for a project someone else tried to claim.

on days when doubt crept in — when the whispers of “too much” got to you, or when you wondered if maybe you should’ve kept your mouth shut — he was always there.

“don’t start with that crap,” he’d say, his tone firm but his gaze soft. “you’ve got guts. people don’t know what to do with someone like you, and that’s their problem, not yours.”

and just like that, the doubts would fade. because when sukuna said it, you believed it.

you weren’t perfect, and you didn’t try to be. you didn’t always handle things gracefully, and sometimes your fire burned a little too hot. but sukuna never made you feel like you had to apologize for it.

“real woman’s a little rough around the edges,” he’d say, brushing a hand through your hair as you scowled at him. “guess that makes you the realest one i know.”

you’d roll your eyes, shove him away, and call him a dumbass. but inside, you knew the truth — he meant every word. and that was more than enough to keep your head high and your fire burning.

sukuna had always been the kind of guy people whispered about — the loud, brash, unfiltered type that couldn’t blend into a crowd even if he tried. some would chalk it up to boys being boys, but others weren’t so forgiving. his rough edges earned him judgmental looks and hushed comments: “he’s too much,” or worse, “no woman in her right mind would feel safe around someone like that.”

he shrugged most of it off. it wasn’t like he was trying to be anyone’s knight in shining armor. sukuna was who he was — tough, straightforward, and unapologetic about it. but sometimes, the words stuck, sinking in during quiet moments when no one else was around.

then there was you.

you weren’t like the others, not even close. back in college, the two of you were little more than reluctant friends who spent more time throwing insults at each other than actually talking. it was a mutual loathing that somehow worked, a rivalry with an unspoken undercurrent of respect.

so when you stumbled out of some dingy campus bar one night, tipsy and laughing, and pointed at him out of everyone else in the crowd, he was stunned.

“you,” you slurred, jabbing a finger in his direction. “i’m trusting you to get me back safe, ‘kay? don’t screw it up.”

twenty other people stood there, friends and acquaintances who probably looked more polished, more reliable, less... him. but you chose sukuna, the brash idiot who gave as good as he got when it came to your constant bickering.

he didn’t know what to say. “you sure about that, woman? i’m the last guy people’d think is safe.”

you squinted at him, leaning against a lamppost for balance. “yeah, well... i think you’re better than you act.”

it wasn’t a declaration, and you probably didn’t even remember saying it the next day. but for sukuna, it was a moment that stuck with him. you, of all people, trusted him.

and that night, he made sure you got home without a scratch.

as the years passed and your relationship deepened, sukuna found himself thinking back to that night more often than he’d admit. he’d come to terms with the fact that people might never see him as a “safe” guy, might always look at his tattoos and his sharp demeanor and decide he was a liability.

but you? you never flinched. you challenged him, called him out, and refused to put up with his nonsense, but you trusted him completely. and for sukuna, that was enough.

maybe it was fine if the world saw him as rough around the edges.

maybe it was fine if only one girl felt safe around him.

because you were the only one who mattered, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

some days, the universe had it out for you.

the fluorescent lights in the office had felt especially harsh, the deadlines more relentless, and the endless emails were nothing short of soul-sucking. by the time you trudged through the door, your entire body screamed for reprieve.

you didn’t even have to say anything when you spotted sukuna on the couch, sprawled out like he’d been hit by the same work-from-hell truck. his shirt hung loosely, half the buttons undone, and his tie dangled like a noose he’d narrowly escaped from.

he cracked an eye open, glancing at you as you kicked your shoes off without a care for the usual routine of placing them neatly by the door.

“rough day?” he asked, voice gravelly and tinged with exhaustion.

you snorted, plopping onto the opposite end of the couch. “you could say that.”

he grunted, leaning his head back against the cushion. “figured. you look like you’ve been through war.”

“gee, thanks,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “you’re really helping boost my mood right now.”

he smirked faintly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “not like you’re a ray of sunshine either.”

the two of you sat there in silence for a while, the room filled with nothing but the faint hum of the air conditioner. the mutual understanding hung between you like a comforting weight: there was no need for conversation, no need to pretend everything was fine. right now, the world could wait.

after a moment, he shifted, nudging your leg with his foot.

“want me to order something?” he asked, his voice softer this time.

you glanced at him, meeting his tired gaze. “only if you let me pick the movie.”

he rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “fine. but no shitty horror.”

“no promises,” you shot back, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the day you’d had.

he didn’t reply, but when he lazily tossed his arm over the back of the couch, leaving just enough room for you to scoot closer if you wanted, you took the invitation without a word.

and in that quiet moment, with your head resting on his shoulder and his warmth easing the weight of the day, you both found the break you needed.

visiting your parents always brought a sense of comfort you couldn’t replicate anywhere else. there was something about the smell of home-cooked meals wafting through the air and the sight of your mom humming as she rearranged the living room for the third time that week.

sukuna didn’t always come along, which you understood. he’d often tell you it was important to spend time with them without distractions, a sentiment you begrudgingly agreed with, though you sometimes missed having him there to share the little moments.

but even when he didn’t tag along, his presence was still felt in the quietest ways.

like the morning of your visit, when you found a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting on the kitchen counter with a sticky note slapped on the side. the handwriting was messy — typical sukuna — but the note was clear: "for your mom. tell her i said hi."

or when you opened the trunk of your car and spotted the sleek cutlery set he must’ve snuck in, the one your mom had been ogling during their last spontaneous shopping trip together.

“what’s this?” you’d texted him, grinning at your phone.

his reply came almost instantly: "you know she’s been talking about it non-stop. don’t make it weird."

and then there were the gifts for your dad, subtle but thoughtful as ever. the latest issue of his favorite sports magazine, tucked neatly into the grocery bag you’d prepared, and — because sukuna could never just stop at one thing — a pair of tickets to a football match hidden at the bottom.

“he’ll know it’s from you,” you’d told him over the phone later that day, biting back a laugh.

“good,” he grunted, but you could hear the faint smile in his tone. “that old man deserves it. just don’t let him hug me next time, alright? he’s too damn strong.”

by the time you sat at the dining table with your parents, watching your mom gush over the flowers and your dad’s eyes light up at the tickets, you couldn’t help but feel a tug of warmth.

sukuna wasn’t there, but his love was as present as ever, woven into every thoughtful detail he left behind.

the day you fell critically ill, sukuna learned what helplessness truly felt like. it wasn’t a punch he could throw, nor a problem he could snarl his way out of. no, this was worse — it was seeing you pale and unmoving, hooked up to machines that beeped with cruel indifference. the doctors had assured him that you'd be fine, but he couldn’t shake the unease that clung to every word they refused to say outright.

he tried to stay strong, like he always did. for you, for himself.

but the way the nurses glanced away during certain check-ups made his stomach churn.

sukuna had never been a man of prayer, but in those moments, he found himself muttering bargains to whoever might listen.

work? forgotten. calls and emails from the office piled up, but he didn’t give a damn. nothing mattered more than staying by your side, holding your limp hand, and willing you to wake up.

he refused to cry, but his body betrayed him. his hands would tremble as he smoothed back your hair, his shoulders shaking as he sat silently in the sterile hospital room. his jaw clenched so tightly it ached, yet his chest felt hollow, like every unshed tear was pooling there, ready to drown him.

days stretched into weeks, and he stayed. through the sleepless nights, the tasteless cafeteria coffee, and the endless hum of machines. and then, one day, when he was dozing off in the uncomfortable chair by your bed, he heard it — your voice.

weak, raspy, but unmistakably yours.

"you look like shit."

his head snapped up so fast he nearly got whiplash. his heart stopped, then surged with so much relief it left him dizzy.

“say that again,” he croaked, voice cracking in a way he’d never admit later.

you blinked at him, a faint ghost of your usual smirk playing on your lips. "i said you look like —"

you didn’t even get to finish before he leaned forward, burying his face in his hands as the first sob tore free. sukuna, the man who never cried, couldn’t stop the tears now. his shoulders heaved as the weight of weeks came crashing down, his relief overwhelming and raw.

and even in your weakened state, you found the strength to lift a trembling hand to his, lacing your fingers with his in silent reassurance.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, voice hoarse but steady. “i’m okay.”

and for the first time in weeks, sukuna believed it.

if you thought you getting sick was bad, sukuna catching whatever it was you had was a whole different kind of disaster. the man, who usually strutted around like he was invincible, had practically worked himself into the ground worrying over you — and now here you were, sitting at his bedside, glaring at his feverish, helpless form.

his hair was messier than usual, sticking up in odd directions, and the flush of his cheeks wasn’t the usual healthy glow but the result of a high fever. his strong, confident presence? reduced to pathetic groans as he thrashed under the covers, mumbling incoherent nonsense thanks to the cocktail of medicine pumping through his system.

"i told you to rest, you idiot," you grumbled, your hand gripping his limp one tightly. "but nooo, you had to play the hero, didn’t you? now look at you —"

"’m fine," he slurred, his voice rough but somehow lighter than usual. his half-lidded eyes barely focused on you, though the lazy smirk on his lips was undeniably him.

