#okay its more than an undertone

[fandombead]

For Those Who Have Mourned Me

Hello!! This is my submission for Anaroceit Shipweek's prompt: Apology.

Summary: Virgil returns home after a quest to retrieve an invaluable gift for his partners takes far longer than he'd anticipated. How will they receive him? How could they forgive him after disappearing for 2 years? (note: Fantasy AU! Heads up for angst, this is hurt/comfort)

WC: ~3k || It’s on AO3! @anaroceitweek ! *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Apology

Virgil had no idea how he was going to explain himself. There wasn’t much he could say that would make this day easier. But he’d been psyching himself up for weeks and he was here now. But would they want him back?

Virgil stopped walking as the quiet forest opened into a grassy clearing. 

He felt faint as he stared up at the little cottage backed to the stream on the other side. He clutched his walking stick hard to stay standing, exhaustion and longing and heartache battling it out in his chest. Guilt rose from his stomach and made him feel sick. His magic sparked at his fingertips from the increasing anxiety and he could only grip his satchel to his chest, protecting thd thing he’d fought so hard to retrieve. That would make a world of difference and change all of their lives for the better. He had to believe it would, or else this was all for nothing. 

They…they’d accept him back, wouldn’t they? Once they knew why he’d been gone so long. He could explain it to them, and he’d do anything for them to apologize, to be pulled into their embrace, and he’d never leave it again if the asked it of him. If they wanted to hold him again. 

Tears pricked at his eyes but he wasn’t allowed to cry over this. He had no right to. It didn’t matter how much he’d missed them or how many times in the months it took to get back to them that he wanted to give up the quest. He should have told them. He didn’t know he’d be gone this long, but he should have. 

The sun was nearly gone behind him, casting long shadows of the trees on the house. 

A light was on in their sitting room by the garden. Attention drawn to prolong the inevitable, it looked like they’d planted the new crops already in his absence. He wondered if Roman had helped Jan in his place this year. And last year. 

He wanted to go in and hold them. He just wanted them to understand: prayed to whoever would listen that they’d understand why. Did he have the right to call this his home anymore after such an absence? Virgil doubted he’d be welcome, but perhaps that was just his own doubt clouding his mind. 

Perhaps.

Virgil forced himself forward, hobbling carefully down the path. He looked as frazzled as he felt, and maybe he should have stopped in town to be presentable first. He’d bathed in the river regularly, but the clothes were old now, damaged from travel. Maybe they could forgive him for it, too, if they could with everything else. He hadn’t wanted to delay another moment once back in the safe lands of the kingdom.

The path hadn’t changed much, even if a little overgrown with grass and wildflowers that hadn’t been cleared in a long while. The porch still creaked on its second step. Roman had said he would fix it soon. The bench swing on their porch was not as white as it used to be, sun-damaged and with a few chips in the paint, but it still had a clean outdoor blanket folded over the back of it and was free of dirt or pollen like it was regularly kept up. They still used it, then.

He tried to imagine the two of them there, sitting and watching the sunset like they used to together on many nights. He wonders if they sat there together watching the path for him to return. He wonders how long they waited, assuming he would come back for months. Hoping he would come back. Guilt tightened in his chest as he stood there far too long, staring and lost in thought. 

He did not realize he wasn’t the only one outside.

 Roman’s sharp gasp followed by the loud clatter of his watering can on the stepping stones leading to the back of the house was the only warning Virgil had. Virgil jumped, nearly tripping over his walking stick in his haste to whip around and just as startled as Roman stared. He had changed so much quite visibly. Ro looked more hallowed, his eyes not as bright as they used to be with small creases underneath. He had longer hair than Virgil had ever seen him with, messily put up in a bun.  

Roman was right there, and Virgil’s heart ached to reach out, to say something and make that shaken expression change. 

“Virgil!” he cried out, and it was almost more of a wail.

He wasn’t able to say a word before Roman was rushing him. “R-Roman– I-I’m so sorry, I really– oof!” 

Virgil’s back bumped the door in a moment of distress, because so much that had run at him in these past years had been hostile and trying to kill him. Roman closed the distance faster than Virgil could sidestep and he flinched, almost expecting anger to greet him, but arms encased him, not trapping or to hurt, but holding him close, as if he were something precious. Roman held him fiercely, and it took Virgil several long seconds to realize he wasn’t the one shaking. Or maybe Roman just was more than him. Virgil let out a small wounded noise as all the words he’d had ready were stuck in his throat, and it was all he could do to hang onto Roman’s arm around him.

The front door swung open and Virgil could not see behind him as he was currently being clutched against Roman’s chest, the tall diefic being refusing to relinquish him as he somehow cradled Virgil to him while they were both standing. Roman was sobbing over his head.

Virgil collapsed forward unwittingly, too startled to stay upright. Roman held fast, sinking carefully down with him and not letting Virgil slip from his strong arms. Virgil was stiff, trembling as he didn’t know what to do with his arms.  Roman tried to speak through his sobs, as Janus both tried to console him and fuss over Virgil, reeling as well, but knowing he was needed by them both. That didn’t stop Virgil from seeing tears on his face as well, Janus pulling Virgil against his chest when Roman let up for a moment to fuss over his state.

Virgil clung onto him like a lifeline, shameful in how weak he was to allow it. They should be furious with him, but they were too kind to turn him away. They wouldn’t, even though he’d properly abandoned them. He’d told himself he wouldn’t cry– wouldn’t force their sympathy from past feelings for him. 

“We’ve got you, love, it’s alright.” Janus said soothingly, and tried to pretend his voice didn’t hitch on the words. He cradled Virgil’s face in his cool palms, pressing their foreheads together as he just seemed to reveal in the sudden relief and change in their reality.

So many dreams of this very moment, a hope they’d shared in all its clear futility for two years now. Janus held on tight to make sure he was real, and refused to open his eyes for fear of waking up again.

“We thought you were gone,” Roman breathed out, pressing his damp face into Virgil’s wayward curls. “The–the pendants– stars, they told us you weren’t even alive– they didn’t glow when we reached out with thoughts of you, nowhere in the world…we t-thought you were–”

“I am so sorry,” Virgil whispered, clinging to Roman’s sleeve and pressing his face into the fabric desperately. He still smelled like canvas and that fruity spritz that Virgil always loved on him. He grimaced, trying to reign his emotions in, he couldn’t get overwhelmed right now. He had to tell them; needed to explain himself before they realized they should be far more upset. Though they had every right to be. “I’m sorry,” he croaked out, louder this time. “I-I– I never intended to be gone this long– but I couldn’t give up and time passed so much faster than I–”

Virgil cut himself off, trying to calm down. He wasn’t trying to make excuses. Janus hated when people couldn’t even be accountable, but what could he even say? 

Virgil clutched the bag to his chest and tried to pull back, however reluctant, to get his arm out. He managed to wiggle it free when Roman realized he was trying to get to it and let up a bit on his hold, not letting him go for even a moment.

“I– I got you this.” 

Janus and Roman’s eyes widened at the curling amber circlet he pulled from his bag, Roman covering his mouth when he saw it held gently in Virgil’s hands in offering. The headpiece had unshaped Ecludite at its front, trapped by a translucent tesseract crystal. The chunk of metallic crimson was no bigger than a coin and nonetheless radiated the immense power it contained just from being exposed. It was invaluable and a thing of legend and entirely non-existent in this mortal realm. Which meant…

“Virgil– this is from Erok!” Janus exclaimed, nearly standing again in his horror. 

Roman gaped, immediately turning to Virgil, who shrunk in on himself. “You went to Erok on your own?! Do you have any idea how dangerous and reckless that was? For two years!” 

Janus was shaking his head, trying to steady himself. “We could have easily lost you even from meeting in the afterlife, do you have any idea what would have happened to your soul had you died there? What’s likely already happened to your Quintessence–”  

“I-I know this doesn’t excuse me leaving!” Virgil said quickly, head bowed. “I know it was so stupid and I should have told you and that it was horrible to not even let you know where I was going the day I left– gods, I left a letter telling you I’d be back in a week…! I–I know this doesn’t make it up to you. For what I did before I left–” “Virgil!” Roman tearfully cut in, horrified and not able to take just listening a moment longer. “Did you do this on your own because of that guilt? Did you truly think we would not care or would want you to ever go to that– realm of chthonian horrors?!”

Virgil wouldn’t look at either of them. “If I thought for a moment at the start of all this that it would take me so long to get back, I swear I would not have gone like that, I never wanted to worry either of you, I wanted to do this for you! You both are so amazing and took care of me at my lowest–  A-And I had to do something–I could do something, I could b-bring you Mindscape’s Gate–”

“You should have taken us with you!” Roman cried, nearly knocking one of the most powerful dimension-crossing pieces out of Virgil’s hands, much to their little mage’s fear. Janus was faster, quickly taking it and the bag Virgil had settled it on away, holding it in his lap. Janus ran a hand through Virgik’s hair, settling it there as he gazed at him hard. “Virgil, you matter so much more to us than a portal back home. We would have found a way together, but to risk your magic being striped, your life– everything you are for this, all alone…”

They fell silent, save for Roman’s quiet soothing murmurs in their home tongue.

Virgil shook his head slowly, unable to hold the gaze. “I–I was selfish. I didn’t want to risk you, but thought…stupidly, that I could travel and make it after some lousy soothsayer told me how to get there. They never mentioned how hard getting back was and I was too desperate to ask. But you were just so terrified and devastated when the Di-Keep stole your connection to Home.”

“V-Vee, stormcloud, please, you’re–”

“Y-You both can go home again! You can see the others, so it was worth it, the risk, everything, it had to be worth it!”

Neither of them said anything for a long moment that time, and Virgil tried to pull away, but neither let him, Roman making a soft noise of protest. 

Janus shook his head as he tilted Virgil’s face gently to meet his soft eyes. “You did…all that for us. It was amazing of you, and…and so brave, even if…short-sided.” he said carefully, sighing as his face fell. “But you must understand, you mean so much more to us. No matter what happened, we do not want you to ever put your life up for us. It is so much more valuable to me than anything we’ve ever come to find in this realm. You are our greatest treasure.”

