#love for love's sake fanfic

[athousandbyeol]

we started with a kiss. [myungha x yeowoon fanfic]

at the age of 18, yeowoon gets his first kiss. at the age of 18, yeowoon experiences his first heartbreak. and at the age of 18, yeowoon learns the meaning of true love.

or this is yeowoon's journey to accepting he can love and be loved by myungha without anything holding him back. and he can kiss myungha whenever he wants to if myungha is okay with that. (he is).

[justaz]

merlin who uses his magic everyday in ways that he doesn’t realize isn’t normal. magic helping him see in the dark so he can find his way in the woods or dark rooms with no problem. connecting with the woods around him so he always knows where he is and whats in the general vicinity which allows him to sense bandits just before they attack. using magic to keep warm in the cold or to cool down in the heat. confident and willing to go toe to toe with anyone bc he knows that regardless of what they throw at him, he could always win bc he could just use magic.

then somehow someway (post magic reveal) a sorcerer takes away merlin’s magic. or well just locks it away ig. but anyways merlin doesn’t have this part of him anymore and is left feeling empty, exposed, and vulnerable. arthur, the knights, and merlin going on a quest for answers to their problem and a way to get merlins magic back. but. but. but merlin is all jumpy and he’s rambling more than ever and is often reaching out to grab onto someone (usually arthur) and everyone’s confused and then they get ambushed and merlin freezes in the middle of the path like a deer. he’s watching everything go down around him with wide eyes until he’s targeted and one of the knights have to rush in to save him. afterward merlin is constantly holding someone and his grip is rather tight. he keeps looking around, his eyes scanning the trees around them over and over. when they try and settle down for the night, merlin wont leave the camp without an escort or two and when they’re trying to go to sleep, merlin is flinching at every noise in the woods around them and ends up shuffling over toward the person closest to him and laying pressed up against them.

arthur opening his mouth to tease and call him a coward when the word registers in his mind and he realizes that that’s what he’s actually seeing, merlin scared and defenseless. he ofc doesn’t realize the true depth of it all, i mean he knows merlin is missing his magic but he doesn't know that magic has always been a part of merlin, it makes him him. he’s had magic since he was born, he’s never known life without it. as he is now, he feels bare and exposed and blind and deaf and terrified. the knights are his defense rn and for the past few years, merlins been their protector so its a complete reversal of everything he’s ever known. he’s scared. arthur bites his tongue and lets merlin hold onto his arm and snuggle up close at night for some form of comfort and security. he doesn’t tease or mock and responds to his ramblings of fear with a level of gentleness the knights weren’t aware he even possessed. merlin slowly relaxing as arthur subtly comforts him without addressing it

[sp0o0kylights]

I'm rewatching S3 and there's a part at the very end of the 7th episode where Mike tells Dustin he couldn't understand half of what he said over the walkie.

Dustin responds by going: "Goddamn low battery"

AND STEVE, our BOY responds by going "How many times do I have to tell you with the low battery!?"

WHICH MEANS: this is a situation that's happened before, specifically, happened enough between the two of them that Steve's bitched multiple times about how Dustin needs to replace his batteries more often bc he lets them go low.

So either somewhat vigilant Steve is canon OR (the more likely scenario canon wise) Dustin bothers the living shit out of Steve with the walkie and Steve just casually accepts this as part of their friendship, and gets annoyed when Dustin's battery dies on the reg lol.

[leclerckiss]

milk & honey ౨ৎ

notes: charles leclerc x reader, established relationship, fluff.

a/n: this is my first uploaded piece on my new blog so please interact, would very much be appreciated.

It is a gentle afternoon in the principality of Monaco: the skies a palette of pale lilac against the quilt of grey clouds in gentle rainfall that lingers with a hint of petrichor, a slow and familiar hustle amongst the streets of smooth stone and Belle Époque architecture where a stray cat wanders her path before disappearing once more into the alcoves of an alley.

After a slow dawn of waking amongst a mess of clean, linen sheets, feathered pillows, and tangled limbs where the heavy, velvet curtains danced serenely in some lovers' waltz, hiding the bedroom in some quiet bask, the both of you enjoyed breakfast over almond croissants, blueberries stolen from one another's plates and your usual café au lait – half a sugar, more milk than deemed necessary, just as Charles knows you love it – before you had walked around the neighbourhood by eleven o'clock to at least feel somewhat productive.

Even when the both of you only wanted to lounge endlessly after returning from Montréal the day before.

Despite finishing 4th and not quite following through in his hopes in securing an awarding podium and a taste of sweet champagne, faced with the recent difficulties of upgrades, he had come to accept and delight in his small succession nonetheless with you by his side, forever proud regardless.

Phones on mute, the rest of society blissfully forgotten and only each other to indulge in, it is pure bliss; perfect heaven.

"Hm, you smell nice," By two o'clock – after a light luncheon on the balcony overlooking the beauty of the Côte d'Azur – you are dozing idly about the plush invitation of the sofa, his voice a hushed murmur near the side of your neck where lips ghost over in something close to a kiss when he speaks.

Charles is half-draped over your own figure, though his weight is comfortably balanced by an elbow against a sewn cushion, some kind of Jardin De Fleurs -inspired embroidery made and gifted by your grandmother, with ankles locked about each other and your soft-skinned palm tracing his shoulder through the white linen of his shirt.

For a moment, a quietude settles between you once more and you welcome the entwined curl of his lithe fingers around your own when his hand drifts higher from the inside of your wrist absently like some unspoken 'I love you' before his mouth meets yours.

It is slow and sweet, the kind of kisses you savour in committing to memory each and every time, and he can taste remnants of sweetened milk & honey tea on your breath that is so apparently mundane but equally unique to you alone.

When your head tilts back against the cushions – hair falling about like an angel's halo – and Charles shifts his own body further, closer, above you, his hands come to cradle either side of your lovely face, his thumbs grazing the delicate line of your cheekbones, his nose brushing lightly against the bridge of your own.

He kisses your brow, then the bridge of your nose, the apples of your cheeks, and finally your mouth again, all in that order, before breaking away for air.

"What was that for?" Voice hardly a demure whisper, you gaze at him through the veil of your lashes in some lovesick delight where your mouth threatens to curve against a hushed giggle, your own touch idly feeling along the carved line of his jaw like intricate marble where a dusting of five o'clock shadow lingers from a few days' worth. You secretly adore it, how it feels.

Charles smiles – all beautiful, revealed dimples and a glimmer in his eyes that remind of leaves in late August – and brushes a stray hair behind the shell of your ear. He takes a moment, his gaze lingering about the lines of your visage as if falling in love again, everyday. "For no particular reason, ma chérie, just because I want to."

Then he is leaning down to meet you again just as you welcome the embrace without question, only allowing yourself to melt further into the serenity of some lovesick truth as your arms drape about his shoulders faintly.

"Je pense..." Charles' mouth drifts down from yours slowly in a trail of kisses about your chin in his verbalised albeit quiet musings before lips slant together again and he encourages you to open for him, tasting, feeling, his tongue teasing over yours in a caress, "That I don't need a reason to kiss you."

In some silent, earnest contentment, you agree, because you could never refuse or object to the intimacy of his kisses and touches.

Mouth curving upwards against his, you let your fingertips feel the trimmed, soft hairs at his nape against tousled brunet tresses whilst breathing him in: Ombré Nomade cologne, hints of something akin to cedarwood against raspberry, incense and warm amber, against his natural pheromones. Home.

Feeling the lean muscles against his back through the soft fabric, toying only subtly with the subtle drag of teeth against his plush lower-lip whilst your eyes remain blissfully closed, you meet the faintest resonance of a sound from the back of his throat like a purr when he sucks upon your tongue with the same touch of loving.

"Vous êtes si belle," He sighs the compliments against you in sweet nothings and unabashed confessions, his own touch ghosting over the curves of your waist through the ivory, lace camisole hugging your physique, thumbs fleeting over the jut of your hip-bone before drifting higher once more.

It is when idle strokes are felt over your rib cage that you unconsciously emit a breathless, flushed sound of laughter against him before you can help yourself, instinctively shrinking against the touch whilst earning a look from him as he draws away fractionally with arched brows.

"Ticklish, are we, ma chérie?"

Your mouth parts for a retort or quick dismissal out of bashfulness – even when you know that he already knows too, given the Monégasque has the privilege to know each intimate, secretive and wholehearted truth about you – though the words die on your tongue the moment his fingertips continue their ministrations over your sides.

You cannot stop the serenade of laughter from leaving you, not when you are entirely vulnerable beneath, and a warmth settles in your chest when the corners of his eyes crinkle in a genuine smile as he continues tickling you.

"Arrêt–" A breathless gasp of imploration, palms that reach to try and draw him away with a shove at his chest though your rosé cheeks hurt from the depth of your raw, honest smiles, "Charles." ꒰ stop ꒱

Chuckling lowly, the man offers you the respite of mercy as he comes to a halt and kisses the corner of your mouth intimately, instead allowing his hands to feel the curve of your lower-back and the notches of your vertebrae until eyes meet in the peace of the afternoon, otherwise silent save for the lull of Lana del Rey from the kitchenette radio.

"Je t'aime." ꒰ i love you ꒱

He kisses you again and it is rich in his responding, ardent devotion to you, letting the faint remnants of your lipstick smear his own mouth like the prints you leave on hand-written love letters of cursive Française just for him in your diaries, the cashmere throw forgotten about your feet on the other end of the chaise lounge whilst rain continues.

"Je t'aime aussi, pour toujours." ꒰ i love you too, forever ꒱

[minus-plus-zer0]

Catching Him in His Celebrity Disguise

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader ♡ Tags: Aged up

There were only a handful of people walking around the park, even though it was such a lovely day outside. You had a small lunch packed in your bag and you headed over to your favorite bench to eat when you realized a certain man was already occupying the space.