“fine, my ass,” you snapped, adjusting the damp cloth on his forehead. “you’re burning up like a damn furnace.”

he chuckled weakly, though it sounded more like a wheeze. "you’re hot too..."

your face immediately burned, but you weren’t about to let him get away with that. "shut up, sukuna. you're delirious."

“delirious for you...” he mumbled, trailing off into a hum as his eyes fluttered shut.

you sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair and letting your head drop against the bed frame.

“if you don’t get better soon, i’m gonna kill you myself,” you muttered, though your grip on his hand never loosened.

despite the frustration bubbling in your chest, you couldn’t help but find him oddly endearing in this state. his sharp edges were dulled by exhaustion, his usually brash demeanor softened by vulnerability. even when sick out of his mind, he still managed to worm his way under your skin.

and as you sat there, watching over him the way he had done for you, you couldn’t help but smile at how unfairly cute he looked like this — messy, helpless, and somehow still so him.

the morning of your fourth anniversary began like any other, except for the fact that sukuna woke up with a jolt, heart pounding as if he'd just realized something earth-shattering. in truth, he had.

he loved you. no, not just the casual "of course i love you" love that he'd tossed your way over the years, but the overwhelming, soul-stirring, i want to marry you and grow old together type of love.

and the thought made his chest tight in a way that wasn't unpleasant — just... intense. too much to keep still. too much to lie there like everything was normal.

so he didn’t.

he jumped out of bed like he was late for something, practically bounding around the apartment with a stupid grin on his face. when you shuffled out of the bedroom, still groggy, you squinted at him suspiciously as he spun in the kitchen, humming some offbeat tune while attempting to cook.

"what the hell are you on?" you grumbled, rubbing your eyes.

"nothing!" he chirped — chirped! — and the sound alone made you pause mid-yawn.

you raised a brow. "you’re acting like you downed three energy drinks before sunrise. you're, what, twenty-six now? should i be worried about this second wind of yours?"

he waved you off, grinning like a fool as he leaned in to peck your forehead — something he usually only did when he was either apologizing or trying to soften you up. “don’t worry about it, brat. just... uh, happy anniversary!”

“...right.” your voice was laced with suspicion, but before you could prod him further, he darted out of the house, claiming he had errands to run.

in reality, sukuna wasn’t rushing to work. he was rushing to every jewelry store he could think of, frantically searching for the ring. nothing felt good enough at first — too flashy, too plain, too cheap-looking, too expensive —but then he saw it.

a simple but elegant b and, something he could imagine sliding onto your finger, and his chest squeezed at the thought. he bought it before he could second-guess himself, but as the cool weight of the box settled in his palm, his excitement morphed into nerves.

this was it. this was real. he wanted to marry you.

and for once, the man who could talk shit in his sleep felt like his tongue might betray him. how was he supposed to ask? what if you said no? what if you laughed at him?

but then he thought about you — about the mornings you’d yell at him for leaving socks everywhere, the late nights you’d fall asleep on his shoulder during a movie, the way you’d wrinkle your nose when he teased you but still let him kiss you anyway.

and suddenly, the nerves felt less like fear and more like anticipation. because no matter how badly he might screw it up, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

now all he had to do... was figure out how the hell to propose without making a fool of himself.

your day was already spiraling out of control.

it started with your parents calling to gush over how you and sukuna had made it to four years, rambling about how he’s such a nice boy, so thoughtful, so dependable, and then dropping the bomb:

“so, when’s the wedding?”

your first instinct was to laugh it off, but they were persistent. “no, really, sweetheart. four years is a long time. don’t you think it’s time to settle down?”

you barely managed to hang up without screaming, only to find yourself spiraling down a rabbit hole of self-reflection. sharing an apartment, living like pseudo-adults who sometimes forgot to buy milk — wasn’t that enough? did there have to be a wedding?

...okay, maybe you had saved that one wedding dress pin on pinterest. but that was hypothetical! a fantasy, not a plan!

still, the thought of marriage stirred something in you that you weren’t ready to confront. and now, your parents' words echoed in your mind like a broken record.

so naturally, when sukuna came strolling back into the apartment looking suspiciously smug, you decided to handle the situation with grace.

"what the hell are we?" you blurted, standing in the living room with your hands on your hips, still wearing your old snoopy t-shirt and pajama shorts.

he blinked at you, confused. "...what?"

“us!” you snapped, gesturing wildly between the two of you. “are we just boyfriend and girlfriend forever? is that all this is? because apparently, everyone’s waiting for some big grand wedding announcement, and i —”

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered, cutting you off mid-rant as he dropped the shopping bag in his hand and reached into his pocket.

you froze, watching in disbelief as he got down on one knee. your brain short-circuited as he pulled out a ring, glaring at you like you were the one being unreasonable.

“you wanna know what we are? fine,” he grumbled, holding up the ring. “we’re two idiots who’ve been together for four years, and yeah, i love you, and yeah, i was already planning to propose, but you had to go and yell at me first.”

you stared at him, completely floored, your heartbeat deafening in your ears.

“so,” he continued, waving the ring slightly as if to snap you out of your shock. “are you gonna marry me or what? because my knee is killing me here, and i swear to god if you say no —”

you didn’t let him finish. practically tackling him, you shouted, “yes! yes, obviously yes!”

he huffed, half-annoyed, half-relieved, and slid the ring onto your finger before pulling you into a kiss. when you finally pulled back, you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears.

“you proposed to me while i’m wearing a snoopy t-shirt,” you said, voice trembling with equal parts amusement and disbelief.

he smirked, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “well, you’re the idiot who started yelling at me in pajamas. figured i’d match your energy.”

and just like that, in the middle of your messy apartment, you realized you wouldn’t have it any other way.

planning a wedding with sukuna was a comedy of errors wrapped in sarcasm, stubbornness, and way too many uses of the word bro.

“bro, what’s the deal with this caterer?” you asked one evening, sprawled across the couch with a pile of wedding magazines. “they’re charging how much for some dry-ass chicken?”

“i don’t know, bro,” he shot back, tossing a pen at you. “maybe don’t pick the one with ‘gourmet’ in the name next time.”

your casual banter didn’t go unnoticed by your parents. your mother, horrified, kept clutching her pearls whenever she overheard you.

“you can’t call him that!” she hissed during one planning session, waving a hand at sukuna as if he wasn’t sitting right there. “you’re supposed to call him something sweet! romantic!”

“relax, mom,” you replied, deadpan. “i call him husband in my head sometimes.”

that earned a squawk from your dad. “what happened to being a lady?” he shrieked, gesturing wildly like he was about to disown you right then and there.

but you couldn’t care less, and neither could sukuna. though it was a whole different story the first time you called him husband out loud.

you were going over seating arrangements one night, hunched over the dining table with a bottle of wine between you.

“what do you think, husband?” you said absentmindedly, tapping a pen against your chin as you stared at the chart.

the sound of the pen dropping from his hand caught your attention. you looked up to find sukuna frozen, eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“did you just —”

“what?”

“you called me —”

“what?” you repeated, playing innocent.

“husband,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, as if the word was too sacred to say out loud.

and then, to your utter disbelief, his knees buckled, and he plopped onto the floor in a dramatic heap.

“oh my god, are you serious?” you exclaimed, rushing over to him.

he groaned, running a hand down his face. “holy shit, this is real. i’m really about to marry you. you, the most stubborn, annoying, incredible woman on the planet.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, crouching down beside him. “and what? that’s enough to make your knees give out?”

“shut the fuck up,” he muttered, grabbing your hand to pull you closer. “you’re lucky i love you, wife.”

your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, low and full of certainty, and for a moment, the teasing stopped. it was real. all of it.

and if sukuna’s knees gave out a couple more times on the way to the wedding, well, that was between you and him.

the day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, a little too cheery for your taste, given how your nerves were practically setting your stomach on fire. the venue was packed with friends and family, and sukuna stood at the altar looking as annoyingly smug as ever, though you caught the way he kept flexing his fingers, a sure sign of his own restlessness.

the ceremony went on in a blur — your father tearing up, your mother fluffing your dress at the last minute, the aisle stretching longer than it had any right to be. but then you were standing across from him, sukuna's stupidly handsome face softening just enough when his eyes locked onto yours.

“finally,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

“shut up,” you hissed back, though your lips twitched with a smile.

and then came the vows.

“alright,” sukuna began, clearing his throat. “here’s the deal. i promise to put up with your constant nagging, your stubborn-ass attitude, and your inexplicable need to buy three different brands of the same mascara.”

you blinked, momentarily stunned, before your lips parted in disbelief. “are you kidding me?”