Virgil felt himself trembling at the implications.

Roman pressed his nose against Virgil’s shoulder, holding him close as Janus pulled them both to him, the circlet miraculously having been shifted safely to the bench swing as if it were just a souvenir he had gotten them.  

“We love you so much, our brave and selfless knight. We missed you deeply. We are so thankful the realm allowed you to return to us. If I’d known that’s where you were this whole time, we would have come for you, no questions asked. You must have been so scared…”

Virgil shuddered as his composure left him entirely, held so close between them and not wanting to let either go. He fisted Roman’s soft cotton shirt in tightly as Janus pressed a kiss to his forehead. “We have you now, my love. And we aren’t letting you go again.”

“I-I-sorry.” 

“We know. All will be alright.” Janus soothed, and Virgil held onto the words meant to comfort him. They did not know if he would be alright again. “I’m sorry– y-you mourned me.”

“You are here now, you are home.” Roman cooed, voice lulling. “You returned to us. Don’t you worry right now about how we will handle it. We are relieved.”

“I’m sorry,” Virgil sobbed, and he didn’t even know what specifically for. For everything that he knew they must have went through. They had to be relieving the pain he’d put them through, showing up out of nowhere like this–

Janus shushed him softly, brushing long damp hair from Virgil’s face as it stuck together on his pale cheeks. Being without sun for two years would have such awful effects on mortals. Janus made a note to have Virgil sit outside with him as he recovered.

“All will be alright, windstorm.“

It had all but set now, the shadows all-encompassing in their little clearing as the stream bubbled in the quiet. Crickets and fireflies started their nightly concert and dance in the tall grass, having a light show that didn’t compare to the constellations starting to come out above them. They sat there, letting Virgil cry out all his feelings of loneliness and longing and fears he would never come home, that they’d never even know what happened to him. He didn’t stop his garbled apologies until he was physically too exhausted to keep it up. Roman and Janus patiently reassured and comforted him the entire time until he finally fell silent, slumped against Roman’s chest as Janus held his free hand, stroking the scarred skin in his cool, smooth ones.

“I-I’m going to lift you up, okay?” Roman warned right before Janus pulled back. It wasn’t even a second later that Roman took his place once more, easily lifting Virgil and standing with him, followed by more quiet fretting over how light Virgil was. Virgil could only curl into Roman, unwilling to pull away drained as he was. If they abandoned him now, he would simply lie there, unmoving until the Wyervins and scavengers found him. He had nothing left. He weakly clutched at Roman’s chest, chasing the dark thoughts away. Such thoughts had long haunted him in dreams of his return. They got to him, warping his memory of them and their love. Janus and Roman were not like that. Ro was bold in his outspoken declarations of adoration and love for them both. Jay was more subtle but no less sentimental and just as intense, showering them in sweet words and close contacts.

“I have you, little hero. You’re with us again.” Roman reassured as Janus got the door for them, sweeping the precious token up with his telekinesis once more to bring it and Virgil’s staff safely inside. He made sure it was slid back into its bag and that it was set in the study, safe in the heart of their home. Many would kill or worse to get their hands on something so impossibly priceless, but they already had something worth more in their arms. They could discuss it in a few days or weeks, after they all had recovered enough and had a proper talk about all of this. 

Jan was not so sure a complete recovery was feasible, no matter how many decades and centuries passed, but they could be okay again. They would get to a place they could function in normalcy, even if it was never gone. Maybe it should never be gone, as life-changing as it was. Neither he nor Roman were done explaining to their beloved just how much he meant to them, and they would get it through the cloud of doubt in his mind. They would dote and tell him constantly of that truth, and reassure his anxieties as much as he needed them to without question. He had been through something no one should have to face and survived it. He was going to need time and help recover from that. They’d be here to listen and help him get any residual soulmarks healed. They’d guide him through the trauma and how to cope with what he’d never be rid of. They’d do anything for Vee, for Virgil, as long as it meant they’d still be there to love and protect him. He was as much their home as Mindscape, and they’d never let him be isolated from them ever again.

“We will take care of you, darling. You can rest now.”

[endlessthxxghts]

Bend Over

Javier Peña x afab!reader || W/C: 4.8k

Summary: Your dresser craps out on you. Your boyfriend, Javier, comes with you to IKEA to buy a new one. Then, he fucks you on it.

Content/Warnings: I think you know what you guys are getting into based on the summary😗. Reader is able-bodied. Slight implied physical descriptors Javi is taller than reader, and the IKEA dresser is slightly bigger/taller than you (everything else is neutral - no size descriptions - ex. "your form", etc.). Pet names (good girl, querida, cariño, baby, baby girl, mama, mi amor). Implied that reader knows Spanish. A little allusion to our favorite contractor, Joel Miller (blink and you’ll miss it). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Public sexual activity (exhibitionism). Finger fucking. Edging. Slight undertones of BDSM dynamics. Javi’s filthy mouth. Thigh riding. Hickey/marking. P in V unprotected sex. Choking. Breeding kink (I’m not sorry). Cum play. Anal play. Brief pussy licking + rimming. Allusion to further sexual activity. I thiiiink that’s it… let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: HIII I’M BACK! I went to ikea to buy a new dresser. And the thots between @javierpena-inatacvest and I ran wild. So, this was born.👹 Also, I no longer have a tag list, but I teased this story TWICE in some WIP tag games, and a few of you were giving me so much love and wanting me to let you know when this story was posted, so I’m adopting the tag list (at da bottom) one last time to say how much I love you all. 🥹 I’m sorry this took me so long. Thank you so much. I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!!

MASTERLIST || NOTIF BLOG

It was supposed to be just a trip to IKEA. It was supposed to be a productive day of building your dresser and rearranging your room. That is what it was supposed to be. 

How it ended up with you getting your guts rearranged on top of said dresser—you’re not so sure. But, considering this is Javier Peña you’re talking about, maybe you have a slight indication of why your day ended up the way it did. 

It was early this morning when your dresser decided to shit on you; all you did was slide the door open, and it completely pulled off of its hinge. Now, you don’t mind a doorless dresser, it’s modern, you tried to convince yourself, but when you pulled out the second drawer and the wood snapped in half, scattering your panties all over the ground—yeah, okay, it was definitely time for a new one. 

You called your boyfriend after you cleaned up your clothes, and asked if he wanted to come with you on your hunt for the new piece of furniture. Why are you even asking? he scolded as he saddled up into his Jeep and made his way to your place. 

He stepped out of his seat in the driver side, rounding the hood to pull you in for a lengthy kiss as he pulled the passenger side door open for you. “Well, hello to you, too, baby,” you giggle as you break the kiss for a breath of air. He leaves a slap to your ass as he guides you by your hips into the passenger seat. He even buckles you in, stealing one more kiss before you two head off. 

You thought shopping for a new dresser would be simple: get in, choose a sizable one that could fit everything your previous dresser could, and also make sure it matches the rest of your room’s theme. Simple, right? Wrong. As long as Javier was involved, he took his sweet time really studying each option you were pointing out—analyzing it to ensure it wouldn’t crap out on you like your original one did. 

“How long did you have this dresser?” He asked as he was pulling into the IKEA parking lot. 

“Mmm, I don’t know,” you thought, “maybe a few years?”

“A few years?!” Javier asked, exasperated. “Where the hell did you find that fucking thing?”

You let a beat of silence pass before you answered. “...I thrifted it,” you admit weakly. 

Javier puts the car in park, his face in utter shock at what just came out of your mouth. “Querida, what-” he starts. 

You pull him in immediately, shutting him up with your lips against his. It works, of course. “Let’s go?” you ask. 

“Y-yeah, vamos (let’s go),” he says, flustered. 

“Javi, c’mon,” you whine, feeling exhausted after his analysis on your third option since the first two didn’t pass the Peña inspection. “Since when were you a contractor? The first two were perfectly fine, baby, it’s IKEA for crying out loud.”

He scoffs. “Living on the ranch with Pop,” he replies to your sarcastic remark. “You and I are both aware I know my way around some handiwork,” he adds as he looks back to you, a shit-eating grin creeping on his face. 

You want to roll your eyes, but you can’t help the way your body ignites to the suggestion laced in his words. “Pendejo,” you mutter to yourself, fighting the heat from making it to your face. 

You walk around some more while your boyfriend opens every nook and cranny of the wooden frame, but then right as you turn your body, you find it. The dresser. HEMNES. You quickly make your way to it, running your hands along the dark brown surface, crouching down to open up and see how much space is in the drawers—which, it’s very spacious. The drawer itself is taller than your waistline, probably reaching just at your belly button. It’s perfect. “Baby, wait, come here! I think I found one!” You call out. 

Javier follows your voice, intrigued by your excitement—you didn’t show this much enthusiasm with the other ones he was looking at. He rounds the corner and is met with quite a view. You are bending over the top of the dresser, on your tippy toes, trying to feel for the depth of the dresser. He sees you settle your hands at the edges of the top and shake it a little, testing out its durability while also unknowingly wiggling your ass. Fuck me, he thinks. Quickly adjusting his pants, he makes his way to you, situating his body directly against yours as he cages you in. 

“Jav-” you softly gasp, not expecting to feel him. Immediately you’re pulling yourself up, still on your tippy toes, but your back is now flush against his chest. 

“Ay, Dios mío,” he grunts as he whispers in your ear, “Querida, please get up.” His hands are on your hips, pulling you away from the dresser. You turn in his hold, a giggle leaving your throat as you look at his stressed out expression, realizing why his reaction was so pained. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask him quietly. “Saw something you like, huh?” You pull him in by his neck, kissing the side of his mouth before you pull away from him completely. Gesturing to the dresser, you ask, “Does this one pass the inspection, sir?” 

He glares at you before he replies. “Yeah, let’s get this one.”

Your eyebrow quirks up. “You didn’t even look at it.” 

“I saw enough, cariño,” he says gruff, looking at the tag on the display and taking note of which aisle the box will be at. 

You know your man well enough to know when he’s turned on, and that little unintentional stunt you pulled when making sure HEMNES was the right dresser for you—oh, it absolutely sent him over the edge. You decided to let him brew in his own arousal until you checked out your purchase, but the moment you set foot in his car again, you were set on starting something you wanted him to finish. 