He wore a baseball cap that couldn't fully flatten his blonde spikes that poked out from all sides. His face mask obscured his expression and his tight black shirt showed off his fit body quite well. He briefly whipped off his sunglasses to see his phone better. You approached him and sat down, and when you caught his red eyes, that's when you knew you were in the presence of the Pro Hero, Dynamight.

He caught the flicker of realization on your face. He silently panicked for two reasons. One, you recognized him. Two, you were the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen.

"...Dynamight?" You must've looked like a deer in the headlights.

"...Hi?" You could tell he was shocked too.

"Oh, you're much more awkward in person! Haha! That's so cute! I'm such a big fan!"

"Lower your voice!" Dynamight said through gritted teeth, pulling off his mask to reveal his slightly pink face. "I just wanted some peace and quiet out here, don't announce my presence to the world!"

"Sorry!" Your hands flew up to your mouth. "Is it okay if I sit here? I really love how secluded this spot is. Though, I don't really mind if you're here."

"You're already sitting," he said, furrowing his brows. "Keep sitting if you want, I ain't gonna stop ya..." He glanced at you, nervously. "Do ya come here all the time?"

"Yes! But I have never seen you here before." You dug out your small lunch box from your bag. Most of your food was homecooked, sweet to the taste, and pink. Bakugou wrinkled his nose at the sight. "I didn't think you liked this city. You're always complaining about it on the news, which makes me kinda sad since it's my hometown."

"I didn't mean that shit!" Bakugou cried, putting his phone away. "I say bad things about everyone, everywhere. Don't take it personally."

"Well it's very nice of you to clarify that!" You started munching on one of your pink macaroons.

"Do you like it here?" he asked. "You think I do a good job of protecting your hometown?"

"Yeah, obviously! You saved my favorite bakery last week!"

Bakugou looked thoughtfully into the distance of the park, recalling the scene. "I remember that shit. The owner gave me such a big hassle for not defeating the villain before they wrecked the front entrance."

"Well they were able to recover anyways. I swear their food is really good, you should really go sometime!"

"You wanna go with me?" he asked, his head turning a little too quickly.

You gulped down your macaroon. "...As a date?"

"No! I--I don't fucking know! You wanna go or not?"

"Calm down. I'm only teasing you, hero. I'll go with you, okay?"

"You could've just said that from the start!"

A few nearby civilians peeked at your increasingly loud conversation and Bakugou shut up immediately, keeping his head down. You giggled.

Bakugou didn't speak until they fully passed by. "Can't believe you're laughing at me. I'm one of the top Pro Heroes of the damn country, and you're laughing at me!"

"You're not a top Pro Hero right now, are you?" You poked his cheek. "You're just an ordinary, aggressive guy hiding in plain sight."

"I am anything but ordinary."

Bakugou's stomach growled loudly. He grasped the offending thing like he could hide the noise.

"Poor hero! You must be so hungry. Here, I have some grapes you can eat!" You took out a grape from your lunch box, offering it to him. He popped it into his mouth.

"Thanks," he said between chews. "You sure you don't mind sharing?"

"I would never mind sharing with you," you said, handing him another grape. He gratefully accepted it. "You're the hero this country needs. Your face is all over our TVs when you come here to save us. And... well... you're even prettier in-person to boot."

You hid your face a little when saying that, but you wanted to take a chance to say it to his face while he was still here. He averted his eyes too. You hoped you didn't make him uncomfortable, or maybe just the right kind of uncomfortable in a good way.

You took out another grape. "Besides, you can make it up to me on our next date, alright?" You held out the grape for him.

Instead of taking it with his hands, Bakugou took the grape with his teeth from your fingers. You almost gasped.

"Tasty," he said, chewing with a smug grin. Your mouth was still agape. "Do you hand-feed all the other Pro Heroes you meet?"

You couldn't believe he just did that. He was so bold. But you wanted to be bolder.

"...No, just you," you said, your heart racing. You took out another grape. "Want some more?"

Despite his smugness, his voice was a little wobbly when he said, "Keep 'em coming."

On that day, Bakugou got to meet his belated first love.

Years later, you and Bakugou happened to pass by the same park bench in the same lonely park. You clung to Bakugou's arm, holding his hand as he strut around in public like he was on top of the world. He always felt like that when he had you around.

You pointed at the bench and elbowed Bakugou. "Look! This is where we met, right?"

"That's why I fucking brought ya here," he said, kissing your temple. "Was wondering if you'd recognize the damn old thing.

"You're such a romantic," you said.

Bakugou led you over to the bench and sat down, with you cuddling up beside him.

"You never visit this park even though we live close enough," you murmured.

"That's 'cause I wanted to take you back here with me," Bakugou said. "I've always made sure the city kept this place nice though. After all, this is our spot."

"Yeah, our spot."

[myfairkatiecat]

Everyone is entitled to love or hate a character, but if you’re loving or hating a character for the wrong reasons I’m gonna side eye you. They are the person they are, love or hate them for it but at least get them right smh

[corrupte3d-mindz]

Red Carpet Rush

Cillian Murphy x Wife Reader

Summary: Cillian and his wife get dressed and are about to leave but then temptation takes over.

Wordcount: 6.1k

Warnings:

Straight up smut with a plot but the plot is messy especially in the first act of it, but once the afterparty hits, that’s where the good shits at and there’s a lot of oral, especially for the female lolz, switch! Cillian, slightly perverted Cillian if you squint, breeding kink?…, messy towards the end?!,unsafe sex, f! overstimulating, m! & f! oral receiving and giving, handjobs, fingering, p in v, soft/dirty talk, aftercare.

Cillian adjusted his bow tie while looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, exhaling slowly as he contemplated the evening ahead. While the honor of a nomination thrilled him, the prospect of mingling at yet another social event filled him with a familiar sense of dread. Lost in his thoughts, a sudden, captivating sound broke through: the distinct click of heels on the tile floor. An intimate shiver coursed through him, stirring something deep within.

He turned, and there she was. His wife, a vision of elegance and allure, stood before him. The black lace gloves caressed her slender arms, the pearls he had gifted her gleamed softly against her skin, and then his eyes found the pièce de résistance—the dress. It clung to her curves in all the right places, a tantalizing blend of sophistication and seduction. His heart quickened, and a primal desire flared within him.

"Christ, love," he murmured, his voice thick with a blend of admiration and lust. "You look... absolutely breathtaking."

She smiled, a knowing glint in her eye as she sauntered closer, the sway of her hips almost hypnotic. Cillian's pulse raced as he reached out, his fingers grazing the delicate lace of her gloves.

"These gatherings might be a bore," he whispered, his Irish accent adding a lyrical cadence to his words, "but you, my dear, make them worth every bloody second."

She chuckled softly, leaning in to brush her lips against his cheek. "Just try to behave yourself tonight," she teased, her breath warm against his skin.

His eyes darkened with desire as he pulled her closer, his hands resting on her waist. "No promises," he breathed, his lips hovering near her ear. "Especially when you look like that. It's going to be a challenge keeping my hands off you."

She bit her lip, a playful glint in her eye. "Then I suppose we'll have to make the most of our time before we leave, won't we?"

Cillian gave her a perverted grin, he checked his watch the time reading five hours before the whole event. The look of hunger and absolute desire. Cillian’s fingers gently brushed her cheek, his touch feather-light but electrifying. He cupped her face with a tenderness that belied the fire in his gaze. Without a word, he leaned in, capturing her lips in an insanely intense and deep kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of years of shared moments, whispered secrets, and unspoken promises. His lips moved against hers with a practiced ease, as though he were memorizing every contour, every curve.

She responded in kind, her hands finding their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at his hairline. The world outside ceased to exist, the impending awards ceremony forgotten in the haze of their shared passion. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. Cillian’s hands slid down to her waist, his grip firm but gentle as he lifted her effortlessly. He carried her to the bathroom counter, the cool marble contrasting with the heat of their bodies. He set her down with a careful precision, not breaking the kiss for even a second. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer. Cillian’s hands roamed her sides, tracing the lines of her dress with a reverence that made her shiver.

Breaking the kiss, he leaned back slightly, his breath coming in ragged pants. “God, yer beautiful,” he murmured, his Irish accent thick with emotion. His eyes raked over her, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and swollen lips. “Every time I look at ye, it feels like the first time.”

She smiled, a soft, knowing smile that spoke volumes. “You always know how to make me feel special, Cill,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts.

He kissed her again, softer this time, a promise of things to come. “I can’t help it,” he replied, his lips brushing against hers with every word. “Ye drive me mad, in the best way possible.” He trailed kisses along her jawline, down to the sensitive spot behind her ear. She tilted her head, giving him better access, a soft moan escaping her lips.

He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against the silky fabric of her dress, sending a shiver down her spine. His breath was hot against her neck as he leaned in, his lips grazing her ear. "Yer lookin' ravishin', love," he murmured, his Irish accent adding a melodic lilt to his words. She turned her head slightly, catching his gaze with a playful smile, knowing full well the effect she had on him.

Cillian's hand moved to her back, the heat of his touch seeping through the thin material. He took his time, savoring the moment as his fingers found the zipper. With deliberate slowness, he began to pull it down, the sound of the zipper echoing in the room. Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip, feeling the fabric loosen and fall away from her shoulders. As the dress slipped down, revealing the delicate black lace straps of her lingerie, Cillian couldn't suppress a low, throaty moan. "Jesus Christ, darlin'," he breathed, his eyes darkening with desire. "Yer pullin' me leg, wearin' this for tonight..”

Her body reacted instantly, heat pooling low in her belly. She faced him her lips slightly parted in surprise. "Cillian," she breathed, a mix of admonishment and need in her tone. But he was relentless, his hands sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His hands slid down to the bottom of her dress then reaching in.