“not done yet,” he said, holding up a hand to stop you. his smirk softened into something warmer, his voice lowering. “but i also promise to stand by you when life gets rough. to always be the first one to have your back when the world feels like it’s caving in. to love you, even when you make me want to tear my hair out. and yeah, i guess i’d even give you the last slice of pizza, but don’t make me regret it.”

there was a collective laugh from the audience, but the emotion in his eyes left no doubt in your mind that he meant every word.

when it was your turn, you took a steadying breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “fine. i promise to tolerate your overly dramatic bullshit, your constant need to be loud in every situation, and your inability to follow a single recipe without adding your own twist.”

his grin widened, but you pressed on, your tone softening. “but i also promise to be your partner in everything — whether it’s taking on the world or just deciding what to eat for dinner. i promise to never give up on us, even when you’re being insufferable. and yes, i’ll love you through all the ups, downs, and sideways curves life throws at us. but don’t expect me to share my fries. ever.”

sukuna barked out a laugh, and you caught the glimmer of tears in his eyes as he squeezed your hands a little tighter.

“are you two serious?” the officiant asked, though they were smiling.

“dead serious,” you and sukuna said in unison, glancing at each other with matching smirks.

and when the final moment came, when the officiant announced you as husband and wife, sukuna didn’t waste a second.

“come here, wife,” he murmured, pulling you close and crashing his lips against yours.

the cheers and applause from your friends and family faded into the background as the kiss deepened, sealing not just the vows but every unspoken promise between the two of you.

as you pulled back, breathless, sukuna smirked down at you. “you know we’re gonna tell this story a million times, right?”

“damn right we will,” you replied, matching his grin.

and just like that, the two of you — stubborn, ridiculous, and deeply in love — were ready to face whatever came next, armed with the best stories to tell your future kids.

thank you for sticking around the wild wild journey of a stubborn-kuna and an even stubborn reader. i hope you enjoyed <3 produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost —support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[avocado-writing]

home

pairing: 14th doctor x reader & 10th doctor x reader

rating: E

notes: no gender or age given for reader, just that you last saw the doctor fifteen years ago. thank you to @mcganns for being my beta!!

This too shall pass.

It was a sentiment that you had to cling onto when he left, because fuck knows it was the most painful thing you’d ever felt. And you’d run away from actual explosions before. Big ones, in space! Supernovas which could eat entire planets while you hung onto the side of a little blue box. 

And yet none of it even begins to compare to when he fucking left you. 

He said it wouldn’t be forever. Well, he shouted it at you as you fell out of the TARDIS. There was a time explosion, and you got rocketed back to your little flat in the middle of Hackney, on Earth only a few days from when he’d picked you up — but in your reality months of adventure had passed. 

You’d not really settled back in, certain that he was going to come and rescue you. But then days turned into weeks into months and you finally accepted that the Doctor had abandoned you. 

So you went back to it all. Your mundane little existence before a mad, brilliant man had whisked you away. Your boss was a bit miffed that you’d gone AWOL but you were their best employee so they couldn’t afford to let you go, all you got was a slap on the wrist and a command not to let it happen again. The people you loved didn’t really seem to notice your absence that much, which stung; you couldn’t blame them though. You’d probably not miss you much either. 

The Doctor. He made you feel special in a way nobody had before. Like you were the centre of a whole, giant, fantastic universe, and he adored you for it. 

Still. 

No point mulling that over again, is there?

Fifteen years. Things did get better. You moved on eventually. But you still find your thoughts drifting back to him every once in a while, and that fragment of time you spent totally utterly in love with each other. When you think about the way he kissed you, without realising it you end up touching your lips.

No. No. Stop. 

The singing of the kettle snaps you back into reality, and you pour yourself a hot cuppa. Ah, tea. The antidote to everything. You go to turn the radio on for some company as you shift into your morning routine when you hear a knock at the door. 

Probably the postie. He’s a bit early today, you think, but make no more of it as you undo the latch and open the door. 

Your heart stops. 

Because there he is, of course. 

Older. Weathered. Not the young man you once knew but a grownup version of him, as exhausted by life as you are. 

You drop your mug. Quick as a flash the Doctor grabs it out of midair. The tea sloshes onto the floor but at least nothing gets shattered. 

He goes to look up at you, but his attention is drawn back to his hand. 

“I bought you this mug years ago,” he says, utterly amazed. 

You shut the door in his face. 

Well, you try to, anyway. But he sticks a foot in between the door and the frame, with one of those stupid Converse he always wears.

“I know you’re angry, I know. But please let me come in.”

It’s such an absurd statement you find yourself laughing, a high and desperate noise. 

“Absolutely not!” Actually, no. That’s not enough. “How dare you. Why are you even here?!”

“Because I wanted— I needed to see you.”

You still want to slam the door on him, but there’s a desperation to his voice that gives you pause. And when he looks at you with those sad, puppy-dog eyes? Those eyes as lined with age as you are?

Fuck. You’re so weak. 

So that’s how you find the Doctor sitting at your kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. You lean against the counter, defences still up, eyeing him from over the top of your mug. He drums his fingers against the tablecloth. 

“I like your house. Your calendar is nice, I enjoy the kitten motif.”

“Don’t,” you spit, slamming the mug down and sloshing tea onto the floor, “don’t you dare. You don’t get to waltz back here and start telling me ‘oh, I enjoy your furnishings, haven’t you made a nice little life for yourself since I abandoned you!’ I let you in to speak your piece, though god knows why. Say it and be done.”

The Doctor looks deflated. His shoulders sag, mouth falls. You take a moment to properly look at him. He seems… tired. Tired in a way you never knew him to be when you went on your adventures. Part of you wants to offer comfort, but the other part of you wants to withhold it maliciously. Anything to make him feel the way you felt. 

“I looked for you,” is what he settles on, heavily. You didn’t expect that, and it knocks you. 

“What?”

“I did. After the explosion, I tried searching all over the galaxy for you. I didn’t know where - when - you’d ended up. I scanned and scanned but something stopped you from appearing on the TARDIS’s sensors. I think… the amount of artron energy emitted during the blast somehow cloaked you.”

You say nothing, your silence an invitation for him to continue his explanation. 

“It took years. Literal years, for me. Every spare moment I had, I dedicated to looking for you. Head buried in the circuitry of the TARDIS, trying to fix whatever was hiding you, gave myself a couple of nasty shocks too. And, when I finally tracked you down, I’d regenerated.”

You blink. Right. Yes. He’d explained that, but you’d never seen it with your own eyes. The same person, a different face. 

“I didn’t know if you’d want to see me if I didn’t look like me. But I had to try anyway, didn’t I? So I came here. To your house. I got myself all ready for it, knocked on your door… and found that you were married.”

Your fingers grip the counter. 

“Oh.”

“He seemed nice. Loved you a lot, as you deserved. And I couldn’t tell you I was back, could I? I saw you pottering around in the kitchen, making the tea - you were always the best at making tea - and you were happy. How could I ask you to leave that all, uproot the life you’d made for yourself, just to jump back in the TARDIS with me? How could I be so cruel? I couldn’t, could I. So I left again. Tried to move on. Like you did.”

You’re crying now. You can feel hot tears slide down your face and soak into your jumper. 

“Oh, Doctor,” you manage. You want to tell him so much. It feels like it might burst out of you. But instead you settle on:

“Why now?”

He smiles thinly. 

“Because somehow I got this face back, and I wanted to see you. I wanted to be selfish for once.”

You find yourself at the table, on the wonky chair opposite him, sliding your hand over to cover his. It’s rough and warm. Just like you remember. He says your name with reverence, but like it pains him. 

“I never stopped loving you. Ever. Through it all, every adventure, I knew it wasn’t complete because you weren’t there. It just wasn’t the same without wonderful, brilliant you,” he admits. He sounds defeated. It breaks your heart — or, actually, it might just put it back together again. 

A beat passes. His confession lingers in the air, heavy, thick and choking like smoke from an untameable fire. 

“His name was Simon. He was a baker. He was lovely, actually… and we got divorced two years ago.”

The Doctor’s brow furrows. 

“You… what… why?”

“Because he knew there was someone else I never really let go of. Someone else who, despite everything, I still loved.”

He looks you in the eyes, and you see something glimmer there that you long since gave up on. 

Hope. 

And then, suddenly, you’re kissing. 

It’s like nothing has changed. His lips are still rough and searching on yours, a hint of tongue giving away into more the deeper you entangle. He sits you up on the table and steps into the space left by your spread legs, and between each kiss he says your name. It’s full of adoration but lined with desperation, too. 

Like the kisses he gave you the first night you laid together, on a bed in his spaceship floating across the galaxy. When he buried himself inside you and you felt his two hearts beat in rhythm with your own. 

“Doctor…” you manage. 

Fuck. You need him. You didn’t realise how badly you needed him. You didn’t realise a piece of your soul has been missing this whole time, fucking torn out of you and leaving a jagged hole in its wake. And him, back, telling you he loves you and always has? You’re patched together like kintsugi. 

Your Doctor is the molten gold you need. 

“Please. I need to…” he’s so desperate he can barely get the words out, but you nod; he’s undoing the belt buckle of your jeans and pulling them off like they’re silk. When his thin waist meets yours you cross your ankles behind him and lock him into place, and his hands - a little fumbling, a little nervous to be mapping out the plain of you again - begin to trace your chest. You lean into his touch to let him know yes. This is okay. I want this. Make me whole again. 