“Thank you again for coming with me, baby,” you say as he settles back into the driver seat, your hand taking its seat on his upper thigh. 

The muscle twitches underneath your palm. “Mhm,” he mutters, voice wavering at your contact. Just as Javier puts the car in drive, he’s immediately pushing it back to park because your hand slides higher, closer, to the hardening bulge between his legs. His hips softly buck into your grasp; you take one look at him, and you can see the veins in his neck popping. A victory smile graces your face as his turns into a scowl. “What are you doing?”

You feign as much innocence as possible. “What am I doing? I’m just saying thank you, baby, I can’t tell you thank you?” 

“Right,” he says unconvinced. Your fingers continue to draw little shapes across the strained material of his pants. You go to cup him entirely, but the strength of his hand stops you. 

He releases your hand and gets out of the car, the car still running. He is at your side faster than you can take your own seatbelt off. He’s pulling your door open and giving you no chance for debate, his hand wraps around your jaw and pulls you into a bruising kiss—a messy yet calculated dance of teeth and tongue, and in pulling away he’s biting your bottom lip, pulling the sweetest little desperate whimper from your throat. He clocks the way your hips softly grind into his seat. 

“J-jav,” your voice shakes, “w-what are you doing-”

His grip on your jaw tightens, giving you a little shake as he speaks. “You had your fun, cariño,” he breathes. “My turn now.” 

His hand leaves your face and snakes down the front of your body, unzipping your jeans as you just stare wildly at the sight below you, your breathing erratic as your body anticipates his next move. 

“We- we’re in the fucking parking lot still, Javi!” You whisper yell at him, pissed, even though your body is doing absolutely nothing to stop him. He smirks at that fact. You want this. 

“Guess you’ll just have to keep quiet for me, yeah?” His fingers slip past your jeans, past your underwear, and you’re fucking soaked. His middle and ring finger bypass your clit, circling your entrance to gather the wetness accumulating before he comes back up to circle your throbbing bud. 

“Oh, fuck,” you yelp out, your eyes rolling back and your hips pushing into his hand as you hiss out in the pleasure. At your volume, Javi’s quick to stop his ministrations, cupping your mound and squeezing you as a warning. If the space allowed, you know he would’ve slapped your cunt. This alternative is equally as dizzying. 

“Open your eyes, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open. “You see all these people, huh? You want them to see you? See my good girl getting finger fucked in broad fucking daylight?”

“F-fuck, Jav” you whimper, much quieter this time, as your eyes land back on your man’s as you try and grind yourself on him. Javi’s fingers find your entrance then, sliding in with ease as a new wave of arousal pours out of you. 

“Oh, you like that idea, don’t you?” His fingers speed up their momentum as he adds his thumb into the mix, hurtling you much closer to your finish line than you anticipated. 

“Baby, I’m c-close, I’m- fuck- I’m gonna cum, Javi, I-” you bring your hand up over your mouth to stifle the sobs that are about to leave your mouth.

“Yeah, baby? Gonna give us a show?” He asks, his breathing just as erratic as yours. All you need is one more little push from his thumb on your clit, and then-

“No!” you cry.

Right as you were about to fall over the edge, Javier completely pulls his fingers out of you, standing up straight as he licks his fingers off. Your hips don’t realize he left you as they buck a few more times, chasing the feeling of what could have been. 

“Baby, please, I was so close,” you heave, your heart rate equivalent to that of a hummingbird. 

Javier leans down into the car, slotting his lips against yours terribly slow; your taste lingers on his tongue. He pulls away. “Sorry, mama,” he whispers. “Only I get to see you fall apart like that.” 

He zips and buttons your pants up, leaving you a stunned, aroused, wet mess as he makes his way back to the driver seat and pulls out of the parking spot, driving back to your place as if nothing even happened. 

The drive home is short, but it feels like the longest drive you’ve ever had to endure. He rests his hand on your thigh the entire time, squeezing you every now and then as his pinky leaves featherlight touches where you need him most. He talks to you during the drive—about what, you honestly have no clue, but it seemed the conversation was enough for him to sustain alone. 

You’re brought out of your daze when his hand grabs your jaw, turning you to look at him. “You okay, baby?” He asks, knowing damn well what’s got your head in the clouds. 

The throbbing between your legs remained consistent—worse, even—on the drive home, so no you’re not fucking okay. You don’t tell him that, though. “Mhm,” you hum, not trusting your vocal cords to string together something coherent. 

He pulls your lips to his—a lingering one, one that has your mind slipping further. Breaking the embrace, he says softly, “Go unlock the door, amor, while I carry the box in, yeah?” 

On wobbly legs, you make your way to your door, missing the hole a few times but eventually the key slides in with ease. You toss them into the bowl on the entryway table, making your way to the kitchen to grab yourself a glass of water to contain yourself until Javier comes inside. 

Apparently, you’re way more distracted than you thought, because one gulp down and he’s behind you—hands on your waist, mouth on your neck. You set the glass down a little harshly, its weight suddenly increasing tenfold with the way he’s on you. 

“Baby,” you whine, your head falling back onto his shoulder. “Please.”

Your boyfriend is turning you around then, turning you to face him, and his mouth is on yours, licking and sucking as his body pushes you up against the fridge, your head landing with a soft thud as his mouth starts to descend down your neck while his fingers work your buttons and zipper for the second time today. 

He’s pulling your bottoms down to your ankles—they’re loose on your form, so they don’t restrict you too much from opening your legs when he slots his thigh in between you, hitting right against your core. 

His lips never leave you, biting and kissing every inch he can reach while his hands find their home at the globe of your asscheeks, securing his grip as he begins a steady pace of your crying pussy back and forth on his clothed thigh. 

“Just like that, cariño, I can feel you fluttering on me already, holy fuck,” he groans as he continues his assault on your chest, leaving pretty bruises all over the valley of your breasts. “Making such a mess, pretty girl,” he mutters into your skin. 

Your hands snake to the curls at the back of his head, yanking them as he brings you back closer and closer to the finish line. He brings his lips back to yours sloppily, one hand leaving your ass to paw at your chest, his fingers rubbing and twisting at your nipples; they harden in his touch.

Your eyes struggle to stay open, his tight jeans providing the yummiest friction against your clit. “I- I’m gonna- please, Jav, I- I need to cum,” you sob. 

His hand at your chest snakes down your body, following the path to your sex. Just as you think he’s about to slip his hands between your legs, his hand changes direction, both hands going up to grip your waist to stop you from moving. His thigh leaves your core, and you’re fighting—your hips chase his muscle, your fingers scrambling to pull him flush against you, but he doesn’t budge. It’s no use. Your high is gone again, painfully forced back to the start line as Javier bends down to grab your panties and work their way back up your legs. 

You’re a heaving mess, tears falling from your eyes as pathetic little protests fall from your lips. 

Exhausted, you sigh and finally blurt out, “Javier Peña, what the fuck are you doing?” 

You can see the faintest shit-eating smirk fall on his face before he mirrors what you did earlier: feign innocence. “Gotta go build your dresser, mi amor.” 

“I can fucking build it later.” 

“But I’m already here. I’ll do it.” 

“Yeah, but your presence is needed elsewhere,” you say, annoyed. You faintly gesture to your sobbing cunt, silenced by your soaked underwear. 

“But if I’m here, I’ll do it, so you don’t have to,” he says, placing a chaste kiss to the side of your mouth. 

“Javi,” you whine, hoping a thousand different ways of are you fucking serious right now translates to him in the tone of your sexual frustration. 

“Just sit pretty for me while I go do it real quick, okay, cariño?” 

Not giving you the chance to respond, he drags you by the wrist to your bedroom, forcing you to get settled in the reading chair you have in there—a prime spot to watch him get all sweaty as he works. Great. 

You wouldn’t have riled him up if you had known this was the kind of torturous game he had in mind. 

Twenty minutes in, and Javier is sweating alright, but it’s not for the reasons you’re thinking. Yeah, it’s a physical strain building this dresser, but this is fucking light work for him. 

No, he’s sweaty, sticky, and disgustingly hot because his dick is at his full potential, throbbing and leaking at everything you put him through—and everything he put himself through, pulling you to the brink of orgasm twice without letting you fully submit to it. He damn near always gets off when you do, and teasing you like this teases him just as much, if not more. 

He’s almost done, he just has one more drawer to put together and slide into place, but he takes a step back and uses his arm to wipe the sweat across his forehead, his breathing heavy during the action. It takes everything in you not to completely melt at what he’s forcing you to witness, a faint whimper escaping you at the sight of him. 

It takes him barely a minute to get the last drawer assembled before he attempts sliding it into place. It goes in with ease at first, but before it can fully shut, the drawer gets stuck, unable to close by an inch. What the fuck, he mutters under his breath, lifting it up and wiggling to see if it’s just a kink inside the railing. Your jaw falls a little open at the vulgarity of his mouth; you are way too wound up and everything he’s doing right now has your pussy doing backflips, somersaults, cartwheels—you name it. She’s very eager. 

Fed up with the drawer, Javier completely opens the drawer and then slams it shut, using his hips to give the drawer a full-force push. The slam of the wood is deafening, but it does nothing to hide the sweet little gasp that comes out of you, his cock twitching at the sound. 

A high-pitched, breathy squeak of an oh fuck leaves your mouth, and Javier turns to check on you. He sees your fingers skating down your front, running your middle and ring finger over your soaked center, your clit’s fire immediately reigniting at the contact. 

“¿Cariño?” He calls, a sternness evident in his tone. You know not to test that tone. Your fingers’ movements pause, your eyes meet his and they’re dark. “What do you think you’re doing?” Jesus fuck, he doesn’t even know if he has the strength to fuck you like he was planning on, the sight of you touching yourself has a fire igniting through every vein in his body. 

Your eyebrows are furrowed, nervousness written all over your face. “I…um, I-” you start. 

“Get up,” he cuts you off. 

“What?” You say softly, your brain already scrambled eggs and unable to register what he just asked of you. 