He hooked his fingers around the front of her panties, pulling them down just enough to gain access. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. She felt her breath catch in her throat, her body already responding to his touch. The intimacy of the moment, the way he looked at her, made her feel completely bare, exposed in the best possible way. As his thumb traced over her clit, his strokes were uneven, unpredictable. He kept her guessing, the rhythm changing just as she thought she could anticipate the next move. Her hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more pressure, more friction. He chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

“Ye like that, love?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper against her ear. The question was rhetorical; he knew the answer.

She could only nod, biting her lip to stifle a moan. His thumb pressed down a little harder, drawing circles that made her legs tremble. His other hand, resting on her thigh, squeezed gently, grounding her in the moment. She could feel the roughness of his palm, a stark contrast to the gentleness of his touch.

“Ye’re so responsive,” he continued, his voice laced with admiration. “I love seein’ ye like this.”

Her breath hitched as he slipped a finger inside her, the sensation both shocking and electrifying. He moved with a slow, torturous pace, curling his finger just enough to hit the right spot. She gasped, her hands clutching the bathroom counter beneath her. He added another finger, stretching her slightly, the feeling both overwhelming and exquisite. Cillian’s thumb continued its uneven strokes on her clit, building her arousal higher and higher. She felt the heat pooling in her belly, her body tightening in anticipation of release. His fingers moved in and out of her, the rhythm maddeningly slow. Each thrust, each curl of his fingers, was precise, designed to drive her wild.

“God, Cillian,” she breathed, her voice shaky. “Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’,” he replied, his tone affectionate yet commanding.

He increased the pace slightly, his fingers moving faster now, his thumb pressing down harder on her clit. She could feel the pressure building, her body coiling tighter and tighter. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, and she cried out, her hands flying to his shoulders for support.

“Ye’re close, aren’t ye?” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. “I can feel ye tremblin’.”

She nodded frantically, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream. His fingers were relentless, driving her towards the edge with every stroke. She could feel herself teetering on the brink, the world narrowing down to the points where their bodies connected.

“Come for me, love,” he commanded softly, his voice like velvet. “Come on my fingers”

His words were her undoing. She shattered around him, her body convulsing as the orgasm ripped through her. Her cries filled the room, her hands gripping his shoulders with desperate strength. He kept moving his fingers, drawing out her pleasure, prolonging the ecstasy. As the waves of her climax subsided, she collapsed against him, her body spent and trembling. He withdrew his fingers slowly, carefully, and brought them to his lips, tasting her essence. The sight was almost enough to make her come again.

“Ye taste divine,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “I could do this all night.”

She smiled weakly, her body still humming with aftershocks. “You have no idea what you do to me,” she whispered.

He lay down beside her, pulling her close. “Oh, I think I do, love,” he replied, his eyes twinkling. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

However Cillian wasn’t done, lord she didn’t know what was coming to her.

As she leaned against the bathroom counter, her eyes focused intently on the mirror. Turning her back to the Cillian, she couldn't have anticipated the magnetic pull that Cillian always seemed to exert on her, a force of nature she was helpless to resist. Cillian stood just a few steps away, his eyes locked onto her reflection. He watched her with a mixture of admiration and raw desire, his gaze tracing the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts, and the delicate lines of her neck. His eyes darkened as they moved lower, noticing the damp spot forming at the crotch of her panties.

"Love," he began, his voice thick with his Irish brogue and roughened by lust, "I can still see yer cunt drippin' through yer panties...still want more you needy slut..”

He moved closer, his hands finding her waist with practiced ease, pulling her against him. His touch was firm yet tender, the grip of a man who knew every inch of her body and reveled in its responses. He loved her hips, their gentle dips, and the promise of life they had carried. She had given him two beautiful children, and the thought of a third stirred something primal within him. Her breath hitched as she felt his hands slide around her body, cupping her hips. The heat of his palms seeped through the thin fabric of her dress, making her shiver in anticipation.

"Cillian," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, laden with need and anticipation.

"Shh, darlin'," he murmured against her ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. "Let me take care of ya."

His hands slipped under the hem of her dress, pushing it up and over her hips, exposing her to the cool air. She gasped, her body arching into his touch. Cillian's fingers found the edge of her panties once more, pulling them down slowly, savoring every inch of skin that was revealed like he didn’t just see it a minute ago.

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groaned, his voice a husky whisper. His fingers slid through her folds, gathering her slickness before circling her clit. Her hips bucked against his hand, seeking more of his touch.

Her head fell back against his shoulder, her eyes closing as she surrendered to the sensations he was creating. Cillian's other hand moved to her breast, kneading the soft flesh through her dress, his thumb brushing over her nipple.

"Cillian, please," she begged, her voice trembling with need. "I need you."

"Aye, love," he murmured, his lips brushing against her neck. "I know."

He turned her around, lifting her onto the counter. Her legs spread instinctively, making room for him between her thighs. He knelt, his eyes locking onto hers as he kissed his way up her inner thigh.

"Yer gonna feel so good, darlin'," he promised, his voice a seductive purr.

His tongue flicked out, tasting her, and she cried out, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. He licked and sucked at her clit, his fingers teasing her entrance. Her body trembled, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was giving her.

"Fuck, Cillian," she gasped, her hips grinding against his face.

He groaned, the vibrations sending shivers through her. His fingers slid into her, filling her, and she moaned loudly. He curled his fingers, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars.

"That's it, love," he murmured against her clit. "Come for me."

She shattered, her orgasm washing over her in waves. Her body tensed and shook, her cries echoing in the bathroom. Cillian didn't stop, prolonging her pleasure until she was a quivering, breathless mess. Cillian looked up at her from her messy cunt with a glimmer of mischief.

“I think you can come again..”

That’s a chill down her spine, knowing that Cillian always had something up his sleeve, especially when it came to pleasuring her. What in the world was he gonna make her go through. A lot.. there was going to be a mess happening in this bathroom… He began with a kiss, a soft press of his lips against her inner thigh, teasing and testing her patience. His tongue followed, tracing patterns on her skin, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. When he finally reached her center, his tongue darted out, a light flick against her most sensitive spot that made her gasp.

"Cill," she moaned, her voice a breathless plea that only spurred him on. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as his tongue delved deeper, exploring and tasting her with a fervent intensity. He alternated between slow, languid strokes and quick, teasing flicks, his rhythm designed to drive her to the edge and keep her there.

Her hips bucked against his mouth, seeking more, but Cillian was relentless in his control. He pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire as he watched her. "Not yet, darlin'," he whispered, his voice rough with need. "I want t' see ye come apart for me." His thumb joined the fray, finding her clit with unerring precision. He rubbed it in slow, deliberate circles, the pressure just enough to push her higher but not enough to tip her over the edge. Her moans grew louder, filling the small bathroom with the sound of her pleasure.

"Cillian, please," she begged, her voice breaking on the words. Her body was a live wire, every nerve ending alight with sensation. He took pity on her then, increasing the pace of his thumb while his tongue continued its relentless assault. The combination was too much, too intense, and she felt herself hurtling towards the edge. Her climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with a force that left her breathless and trembling. Cillian held her through it, his movements never faltering as he guided her through the waves of pleasure. When she finally came down, he pressed a soft kiss to her thigh, his eyes filled with a quiet satisfaction.

It was his turn now…

With a slow, deliberate motion, he undid his belt with one hand, a practiced move that made her heart race. The sight of him undressing, so confident and controlled, always had a primal effect on her, stirring something deep and animalistic within. His fingers deftly unbuttoned his pants, the fabric slipping down his hips as he reached into his suit trousers. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, her breath hitching as she watched him pull out his already hard cock. The sight of him, so ready and eager, sent a wave of heat through her body.

"God, you always look so good when you take my cock," he murmured, his Irish accent wrapping around the words, making them all the more intoxicating. His voice was a low rumble, filled with a mix of lust and affection that made her pulse quicken.

She got off the counter and knelt before him, her eyes locked onto his throbbing cock. It stood proud and ready, glistening with pre-come that dripped tantalizingly from the slit. Her fingers wrapped around his length, the warmth of her touch making him groan softly. She marveled at how beautiful he looked, every inch of him demanding to be worshiped. Her thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles around the sensitive tip, drawing shaky breaths from Cillian. Occasionally, she traced the slit with precise precision, a motion that sent electric shivers down his spine and made his entire body tremble.

"Fuck, love, just like that," he muttered, his Irish brogue rough with desire.

She glanced up at him, her gaze meeting his. The raw need in his eyes spurred her on. She carefully took him into her mouth, just the tip at first, savoring the salty taste of him on her tongue. Cillian's hand reached out, gently grabbing a fistful of her hair. He was careful not to mess it up, but they both knew they had time to fix it if things got a bit wild.

"Christ," he breathed, his voice low and strained. "You're gonna be the death of me, y'know that?"

She responded with a soft hum, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure coursing through him. Slowly, she took him deeper, inch by inch, until he hit the back of her throat. His grip on her hair tightened, but he remained gentle, not wanting to hurt her. Her lips formed a perfect seal around him, and she began to bob her head, setting a steady rhythm that had him on the edge of control. His hips bucked involuntarily, and he had to force himself to stay still, to let her set the pace.

"Fuck, love, you're incredible," he rasped, his accent thickening with each word. "So bloody perfect."

She moved her hand to the base of his cock, stroking in tandem with her mouth, while her other hand cupped his balls, gently massaging them. Cillian's head fell back, his eyes closing as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. Every so often, she'd pull back, just to the tip, and swirl her tongue around the head, teasing him until he was a trembling mess beneath her. Then, she'd take him deep again, her cheeks hollowing with the effort.

"You're too good at this, darlin'," he managed to say between gasps. "Gonna make me lose my mind."

She pulled back for a moment, her hand continuing to pump his length as she looked up at him. "That's the idea, love," she whispered, her voice sultry and filled with mischief. Cillian's breath hitched at her words, and he tightened his grip on her hair, guiding her back to his cock. "Then don't stop," he urged, his voice a low growl.