His warm, rough palms slide under the hem of your shirt and lift it easily over your head, the only break in a while you take from your kiss. You let yourself grab his tie to bring him closer. He’s fully dressed still and you’re almost naked; you remember how he used to like that, enjoy feeling a bit more put together than you. Cheeky blighter. Still though, as his suit scratches your skin, you can’t say you don’t agree. 

However. In this instance he has far too many clothes. 

You tug at his jacket and he knows what you need, letting it fall to the floor with his tie and waistcoat following it. He ruts against you as he unbuttons his shirt a bit, not the whole way, but just enough for you to feel the warmth of his chest. He’s so skinny. You’ve always been a bit worried that, on one of your rougher days, you might snap him in half. You still are now, actually. 

Cupping his face in your hands you let your thumbs caress his cheekbones. Your Doctor. Older but the same. Just like you. 

You can feel him more than half-hard against your leg. No more time wasting. You need him. You need him, you need him, you need him. 

It doesn’t take long to undo his fly and have him in your hand. You’ll always be glad he chose this human anatomy. Though you’d love him no matter how he looks, there’s something wonderful about his cock as it is here. He lets his head fall forward onto your shoulder with a moan if your name. 

“Oh… you’re…”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree, a genuine smile passing your face for the first time in god knows how long. He’s just the right length and on the thick side, and you know what a delicious stretch he is when he pushes inside of you. You can’t wait to feel it again. A couple of pumps and he’s ready, dripping precome and a ruddy red. Another time you’d bend down and taste him, remind yourself what a Time Lord’s cock is like. But now today. Well, not now. 

You lay back, readjusting yourself so he can push your underwear to the side and find your entrance. A couple of fingers - those long, delicate, clever and cunning fingers - press inside you and test you out. You’re ready for him. He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat as he realises and you laugh, properly, throwing your head back. 

“Come on, Doctor. Show me that you’ve missed me.”

He used to never shut up. And now he’s stunned into a desperate silence, lining up with you and pushing in as he does his best to make you feel what he’s been feeling too. 

A loneliness is fixed. He slides home inside you and your hips meet, the both of you letting out a long and ragged breath. You sit there for a moment, locked in the most intimate embrace, and just feel each other. You fist your hands in his shirt. He’s here. He’s real. You feel him trace his palm up your back as if you assure himself of the same thing. 

Slowly he begins to move. It is a long and lovely drag, his cock hitting all the points you missed being touched, and when he feels you gasp he goes harder. The Doctor nuzzles into the skin of your neck, nestling to the warmth of you there, and you hear him repeat a mantra both of your name and “I love you”.

Over and over. As if the two phrases are inextricably linked. 

You’re so full. You’re so light. Everything feels perfect in this moment. And when he reaches between your bodies to touch your sex, push you to the edge, you know you’ll climax for him embarrassingly fast. 

When you come you see stars light up behind your eyes. The sky, the unfiltered and untamed sky takes you over. The Doctor says your name one final fine and releases inside you, his hips riding it out as if to savour every second in the sweet grip of you. 

He can’t look at your face when he asks you. He says it from the safety of your shoulder where his face is buried, because if you say no you know his heart will shatter. 

“Come with me, in the TARDIS again. I know I shouldn’t ask you to leave your home but… you complete me, you know. Always have.”

“Leave my home?! Doctor, don’t be daft. This is just a house in bloody Hackney. You’re my home.”

You pull back to meet his gaze. He’s tired, but bright. His eyes twinkle. And there’s the Doctor you know. 

“And of course,” you continue. And, as the smile engulfs his face and he lights up, “it’s not like I’m doing anything else, am I?”

This time, when you go AWOL from your job, you never come back. 

[zephrunsimperium]

Ford is a jerk to Fiddleford McGucket in Journal 3. Let's talk about that.

First I want to preface this post by saying that I adore Ford. He is a wonderful character who has influenced my life in countless ways for the better. All of the things he does in this list a) stem from his own insecurities that he's projecting b) are symptoms of Ford's narcissistic defense mechanisms c) or come from Bill's influence on him. However, just because there are reasons for his actions doesn't excuse them, especially considering just how many there are.

Here's the list of things he does, I'll analyze at the end of the post.

Let's get the petty things out of the way first.

The cubic's cube: I think it is just straight up an absolute jerk move to scramble this thing that's clearly a comfort to him and think it's funny.

Being in shape: It's obvious his comments here are from his own insecurity but on a deeper level it just speaks to how Ford sees him, I think.

Not telling Fidds about Bill: Obviously Bill was feeding him a lot of paranoia but it's the reasoning that he writes down that gets me. It's so condescending.

The Gremloblin & The Shapeshifter

Something I think that's worth taking note of is the way Ford illustrates both of these instances. He brushes off Fiddleford's concerns multiple times and then Fiddleford pays the price and Ford sees himself as some kind of hero and Fiddleford this helpless victim. It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

And then afterwards the way he handles not just Fiddleford's anxiety but the genuine trauma he went through. I know he's an old man, I know that's how he was treated, but Fiddleford is supposed to be his friend.

The Portal Test

Specifically their interaction at the diner and Ford's reaction to Fiddleford quitting the project. Fiddleford SELFLESSLY spends untold hours on this thesis for Ford because he cares about him and sees him burning out, even though Ford hasn't been great to him and Fidds has been going through his own hard things - not just with the gremloblin and the Shapeshifter, but things with his family as well. Ford does not match that selfless devotion at all. In fact, he sees it as an insult.

Analysis

The reason I've been thinking about this is because of Book of Bill and how that's influenced the shipping atmosphere. There's this weird notion that FiddAuthor is a less toxic ship but I think that's absurd. Besides their hug at Weirdmageddon, these journal entries are pretty much all we see of Ford's relationship with Fiddleford and it doesn't paint a pretty picture. Yes Ford is excited to have Fiddleford come to see him, yes Ford has that sweet conversation with him under the stars, but I don't think it's a stretch to say that all the above evidence outweighs hat. At the very least it shouldn't be ignored.

That doesn't mean Ford is a terrible person and we should hate him. I believe strongly in nuance and Ford is a character that requires nuance. I don't think he's an evil person, but I also don't think he should be babied as this perfect wittle guy who can do no wrong either. Both readings do a disservice to him.

Ford clearly had a hard childhood. He's isolated himself his whole life and he's been severely traumatized by Bill. But that doesn't mean that he deserves Fiddleford's forgiveness - Ford wasn't really that kind to him and his actions inadvertently led to the memory gun/Fidds' exposure to Bill. Ultimately it's Fiddleford's choice to make; I wouldn't fault him if he didn't want to ever see Ford again, but I think it's a testament to his goodness that he still cares for Ford as much as he does.

So what do I personally think? Man. I'm just sad we don't know more about Fiddleford McGucket than we do. He's so essential to Bill's defeat and to Ford's past and he's such a cool character but we know so little about him. I want to know what his childhood was like, I want to know how he ended up in Backupsmore, I want to know why he cares about Ford as much as he does, I want to know why things ended so poorly with EmmaMay. But we may never know those things for certain. So with the things we're left... Yeah, I think FiddAuthor is a compelling reading, one that I certainly enjoy. I just worry about the fandom babying Ford.

[bucksangel]

milk and sugar

pairing: alpha!steve x alpha!bucky, alpha!steve x artist!omega!reader x alpha!bucky (poly) - omegaverse!au part two

word count: 5.1k

summary: “Are you nervous?” Steve asks, voice soft and caring. His hand settles on your arm, and Bucky appears beside you to place his hand on your back, as well as take one of your hands in his metal one. And despite your earlier anxiety, you mean it wholeheartedly when you say, “no.” or - it’s your first date with your alphas.

warnings: fluff fluff and more fluff, reader has insecurities, steve and bucky are adorable and caring, steve is very nervous bc he’s a romantic, like it’s almost unbearable how much of a pure puppy he is, bucky is extremely fond and a little teasing (bc of course he is), omegaverse, kissing, there are bits where it’s just steve and bucky

a/n: this fic doesn’t contain smut, however, due to the nature of my blog this is strictly 18+

milk and honey masterlist | main masterlist | tip jar

‘Good morning, darling.’

That’s the text you received from Bucky at nine that morning - in the group chat he’d made with Steve and you. And while you normally sleep in on Sundays since your studio is closed, you’d woken up early - seven to be exact -  due to the anxiety you’ve been feeling ever since your art class ended yesterday.

Truthfully, you didn’t really sleep well anyway. Going on a date with not just one, but two Alphas at the same time has you on edge - though, not in a bad way. No, not at all. These are the good kinds of nerves, the exciting kind.

Well, okay, not all of your nerves are positive. Being naturally shy and reserved has caused you to overthink every single interaction you’ve had with the Alphas, both together and separately. And now that you’re going on this date, you can’t help the way your insecurities come creeping in faster and faster as it gets closer.

Because what if they decide they don’t like you after they actually get the chance to know you? What if they don’t even pay much attention to you and treat this as a date with just them since that must be what they’re more used to? What if you say or do something wrong and they get scared away?