His singular eyebrow raises as he stalks closer to you, his hard gaze looking down at you as your pussy cries even more at the attention. Now his command registers, and you’ll be damned if you have to make him repeat himself. 

You remove your hand from your center, lifting yourself off your chair. He snags you by your waist, pulling your body flush against his front as he steals the breath from your lungs, your tongues meeting hungrily. You moan into his mouth, your hands slowly wrapping around his neck, but before you can grip his sweet curls, he’s pulling away from you, your surprised gasps blessing his ears as he flips you roughly but with ease towards the direction of your new dresser, already in its place secured against the wall. 

“Javi,” you whimper again for what feels like the millionth time already. 

“Dime qué quieres, cariño,” (tell me what you want) he rasps in your ear, his hands skating down your front and resuming what you so desperately started.

“F-fuck-” you start, “fuck me, Javi, please, please fuck me,” you beg, your heart stuttering as he dips his middle finger into your entrance.

He kisses your temple as your eyes fall shut, a contrastingly sweet gesture for the way he’s about to ruin you right now. 

“Then bend over.” 

Now that sobers you up a little. You start to crane your neck in his direction. “W-what?” But he’s quick to grab your jaw, bringing your eyes back to your dresser. “Go do what you were doing earlier, baby. Bend over that dresser for me,” he says, soft but stern, then he’s taking a step back, letting you get there on your own. 

So hooked on his body heat, you can’t help the shudder that leaves you, but ultimately you’re making your way to your new dresser—picking yourself up on your tippy toes to lean over the top, just like you were doing with the store’s floor model. “L-like this?” You ask, voice trembling in anticipation. You stick your ass out a little extra for good measure. 

You hear his belt buckle before you register his deep grumble. “Yeah, baby,” he tells you, slowly making his way to your backside. “So good for me,” he breathes, his fingers hooking into the hem of your underwear and letting them fall to the ground. You step out of them, knowing his next step is gonna be to nudge your legs further open—and he does, using his foot to nudge both of yours outwards. 

He runs his middle finger through your slick as he lets his jeans fall, your hips push further into his touch, chasing the pleasure you’ve been buzzing for all morning. 

“Baby, please,” he hears escaping your mouth. 

“Nuh uh, baby,” he tuts, “I told you. You had your fun already, it’s my turn.” 

He runs his fingers through your wet seam, properly soaking his digits before he brings his hand to his own arousal, covering himself in your slick. He groans at the feeling. Javier crowds himself behind you, his tip immediately mirroring the path of his fingers. He catches himself against your clit, and he smirks at the wrecked sounds of your heavy breathing. 

He pushes himself into you, slow and steady, getting you comfortable in his size. His fingertips are digging little bruises into your hips—his way of grounding himself from absolutely pummeling into you from the get go. 

You two have been together for quite some while, but Javi knows he’s big. It’s evident in the way you mewl and convulse every time he’s inside of you. Too big to get used to, yet perfect for the slight tinge of pain he knows you love. 

“Baby, please move,” you pant. 

“You sure, cariño?” He says softly, his dominant demeanor fading to make sure you’re alright. 

You reach back to grab onto his hand and drag it up your own body, settling his long digits around the base of your neck. With a squeeze of your hand over his: “Fuck me, Jav, please.” 

At your queue, he’s pushing himself into you entirely. “Yeah, baby?” He snarls. “Want me to fuck you like this?” His hips form a hard pace, your hips digging into the ledge of the dresser. “This what your pretty little pussy wants, huh? What she’s been fucking crying for, baby?”

“Fuck-” you gasp. “Fuck, yes- Javi, yesyesyes! Amor, please,” you wail, your eyes rolling back as the pressure of his fingers on your neck restrict your blood flow, filling your body with a euphoria only he can give you. 

His eyes scan down your body, taking in every inch of you with nothing but pure adoration. The sweetness fades when his eyes zone in on where your two centers meet. He lets out an audible moan at the sight, sending your pussy fluttering at the sound. “Look at you, bebita, fucking creaming on me, holy fuck,” he groans, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease.

“I- I’m close, baby, fuck-” your breath stutters. “Touch me, Jav, I- I need you,” you moan. 

“Shh, I’ve got you, mi amor.” Javi’s hand on your throat leaves you and coasts down your spine, his grip fixing itself on the globe of your ass. 

He reaches down with his thumb to gather some of your slick, dragging it up to your tight, more inexperienced hole. You gasp when you feel it, your ass bucking further into his touch. “Oh, my baby girl likes that? You like your ass being played with, cariño?” He taunts, hooking his thumb inside. “Want to me to fuck you there next time?”

“Fuck- yes- please,” you whimper, your pussy fluttering around him at his words. His other hand snakes to your front and reaches for your clit, drawing tight, calculated circles on you. “Oh, fuck-!” you yell out.

“That’s it, baby, fucking- dámelo, fucking soak me, querida” he forces out between his teeth. Your body twitches in his grasp, knuckles stark white against your dresser, eyes clamped shut as you cry out in the overwhelming pleasure consuming every inch of your body. “Fuck,” he groans, your sounds forcing his balls to pull taut. Javi’s fingers speed up along with his thrusts, hurtling you towards your long-awaited climax. 

It’s overstimulating, him fucking into you so harshly as every nerve ending in your body pops off like fireworks. Yet, you feel the way his cock twitches inside of you, the way his pace stutters for barely a second, and you know he’s close. It’s overstimulating, yes, but you want, no, need him to continue, you need him to chase his own finish line—you need him to root himself so deep inside you, you’ll feel traces of him for months on end. 

“You’re close, I can feel it,” you gasp, building your own rhythm of your hips to help him along. “Need it, baby, need you inside of me,” you pant, your voice desperate. You pull yourself off the dresser and push your back into his chest, both his hands leaving your body to grip onto the darkwood, caging you in. 

“Yeah?” you feel his heavy breath fan across your cheek. “Tell me how fucking’ bad, querida, wanna hear it,” he says, voice strained.

You look back at him as best you can in this angle, your lips ghosting his jaw as the slick sounds of you grow louder. “Need you so bad even plan B can’t help us- God- please cum inside of me, Javier Peña, fucking give it to me,” you beg, your moans echoing the walls and rattling every fibre of his being, pushing his body into a state of pure ecstasy as he begins to empty himself into you. 

“Oh…fuck,” he grunts, his hips coming to a halt as he nearly wheezes through his orgasm. Once the sensitivity calms down, Javi pumps himself in and out of you a few more times for good measure, pushing his load deep inside of you. You can feel the way he slides in with a wet ease, and it makes butterflies in your belly erupt, a small gasp of a giggle, knowing that the soaked sensation isn’t because of solely your own product. 

“Fucking perfect,” he grumbles, slowly pulling himself out of you. He takes a small step back to get a look at your used cunt, puffy and glistening. His mouth literally waters. 

Javi drops to his knees, settling his broad palms on each of your ass cheeks to keep the view of you open for him. Slowly, he leans in, the flat of his tongue running over your delicate pearl through your cum-soaked folds, a mix of you and him blessing each taste bud on his tongue. He hears your breath hitch. 

He brings his tongue back in, collecting up the salty combination, before he’s on you again, mapping out the ring of your puckered muscle before he softly peppers the area in sweet kisses, your rear slightly irritated with his repeated slamming into you. 

He pulls himself away, giving you a moment to turn around; your back is to the dresser now. He places several kisses on your thighs, giving a few more kitten licks to your center before he’s rising to his feet and pulling you in for a deep yet gentle kiss. You can taste both you and him, and it makes your heart want to burst at the seams with warmth. 

“You okay?” He asks softly as his lips break away from yours. 

“Always with you,” you offer bashfully. 

“Good,” he says firmly, kissing the tip of your nose. You hear his hand smack the top of your dresser a few times. “I guess this thing is pretty fucking durable, huh?” 

“Mmmm, maybe. I think it needs to pass one more test,” you tell him. 

His eyebrow quirks up, you can see his mustache twitch, fighting his smirk. “And what test would that be, mi amor?” 

Taking a step back out of his hold, you back up into the dresser again, grabbing onto the ledge and you jump, spreading your legs wide open for him to fit in between. 

You can see the way his eyes flash impossibly darker. He stalks up to you again, his hands squeezing your thighs before he’s back on his knees, his head immediately burying himself in your core. 

Oh, yeah, this dresser passes the test, alright. 

Tagging those who showed interest when I posted the WIP !! @honeyedmiller , @punkshort , @joels-shitty-puns , @bearsbeetsbeskar , @janaispunk , @starry-eyes-love

If you enjoyed this, come check out my masterlist for more or follow my notifs blog @endlessthxxghtsnotifs to get updated on when I post new stories! Much love💚

@pedrostories

[creatingblackcharacters]

"Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life

Inspired by this ask

So, do Black people blush?

We are human beans 🤣! Blood rushes through our veins! This isn't just a nonblack misconception either; I know plenty of Black people who think we don't blush. Stop saying that shit. It's not true! If you thought this at any point, I'm glad you learned, TAKE THIS L IN SILENCE! I am sparing you the indignity of saying this out loud, ever! 🙏🏾

Jokes aside, the actual issue usually lies with the depiction or description. Depending on our skin tone, most of us aren’t going to turn ‘bright pink’ with a blush (if you write that in your y/n or roleplaying fics, that’s an easy way to negate a good amount of your potential Black audience). Think of a cherry coke- how you still see the tint of red in it, but it’s still brown? Like that.

One way to dodge this in writing is to say “flushed”, or “ears/cheeks became hot”. This is describing the physical action of blushing, without having to describe the color of someone’s face. If you’re really nervous about not writing us correctly via blushing… there you go!

Colorism

Okay. So this is something I’ll likely do its own lesson on, because there’s no way I could encapsulate it into one little blurb and I’m not going to try! After asking the internet an admittedly confusing question 😅, one thing I was able to reaffirm is that people have different opinions on what ‘dark’/’darker’ skin tones mean. People recognize that different cultural upbringings and contexts will change what that means! And that’s good- that an important part of the larger conversation!