She obliged, taking him back into her mouth with renewed vigor. Her head bobbed faster now, her tongue working magic on his sensitive flesh. He was close, so close, and she could tell by the way his thighs tensed and his breathing became erratic.His hand slipped from her hair to her shoulder, gripping it tightly as he felt the familiar heat pooling in his groin. "Gonna cum, love," he warned, his voice strained. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

She didn't falter, her mouth and hands working in perfect harmony to push him over the edge. With a final, shuddering gasp, he exploded, his cum spilling into her mouth in hot, thick spurts. She swallowed every drop, her eyes never leaving his face as he rode out his orgasm. When he finally came down from his high, she released him gently, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his now-softening cock before standing up and facing the mirror. Cillian was still panting heavily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Without a word, they both knew it was time to leave, but an electric current of unspoken desire lingered between them. As he fixed his bow tie in the mirror, he caught her reflection, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and the residue of their passionate encounter.

"Ready, love?" he asked, his Irish accent adding a lyrical lilt to his words.

She nodded, her lips curving into a knowing smile. They stepped out, and the ride to the Oscars was filled with a charged silence. Cillian's mind wandered, replaying the moments they'd just shared. His eyes traced the outline of her legs, imagining the softness of her skin under his fingers. He reached over, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, and she responded with a mischievous glance that promised more to come. The ceremony was a whirlwind of lights, cameras, and applause. Cillian's nomination had already put them in the spotlight, but the electricity between them added an extra spark to their evening. When his name was announced as the winner, he stood up, the room erupting in applause. As he made his way to the stage, he cast a glance back at her, the pride in her eyes filling him with warmth.

As the night progressed, they mingled with other celebrities, but their connection remained unbroken. They exchanged glances across the room, each one a silent promise. Finally, as the evening drew to a close, they slipped away, eager to return to the privacy of their home. Back in the car, Cillian's hand found its way to her thigh, his fingers drawing lazy circles on her skin. She shivered at his touch, her body already anticipating what was to come. They barely made it through the door before their lips met in a fervent kiss, the intensity of their need taking over. He pressed her against the wall, his hands roaming over her body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and contour.

"Couldn't stop thinkin' about ye all night," he murmured against her neck, his breath hot and uneven.

Cillian chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he moved them both onto their bed. His cock was already making a massive tent in his pants, a testament to his intense desire for her. She could feel it throbbing against her thigh, a constant reminder of the hunger that simmered between them.

"Baby, you looked so fuckin' good up there," she murmured.

His hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves he knew so well. She shivered under his touch, her own arousal mirroring his. Their eyes locked, and the connection between them felt almost tangible, a living, breathing entity that demanded attention. He leaned in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of need, of passion, of a love that consumed them both. She responded eagerly, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and the faint hint of whiskey from the after-party.

Cillian's hands moved to the zipper of her dress, slowly lowering it to reveal the smooth expanse of her back. He trailed kisses down her spine, each one igniting a fire that burned hotter and hotter. She arched against him, her body craving more of his touch.

"Ye drive me mad, y'know that?" he whispered against her skin, his breath hot and tantalizing.

She let out a soft moan, the sound sending a jolt of arousal straight to his groin. He moved her so she was beneath him, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. His hands slid under the dress, pushing it up and over her head, leaving her in nothing but her lacy undergarments. Cillian's breath was heavy, almost ragged, as his hands snaked towards her black lace panties. His fingers trembled with anticipation, a testament to his barely contained desire. As he reached the delicate strap that curved around her hip, he paused, savoring the moment, his eyes drinking in every inch of her form.

With a careful, deliberate movement, he hooked his right pointer finger around the strap. The lace was soft against his skin, a stark contrast to the intensity of his need. He tugged gently, the fabric yielding to his touch. He felt the tension in his own body mirrored in hers as he carefully removed the whole thing, the black lace sliding down her legs and finally off her feet.

He took in the sight before him, his heart pounding in his chest. God, she was so fucking beautiful, especially her dripping cunt, glistening in the dim light of their bedroom. His breath hitched, and he let out a low, reverent, “Fuckin’ hell…”

His voice was thick with awe and lust, the Irish lilt making the words sound even more intimate. He knelt between her legs, his eyes never leaving her face. He could see the desire burning in her eyes, matching his own. The connection between them was electric, a living, breathing thing that pulsed with every heartbeat. Slowly, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh. Her skin was warm, her scent intoxicating. He trailed kisses upwards, each one a promise of the pleasure to come. She shivered under his touch, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Ye’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, love,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and husky. “Can’t get enough of ye.”

With a low growl, he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from her dripping cunt. The scent of her arousal filled his senses, driving him wild with desire. He could hear the raggedness of his own breath, could feel the blood rushing through his veins. He was consumed by the need to taste her, to feel her slick heat against his tongue. But he held himself back, his self-control warring with his primal instincts. He knew he needed to take things slow, to savor every moment with her. With a deep breath, he pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting hers with a fierce intensity.

"Lie back for me, love," he whispered, his voice a gentle command laced with affection.

She complied, reclining onto the bed as he positioned himself between her legs. Without another word, he leaned in, pressing a series of soft, reverent kisses along her inner thighs. Each touch was a testament to his love and desire, a promise of the pleasure to come. His hands gently caressed her hips, holding her steady as he lowered his head to her sloppy dripping cunt. He began with slow, tender licks, his tongue exploring her folds with a gentle curiosity. The taste of her, the scent of her arousal, it drove him wild. He couldn't help but let out a low groan, the sound vibrating against her sensitive skin.

"Fuckin' hell," he muttered against her, the words barely audible but filled with raw desire.

His movements were unhurried, deliberate. He wanted to savor every moment, to make her feel cherished and adored. His tongue circled her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to draw soft moans from her lips. He relished in the sounds she made, each one a testament to his effect on her.

"You're so good to me, Cillian," she breathed, her hands threading through his hair, urging him closer.

He responded by increasing the intensity of his ministrations, his tongue moving with a fervor that matched the pounding of his heart. He could feel her hips bucking against him, her body trembling with the pleasure he was giving her. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady as he continued his worship. Her moans grew louder, more desperate, and he knew she was close. He focused on her clit, alternating between flicks of his tongue and gentle suction, driving her higher and higher. He wanted nothing more than to see her fall apart, to know that he was the one who brought her to this peak.

When she finally came, it was with a cry of his name, her body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over her. He didn't stop, didn't let up, riding out her orgasm until she was a quivering, sated mess beneath him. He pressed a final, gentle kiss to her sloppy cunt before moving up to lie beside her. He gathered her in his arms, holding her close as she came down from her high. Cillian's eyes darkened with desire as he looked at her. His breath hitched, and his pulse quickened, the raw need evident in his gaze. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, and whispered in a voice thick with longing, "I need you, darlin'."

She felt the heat of his words and the shiver of anticipation it sent down her spine. Her heart pounded in her chest as she leaned into him, her body responding to his unspoken desire. She reached around him, her fingers deftly undoing the zipper of his pants. The urgency of her movements matched the thrum of his heartbeat. As she freed him from the confines of his trousers, Cillian let out a low, throaty growl. The sound was primal, filled with a hunger that spoke of how deeply he needed her. He captured her lips in a fierce, passionate kiss, his hands roaming over her body, feeling every curve, every inch of her that drove him wild with desire.

Her hands moved with purpose, stroking him, feeling the heat and hardness that pulsed with his need. He broke the kiss, his breath ragged, and looked into her eyes, his own filled with a mix of love and desperation. "You're driving me crazy," he murmured, his Irish lilt adding a melodic quality to his words.

She smiled, a mix of affection and mischief dancing in her eyes. "I know," she replied, her voice soft and teasing. "And I love it."

Cillian's hands moved to her hips, guiding her against him. The friction of her body against his sent waves of pleasure through him, each touch igniting the fire that burned within. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear once more. "I'm gonna make you scream my name, darlin'." Just then, Cillian gently and carefully slipping just an inch in her. Watching her movements and noises she made by being caught of guard. Then he bottomed out in her. The noises she made were like music to his ears.

“F-fuck your still so tight..you make me want to ruin that tight little hole of yours so bad”

As he begins to thrust, his movements are measured, synchronized with the rhythm of their bodies intertwining. Though typically reserved, his restraint is tested in this moment of raw vulnerability. Unable to contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through him, a low, guttural moan escapes his lips, betraying the depths of his pleasure. His breath becomes ragged, each exhale a symphony of ecstasy and longing.

“I saw the way you were lookin’ at me while I was up there givin’ that speech..” he paused, “You dirty fuckin’ slut..”

Cillian shuttered slightly, even though he’s rammed his cock in his wife’s cunt many times over but it still has not gotten old and he still cannot keep his composure as much as he wants to however a dominant side tends come out on certain days and in certain occasions, and this was that occasion.

“F-fuck your still so tight..you make me want to ruin that tight little hole of yours so bad”

He started to slowly and precariously thrust into her, making sure every single moment his hips collided with hers that it was perfection. His breath slowly started to crack and shutter. He was such a mess anytime he got his hands on her didn’t matter what situation, it didn’t matter aware. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, however, he was learning composure tonight it was her turn to be the thoughtless slut.

“Oh…I feel ye’ fuckin’ twitchin’ on it..love..”

His hand snaked up and around her perfect body, to the front of her dripping cunt. His thumb finding its way to her clit and beginning to rub uneven and broken circles around her clit, making her practically live on her toes just from this touch he was providing her.

“C-Cill~” She said while practically whimpering and moaning.

He smiled while barely keeping his composure. He was shivering, shaking, and practically drooling he never got used to this feeling, and he never would. It was always an intimate feeling that they both shared. “Fu-fuck you’re so perfect when you take my cock, love..”

Cillian started to speed up his thumb on her clit, he could and feel her coming close to cumming. He thrust becoming more fast deeper and more sloppy.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like it don’t you? You’re such a a slut..”