Now, logically, you know those first two outcomes are absurd. Over the past few weeks, they’ve each shown extreme interest in getting to know you, they show how much care they have for you, and oh boy does that knowledge make your heart flutter. It makes you feel good, really good about yourself.

But that last point? Well, that is a big insecurity of yours. As a child, you weren’t that open and didn’t have many friends. And it was hard to make new ones when you would always stutter and trip over yourself, causing many of the kids you’d gone to school with to laugh at you. You were so shy, always the shortest kid in your class which made you an easy target for bullying, especially since you couldn’t hold a conversation well and you’d constantly accidentally bump into someone. It’s honestly a surprise that Tori had stuck around this long.

And, to be completely honest, you think you could deal with them maybe not finding you as interesting as they probably thought, maybe even them telling you that it just wouldn’t work out. Yes, it would hurt for a while, but you would deal with it. However, you absolutely could not live with the Alphas finding you annoying. Because this whole thing already feels like a fever dream, and if you were to fuck it up by doing or saying something embarrassing it would only serve as proof that you aren’t fit for Alphas like them.

It’s nine-fifteen when you respond with ‘good morning :)’

And not even a minute later, Steve texts back. ‘how are you feeling about today?’

Well, isn’t that a good question? Because you want nothing more than to go on this date, you want this to work out so badly that you feel like your heart might burst out of your chest. But, again, those fucking insecurities are messing with your mind.

It’s maybe a few minutes later when you reply with ‘Feeling okay, you guys?’

A bubble pops up at the bottom of the text thread, Bucky typing for a good thirty seconds before it disappears. And it stays like that for another full minute, your heart hammering in your chest as your anxieties are jumping to the worst possible outcome. What if they cancel? What if they-

Your phone screen comes to life when Steve calls you. He’s calling you. And for a moment you want to let it go to voicemail, you don’t want them to hear how nervous you are. But you also don’t want them to think you’re ignoring them, so you answer with a timid, “Hello?”

“Hi, honey,” Steve says calmly, his smooth voice doing a good job of soothing some of your worries.

“Hi!” You hear Bucky yell in the background, causing you to giggle.

“Hi, guys.”

You hear a thud in the background before Bucky yells “Put her on speaker, punk!” And then you can hear both of them clearly, Steve laughing as Bucky huffs in what you assume is a fake annoyance.

“So, uh, I’m just wondering. Um, where are we going today?” Mentally, you curse yourself for being so awkward, for tripping over your words while talking to the two most handsome Alphas you’ve ever met.

“That’s a surprise, honey,” Steve says, the smile on his face is evident in his tone. “Just wear something comfortable.”

“And warm!” Bucky adds, coming closer to the phone. “We don’t need you getting cold, okay?”

The hint of authority in his voice makes your heartbeat pick up speed and the care that’s so evident in just the way he speaks kind of makes you want to cry a little. When was the last time any potential partner showed even these small acts of concern for your well-being? Too long.

“Yes, sir,” You joke, having to bite your lip to keep your smile from widening even further when both Alphas laugh. Butterflies are swirling in your stomach, forming a tornado of anticipation and nerves for the day’s festivities.

“Alright,” Steve says with a hint of laughter. “We’ll let you go get ready and we’ll pick you up in two hours, okay?”

Two hours? That seems like too long yet not long enough. You’ve already showered, all you really need to do is find something to wear and then fix your hair - maybe throw on some mascara. But, still. Two hours seems like the perfect amount of time to have a full-on breakdown over this date. But at least that should also give you some time to recover from said breakdown.

“Yeah, that works!” Internally, you cringe at how eager you sound. Because even though you’re nervous beyond belief, and a tiny part of you wants to cancel the date out of fear of anything embarrassing happening, you don’t think you’d be able to live with yourself if you let these two slip through your fingers without giving it a fighting chance. 

“Great,” Bucky says, clearly smiling. “Just send us your address and we’ll be there.”

Once you bid your goodbyes to each other you make sure to send them your address before deciding to freak out over what to wear. Luckily for you, and as though the universe knows you need the help, your doorbell rings soon after. Confused as to who would be at your door this early, you make your way to the door, and when you open it you see Tori standing on the other side with a wide smile.

“Alright, girl,” She says happily, ignoring the incredulous look on your face as she pushes past you to walk into your apartment. “We have to get you ready, where are they taking you?”

“Hello to you too, Tori,” you say with a slight roll of your eyes as you close the door.

“Hey, babe!” Tori grabs your wrist and all but yanks you towards your room, not really caring about the fact that you’re nearly tripping over yourself in an effort to keep up. When you both get to your room she lets go of your arm and heads for your closet.

“So, where are you guys going?”

“I don’t know, they just said to dress warm and comfortable.” Your shoulders shrug, fingers nervously fiddling with each other. You’re not too sure what exactly to wear based on those being the only two requests. Sure, you have plenty of sweaters and jackets and scarves - it’s New York after all - but you don’t know what will impress the Alphas.

You want to impress them so badly. You don’t want them to regret asking you out, and while clothing choices aren’t a ‘make or break’ type of thing it’s still important to you that you look the best you possibly can. After all, anyone who’s seen Steve and Bucky in person would agree that they’re most definitely the two most handsome men to ever exist.

Something soft hitting you in the face knocks you out of your thoughts.

“Hey!” You yelp, looking at the ground to see the thing that hit you - your light brown sweater with a cute graphic of a pumpkin patch on the front. Seconds later, a pair of leggings hit your chest. “Tori!”

Tori simply laughs, then heads to your shoe rack next to the closet door.

“How do you know this will be good for the date?” You ask as you pick up the sweater to inspect it as though you haven’t worn it hundreds of times. But, again, today needs to go perfectly so any stains you might’ve missed would not go down well with you.

“I don’t,” She admits with a shrug of her shoulders. “But that sweater accentuates your boobs and the leggings make your ass look great.”

Your whole body goes hot, the implication of them looking at those parts of your body doesn’t make you shrink away like it normally would, though you can barely stop your insecurities about your body from throwing the items to the side and picking something else to prevent that from happening.

“I-I don’t know, Tori…” You sigh, going over to your bed and sitting down on the edge. “What if they don’t like it? I mean, they’re-”

“Stop it,” Tori says forcefully, walking over to stand in front of you. “You’re beautiful and kind and wonderful and they’re going to love you. And if they don’t, then that’s not your fault. As long as you give it your all, everything will be fine.”

Coming closer, she places her hands on your shoulders so she can shake you a little bit. “I love you, girl. You’re my best friend and I want to see you happy. And it seems like they make you happy, but you make them happy too. I’ve seen it in the way they look at you, how they talk to you. It’s going to be fine, babe. I promise.”

After a long pause where you think over her words, you decide that she’s right - at least about your feelings. You like them so fucking much, so it wouldn’t be fair to them or yourself if you didn’t try your best.

“Okay… Okay, then. Let’s get me ready.”

And with that, Tori smiles brightly, leaning down to squeeze you in a tight hug before releasing you.

____________

It’s a few minutes before eleven when Bucky and Steve park out front of your apartment building. Steve is practically vibrating out of his skin, Bucky even had to convince his mate that he should drive to pick you up since Steve could barely keep his knees from bouncing.

“Baby,” Bucky says, shutting off the engine and twisting in his seat to face Steve. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to just be ourselves and treat her like she deserves, there’s no way she’s going to not like us.”

Steve nods, though he doesn’t look super convinced. It’s clear from how he spent fifteen minutes this morning in the flower shop picking out the perfect bouquet for you that he really, really wants this to work. And even though he doesn’t show it, Bucky knows Steve would be heartbroken if it didn’t. His mate’s always been a softie, and there’s something about you that makes him feel different - better than any other omega ever could.

Bucky knows exactly how he feels. Because, although he’s not as outwardly anxious, he just knows that you’re perfect for them, and he wants to do everything he can to make you see that they can take care of you, they can protect and love you. Your smile and sweet giggle haunt his dreams, his nightmares have long been replaced with his memories of him and Steve - and now you. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to wake up next to you and his Alpha, to cuddle with you two in your nest as you all trade kisses and talk about anything and everything.

“You’re sure?” Steve asks with a timid voice, fiddling with the flowers in his lap. “I - we really like her.”

Bucky sighs, then reaches over the console to place his hand on the back of his mate's neck in a comforting manner. And even though it’s uncomfortable, Bucky leans over and presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips.

“I’m sure, Stevie.”

Steve sighs too, leaning forward to kiss Bucky again before pulling back.

“Okay, Buck.”

With that, they both share a small smile and then get out of the car. It’s about a minute-long elevator ride up to your floor, Bucky holding his mate’s free hand the entire way and sending him feelings of calmness through their bond. It works until they get to your front door because now Steve is practically fumbling with the flowers as he figures out the best way to hold them while Bucky knocks.

It’s about a minute later when the door swings open, but it’s not you. It’s Tori with a wide, knowing smirk on her face.