However, I want everyone to understand that you don’t have to be Black to be dark/’darker’ skinned- you can be Black and very pale! We discussed that in the last lesson! There’s no ‘singular point of brown-ness’ that designates a Black person as ‘Black’- there’s an entire sociological conversation behind that!

My point is, this isn’t a ‘oh Black people OVERALL aren’t depicted blushing properly’- because there are ‘lighter’ skinned Black people that wouldn’t suffer as much from this particular issue.

Blushes and Undertones

Three Links for Tips on Medium to Deep Skintones

Different complexions are going to require different colors, there's not a 'one fits all' option. However! What we want to do for deeper brown complexions is to focus on BOLDER, not lighter! Putting light pink or a white person’s ‘nude’ on our skin will often make us look ashy and undercolored. And we don’t like looking ashy.

"It looks like they're ashy!"

What do we mean when we say this about a piece? Well, worse case scenario, it looks like this:

This was NOT one of KD’s better days, and he was thoroughly mocked for this. He got more than enough money for lotion! Anyway, when we say that your art looks ‘ashy’, it means that it feels like the skin of your Black character is gray, or dead. Like a corpse. We don’t look like that unless things are dire.

In fan and professional art, you can sometimes find people user a grey undertone for deeper shades of brown on Black people: NO! We are NOT grey! We are not pitch! Many skin shades of brown can be found based in the oranges and the reds. Based on lighting and depth of complexion, you might even have to go into the blues and purple to capture the brown you’re seeking.

I’m begging us to stop desaturating the browns we use. We can see the difference. It’s usually one of those ‘White Man Painted Brown’ techniques I discussed before; an attempt to ‘make a character Black’ without really committing to it because the brown skin tone ‘doesn’t look good’ to the artist. Brown is beautiful! Commit to brown! Commit to the full design!

Put in the work to create the brown you need!

While this is a traditional art piece (follow Ellie Mandy Art, a Black creator), I want you to notice how she incorporated many colors to create the deep brown for her piece.

-8:05 for the list of paints

-8:05-17:29 for the process

She used black, yes, but it was nowhere near the base color. She incorporated blues and reds and other browns to capture that depth. It wasn’t ‘toss in a bunch of black or grey to get the brown darker’. (SKIP TO THE END TO SEE HOW GOOD THIS PIECE IS, BTW. I felt like I was in the presence of a master watching her do this, fr. We gotta pay artists more.)

I want to use this model as an example to show that while we might get very dark, we're still not 'pitch black'. You can see the flat of the black of their clothes versus their deep complexion. They're not the same!

Even if your character's complexion is very deep brown into black, you still need to incorporate ‘life’ into them (if that makes sense). And you know what? Even if you want to describe your characters as having ‘black’ skin, that’s fine, but there are still other ways to do it- obsidian, the night sky, velvet. Find a way to romanticize our skin (there’s an entire conversation about how ‘black’ is used in a negative connotation in language and storytelling, and we’re ALSO going to have that conversation later!)

A Real Simple Way (i.e. how I do it)

I tried, but I cannot find my skin tones palette link anymore. I’m sorry! But, it’s been essential to my character design. If you don’t ever buy anything else, I would HIGHLY suggest investing in a skin tones palette for your art program.

Everyone say hello to Philia, my OC! I’m used to drawing her, so I’m going to use her as an example. Now remember, I am still an amateur! But this is how I do it!

Admittedly, I do the one on the left when I'm feeling lazy, but more often I'll take the time to do the one on the right. Now here’s the thing- I’m not actually blending the red into the brown. This is on a whole different layer. What I’m actually doing is adding to and fading the color until it’s at a color that I feel is natural. There's definitely an easier, smarter way to do this, but that’s what I like to do- I like to see the stages slowly until I’m comfortable.

You have to mess around and practice; see what looks good and what doesn't. Go into the reds, the oranges, the pinks and observe how it looks- I may go through multiple before I settle on one. It’s really just a matter of getting used to drawing Black skin tones and how they look in different lighting. This one's not perfect for sure.

Resources

Here are some really good posts and Youtube videos on how both to paint skin, and to add blush tones. And remember, as per my usual, the best way to learn how the draw and paint Black people is to follow and learn from Black artists! Another good idea might be looking into Black makeup and Black SFX makeup artists. As people that work with skin on a regular basis, they would be a good place to study what colors can and should be used on different skin colors as a whole.

ami0amii

Likelihood Art

Tiara Anderson

Proko

Sinix

Ross Draws

In summary, focus on bolder colors, be willing to test until you get what you need, and practice! All you can do to get better is to practice! And as always: it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[lucyrose191]

Hey could you do fic for Toto Wolff with wife reader where she's been feeling unwell but insists she's coming to the track and he's worried about her. Long short story, their son (Jack) with her and she felt like she's going to go faint and she tell Jack to find Toto for her and Toto's being her knight in shining armor,rescued her. Just fluff and comfort. Tag me later. Thanks! :))

TAKE IT EASY| T.WOLFF

Pairing; Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

Summary; Your stubbornness to admit you may be feeling unwell might just be your downfall one day but your husband will always be there to catch you, as will your son.

Warnings; none

F1 Master List

You could feel the worried gaze of your husband from where he was standing in the en-suite getting dressed, he had woken up before you this morning which was his first notification that something was wrong but once he saw your flushed cheeks and pressed the back of his hand against your forehead he knew you certainly weren’t well.

He had tried to convince you to go back to bed but you refused, you were here to support him and Jack was so excited to attend a race again and whilst Toto was more than capable of looking after him, it was just easier for you to take care of Jack and entertain him because Toto still had work to do, a toddler didn’t just want to sit in the garage and wait for their father to finish a bunch of things before having fun.

So you insisted that you were fine and were adamant on going to the track, ignoring the churning of your stomach, fogginess in your mind and how weak your body felt.

Toto wasn’t happy with your decision at all, your health was so much more important to him than any race that he had brought up not going himself but you had shot down that idea before he could even finish his sentence.

So he relented.

You were now on your way to the track, the car wasn’t doing anything good for your stomach, leaving you to lean your head against the window with your eyes closed as you took deep breaths through your nose.

What was meant to be the comforting touch of your husband rubbing his hand back and forth across your thigh wasn’t helping with the nausea you felt either because all you could think about was how similar the touch was to him rubbing his hand up and down your back as you threw up.

Jack was in the back babbling nonstop about how excited he was to see Lewis again and hopefully sit in the car and you loved your son so much but your head was so fuzzy that everything he was saying you were hearing three times and you couldn’t think straight.

"Mama?" His small voice called out and you could perfectly hear the undertone of excitement.

"Yeah, darling?" You slowly turned around in your seat so you could look at him, mustering up the biggest smile you could for him.

"Can we see Charles and Carlos, today?" He asked, face filled with hope.

"We can do whatever you want to do but remember they’ll be very busy preparing for the race so they might not have time to speak with you."

"Okay, and can we see Bono?" He asked.

"Yes," you smiled weakly.

"And Mick?"

"If you want to, yes."

"And Lando and Oscar too?"

"We’ll do whatever you want to do Jack."

"Well I want food before we see Lando," he said strong cause you to laugh.

"Yeah, we mustn’t forget about that," you agreed before turning back in your seat. Of all the days for your son to be riddled with energy, today was not really ideal but you suppose that’s what comes with being a parent.

You rested your head back against the window, looking out at the streets you passed, reaching out blindly your clasped your hand with Toto’s that hadn’t removed from its position on your leg, hoping his touch could help you feel even the slightest bit better.

Toto released a deep breath as he turned off the car and turned to look at you. You hadn’t even registered that you had arrived at the track, still staring out the window in a daze. "It’s not too late to turn around and go back to the hotel, we can go back to bed." He spoke up quietly, not wanting to startle her.

You shook your head and turned to him with a smile, "I’ll be fine, come on, jack’s getting antsy," you responded, hearing your son trying and failing to unfasten his seatbelt.

Your husband huffed in defeat and reluctantly got out the car, opening the door behind his to let Jack out, you heard him entertain his childish rambling and as soon as the door shut you took a second to take a deep breath before getting out yourself.

"Mummy’s not feeling today so it’s up to you to take care of her okay?" Toto whispered to his son, who was resting on his hip, so you couldn’t hear.

Jack frowned and looked to his father in concern for you. "She’s poorly?"

Toto nodded "She’s doesn’t feel well, are you going to keep an eye on her for me?" Jack nodded with a determined look on his face before wriggling for Toto to put him down.

"Mummy!" He ran around the car as soon as his feet his the ground so he could get to you.

"Yeah, baby?" You crouched down, surprised when he wrapped his arms around your neck in a hug.

"I don’t want to see Charles, Carlos or Lando today, can we just get food and stay in Papa’s office and watch the race from the garage?" He asked.

You looked at him in confusion at his sudden change, he was beyond excited earlier and whilst you were relieved at the change in what he wanted, you were surprised at how abruptly he didn’t want to go and see the other drivers anymore.

"Are you sure that’s what you want?" You asked, skeptical as he nodded confidently but you reluctantly agreed.

"Okay then," you grabbed his hand and Toto grabbed his other as the three of you made your way into the track, you ignored the worried eyes of your husband that kept flickering to you every few seconds, the pair of you ignored the fans and shouts of media reporters as you weren’t in the mood to feign happiness and Toto was just far too concerned about you.

You had hoped that as day went by you would start to feel better but if anything you felt worse, you had went to hospitality with Jack to get some food to take back to Toto’s office but the mixture of smells had sent you spiralling and you tried to get out of there as quick as possible.

You and Jack had been in Toto’s office for about an hour and you hadn’t seen your husband in about two.

Jack was being on his best behaviour though, you don’t know where his change in what he wanted to do today came from but he seemed content sitting on the floor with his snacks and watching the live recording of the track on your phone.

You had sat yourself down on Toto’s chair to try and relax a bit but your head was spinning so much and your vision was starting to blur.

"Jack?" You called out weakly, you had tried to sound as though everything was okay as to not worry him but it didn’t work that well.

"Mama?" Jack pulled himself up to his feet immediately, live broadcast long forgotten as he saw his mother even paler than you had been this morning and leaning against his father’s desk, a thin layer of perspiration on your skin.