He sped up his thumb movements on her clit, while his hips were thrusting as fast as he could without physically passing out. When she finally came, it was with a scream that echoed through the room, her body shaking with the force of her climax. Cillian followed soon after, his own release hitting him like a freight train. He groaned her name, his body tensing as he spilled into her, the pleasure overwhelming him.

They collapsed together in a mess of sweat, bodily fluids, and love. Such a beautiful site to see truly. As the intensity of their passionate embrace begins to wane, Cillian tenderly guides her to the warmth and comfort of their bed. His movements are slow and deliberate, his touch gentle yet firm as he ensures she feels supported and cared for every step of the way. With a soft smile and a reassuring squeeze of her hand, he settles her onto the soft mattress, a sanctuary of peace and intimacy.

As they lay side by side, the warmth of their bodies radiating against each other, Cillian's hands begin to explore her skin with a tender reverence. His touch is gentle yet purposeful, his fingers tracing the contours of her body with an intimate familiarity that speaks of years spent in each other's embrace.

"Are you okay, love?" Cillian's voice was low and soothing, laced with genuine concern as he searched her eyes for any sign of discomfort or distress.

She nodded softly, her fingers intertwining with his as she squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I'm fine, Cillian," she replied, her voice warm and affectionate. "Just a bit tired, but in the best possible way."

Cillian's heart swelled with love for her, his chest tightening with a mixture of tenderness and desire. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering against her skin as he breathed in the scent of her hair. "You were incredible, as always," he murmured, his words filled with admiration and reverence. He shifted closer to her, his arm wrapping protectively around her waist as he pulled her into a gentle embrace. She nestled against him, her head resting against his chest as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. They lay there together in comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow of their shared intimacy. The steady beat of their hearts a comforting reminder of the bond that binds them together as one.

Author’s Notes:

This was in the backlogs of my drafts it’s like the backrooms over here man. It’s scary like this was supposed to be for the Oscars, also I didn’t think the last smut I wrote for Cillian would be the most liked post I have..but here we are. I like attention, I’m an attention whore. But also a slut for Cillian himself..fuck I love that man.

If the male scene seems off like cause she’s sitting on the counter then perceiving to give him head just ignore that part. I couldn’t write it any other different way. Just let my mind do the way it does it. Let’s just say she’s on the floor now like on her knees. Also, yes, I do use both words ‘Cum’ and ‘come’ both of them are habits when I use more than the other, but sometimes they merge depending on who is saying it because one can have more of an accent than the other and if you notice it then I’ve done my job.

Maybe it’s messy in the end but how cares? I love messy smut and so should you!

Credit for the masterlist banner: Myself! I finally made a crap ton of them on Canva!

Credit for the little sparkle smol divider: Cafekitsune

[thesunisatangerine]

against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part four

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 4.3k

It didn’t stop after the first and it sure didn’t stop after the third, either. 

Depending on her schedule, you saw Alexia once or twice at most a week; most of the time it was on the night after a Barcelona match and by the next morning, she’d be gone before you even woke up. But you’d noticed her visits had been increasing in frequency lately, not to mention that sometimes she’d still be in bed when you awakened. The first time you found her still asleep beside you, you were dumbfounded, thinking it was a dream image of her in front of you. And what amazed you even further was that it kept happening.

It wasn’t an unpleasant development. In fact, it was something you gratefully welcomed. And it wasn’t just that, either. Sometimes when Alexia came over, you didn’t even have sex you just… talked: about her training and her health, her teammates’ shenanigans–and hers, of course–her family and bits of her personal life. Meanwhile you told her about places you explored and showed her photos of where you’d been. Then she’d tell you about places you could check out, food to try, and even went ahead and promised to take you to some of the places herself when she had the opportunity.

These times were rare, sure, but you found yourself enjoying her company more and more to the point you noticed yourself craving for it–found yourself missing her presence despite your constant back-and-forth messages. And still you didn’t ask where this was going for fear of ruining whatever the two of you had; you were content and you just simply wanted to watch this unfold as it was. And anyway, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to fleeting relationships, situationships–whatever you’d like to call it–because who was to say this wouldn’t end up like your previous dalliances–ending before it could ever truly begin? Despite you hoping otherwise, a large part of you already convinced yourself that this wouldn’t be anything different: just another highlight to your getaway vacation that you’d look fondly back on a few years down the line.

You had a month left in Barcelona, maybe an additional few weeks depending on the client. What could possibly go wrong?

———

A knock took your attention from your work to the door. You looked at the time–it was early evening on a Saturday and you weren’t expecting anyone. Perhaps you just imagined it? But then it came again not a minute later. You were reluctant to open it seeing as it was already dark but a ping from your phone that signalled a message from Alexia asking if you were home had you flying to the door. 

Upon opening it, you found Alexia there with Nala resting in the crook of her arm, phone in hand, and a paper bag in the other. 

“Took you long enough.” Alexia said playfully, all cool and confident but then her brows quirked upwards almost sheepishly as she said in a more tamed tone, “is this a bad time? I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You smiled at her consideration before you ushered her in. “No, no! It’s fine, really! Come on in. Sorry, I just wasn’t comfortable opening the door when it’s dark without knowing who it was.”

“Ah, it’s my bad. I should’ve let you know before dropping by.” She bent down and let Nala loose before she untied her shoes and left them by the door. Nala bounded to the living charged with curiosity, nose to the ground, tail wagging as she carefully examined the new space. 

Alexia regarded her dog with an amused expression before she looked back at you. “I meant to bring this over after the game tomorrow but I saw the lights as I drove past so… here I am, I guess.”

You reassured her again as you locked the door behind her and you watched as she made her way to the kitchen. As you passed through the archway to the kitchen room, Alexia already situated herself by the counter taking out glass canisters from the paper bag she brought. When she took the lids off, a delicious aroma instantly filled the air, enticing your senses.

“What do you have there?” You asked as you leaned on the opposite side of the counter.

Alexia smiled at the eagerness in your tone and pride shone in her eyes as she spoke, “only the best fideuà and esqueixada in the world. Made special by my mother, of course.”

You peered into the containers and the sight made your mouth water instantly. As if it remembered that you hadn’t had any food yet, your stomach grumbled obnoxiously. Alexia definitely heard it because she fixed you with an amused smile and at that, your cheeks warmed so you tried to divert her attention. “You know what would put this all together?” 

“What?”

“Wine or champagne. Wait–are you allowed to drink?”

“I’m allowed since I’m still not qualified to play yet.” Her visage became somber for a moment–it fleeted so quickly you almost didn’t catch it–before the light in them returned again. “If you have it, white wine is the best complement for this.”

You hummed and tapped your chin, turning to make your way to the cellar. “I’ll have a look. I’m sure Derek has some wine stored in here somewhere.”

You’d mumbled the last part but it seemed Alexia’d caught it because she asked, “who’s Derek?”

Something odd in her tone stopped you and made you look back at her. Her face was unreadable, almost too neutral. She didn’t think Derek was your boyfriend, did she?

“Oh, Derek’s my brother. He hasn’t been here for a while but he owns this house.”

“Ah, I see,” Alexia cleared her throat, looking away and you could just see a hint of redness in her cheeks. “Well, I’ll lay out the plates. I suppose they’re just in...?”

“The bottom drawer to your right and the utensils are in the upper one.” You instructed as you continued towards the cellar.

“Oh, yeah, I see,” came Alexia’s muffled response. 

When you returned with the bottle of white wine, you found that Alexia managed to locate the glasswares by herself and were drying them with a tea towel. There was only one set of plate and utensils laid out though so you fixed her with a confused look.

“You’re not going to eat?”

Alexia shook her head. “I already had my fill with my family earlier. I’ll take the drink, though.”

“That’s nice that you visited your family today. How are they?” You sat at one of the high chairs by the counter, popped the wine open and poured each of you a glass. You noticed that Alexia’d heated up the fideuà for you from the steam that rose from its container which strengthened its aroma and made it all the more enticing. Alexia remained opposite you but she was close enough with her leaning forward on her elbows, her glass of wine in hand.

She sipped her wine and told you they were well, described little snippets of what’s been happening in her family life. She even told you about a prank she recently played on her sister, one that nearly made you choke on your wine. 

You listened as she talked, liking the way her brows quirked and her shoulders move as she spoke, how each gesture became more pronounced the more passionate or interested she was on a subject. You asked questions and engaged with the conversation every now and again as you savoured the rich taste of the pasta and the freshness of the salad. You’d never had anything like it and you told her as much. In response, she said she’d give the compliment to her mother when she saw her next which made your cheeks warm up again. Once you finished, you tidied up and though you insisted she didn’t have to, Alexia helped you wash up anyway.��

Afterwards, the both of you ended up in the living room with your glasses of wine. She gestured at your laptop on the couch with her glass.

“Work?”

“Yeah. Just double checking if I missed anything important and preparing for the match tomorrow.” You sat on the couch and put the laptop on your lap. Alexia opted to sit on the carpet, legs stretched and crossed, back leaned back against the couch, her head just beside your legs as Nala settled by her side.

She turned her head, looking up at you. “Can I see?”

You turned your laptop so she could see better. You flicked through the photos you were sorting through, explaining to her every now and then the thought process behind each shot. On some photos, Alexia asked you to pause so she could soak them in.

“These are great. You have a great eye.” Alexia complimented with an appraising nod as you got to the end. You thanked her as you pulled back. Then a question came to mind.

“Do you ever get used to it? The cameras, I mean.”

A pause.

“I’m not and I don’t think I ever will. I’m more comfortable with it now but if it’s possible to avoid, I’d do it. I know it’s a part of football and god knows how much more exposure women’s football needs,” Alexia released a heavy sigh, “but sometimes it just gets too much, you know? I mean, I really should be grateful, right? To have gotten to this point? But the media side of it is… not without its own set of miseries.” 