“Hello, boys,” She says, crossing her arms over her chest. “Those for her?” She nods towards the sunflowers and daisies Steve is holding.

“They are,” Bucky says with a smile of his own. Glancing at Steve to see him nod. “Is she ready?”

“Yes!” You say, quickly running up behind Tori to gently push her to the side and give her a side glare. You’re fiddling with your clothes, tugging at the bottom of the sweater in order to smooth out the fabric.

However, in the Alphas’ eyes, there’s no need for you to do so. Through their bond both of them feel the other go kind of dumb - you always look pretty but today’s outfit just hits them differently. Your eyeliner makes the color of your eyes pop, and the shiny lipgloss makes your lips nearly impossible to not kiss.

They don’t, though. Not yet. The last thing either of them wants to do is make you uncomfortable, especially with Tori standing behind you. So, instead, Bucky smiles and elbows Steve to get him out of his trance.

“Hello, honey,” Bucky says, his smile turning into a smirk when you fail to suppress a squeak.

“H-hi, guys,” You say nervously with a small smile. “Are those for me?” You ask when you notice the flowers in Steve’s hand.

“Oh, um, yes,” Steve stutters ever so slightly, reaching out to hand you the bouquet. “You once said you love Sunflowers.”

____________

“You once said you love Sunflowers.”

Something about this gesture makes you want to tear up. Flowers may not be a big deal to some people, but they mean everything to you. Receiving gifts from partners has been rare for you, so the beauty of the petals and knowing that they’re for you just makes you preen a little bit.

“I do,” You say softly, almost like you can’t believe he remembered. “They’re beautiful, thank you. Really.”

“Just like you,” Steve blurts out before a redness covers his cheeks.

And you absolutely cannot be blamed for the embarrassing squeak you let out. You try being called beautiful by Steve fucking Rogers and not want to bury your face in his neck to inhale his scent.

“Th-thank you,” You say with a giggle, handing the flowers to Tori and giving her a grateful smile as she gives you a quick kiss on your cheek.

“You guys have fun,” She teases, waving you off with a smile. “Treat her well or you’ll have hell to pay.”

“Of course,” Bucky says with an assuring nod. “Wouldn’t treat her with anything but care.” He says this while looking at you though, the twinkle in his eyes making you want to bare your neck to him.

When the door closes behind you, you step closer to the Alphas.

“Are you nervous?” Steve asks, voice soft and caring, though clearly a little anxious. His hand settles on your arm, and Bucky appears beside you to place his hand on your back, as well as take one of your hands in his metal one.

And despite your earlier anxiety, you mean it wholeheartedly when you say, “No.” How can you be nervous now when the feeling of the men’s warm hands on you and their clear concern for your wellbeing makes your heartbeat quicken in anticipation?

“Let’s go?” You ask, face growing warm in slight embarrassment for your enthusiasm.

“Let’s go,” Both Alphas say in unison. And then all of you are off to the truck - a very nicely kept, sleek black truck. Steve opens the back door for you before, to your surprise, sliding in next to you.

“We agreed he could sit in the back with you on the way there as long as I could sit next to you on our way back,” Bucky pipes up at your questioning glance.

Feelings of warmth fill your entire being, and you already know that today is going to be the most fun you’ve had in a while.

____________

It’s about a thirty-five-minute drive before you finally arrive at a park - a beautiful stretch of the greenest grass you’ve ever seen with orange and red-leafed trees surrounding two sides of it. It’s big, but if you look close enough you can make out a trail off to the left. That half hour was, surprisingly to you, filled with pleasant conversation. Now, your previous interactions with the men proved that they were wonderful company, but you’re surprised that you’re not as nervous as you thought you’d be. Everything was moving smoothly, there wasn’t even a single moment of awkward silence.

“We’re here,” Bucky says, pulling into a free parking spot closest to the entrance of the trail. Steve opens the door as Bucky gets out as well and goes around to the back of the truck. And Steve, ever the gentleman, holds your hand as he helps you climb out of the backseat, only letting go when you begin smoothing out your clothes.

“Are we ready?” Bucky appears next to you holding a large blanket and a stereotypical wicker basket.

A small smile forms on your face, and your heartbeat increases ever so slightly. How are they so fucking sweet?

“Yes!” Immediately, your face goes hot, self-conscious of your enthusiasm. But the Alphas don’t seem to mind, in fact, Steve takes the blanket from under Bucky’s arm and tucks it under his own, then grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers together.

“Let’s go then,” Steve says, smiling softly down at you.

With that, the three of you head off to the trail, walking under colorful oak trees that flank both sides of the dirt path. A comfortable silence falls over all of you, only the sounds of birds chirping filling the air. You walk for a few minutes, the leaves crunching under your feet as you take in the beauty surrounding you, your eyes wide with wonder.

The environment is comforting, calm, puts you at ease in a way you don’t normally experience. It’s freeing to feel so content - so happy. It takes about five minutes before you come upon a set of wooden stairs leading down to the most beautiful lake you’ve ever seen. The water is nearly clear, the colorful trees reflecting over the surface, and even though it’s a clear day out, you can’t help but notice the golden hue filling the air. You don’t even notice you’ve stopped walking until Steve tugs on your hand.

“Do you like it?” He asks, almost nervous as he waits for your reaction.

“I…” You trail off, tears filling your eyes. This whole thing is just - just perfect. “I love it,” you say as you look at Steve, a wide smile spreading across your face. And you look at Bucky when you say, “It’s perfect.”

____________

“It’s perfect.”

Bucky can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. They’d both wracked their brains trying to figure out where to take you, what to do. They want to wow you, to show you that they can - and hopefully will get the chance to provide for you, they can make you happy. You’ll never go without, if you want something, they will figure out a way to get it.

“Good,” Steve says softly, smiling down at you before looking up at Bucky and nodding his head.

With that, the three of you make your way down the stairs, Steve holding on to your hand tightly to make sure you don’t fall, and Bucky places his free hand on your back. He can hear how your heartbeat speeds up when he does so and tries so hard not to puff out his chest when you glance up at him through your eyelashes coyly.

Once you’re down by the lake, the men lead you to a large oak tree merely ten or so feet from the edge. Steve is quick to unfold the blanket and spread it out under the tree - large enough to probably cover an entire California King bed. Bucky then places the basket down as his mate takes your hand and helps you sit near the edge of the blanket leaving enough space for the men to sit on either side of you.

The Alphas quickly open the basket and pull out containers of food, opening the lids and placing them in front of you. When they finally sit down - obviously with you in the middle - Bucky notices how wide your eyes are, how you seem transfixed on the array of fruits and sandwiches and cake. It’s when Bucky pulls out the jug of homemade lemonade that you choke back a cry.

“Honey?” Steve asks, turning his body to face you with a concerned look in his eyes.

“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Bucky places a hand on your back, sweeping it around to hold your waist. And can you really blame him if his whole body goes hot when you lean into his side and turn your face so it’s halfway buried in his neck?

It takes a few seconds but you’re finally able to gather yourself and pull away.

“You guys are just… I can’t believe it.”

“What can’t you believe, sweetheart?” Steve scoots closer to you, placing his hand on your head to smooth out your hair, and unconsciously turns your head so he can look directly at you. “Tell us what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

____________

You want to scream. You want to yell until your voice gives out. It’s nothing, in the grand scheme of things. Them preparing food - by hand - and bringing you to this beautiful spot might just be a normal thing for most people, but considering you’ve hardly ever been shown this much affection and thoughtfulness. Shaking your head, you look away, unable to withstand the Alpha's intense gaze.

“It’s nothing,” You mumble, fiddling with your fingers. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not, honey,” Bucky says, giving your waist an affectionate squeeze. “If you’re upset, we want you to tell us.”

“I’m not! I promise!” You assure them, hesitantly reaching both of your hands out to place them on the Alpha’s legs. “I guess I just… I’ve just never been shown this much… care?” It’s phrased as a question, because you’re unsure if that was the right word to use, but it’s all you can think of at the moment.

“I know it may not seem like a lot,” You continue, taking a deep breath before looking up at Steve, and then Bucky. “But this means the world to me. You guys are just so sweet and thoughtful and I’m not really sure what to do, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, let alone two people.”

Both of the men sigh, and you can almost taste the scent of disappointment wafting off of them. Suddenly your nerves spike, did you say something wrong?

You must have said that out loud because Bucky starts shaking his head. “No, no darling. You didn’t say anything wrong, I promise.”

“We’re just… I guess we’re disappointed that you consider this the height of romance because this is the bare minimum. You should be used to this, you should be loved and worshipped because that’s what you deserve, nothing less. And it’s not your fault, it’s every other person’s fault for not treating you like the perfect Omega you are.” Steve sounds upset, and your heartbeat increases to a degree that you’d think you were having a panic attack if it weren’t for how damn happy you are.

For a moment, you’re unsure as to what to say, it’s just baffling to you that one person, let alone two, can make you feel this way, this joyous and carefree. But luckily Bucky speaks up so you don’t have to.