"Can you go get Papa for me? Tell him I need him quickly." You told him, trying to smile at him but your body didn’t even have the energy for that.

Jack didn’t need to be told twice, he turned around and ran to find Toto, opening the door with so much force that it banged against the wall before closing half way again.

"Papa!"

The Mercedes team all looked away from what they were doing and turned towards the sound of Jack’s panicked voice followed by the sight of him running through the garage with a petrified look on his face, searching for his dad.

"Papa!" He pretty much screamed, fear overtaking his body knowing that something was really wrong with his mother right now and you were alone and he couldn’t find his father.

The Mercedes team were worried beyond belief as they took in just how scared Jack was and how desperate he sounded for Toto who wasn’t in the garage at the moment.

"Jack?" Lewis slowly approached the boy who was stood in the middle of the garage, looking all around him, tears welling up in his eyes when he couldn’t see his dad.

He looked at Lewis frantically. "Where’s Papa?" He demanded.

"I think he’s speaking to someone right now, are you okay?" Lewis crouched down in front of him.

Jack shook his head aggressively, "I need Papa, Mama needs him quickly!"

"Where’s your mama?" Lewis asked as worry filled him. "Show me where she is, maybe I can help her?"

But Jack shook his head "no, she needs Papa, she told me to get him quickly."

Lewis sighed but nodded, a bad feeling was settling have in his chest for you. "Okay, you stay right here and don’t move and I’m going to go and get your dad, okay?"

"You need to be quick!" Jack told him desperately.

"I’ll be as quick as I can." Lewis told him, giving a look to the team to keep an eye on him before turning and quite literally running out of the garage.

People stopped and watched in confusion as they saw Lewis Hamilton running through the pits, looking around frantically for someone.

It didn’t take him long to see Toto sticking out from the crowd, in the middle of an interview with Martin Brundle, he didn’t care that it was live and brutally interrupted the pair of them, grabbing Toto’s arm. "You need to come with me, now. It’s important."

Seeing the serious look in his driver’s eyes, a million scenarios swirled around in Toto’s mind. He didn’t even excuse himself from Martin knowing that Lewis wouldn’t just crash his interview for no reason.

What took him back more was the fact that his driver had started running back into the direction of their garage and Toto didn’t hesitate to follow.

He couldn’t imagine how this looked, Lewis running through the paddock frantically, crashing Toto’s live interview and the pair of them running back.

"What is wrong?" He huffed as they weaved in and out of the masses of people crowding in the pits.

Lewis kept his voice down as he explained, not wanting this to hit the internet from someone overhearing. "I have no idea, Jack was screaming in the middle of the garage, looking for you. He said Y/N needed you quickly so I tried to get him to tell me where she was but he wouldn’t, said she told him to get you as quick as he could, he looked terrified."

A deep sickening feeling settled into the pit of Toto’s stomach as he quickened his pace, he knew you weren’t well today and the multiple scenarios of what could possibly have happened scared him.

"Papa!" Jack yelled as soon as he saw his father enter the garage, running straight for Toto and diving into his legs. "Quickly! Mama said she needs you."

Toto picked Jack up and looked him in the eye. "You stay here with Lewis, okay? I’m going to go see Mama."

Jack nodded, suddenly a lot more calm now that his dad was here and didn’t complain when he was passed off to Lewis.

Toto quickly made his way to his office and as soon as he stood in the threshold of the doorway, his heart fell to his stomach as he lay his eyes upon you, unconscious on the floor by his desk.

He was by your side in a second, kneeling next to you as he rolled you onto your side and moved your hair from your face.

"Liebe?" He gently tapped the side of your face, trying to coerce you out of unconsciousness.

At no response, he pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, grimacing at the amount of heat he felt radiating from your body. Looking around his office, he saw a glass of ice water sitting on his desk, he grabbed the glass and dipped his hand inside before pressing it back against your forehead, hoping it would cool you down a bit.

"Schatz?" He tried to wake you again, this time successful as he heard a slight change in your breathing and saw your eyes moving beneath your lids.

"Y/N, you’re okay, take it easy." He continued speaking to try and coerce you more awake, smiling when he saw your eyes open.

You were confused to see your husband hovering above you, your mind was foggy and your body felt so heavy you couldn’t move your limbs.

Looking around, you found that you were lying on the floor causing your face to contort into confusion.

Turning back to Toto, you blinked up at him and upon seeing the questioning look on your face, he explained. "You fainted, and gave Jack quite the fright too."

Hearing Jack’s name, your body filled with worry and you tried to sit up but Toto’s hands on your shoulders encouraged you to lay back down. "He’s fine, he’s with Lewis."

"Need a drink," you told him causing him to look at the glass on the edge of his desk.

"I’ll get you a new one, I put my hand in that one to try and cool you down," he told you.

You shook your head, "it’s fine," you held out your hand for him to just give you the one on the desk, not really wanting him to leave at the minute.

Toto brought the glass to your lips, insisting on hosing it for you since your hands were shaky and he didn’t want you spilling it all over yourself. "Have you had anything to eat?"

You shook your head, the idea of food earlier had knocked you funny but you know you should probably eat something.

"I’ll get someone from hospitality to make you some toast," he told you, not really giving you the opportunity to refuse, not that you would have anyways. "Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah, thank you." you replied, sitting yourself up to lean against his desk. It was as though passing out was what your body needed to recover because the fuzziness in your head had faded away, the hot flush all over your body was gone and your stomach was no longer churning anymore, it just felt empty.

"We should’ve stayed at the hotel," Toto repeated for what felt like the hundredth time today and you couldn’t even argue with him this time. "I know," you responded.

"Do you want to stay in here and rest while the race is happening? I can keep Jack with me."

You shook your head, "No, I want to watch it out there; I’ll be fine."

Toto sighed but nodded.

"Mama!" Jack ran away from Lewis and towards you as soon as he saw you and Toto leave his office, you smiled widely and crouched down for him to run into your arms despite Toto’s protests, knowing you still felt a bit weak.

"Hi, baby," you wrapped your arms around him tightly and rubbed a hand up and down his back.

"I got Papa just like you said," he spoke into your shoulder.

"I know, you did such a good job," you told him proudly.

Toto insisted that you stay near him whilst the race was happening, not willing for you to leave his sight incase anything else happened so you curled up on a chair beside him with Jack on your lap, the boy also not wanting to be far from you, with Toto’s large coat draped over the pair of you.

A plate of toast and a glass of water had been set in front of you next to the monitors and there was no way you could stomach all four slices so you and Jack split it.

The media had their speculations as to why Toto and Lewis had been rushing through the paddock but once they saw you snuggled up on the chair beside Toto, still very pale, they could guess what happened but they thought it was adorable seeing how the man would constantly glance away from the monitor to you and Jack to ensure you were okay, his hand stroking your hair away from your face every few minutes.

[ickie]

♡ … TIO \ MV1 & CL16  …

pairing … max verstappen x reader x charles leclerc summary … you, max, n charles all get freaky... it really is just porn w no plot i cannot lie ... 1500+ words warnings … nsfw !!!!! pls only read if you're 18+. oral (m recieving), light spanking, dom/sub undertones, max gets off on others people pleasure hehe notes … this shit is so far from being proofread i am so sorry y'all... i feel like this is some of the worst smut i've ever written lowkey but it's okay, i just wanted to put out something that wasn't the story of us related ! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated & fill out this form to be added to my taglist ! much love <3

your hips swayed against the body behind you, sweat beading along your hairline as you moved to the beat of the song. head tilting onto the shoulder behind you, you placed a chaste kiss to charles’ jawline, grinning as his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you more firmly against him. your eyes shut as you let him move your body, a wide smile taking over your features as you got lost in the pull that charles seemed to have on you.

as your eyes opened, they met ones with a piercing shade of blue holding something in them that you couldn’t quite read. “he’s looking, charlie.” you giggled, hoping the brunette was able to hear you over the sound of the music.

charles’ head tilted up, making eye contact with his rival turned friend, one of his eyebrows quirking up as they stared each other down. you watched the exchange, feeling the adrenaline begin to pool in the pit of your stomach. max stood up at the bar, swiftly moving himself between the sea of bodies that separated him from you and charles.

“hi, maxie…” you grinned as he finally made his way to the two of you, his expression remaining unreadable. “i missed you.” you hummed, your arms making their way over his shoulders as you pulled him closer, sandwiching yourself between the two males.

“is that so?” he wasn’t looking at you, his eyes locked on charles as they seemed to communicate without even speaking.

you hummed, pushing up on your tiptoes so you could place a kiss to the corner of his mouth, giggling as you finally got his attention on you. max moved out of your grasp while charles pulled away from you, causing a pout to take over your glossed lips. “i think it’s time to leave,” the monegasque said, one of his hands finding its way to the small of your back to push you along.

“i don’t want to-” you started, eyebrows furrowing before you saw the look the two were giving you, knowing that the three of you leaving wasn’t up for debate. you huffed before crossing your arms over your chest, eyes rolling as you moved with the two of them.

the car ride to charles’s apartment was tense, you have been delegated to the back seat as the two men sat in the front, barely acting like they knew you were there. but the moment the three of you were alone, it was a completely different scene.

before charles had even been able to shut the door, max pushed you up against the wall in the foyer, plush lips finding their home in your mouth. kissing max was addicting, the way he took the lead with one of his hands threaded in your hair to keep you where he wanted you – he kissed like it was the last thing he was going to do, and it kept you craving more. his free hand trailed to your ass, kneading the flesh in his hand as you gasped into the kiss. max pulled away, nipping at your bottom lip as he did.

your eyes met the dark green of charles’, clearly not having any complaints about watching the show that you and max had just happily put on for him. “bedroom?” it was a simple question, but you quickly obliged. you didn’t miss the way charles pulled max in for a quick kiss, causing you cheeks to heat up even more than they already were.

inside the bedroom, charles couldn’t keep his hands off of you. “let’s get this dress of, mon ange.” he hummed as he kissed down your neck, deft fingers pulling at the zipper of your dress. max helped push it down your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet.

you grinned as the two men looked at your naked body, trying to suppress a giggle at the fact that you hadn’t been wearing any undergarments at all. “mon ange…” charles groaned, his head tilting back.