There was an inflection in her tone upon her admittance–guilt. You gently carded your fingers through her hair, Alexia leaned into your touch in response, and you replied just as softly, “it must’ve been difficult. It still is and for you, especially. And I don’t know if anyone’s told you lately but you have to know: you’ve given so much of yourself already. It’s not a sin to want a little peace, Alexia, and it doesn’t make you ungrateful for wanting it, it just makes you human.” 

Alexia took a deep breathe before she rested her temple against your knee. Then you heard her whisper, “thank you.”

A silence fell upon the both of you after that but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. She remained that way for the majority of the night, head against your knee as she watched a game of football on the TV. 

By the time you finished up your work, it was already late evening and Alexia’d dozed off beside you. You felt bad as you gently woke her up and groggy hazel eyes found yours when you did. The sight made your heart ache from how much Alexia looked younger and more at peace this way, and you told her to wash up so she could stay the night.

And she did.

Now, your cheek felt warm against her chest despite the slight dampness of her borrowed shirt from her hair. Her skin smelt faintly of the soap you were using and with her arm around your waist, you fell asleep content, lulled to a deep slumber by the steady rhythm of her heart.

———

“Hey, please don’t wear that, it’s dirty,” came Alexia’s reprimand from behind you.

You glanced at her reflection in the mirror: Alexia was propped up on the pillows against the headboard, an arm behind her head, nude except for the bundle of sheets that covered one of her thighs, the marks you’d left on her neck and chest last night and this morning generously displayed for you to behold. 

She was nothing short of glorious, you thought, looking relaxed and content like this. 

You turned your attention back to your own reflection: Alexia’s Barcelona jersey draped over your smaller frame and fell just partway down your bare thighs. It felt comfortable against your skin and the fact that it smelt just like Alexia made it feel all the more special.

When you looked at her reflection again, you found her with an affectionate smile, eyes lidded and brows inflected slightly upwards, and suddenly the attention warmed your cheeks.

“But you only wore it for a shoot, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but you know what I mean.”

You hummed, “do you need it?”

“No, I have spares,” she replied before she raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“That means I have time to wash it before I give it back since you insists that it’s dirty.” You said drily as you turned away from the mirror and padded your way to the bed, crawling on the sheets on your knees once you got there.

As soon as you got close enough, Alexia’s hands were immediately on you, guiding you to straddle her lap before she embraced you fully, resting her chin between the valley of your breasts as she looked up at you. You carded your fingers through her hair to see those fair, hazel eyes that never failed to make you shiver.

“I didn’t say you have to hurry. Plus… I kinda like seeing my number on you.” And then she was kissing your neck and you felt one of her hand creeping its way down to cup your ass. You gasped when you felt the heat of her fingers brushing against your core and you buried your own in her hair as she traced a path from your throat to your ear with her tongue, nipping at your lobe when she got there.

“Fuck… Alexia…” You moaned, “you’re insatiable.”

She kissed your shoulder and then she whispered, “only for you.”

———

Something flashed from the corner of your eye followed immediately by a string of whispered curses and a familiar whirring sound. You put your thumb over the line you were just reading so you wouldn’t lose your place before you looked over your bare shoulder to the corner of the room you knew Alexia was who you found, as expected, holding one of your Polaroid cameras. 

She was only wearing a pair of grey sweats which left her torso bare and–like all the time you saw her nude–you couldn’t help but appreciate the soft curves of her breasts and the carved muscles of her stomach. When she met your gaze, she smiled almost sheepishly at you not dissimilar to a child being caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You raised a playful eyebrow at her but instead of answering, she placed her eye over the viewfinder, aimed the camera at you, then pressed the shutter again.

The film came out with a whir and Alexia immediately tucked it into the pocket of her sweats. She then began to make her way towards you and at every other step, she’d stop to take a photo of you, carefully manoeuvring the camera to get the right angle as she did so. It was an endearing sight, really, and it was one that filled your chest full of warmth. 

Eventually, she ended up on you, turning you over on your back as she straddled your waist, leaving you at the mercy of Alexia and her camera. From this position, you couldn’t help but feel extremely vulnerable and exposed not because of your bareness, but because you knew with the way your chest surged with warmth from how Alexia gazed down at you with a satisfied grin, the dimple on her cheek showing as her tongue peeked out between her teeth at the corner of her mouth, seemingly focused on getting the right shot, that this was a woman who had the power to completely and utterly unravel you. 

As a photographer, you were well acquainted with how cameras had the capacity to capture the essence of a moment–to display in raw details the emotions of its subject and freeze them in time, readying them for the dissection and scrutiny of the viewer. You wondered then what Alexia would see written in the shadow, the light, and the colours in the photos she just took of you once she looked at them, and the thought both elated and frightened you. 

Alexia brushed away hair from your temple but as she was about to pull away, you put yours atop of hers and turned your cheek into her palm, looking directly at her behind the camera. You heard her breath catch and then she stuttered out a breath, and the flash barely registered in your mind because you were too focused on the strength and the warmth of Alexia’s hand as you pressed butterfly kisses on the inside of her palm. 

The next thing you knew, the camera was abandoned completely and you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out from your throat when you finally felt Alexia’s lips on yours.

———

Alexia sat on one of the high chairs in the kitchen room, hair damp, a game of football on the mounted TV that was left forgotten in place of… something that you couldn’t quite see from this distance. Alexia’s shoulders were hunched over in concentration and you didn’t have the heart to interrupt whatever she was doing so you leaned on the archway, content with just observing her do her work.

“Are you just gonna stand there or would you care to join me?” You rolled your eyes and you didn’t fight the smile that graced your lips. So much for being sneaky–the fact that Alexia was an accomplished footballer who had crazy spatial awareness occasionally slipped your mind.

“Okay, Gwen Stacy, calm down.” Alexia looked over her shoulder then and stuck her tongue out at you, grinning. “How did you even know I was here?”

“Your reflection on the microwave.” She gestured to it with her chin and sure enough from this angle you were instantly visible especially with the white shirt you had on. The dark glossy surface almost made you look like a ghost.

Standing on your toes, you draped yourself over her broad back, arms wrapping loosely around her neck as you peered down. “So, what are we working on?”

“This.” 

A bracelet made of a dark-blue and red string that looped into itself with a singular, small gold diamond-shaped charm right in the middle, a vertical bar at the two corner points of the long edge of the diamond, dangled between Alexia’s fingers. She took your right hand and placed it in your palm so you could look at it: the bracelet was simple but it’s delicate nature made it all the more beautiful and elegant.

“Oh, wow, this is so pretty.” 

“It’s for you.” At that you looked at her, half-afraid that she’d feel the way your heart raced at her words against her back. 

You were so busy trying to find the right thing to say that you didn’t realise that she took the bracelet back until you felt the warmth of her fingers on your palm as she turned your hand over. You watched her as she wrapped it around your wrist, securing the tie. You turned your right wrist over and looked at the delicate bracelet, and something in your heart soared at the small gift. The fact that Alexia made it herself made it all the more special to you.

“Thank you, Alexia. I love it.”

“You’re welcome.”

That night while you were sufficiently warm nestled by Alexia’s side, naked except for the sheets, your head on her chest, a realisation hit you.

“It represents FC Barcelona, isn’t it?”

Alexia hummed in answer, the rumble from the sound a pleasant sensation on your cheek. Then she held your wrist in the space between her thumb and index finger, the width of her palm supporting your hand as she turned your hand just so so the gold of the diamond could catch the light.

“And what else?”

At that, you looked at the bracelet intently. The two bars: one and one–Alexia’s number. So she really was serious when she said she liked seeing her number on you.

You let out a small laugh, then you nuzzled her jaw as you spoke, “you little sneak.”

———

Minding her bad knee, you flipped the both of you over with a strength that even surprised yourself and with how Alexia’s brows raised high, you supposed it took her off guard, too. You settled your weight on her stomach and you bit your lip when you felt her abs tense against your core, and the desire in you blazed into a raging inferno that threatened to burn you inside out.

She grabbed your ass in both hands with a firm grip, making you gasp when her hold made you grind against her stomach, her eyes smouldering as she looked up at you. 

That look was your last straw; you couldn’t stop fighting your desire anymore so you let it swallow you whole. You fell forward, bracing your weight against your elbows as you craned your neck to kiss Alexia, rough and desperate, her lower lip between your teeth. The action rewarded you with a low moan, a delicious sound that shot heat straight down to your core.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Alexia gasped out between your relentless kisses.

“I like being on top,” was your simple answer whispered hotly against her ear, nipping gently at the soft skin there–teasing. 

Then it was your turn to gasp. 

Her fingers dug delightfully into your flesh, kneading your ass roughly before easing them apart with equal force. The harsh treatment caught you by surprise and the effect of it even more unexpected as you immediately melted against her, moaning her name helplessly against the crook of her neck. 

She knew just how to make a mess of you.

“Hmm, do you?” She asked coyly and then proceeded in a deliciously low voice that oozed seduction, smugness, and sex. “Too bad I’m still in control.”

“Fuck.” Your body answered for you in a full-body shiver. Her words turned you on to the brink of falling and you found no purchase as you slipped from the ledge.

It should be embarrassing how you could come without Alexia even fucking you, and it should scare you that she had this much power over your body but in this moment, when her hands were everywhere but your pussy and her filthy words were whispered hotly in your ear, you could care less. So you fell apart, shaking and weak, as you sank on top of Alexia’s firm and soft body, her name barely coherent from the sobs that came out of your lips. Euphoria lit every nerve in your body as you came, the fabric of your underwear latched deliciously on your pussy like a second skin and you were sure that you’d made a mess on Alexia’s bare stomach.

You only realised Alexia had stopped her teasing ministrations until you heard her thick voice through the haze of the afterglow which you barely caught.

“You came.”

It wasn’t a question, really, but you let out a small affirmative moan because what else could you do? You were mush–the intensity of your orgasm caught you off guard and left you floundering that no thoughts formed in your mind, just pure bliss and ecstacy. But as the veil of euphoria began to lift, embarrassment bled into the edges of your consciousness and with it the instinct to apologise. The words were poised at the tip of your tongue when Alexia moaned.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” she breathed out and when you found the strength to lift your head to look at her, her eyes were lidded, pupils blown so wide they were almost all black.