“And we’d love to have the chance to do that for you,” He says softly, picking up your hand to cradle it in his own so he can place a delicate kiss on your knuckles. And when you stare up into his eyes, you can’t help but gasp at how loving his gaze is. “Will you give us that chance?”

“Yes.” And this time, you’re not embarrassed by how quickly your answer was to come. How can you be when both men sigh in relief and lean into your body so they can wrap you in their arms? It’s warm and comforting, filling you with happiness and care for these men.

When they lean back you really can’t be blamed for the way your gaze finds Steve’s, then drops down to his lips momentarily. At this, you’re a little flustered, suddenly overcome with the want to feel how soft they are.

Steve seems to read your mind because he places his hand on the back of your neck and forces you to hold his gaze.

“Can I kiss you, honey?”

“Please,” You whine, staying in place as the Alpha leans down slowly. Your eyes close when he gets close enough that you can feel his breaths against your mouth. And for a moment, neither of you moves, and your nerves climb higher and higher as the seconds tick by.

You’re about to speak when he finally, finally kisses you. At first, it’s just a simple peck, a chaste kiss on your lips, and then he pulls back by merely a millimeter. It’s you who leans forward to press your lips together again, and you let him lead as you lose yourself in the kiss. Though, it’s over far too soon for your liking by a soft groan.

Pulling away, both you and Steve turn to look at Bucky, who is now sporting a sheepish grin.

“Sorry,” He mumbles with a flushed face. “I just… I love seeing you two together. I love us all being together and having the two people I care about more than anything sharing your feelings. I know it’s-”

“Sweet,” You interrupt him, turning your body so you can face him better and slip your hand out of his. Placing it on his cheek, you smile when he nuzzles into your palm and gives it a little kiss. “I think it’s sweet, Bucky.”

“Can I kiss you too?” He whispers hopefully, smiling when you nod. Unlike his mate, Bucky doesn’t waste any time capturing your lips in a soft but passionate kiss. It’s clear he’s trying to hold back, and something in you just can’t help but feel wanted, desired. This kiss lasts a little longer, and although you can feel Steve’s gaze on you, you’re not in the least bit self-conscious. You know they wouldn’t lie to you, so you find comfort in knowing that you can show affection to both men without either getting upset or jealous.

When you do finally pull away, you can’t help but lean into Bucky’s chest, reaching behind you to grab Steve’s hand.

“I really like you guys,” You mumble into the Alpha’s chest.

“We really like you too,” They say in unison, causing you to smile.

With that, everything seems to fall into place, the men divvy up the food - giving you most of it - and you all eat in comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at each other. Once the food is eaten, Bucky wraps his arm around your waist, causing you to look up at him.

“Come here,” He says with a smile, guiding you to sit sideways on his lap, facing Steve. And there is absolutely no way in hell you could contain the squeak forcing its way out of your mouth. “Is this okay?” He asks as Steve scoots closer to sit right next to Bucky, picking up your legs and resing them in his lap.

You’ve never nodded faster in your life. You’re nervous, sure, but the utter happiness you’re feeling far outweighs it. That happiness only grows when Bucky nods to his mate, and you watch as the other man picks up the container with the cake. Your eyes widen when Steve picks up a fork and takes a small bit out of one of the slices, carefully leading it up to your mouth where you automatically open it.

Slowly, he slides the fork out, allowing you to chew the cake with a pleased smile on his face. It goes on like this until the slice is completely gone, with Bucky pressing kisses to your temple occasionally and bathing you in his warmth. It makes you preen having these Alphas take care of you like this, providing for you.

You’re content to stay here forever, wrapped up in their light, and by the time you’re done eating completely, you feel your eyelids grow heavy, a yawn forcing your mouth wide open.

“I’m sorry,” You say remorsefully, a little embarrassed by how tired you’ve become now that your stomach is full and you’re comfortably resting against Bucky’s chest.

“Don’t be, honey,” Steve says, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “You can nap if you want, we’ll be right here when you wake up.”

A smile spreads across your face, and you instinctively bury your head into Bucky’s chest and reach out so you can hold onto Steve’s hands. “Are you sure?” You ask, peeking an eye open so you can look up at the blonde Alpha.

He smiles as he nods, pressing another kiss on the top of your head. “Go to sleep, pretty girl.”

It doesn’t take long for you to float off into dreamland, and the last thing you hear is, “I told you she’s perfect for us.”

tagging: @the-ginger-fairy-artist / @supernovatardis / @perdidosbucky-yyo / @wckedheart / @kandis-mom / @meteorshowercoffee / @wandaneedstherapy / @buckysbarne / @bigcreatorwombatdreamer / @p1ut0smoon / @venusfly11 / @buckybarnesmetalarmswife775 / @the-photo-hoe / @clownsbf / @matsumama / @fandoms-writings / @thornsnvultures / @sadboiabby / @lily-excal / @alright-i-guesss / @blondie-bluue / @loveforreading / @marvel-wifey-86 / @wheezy-stucky / @exposition-belongs-somewhere / @sweater-bee / @stuckysbike / @lovelylittleleigh / @buckyshbic / @starkblackwolf / @caitlink26 / @dreaming-potato / @emeraldfairy23 / @lethargicluv / @kinsssss / @perfectlyboring / @glistenuplove / @monicachic13 / @bbellen1411 / @akmenia / @shawnftjacob / @ladyravenclaw / @sadsadbabygirlrob / @hc-kerr / @iamfandomwasted / @sweetmoonlove0214 / @yesprettypleasesir / @duckies16 / @wizardofstories / @emerald-writes / @xonickibaby / @matchat3a / @hereticdance / @animegirlgeeky / @rippedpiece

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For The Night (Part 2) | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 1, Finale!

Summary: After a few too many drinks, Spencer takes you back to your place, and you say something you might regret when you sober up…

Tags: fluff, more pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

Words: 2.3k (whoopsie)

|

“Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

“Just for the night?” Morgan laughed, his bright, white smile teasing you two.

“Well, we’ll see how he does and go from there,” you joked. Reid couldn’t help but laugh a little at your comment.

“Well, I intend to impress,” he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, laughing under his breath while looking down at you. Penelope hit Morgan on the shoulder, drawing his attention toward Reid’s little look of love. He just laughed, turning back to his conversation with Hotch.

“Those two are so screwed.”

The night went on as one usually does. Some of the team split off into different games, dancing, or their own little conversations. You and Spencer were of the latter group.

“I can’t explain WHY The Princess Bride is my favorite movie, it just is!” You feigned defensiveness, leaning into the seat behind you, laughing. “Why don’t your profile it out of me,” you smiled at Spencer. He laughed, taking a drink of his club soda.

“Fine,” he set his drink down, turning to you. “I think…” he leaned down, leveling his eyes with yours, glancing between both of your irises. “I think it’s probably because, ever since you were a child, you’ve been escaping with fantasy,” he sat up. “It would be safest to assume you identify with Buttercup, that you long for someone close to you to come sweep you off your feet and solve all your problems,” he narrowed his eyes. You looked gently up at him. “But,” he sighed, leaning back. “Knowing you, I’d say you like Westley,” he smiled. “You grew up less wealthy and have worked your whole life to protect the people you love. It’s a movie that makes you believe there’s hope in the world,” he took a long sip of his drink.

Your jaw hung open in shock. “When did you learn so much about The Princess Bride,” you smiled, leaning your head on your hand.

“Garcia made me watch it,” he shrugged, laughing.

“Okay, fine…” You took a sip of your drink, head spinning a little. “So what’s your favorite movie, then, hm?”

He didn’t hesitate before responding, like he had clearly been wanting to talk about it. “L’age D’or,” he spoke with his hands. “It’s a-a seminal surrealist film that was actually co-written by Salvador Dali,” he smiled wide. “It used Dali’s classic absurd style and shocking imagery to critique the bourgeoisie and the Catholic Church. It, uh, was so controversial, actually, that it led to riots and bans,” he continued on about vignettes and taboos, but you just stared at him with a smile, eyes glazed over with pure adoration. Some time after he went on about Luis Buñuel’s other works, you realized you were absolutely whipped for this nerd.

You must have been off in la-la-land, because Reid got a little closer to you to get your attention. “Are you okay?” You snapped up.

“What, yeah, I’m good,” you smiled, smoothing down your slacks. “I’m gonna get another drink,” you smiled nervously, standing up a little too quickly. You stumbled a little, causing Reid to reach out and steady you with his hands. Morgan noticed.

“Hey, Pretty Girl, how many of those have you had?” He gestured to your glass.

“Probably too many,” you smiled half heartedly, realizing you were likely a little more than tipsy. You also started to notice how tightly Spencer’s hands steadied you. “It’s getting late, anyways, I’ll go call a cab,” you started to reach for your phone, but Spencer stepped in.

“Hey, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Pretty Boy is right,” Morgan added. “Someone should take you home.”

“Guys, Im an adult, I don’t need a babysitter,” you laughed, speech slightly slurred. Yeah, you were definitely drunk.