“dirty, dirty girl.” max shook his head, pushing you towards the bed while your cheeks flamed with heat.

with where you were on the bed, you got a prime seat watching the way charles and max worked together. their lips were entangled in a deep kiss, max’s hands working the buttons of charles’ shirt while charles palmed max through his jeans. you bit at your bottom lip, not wanting to interrupt what the two of them had going on.

the two parted so they could rid themselves of the rest of their clothes before beginning their descent on you. max pulled you towards the end of the bed, causing you to let out a little squeal. “on your hands and knees, schatz.” you followed the command with no pushback, your head towards to foot of the bed.

charles stepped in front of you, his hand working slowly over his dick before he tapped the tip against your lips. your lip parted, your eyes on his as he pushed his way into your mouth. at the same time, max moved onto the bed behind you before he landed a hard smack against one of your ass cheeks, causing you to jerk into charles’ dick.

a groan came from charles, his hand threading into your hair. he wasn’t pushing you, but the pressure of his hand was a nice presence to have. one of max’s fingers trailed down from the curve of your ass to your pussy, barely letting his finger ghost over your entrance before he came down on your clit, rubbing circles on the bundle of nerves.

you moaned onto charles causing him to buck forward, you pulled away with a gasp, tears pooling in your eyes as you looked up at him. “you’re doing so well for us, mon ange… always such a good girl, aren’t you?” one of his hands caressed your jaw before he stepped away, causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

you felt the bed dip, your head turning behind you to look. charles was slotting himself behind you, two of his fingers spreading along your pussy. he groaned at the wetness that was gathered there, lifting his fingers up towards max who willingly took them in his mouth, sucking all of your wetness off of charles’ fingers. “always taste so good…” the dutchman groaned, one of his hands resting against the curve of your ass.

charles grabbed at your hips, pulling you towards the head of the bed so there was room for max to sit in front of you. “please, charlie… need you so bad,” you whined as he ran the tip of his dick along your folds, before he slowly pushed in.

your head hung between your shoulders, moaning at the stretch of him finally entering you. he moved slowly, letting you adjust the size of him before he fully bottomed out. a gasp passed your lips as you felt his hands grab at your stomach, pushing your body up so your back was to his chest – baring your front for max. the blonde’s lips were on yours almost instantly, charles’ fingers tweaking at your nipples while you and max continued to make out. he was breathing in all the moans and gasps you were letting out before he trailed the kisses down to your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive flesh. you were almost positive you were going to have marks by the morning.

you took one of your shaking hands, spitting into your palm before you took max in your hand working your palm over the tip of his dick and then beginning to move your hand with the speed of charles’ thrusts. “i want you to feel good, too…” you gasped; your head knocking back against charles’ shoulder.

max groaned into the curve where your shoulder and neck met, his hips meeting your hand as your eyes screwed shut. “’m close, i’m going to-” your words were cut short by the feeling of fingers pressing circles over your clit, the feeling of tightness erupting in your belly as you let out a gasp, body trembling with the force of your orgasm.

charles quickly pulled out, as you felt the warmth of his cum spread across your lower back and ass while max came across your chest. since charles was no longer holding you up, you slumped forward against max, your head resting against his shoulder as you took in a couple of deep breaths, body still shaking with the aftereffects of your orgasm.

you could faintly feel charles move, hearing the ensuite light turning on and the sound of a sink running. he came back with a wet rag, wiping it along your back before him and max moved you to lay on your back. max wiped at your chest, pressing a light kiss to your lips as your eyes fluttered shut.

“you did so good for us, liefje.” max murmured, moving your body so your head was resting against a pillow.

“max… if you don’t come and cuddle me right now,” you grumbled, smiling as you felt his body slot itself behind you.

charles came back into the room – when he left, you weren’t quite too sure – with a couple glasses of water before mumbling something about hating being the little spoon. a quiet giggle came from you before he entered the bed, your arm wrapping itself around his middle and pulling him closer. as you pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, you mumbled a quiet i love you, before doing the same with max – his kiss being put to his knuckles.

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : 5+1 trope, pwp (porn with plot), porn with feelings (a. LOT.), poetic descriptions, fluff, with slight angst undertones, references to cards “moment’s respite” “close feelings” “fragment of time” "lightseeking obsession",  unrequited but actually requited love, yearning, miscommunication, love confessions, reader is drunk in scene 5, kissing, heavy petting, grinding, fingering, clit play, slight nipple play, multiple orgasms, first time sex (with each other), vaginal sex (raw), needy sex, creampie, praise, dirty talk, use of pet names “angel” “my starlight”. lmk if i missed any tags !! ((slightly unedited))

wc : 13.4k (😭)

an : PHEW OK. i'm going back to my roots guys ... this is LONG, embarRASINGLY LONG but. if you want to skip to the Fun Part, that's in scene 6 (which is like. more than half of the entire thing really) !! also, play the song as you read i promise you won’t regret it <3

taglist : @spotted-salamander @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valvinny [sign up here!] / +tyty @unluckywisher for beta reading a part of this the other day 🥺

AO3 LINK 🔗

Five times he couldn't say “I love you”... And one time he actually did.

—ᴏɴᴇ.

“Do you think Lemonette will finally stop bothering us for a while?”

You stifled a yawn as you walked up to your apartment, Xavier’s own footsteps following not too far behind you. The yellow wanderer had been roaming the city causing trouble, and you thought you’d gotten rather sick of seeing its face around—especially now that it had kept you both awake, the threads of sleep having slipped from you both the instant your watch went off. In that moment, a glance at the time told you that it was well past midnight. The sky surrounding the building was darker than dark, light from neither the moon nor stars enough to bring you out of it, the only comfort being the dim gleam of the hallway lights.

“We gave it a good beating, at least…” came his reply, and you shouldn’t have been so surprised to hear the grogginess present in his voice—as if he hadn’t been a large part of the reason Lemonette was rather… annihilated, for lack of a better word.

You smiled.

“Yeah, and no less thanks to you for it,” you chuckled, stretching as the door to your apartment finally came into view. You realized that you’d never once thought you wanted to be in bed any more than you did in that moment.

A momentary silence fell, and you stood by the doorway, turning around to face him.

Xavier remained still.

He seemed contemplating, scanning over your figure, fingers reaching out tentatively… only to fall back to his sides.

“Xavier?”

The call of your voice prompted a shake of his head, and a hint of embarrassment flashed briefly in his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled.

It wasn’t nothing.

“You’re not… injured, are you?”

A smile spread on your lips, then.

So he was worried.

“It’s just a scratch,” you shrugged. “You know how it is. Just the usual stuff, I don’t even need first aid for it. It’ll be fine.”

Still, he didn’t move.

“So… Will you be able to sleep okay?”

It was almost comical how he said it, what with how obviously sleepy his own gaze had turned. Eyelids heavy, slow blinks in your direction, as if everything he was doing in that moment was with the intention of conserving as much energy as he could… He was tired. Just as tired as you were. Just as jolted out of his sleep as you had been.

You nodded your head, and reached over to give his shoulder a pat.

“I’ll be okay. Really. Maybe it’s since I’m tired from all of that, but I feel like I could get some pretty good rest! I don’t want to keep bothering you with my sleeping problems, anyway…”

Your eyes met, then.

Xavier’s searched yours, as if trying to ascertain that you weren’t just brushing it off. And this time, he seemed to let impulsivity win—or, whatever it was that made him reach out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

His touch was soft. Gentle. Much like it always was; much like he always was, especially when it came to you. It lingered, the feeling of his skin against your ear, settling to rest by your cheek—and perhaps that was what made it feel more intimate, and soothing, than it otherwise would have been.

You didn’t know it could be so comforting just to look at someone like this.

To share a pause in thought, to enjoy the presence of each other… to have a little bit of your worries melt away the way that they did…

The moment offered more solace than you thought it ever could.

But Xavier tended to have that effect on you.

He always made you feel safe.

“Xavier?” You mumbled, your hand reaching up to rest on his wrist.

“Mh?”

“Um… Thanks. It’s not so bad, even if Lemonette had to bother us tonight. Since… I have you, after all.”

And at that, you watched him smile.

Somehow, the dim lighting around his figure made him appear all the more ethereal than he usually did.

“I think the same,” he nodded.

His hand dropped back to his side, then. His mouth opened and closed for a moment, as if trying to weigh what to say next, before he took a prompt step backwards.

“...Goodnight.”

It was soft, the way he said it. You could have missed it if you weren’t paying attention, and something told you that it wasn’t quite… what he had meant to say.

Still, you smiled.

“Goodnight, Xavier.”

In the end, it wasn’t so bad, like this.

—ᴛᴡᴏ.

How many days was it, now, that you’d found yourself in such a situation?

You stood in his kitchen, hands on your hips, looking at the tray of cookies in front of you. Much to your dismay, they were mostly charred, or otherwise deformed, or otherwise… much too expanded to be considered presentable. Your gaze raised to meet a very expectant one, blue eyes nearly twinkling, and you thought—how could he be so confident?

“Xavier,” you started, and you crossed your arms for emphasis.

It was in an instant that you saw him deflate. If he had ears like a rabbit—a thought you’d had for quite some time now—you were certain they would be folding over his face in near-mortification.

Or guilt, perhaps.

You weren’t quite sure which one it was.

You were sure, however, that it was difficult to scold him properly with the kind of expression he was giving you.

You reached up to scratch your cheek; “It’s not terrible… I mean, you’re getting better…”

“...I followed your instructions, though…” You watched him lean over the counter to take a look at what had become of the cookies, and then he, too, found his nose wrinkling in distaste. “They don’t turn out very well, do they?”

“On the plus side… They don’t taste bad!”

To make a point, you held up a cookie and took a cheerful bite.

“...Well, you know. Aside from the burnt ones, I guess…”

A pout formed on his face with ease, and with the way he’d been leaning over, you were able to notice the slight flutter of his eyelashes with every blink.

For a moment, your heart skipped a beat.