And then she was pulling you in for a kiss, and then the wet heat of her tongue traced the edge of your ear, and she was nipping at your jaw while she dragged her palms from your ass to the side of your ribs. Your skin burnt at her touch and you could do nothing but surrender, to moan and whimper as your heat blazed anew despite having just been swept away.

“But this time, you’re going to come with my fingers in you.”

She didn’t even let the words sink in. Instead she wasted no time to slip her hand between your bodies and to push aside the fabric of your ruined underwear. Usually, Alexia liked to tease you and ease her fingers in you slowly as she sought as much reaction from you as she could, but the slick she found there must had been enough to satisfy her because she pushed two fingers in as soon as she found you. The thickness of her fingers slid in easily and you nearly screamed her name from the pleasure. 

She was relentless in her endeavour to make her words true with the way she gripped your hip steady with her free hand so you didn’t stray too far from her touch when you moved to meet her thrusts, the pace at which she worked her fingers in you left you lightheaded the same way her teeth on your neck worked to drive you insane.

“Alexia, Alexia, Alexia–” You chanted her name like a holy litany, burying your face into her hair that was now slightly damp with sweat and breathed her in: her scent of sun and freshly cut grass, of faint wintergreen, and an essence that was uniquely hers. The moment left you full with something heavy and warm, something that spoke of and hoped for forever, and clarity washed over you: this wasn’t like one of your previous dalliances anymore because you wanted more with her.

The realisation hit you hard, the gravity of it left your mind in a momentary stasis that when you came back to yourself, the shock of your orgasm knocked the breath from your lungs and you felt yourself being pulled by the tide. So strong was it that you could do nothing but pray the flood wouldn’t take you–that Alexia wouldn’t let you drown.

[valewritessss]

Why is it that most of the time they either make Annabeth seem like Percy’s mother or they make her a tool for him to be more angsty and dark and disregard all of her character and trauma? Can we normalize making them equals

[multi-fandom-lunatic]

guys..... i KNOW that tsats wasn't perfect but please please please im begging yall to calm down with the hate of a book that hasn't been released!!! let us desperate solangelo fans EAT THIS SHIT UP

[ilomilodailystuff]

I always read fanfic or one shots where Aziraphale and Crowley live happily together, kissing each other, cuddling and everything and at the end, Crowley or Aziraphale (mostly Crowley, poor babe) wakes up and realised it's all a dream and in reality, they're separated, Az in Heaven and Crowley on earth.

But for once. Why wouldn't the fandom be hopeful and optimistic ?

What if, for once :

Crowley confesses his feelings to Aziraphale but the angel has another plan and he has to leave the demon. Then the demon makes a desperate attempt to show his love by kissing Aziraphale, hoping this might make the angel stay. But despite it, Aziraphale says "I forgive you" and doesn't say anything to reciprocate his romantic love for Crowley. The angel had begged the demon to come with him, saying he needs him, but Crowley still leaves in the end. And when it's time for Aziraphale to go to Heaven, Crowley watches from afar, and both of them stare at each other, knowing it'll be the last time they would do that before an indefinite period of time would keep them apart. The demon's heart is broken and Aziraphale's too, a mix of anger, frustration, sadness and despair filling them... They don't talk anymore. They don't see each other anymore. They feel lonely. Broken. Depressed. Their heart aches. Aziraphale cries every now and then in front of the earth, feeling terrible. Crowley would, if he was awake, because he sleeps on Aziraphale's couch in a fetal position as he holds the angel's beige coat with tartan on the inside, dearly against his chest, and he won't wake up if the angel's not with him...

Then Crowley opens his eyes as he gasps, suddenly straightening on the bed. Noticing Crowley sweating a bit and breathing heavily, Aziraphale holds himself up on his elbow.

"Are you alright, darling ?" He asks, concerned.

"Y-Yeah... Just had a nightmare..." Crowley replies, still haunted by that awful dream.

"Oh, sweetheart... You want to talk about it ?" He asks gently.

"It was... That time, years ago, when you had to leave me... I don't know why I dreamt about that..." He explains as his heartbeat slowed down again.

"It happens to me sometimes too." Aziraphale confesses. "But don't worry, love. It's from the past, and I can assure you it won't happen again." He reassures him softly and with conviction.

"Of course, angel..." He agrees as he lies back, nuzzling against his lover's neck as he tries to calm down.

"I love you, Crowley." Aziraphale says as he wraps his arms around the demon.

"Mh. Love you, angel." He replies tiredly, already falling asleep again in Aziraphale's arms, keeping him safe and loved.

Yeah... Just leave the two beings in peace, let them have some hope 🌞

[klinefelterrible]

Draco: I know that you guys are in an arranged marriage, but you seem to be so well connected…!

Narcissa: honey, do you remember when your father and I showed you that Pensieve memory of our wedding?

Draco: yes

Draco: I loved every second of it

Narcissa: well what you need to know is that this memory is a little bit… redacted

Lucius: just a little bit!

Narcissa: but redacted indeed

Draco: exactly which parts were redacted?

Narcissa: well so you remember how we told you that your father looked rather stiff and we laughed that he danced a bit clumsy?

Draco: …yes

Lucius: it was because I was fucked so hard that night and in the morning I was barely able to walk. And my ass was a gaping—

Narcissa: oh, Lucius

Lucius: but it was

Draco: but… but you looked so happy!

Narcissa: he was happy! He just survived an orgy with so many people where all of them came inside his sweet white ass

Draco: …and you knew about that?

Narcissa: about that… do you remember how I smiled everywhere but I never really did talk? Like at all?

Draco: …yes?

Lucius: it was because she sucked so many dicks that night her mouth, tongue and throat was literally as sore as my ass!

Narcissa: my lips were so red that day

Lucius: and you danced with such grace

Narcissa: thank you, honey

Narcissa: after we made Creacher bring you that ointment, so did you

Lucius: anyway, son, we were very good friends prior to this ceremony

Narcissa: and we still are

Draco: so is all my life a lie?

Narcissa: no

Lucius: but your uncle Augustus is not really your uncle and his young girlfriend Lucy—

Draco: please don’t tell me that I have a younger sister who is also a slut

*doors knocking*

Narcissa: this must be Harry

Lucius: come in, boy!

Harry: *enters* hello, Mr and Mrs Malfoy, hello Draco

Harry: what’s the matter?

Draco: oh, nothing

Draco: just that little thing that they’ve been lying to me my whole life

Harry: what did you tell him

Narcissa: we told him the specifics about our wedding day

Harry: oh cool

Harry: did you tell him who won?

Draco: who won what?

Harry: a contest?

Narcissa: what contest?

Lucius: let’s, uhm-

Draco: what contest?

Harry: you didn’t tell him about the contest?

Narcissa: what contest?

Draco: yeah, what contest, Potter?

Lucius: remember that bet we made that night?

Narcissa: no

Lucius: oh, good

Draco: what bet?

Harry: your parents made a bet that whoever wins the contest of making cum more dicks than the other, names the child

Draco: no!

Lucius: uhm-

Narcissa: oh, that

Narcissa: now I remember

Narcissa: I don’t remember who won, though

Harry: do you want to know?

Lucius: uhm

Narcissa: excuse me, but how do you know?

Lucius: uhm…

Harry: I requested that information during death eaters hearings

Harry: I promised many of them a lighter sentences for the unchanged, unaltered versions.

Narcissa: oh this is so hot

Lucius: can we see it?

Harry: it’s in the evidence room in the dungeons of the ministry of magic

Lucius: oh

Narcissa: I see that you didn’t say „no”

Lucius: oooh

Lucius: can we?

Draco: I can’t believe my ears and my eyes and my life right now

Narcissa: oh please, like you never did anything dumb and hot

Lucius: maybe he didn’t

Narcissa: don’t be ridiculous

Narcissa: do you know that we were notified every time you and Harry had a little rendez-vous at school?

Narcissa: *makes a blowjob pantomine*

Narcissa: every. time.

Lucius: uhm

Narcissa: Every

Narcissa: Time

Narcissa: with the cute details, especially when you guys were in fifth year and later, when you started ass—

Draco: OKAYOKAOKAY!!!

Draco: sheesh, okay, I am leaving only to go to my room and die of embarrassment and maybe I will obliviate myself a little with a bottle of my father’s finest gin

Harry: I’ll go with you

Draco: whatever

Narcissa: wait a second, Harry

Harry: I can provide you some time for both of you to visit the ministry and officially acknowledge some details of your and your son’s involvement in the death eaters processes.

Harry: *wink* I will need a blood oath from you that you won’t mess with this and only then you can stay there for… *wink wink* eight hours once a week.

Narcissa: oh yeah

Lucius: awww

Lucius: like a second honeymoon

Harry: now about those notifications…

Narcissa: there were no notifications

Harry: but you said—

Narcissa: I am full of shit

Lucius: she is so full of shit

Harry: why would you say that

Narcissa: I just wanted to see your faces

Narcissa: and he believed it, didn’t he

Harry: such a cunning woman

Lucius: one of the best

Narcissa: I am not half as good as Andromeda

Harry: why Andromeda?

Narcissa: she made Rodolphus Lestrange marry our sister Bella just by telling him she is into being forced to eat ass and what comes out of the ass

Harry: she did wh—

Harry: what

Harry: why

Narcissa: Andromeda made Bellatrix eat her poop

Narcissa: for the sheer joy of it

Harry: ah! You got me, right? You’re full of shit, right?

Lucius: I wish

Narcissa: No I am not.

Narcissa: and every time Bellatrix had a death eaters meeting, Andromeda made her eat her shit before she went there

Narcissa: first she was full of shit, then Bellatrix’s mouth was full of shit and then

Lucius: let’s drop it, please

Harry: what the fuck

Narcissa: are we even now

Harry: what the actual fuck

Harry: the fuck

Harry: fucking fuck

Lucius: he handles it well

Narcissa: so do we have a deal, Harry?