“It’s fine, I can take her home,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile to Morgan. He turned to you, ignoring Morgan’s small, concerned smirk. “It’s not safe to go home alone while inebriated,” he took his hands off of you, and you noticed how he flexed them a little. Interesting. You would have to analyze that in the morning, maybe when you weren’t so intoxicated. He pulled his crossbody bag over himself and grabbed your hand, leading you from the booth. “I’m still your boyfriend, for the night,” he smiled.

You couldn’t help but giggle at him.

“Okay, okay, whatever, pretty boy,” your hand tightened around his. The nickname felt different, coming from your lips, he thought. Somehow, it seemed like less of a nickname and more of an observation. He shook it off. “I don’t live far from here, we can walk,” you spoke as you both stepped out of the bar, the biting cold air hitting your skin. You wrapped your arms around Spencer’s, his biceps wrapped up nicely by his cotton sweater. You smiled, and, you couldn’t see it, but so did he.

“Sounds good,” he barely squeaked out, just content to be settling into your touch.

The walk was peaceful, passing by a river or a park, street lights illuminating the sidewalk. They cast a warm glow on the night, shining in Spencer’s eyes, glimmering as he glanced down at you stumbling by his side. The breeze was slightly shielded by Spencer’s towering figure. He relished the feeling of your grip, a sense of security he didn’t know he craved. And, for a moment, it really did feel like you two were a couple.

He helped you up the steps to you apartment. “Such a gentleman,” you joked. He laughed lowly.

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t eat concrete, but if you’d rather I didn’t-”

“I’m kidding, i’m kidding~” you slurred out, pulling out your keys. It danced around the lock a few times, since your vision was blurred, but with some help from your temporary boyfriend, the door pushed open and you were met with the warmth of your apartment. You couldn’t help but sigh, throwing yourself down on the couch. Spencer locked the door behind the two of you, watching you kick off your shoes.

“You should take your contacts out before you fall asleep,” he put his bag down. “Sleeping with them in can increase your risk of infection up to eight times,” he more than scurried over to your kitchen, filling you up a glass of water.

“Speeence, that’s so much work,” you threw a throw blanket around your arms.

“I know, sweetheart, but I don’t want you coming in to work tomorrow with dry eyes and corneal damage,” he set the glass down on the coffee table, kneeling in front of you. You were so tired, you didn’t notice the nickname. He didn’t seem to, either. “Come on, you need to take them out,” he reached for your arm, taking a hold of your wrist. His voice was gentle, laced with a genuine concern, and his touch was reverent. As you looked down to where his sturdy hands held you, you realized, for a moment, how deeply you cared for him.

He knew alcohol made your inhibitions nonexistent, but he didn’t expect you to start crying. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong,” he grabbed the side of your face, wiping a tear off your cheek. His hands were just so soft, it made you tear up more.

“I-I don’t know,” you sobbed out. You really didn’t know.

“Hey, it’s okay, drink this,” he handed you the glass of water. As you took a sip, he moved his hands to your knees, soothing small circles into them. “Why are you sad?”

You sniffled, looking down at his face. His brows knitted together, eyes beaming up into your own. You could have SWORN you saw his heart beating against his sweater. “Because I love you being my boyfriend, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t,” you were a little embarrassed, but you were drunk, so it barely mattered.

Spencer’s heart rate spiked, and a rosy tint started rising in his face. “You don’t mean that,” he soothed, voice just above a whisper.

“I do,” you looked straight into his eyes. They were glazed over in something you couldn’t describe and probably never would.

“According to research, a-about 63% of people have admitted to saying something they regret while intoxicated,” he reasoned out, holding onto your hand.

“Another study found that 54% of those confessions are things they genuinely feel, Spence,” he realized you clearly weren’t out-of-it enough to not hit him with his own statistics. He couldn’t speak, and he really couldn’t think either. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes dancing around your face. His heart jumped up and down as an innocent desire swept through his veins.

Did you really mean that? Was he not the only one who stole small glances in the bullpen? Was he not alone in his heartbreak when watching someone else flirt with you? Surely, this was a symptom of the alcohol. Maybe-

“It’s so hot in here,” you broke the silence, breaking away from him. He swallowed hard, eyes moving hesitantly away from your face.

“I’ll uh, I’ll change your thermostat,” he stood up, moving towards the hall.

“Thank you, Spence,” you lied down, sniffling once more.

He gave up on having you take out your contacts or change your clothes. He just spread another blanket over you, shutting off the lights. He even took the liberty of setting your alarm. Before he left, he heard you mumble a small, “Good night, Spence.”

He smiled, sighing.

“Good night.”

—

“Hey, Pretty Girl, didn’t have too much fun last night, did you?” Morgan laughed. He couldn’t see you rolling your eyes under the sunglasses that shielded you from another migraine.

“Ha-ha,” you set your stuff down. “That’s me laughing at your funny joke.”

“Honestly, I’m shocked you didn’t show up with Boy Genius, this morning,” he crossed his arms. “Leaving together from the bar, going back to your place-“

“Derek, nothing happened,” you huffed. At least, you THOUGHT nothing happened. The events of the last twelve hours were an honest blur.

“Okay, okay, I yield,” he threw up his hands, going back to his own work. You turned to see Spencer walking in at about the same time.

He had replayed your words in his mind about a thousand times, maybe more. Did you really mean it when you said you loved having him as your boyfriend? Maybe you said that to every guy who took you home drunk. He thought going through all the possibilities would make it easier to face you, in the morning. He proved himself wrong.

You pulled off your glasses, standing up. As he sat down at his desk, you leaned over it.

“I wanted to say thank you for last night,” you spoke softly, not out of secret, but out of vulnerability.

“It’s no trouble,” he smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he looked up at you, moving some files around his desk.

“I really, really appreciate it,” you spoke apologetically. “I wasn’t too much… trouble, was I?” You smiled nervously. “When i’m inebriated, my inhibitions tend to…” you trailed off, trying to find the words.

“Disappear?” He smiled, laughing a little.

“Yeah…”

“You weren’t any trouble,” he reassured you, voice steady. “Actually, it was,” he smiled. “It was nice.”

“Nice?” you laughed, feeling your headache melt away at his soft voice.

“Being able to take care of you,” he defended playfully. “I don’t usually get to do that; it’s usually the other way around,” he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, looking up at your soft smile. “There was something I wanted to talk about, though…” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Crap, did I do something weird last night? I’m so sorry, if I did, I never-“

“No, no, nothing like that,” he laughed nervously. “You uhm…” he grabbed the back of his neck. He wanted to know if you really felt the same way he did. He wanted to know if you would hold his hand like that while sober. He wanted you. “Would you like to, maybe, get together sometime again?” He squeaked out, smiling shyly. “Maybe, this time, without the alcohol?” You smiled at his offer.

“I absolutely would, Spence,” you giggled out, tapping a nail habitually on the screen dividing your desks. He sighed a sigh of relief.

“Cool,” he pursed his lips together in a smile.

“Cool,” you mirrored him subconsciously.

Maybe it wasn’t just for the night.

(‼️💕THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REQUESTED PART TWO. REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN💕‼️)

[dekariosclan]

Gale Dekarios: The absolute sweetest and most absurd friend you could ask for

So, let me start by saying I don’t know anything about DND at all.

I’m not familiar with the world or aware of well-known locations, deities, items etc, etc. Most if not all of the references in BG3 go right over my head—so I tend to look a lot of things up just so I have some frame of reference.

You may remember this conversation from the Epilogue with ‘Friend Gale’. If you turn down his initial offer for you to come be a guest lecturer, he’ll gently insist that you still come visit him, and offer you this to entice you:

It’s super sweet, right?! How could anyone resist an offer of a good dinner and some wine with a friend?

It just recently occurred to me that ‘Elverquisst’ sounded pretty fancy, it must be a DND thing too? At the very least I was sure it’d have some short description or reference, though I half expected it to just be a local Waterdhavian wine.

…

…here’s the description from the Forgotten Realms Wiki page for Elverquisst:

Elverquisst was ruby colored, "distilled from sunshine and rare summer fruits." It was smooth but flecked with gold. It was generally stored in bottles made of transparent crystal, capable of absorbing light. Upon speaking a specific phrase in Elvish, the light gathered into thirteen distinct points that resembled the constellation Correlian.[1]

Elverquisst was highly prized by elves, especially in autumn. A ritual was involved in drinking Elverquisst. The ritual involved a chant, pouring the liquid into a goblet, swirling it around, sharing it with others, and offering a ritual bow of the head in thanks.[1]

Well! That all sounds extremely wonderful and fancy, I wonder how much a bottle of that would co—

 The liquid itself could rack up as much as 9,000 gp with additional 2,000 gp for the bottle, totaling at 11,000 gp.[3]

EXCUSE ME WHAT

UM…

…here’s the most expensive drink I could find in BG3, a Carafe of Wine:

And the most expensive item I could find in the whole damn game, the Legendary Helldusk Armor:

…GALE.

GALE, HONEY.

TLDR: Your good friend Gale just invited you to join him for an evening of invigorating conversation, delicious food, and the wine equivalent of a McLaren F1.