Harry: what the fuck

Harry: we do

Harry: but how and what and why the fuck

Narcissa: ah, youth

Lucius: *hugs her* remember us back then?

Narcissa: oh yeah

Harry: I need time to process this

Narcissa: Harry, wait!

Harry: yes?

Narcissa: who won?

Harry: the bet?

Harry: Lucius

Narcissa: no way!

Harry: by one limp dick almost at midnight

Harry: and both of you would chose Draco anyway

Narcissa: awww

Lucius: that’s love

Narcissa: for a cock?

Lucius: that too

Narcissa: I’m kidding. I love you, husband

Lucius: and I love you, wife

Harry: you guys are cute

Harry: *leaving*

Harry: but what the fuck

[mikuni14]

Another thing I love about Love For Love's Sake is that it's such a perfect fanfic. This series literally went in the direction of un-bury your gays. And that it doesn't matter that the main character commits suicide, that he went through hell twice, that he sabotages himself and makes the same mistakes each time. The series is like, huh, ok then, so let's give our blorbo a THIRD chance! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And the series ends with a happy ending, where the boy gets the boy and everyone is happy and in love. Death what? Sad ending how? Reality when?

Fanfiction fixes things that seem unfixable. When an author looks at the depressing canon and laughs and says fuck you, not on my watch. The series, sunbae, god, death, The Author, whoever, looked at Myung Ha and said: we will give this sad, pathetic man as many chances, as much love as it takes for him to have his happy ending. Even if it kills him 😤

And you have to respect that.

[enjoythesilentworld]

don't slow down now

ch 3. white, like lightning

In which Simon asks Wille what his favorite color is. Over and over again. A for the tree's sake epilogue series.

“Like that first time,” Wille said, punched out in harsh breaths with every roll of his hips. “Like that first storm in that library. God, I wanted to take you against those shelves, right then.” Wille was rambling, but Simon didn’t care, in fact he loved it, because with every word his thrusts got faster, harder. “I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget the way you looked in that beautiful lamplight. The way you looked at me. All that waiting, so patiently. My Simon. You’re so beautiful. I would’ve waited forever for you.”

A storm rolls in.

read here on ao3.

[amplifyme]

This may never be completed, but I'm posting it here. Because the muse wants me to. Since she's been so quiet all these months, if she's decided to drop in now and make this edict, I'm gonna listen.

The beginnings of a One Breath fic, aka my albatross...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pause. Rewind. Play. “We should stop.” A hand moving up a glossy white inner thigh. Breathy sighs. Fast-forward. Play. The hand now wedged at the apex between her legs, large male knuckles clearly pressing up beneath the obscenely short skirt she wears, manipulating the hidden treasure there.

The ringing of the phone pulls him from this latest repetition of his bedtime routine. He’s compiling a list of his favorite parts, so he knows what to skip to the next time this tape graces his VCR. He’ll know those jagged segments by heart soon. Then he’ll be able to pull them up and zone out enough to maybe sleep.

He pauses the tape and stretches to reach the phone. He greets his caller with dull indifference. “Yeah?”

There’s a hitch of breath on the other end, soft and feminine, and he drags himself up until he’s sitting. “Hello?”

“Fox, is that you?”

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds before his synapses start to fire with something resembling clarity and he recognizes the voice. “Mrs. Scully?”

“Fox, it’s Dana. She’s back. They’ve brought her back.”

His heart gives a great thud, stops for an instant, and then begins to thump crazily in his chest. He breaks out in a sweat, stammers, “Wha-wha where? Where is she? How-?”

“Northeast Georgetown. In the ICU. I’m with her now.”

“I’m on my way.”

It’s not until he reaches the car that it occurs to him: he has no coat, no badge, no cellphone, just his wallet and keys. He scrapes a dusting of snow from the window of the driver’s door with his arm and slides behind the wheel. He doesn’t remember the drive to the hospital when he tries to recall it later. He doesn’t remember anything from when he first arrives at her hospital bed, except that Scully’s eyes are taped shut and she’s covered in wires and tubes. Her mother’s face reflects anger and worry, bewilderment: the sum total of unanswered questions. He sucks it all into his lungs like rarified air and shouts them out in her stead. 

Why. How. When. What’s happened to her? Who did this to her?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“She doesn’t want to live in this condition.”

He hadn’t given it more than a glancing thought when she’d asked him to sign as witness to her living will shortly before the X-Files division had been shut down. It was just a formality, and more paperwork to sign off on and forget. Nothing that might possibly come back to bite him on the ass. Just a throw-away.

He forces himself to meet Maggie Scully’s eyes. He’s to blame for this. Because his easy acquiescence to what seemed a simple request has morphed into an ill-advised edict to allow her to die. How is he to carry on with this knowledge? Scully is not, and could never be, a throw-away anything.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I’ve been told not to call you Fox.”

Melissa Scully is not at all what he had imagined, and he takes umbrage at her new age methods, since her sister clearly can’t.

“I need to do more than just wave my hands in the air.” His arm drops to his side, and he turns away. But try as he might, the first words Melissa said to him ring in his ears with proof of something beyond his comprehension.

He turns back and belatedly rebukes her. “She never talked about you,” He doesn’t understand why he feels the need to strike out at her. But someone has to pay the price.

“Probably not,” Melissa responds with an enigmatic smile. “But she talks a lot about you.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“You don't believe... but you want to. You want to believe more than ever.”

He ignores her and goes in search of their mother. Her pain, he understands.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frohike, in a fucking penguin suit and bearing flowers. Branched DNA, a biological poison, and “Mulder, there’s nothing you can do.”  

A gun shoved in his face by a man who is supposed to be his ally. “You got him killed! You got her killed. That’s not going to happen to me.” A different man dead in a basement laundry room, killed execution style.

“I don’t think you have the heart.” It’s a dismissal, a taunt.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

No sleep. And he’s so fucking tired. He hasn’t had more than four consecutive hours of sleep since she was taken. No food. Not for as long as he can remember, though his belly is as hollow as his bones. Time has lost meaning. He only leaves her bedside when he has to. The Scully women take their turns while he’s there but don’t seem to have the stomach for his urgently whispered arguments to run just a few more tests, give it just one more day, don’t give up – it’s too soon.

But she’s running out of time and the Scully women are busy in the hospital chapel or covertly waving burning sticks of incense, biding their own time. All three of them are preparing for the change to come. But he feels like the only one who’s fighting for that change to be Scully opening her eyes and coming back where she belongs. He won’t give up, no matter what it costs him. She wouldn’t give up on him.

He has the insane notion to ask Maggie Scully for permission to marry her daughter. If he’s Scully’s husband, maybe he can call the shots. Maybe he can guarantee her more time.

He is falling, falling, falling, and there is no bottom, no end point. The black hole surrounding him has jagged walls that are slick with blood from earlier battles, and he can’t grasp onto anything with enough friction to slow him down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Karen Ann Quinlan is not a name he wants invoked. The thought of Scully remaining in this condition is distasteful, horrific. How could anyone want that for her? So why can’t he just accept the facts and let her go?

“She was a good soldier, Mulder, but there’s nothing you can do to bring her back.”

Her doctor, portly, balding, and resistant to anything outside the norm, rankles him. Everything does. Even the air he breathes is inhaled with a sense of resentment at its necessity. The worse it gets, the more inwardly absent he becomes, until he feels he’s outside himself. Nothing more than a helpless observer of this unfolding tragedy.

“Dana has made our decision.”

He vacillates between anger and grief, both cutting too painfully deep. Between acceptance of the facts and the rejection of them, so clinical and cold. Who is he fighting for? It is for her, or his need for her? Scully has respected him, always, as he has her. But this, this is too much to ask. And underneath it all, his ceaseless, immeasurable rage, and the need for retribution.

“Fox,” Mrs. Scully stands and readies to push through the swinging doors and over a threshold that can’t be uncrossed, solidifying the decision her words made clear. “This is a moment for the family. But you can join us if you want.”

No, no I can’t, he thinks. I won’t.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He decides this must be the apex of his anger. At least now it has a focus. That black-lunged sonofabitch is responsible for all of this. He’s certain of it. He offers himself up to Skinner, a willing sacrifice of everything he has left in exchange for his shot at vengeance. Justice. Justice. That’s all he wants. Time is running out.

Why? Why? How did this happen? How could he let this happen?

He stops short on his way out the door, sudden clarity blinding him in its accusation. It’s my fault, too. Skinner is honest enough to concur when he voices his fears, and Mulder is stunned.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

No. This is the apex. This is the source of the fire scorching him from the inside out. This man at the end of a gun barrel in this drab and empty room, cloaked in plumes of smoke. Cigarette Man is the one who has to pay. Otherwise, there is no justice.

“Why her? Why her and not me? Answer me!” His finger is steady on the trigger. Four and a half pounds of pressure is all it will take to paint the walls with brain matter. He wants to light the world on fire. Burn it all down. Rebuild a new one from the ashes. A world where Scully is safe. A place where his sister isn’t gone.

[dropthedemiurge]

Shocking news!

I started posting my Love for Love's Sake OT3 fic on AO3. I can't accept that a fun and cool charactwr like Sangwon is the one left after happy ending to wallow in his angst, so I decided to add him into equation. i can and I will write Sangwon/Myungha/Yeowoon and no one will stop me. 😈

However, I'd really like encouragement because the fic is planned to be long... Some of you might remember all the snippets I've posted so far - it might take several chapters to get to them 😆

I already have 16k words in my draft that need to be edited (and then continue writing it) so I decided I can safely start posting it. Please check the prologue of "NPC Sumpremacy Zone" out😋 (you'll need an AO3 account for this because I closed my fics from guests this year because of all bots and AI scraping problems)

Link to the fic 👉