“How are you so good at baking?” he sighed. “I know you’ve been trying to help… But is there something you’re not telling me?” His voice sounded a little dejected, more emotion seeping into it than usual, and you could see his desire to learn reflected cleanly in his gaze. Xavier wasn’t often this expressive. You knew he was genuine with all of this, and especially with all of the impromptu baking lessons that he’d dragged you into.

Not that you ever complained, of course.

To you, any moment you got to spend with him was one of comfort; an opportunity you could never bring yourself to pass up on. 

Even if these moments often ended up in…

You took another look at the cookies.

Well, burnt things.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You knew you weren’t supposed to, and you watched his expression change from one of gloom to that of bewilderment. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as if trying to understand your sudden outburst—and with Xavier, you found, it was this expression that you so unabashedly adored. The confusion made him seem akin to a lost puppy, innocence in his eyes unveiled, a sincere glimpse into the person he didn’t often let you see.

This, with the way the sunlight streamed in through the window, the placement of his kitchen aptly weaved into the path of the sun, made the moment all the more heartwarming.

This was why you could never decline his invitations.

If only to see a little bit more of him the way that you were…

Your laughter settled into a grin, and you shook your head.

“Nothing, it’s just… Xavier, you’re so… So…” You made vague gestures with your hands, trying to find a suitable word. “So cute.”

The confusion in his face no less settled at that, but he crossed his arms. “...Well, so are you.”

You paused.

Your eyes widened.

In retrospect, it wasn’t as if this was anything new. Quips like this would often come out of nowhere; you’d learned to get a little bit used to it. That was the Xavier you were familiar with.

But there was something about the way he said it this time that made your heart skip another beat.

It had been doing that quite often in his presence, as of late.

The softness, perhaps; the directness, perhaps—or maybe it was the way the depth in his eyes made it seem a little more real. He met your gaze head-on, never wavering, never taking back what he’d said.

But in another split second, that moment was gone—and just as you had meant to tease him, now it didn’t seem like the words held much weight for him. There was an easy smile on his face, his eyes softened ever so slightly, but then he reached out for his own cookie to taste. And it was almost as if he hadn’t said anything at all. It was so typical of him to act so nonchalant about it.

Perhaps, part of you wished that he had said something more.

You cleared your throat.

“A- anyway,” you dusted some crumbs off of your clothes, “you can just—you know, try again later? You could follow along with a demonstration, or something… Maybe it was a little much just to recount the recipe to you. But, I really still think you’re improving! This’s a lot better than the last time we baked already, so with more practice I think you—”

Your words felt swallowed down in your throat, his eyes watching you with such intensity that you nearly had to take a step back.

“You’re amazing.”

Huh?

“You’re good at a lot of things. I don’t think I know what I’d be doing with all of this if you weren’t here.”

Again he spoke, with the follow of silent words that, to you, seemed like they never really made it out of his mouth. Like there was something more, something else he would have loved to say out loud, but he… didn’t.

As if he were holding back.

He took the tray from you, setting it aside, his eyes following the sunlight. You noticed him squinting slightly when he found its source, acting, as always, as if he didn’t just say something that could get the butterflies in your stomach acting up. As if the push and pull that had consumed most of the days you’d been spending together as of late didn’t… exist.

You almost didn’t know what to make of it, until he opened his mouth to speak again.

“Can we do this again, sometime?”

“I—huh?”

“I like baking with you.”

His head turned back to face you, and there was a small smile playing on his lips—one that mirrored the one you’d had just moments ago.

“Let’s do this again sometime.”

It wasn’t a question anymore, but a statement.

You swallowed down the fluster in your throat, feeling as if the implications of his words were a lot more than just… This.

But you offered a smile. “O…okay. Yeah. I… I would like that, too.”

It was so difficult to say no to him.

…Not that you’d ever want to say no, anyway.

—ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ.

He would do that quite often, you found.

Your eyebrows knitted together as you glanced up from your textbook, only to find him, chin in his hand, not at all paying attention to the book laid out in front of him. Blue eyes bore into your own, and though that selfsame flurry of butterflies whirled around in your chest, you only crossed your arms at him in response.

The library was quiet.

You were the only ones here at this hour, quite early into the morning, save for a few people scattered in their seats here and there. The only sounds were a few hushed whispers every now and then, the rustling of paper, perhaps the sound of a book closing, a chair scraping. Menial sounds, if only to add to the environment.

Sure, it was a perfect conduit for thoughts to wander, for sleeping to be induced, but—but he promised. He promised to help you study for this exam, or at the very least, that he would study with you so you wouldn't feel alone in it.

Yet here he was, not taking it as seriously as you'd hoped him to.

“What are you even looking at?” you nearly whined, your voice lower so as not to disturb the people around you that were reading. “A library is made for reading, you know…”

You didn't know how to feel at the expression he gave you, rather relaxed and unconcerned, head moving in a little nod. He gestured towards the open book before him; “I have a book,” he spoke matter-of-factly.

You gave him a pout.

“Yes, but you're not reading it…”

“I'm… doing more important things.”

“...Like what?”

“Studying.”

You couldn't tell if he was being serious, but his words definitely made it seem like he was playing around. In fact, had his tone not been so direct, you could have thought he was mocking you.

“Are you making fun of me?” you huffed. “If you didn't want to come here with me, you could've just said so, you know.” You made a face, and then promptly rolled your eyes. “You're not even looking at your book. What are you studying, then?”

And then he smiled. 

And it was less irritating to you than it was worrisome, for there was something about that smile that made you feel caught. 

Though in what, you weren't quite sure yet.

“Xavie—”

“You.”

You blinked, your words cut off, your brows furrowed in confusion. “...What?”

“You, I'm studying you.”

He reached over and brushed against your hair, knuckles just barely grazing over the side of your head, nearly akin to a slight flutter of the wind. In an instant, you felt a faint trace of dust fall down onto the table. Your eyes followed it, the moment passing in silence.

You bewilderedly blew it away.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak just yet, only quite having the mental fortitude to look back up at him, the confusion on your face ever more evident.

“There was something in your hair,” he smiled.

Your face flushed, then, and you weren't unaware of the particular gleam in his eyes. He might have been stating the truth, but he was obviously still… teasing.

“Xavier—!”

A finger to your lips, this time, and there was no holding back the smile that formed on his own.

“Shhh,” he spoke quietly, “it's a library. You have to be quiet.”

You couldn't help the way your cheeks bloomed into shades of pink, and you lowered your head back to your book, defeated.

He didn't know the things he made you feel.

There was little sense left in you to find some kind of retort.

—ꜰᴏᴜʀ.

“You have kind of a funny interest in all of these legends,” you mused, following him with more careful footsteps.

Your eyes focused on the cone of ice cream in your hands, delighted at the appearance that you were promised. Though you had to plod through such a touristy place such as this for it, you were glad to have the bunny-shaped sundae cone finally right there in front of you. Holding it up a little, you tilted your head to compare the side-by-side image of the vanilla ears with Xavier, and smiled to yourself.

It kind of looked like him.

Little white ears matched the shade of his hair, and you figured it was maybe just missing those blue eyes you loved so much.

The person in question, on the other hand, seemed to have other ideas on his agenda.

He barely noticed your little self-satisfying antics, brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the navigation app you’d installed on his phone. It was endearing how adamant he’d been on sticking with an old-fashioned map; this was a side to him you found that you adored dearly. Moving to circle around him, your eyes shone at his expression of concentration, his eyes narrowed, lips jutted out slightly into somewhat of a pout.

God, you really…

The thought remained uncompleted, and you cleared your throat.

“Xavier,” you reached up to lower his phone, shuffling closer to him to take a peek. “I really don’t think it’s that far… If you’re having trouble with it, just give it to me and—”

The phone screen shut as his finger moved over the lock button, and he promptly put it back into his pocket. A little smile, and a shake of his head, and then his arms were steering you forward as if nudging you along to continue walking.

“Nope,” he said, with a shake of his head to emphasize it. “I’ve studied it enough. We just have to walk a little bit in that direction. We’ll see the lovers’ bridge, then.”

Your eyebrows raised in amusement.

You let him steer you, felt the way his hand moved from over your shoulder to back by his sides, your hands brushing every so often. The only way you could distract yourself from it was to stare intensely at the ice cream in your other hand, one that had endured a few little kitten licks from you, but had its shape more obviously affected by the warmer temperature around you. You wondered, in the back of your mind, if it would last before you got to the bridge at all.

“Why do you want to go there, anyway?” You risked a glance back up at him as you spoke.

This little trip, in and of itself, had been planned on very much a whim—or, you supposed, not very planned, at all. But you could recount the few times you had been out with Xavier, and they had often been on your invite. This time, it was he who had insisted on dragging you out along with him, all to find the so-called Lovers’ Bridge that was infamous for its ‘good fortune’.

The white pedestrian bridge, stretching over the river in a sleek, sophisticated figure, had been used as a filming location for a number of romance movies. Of course, these were films that you had seen… But ones you knew Xavier had yet to, especially with the way he usually avoided all those sappy titles in the first place.

It was odd enough that he'd want to visit the bridge for such a reason… Yet there was more.

And you had found out about those reasons not more than a day before you’d left.

Because more than filming locations, was the superstition behind the bridge—a bridge that had completed its construction on Valentine’s Day, thus earning its name. And it had been swirling with promises and legends ever since, ones that reached the ears of even those outside the area. According to what had spread online, crossing the bridge with the one that you loved would ensure a long and happy life with them as a couple. And something churned in the pit of your stomach as you mulled over the thought, tongue darting out for another few licks on the treat that you held.

The taste of vanilla was cooling on your mouth, a welcoming rush of sugar that served as a means for you to ground yourself a little.

Because you and Xavier were not a couple.

In fact, you were far from it.

You were friends; yes, neighbors; yes, colleagues; yes.

Lovers?

The thought brought a blush to your cheeks, because you wished that you were. And you were aware that sometimes, the both of you tended to act like you were. You spent nearly every moment that you could together, the lingering warmth of his touches and his presence near you whenever he could be near you were burned into your memory.  The rumours at the Association didn’t fall on deaf ears, either. You knew what people were saying about the both of you, and you oftentimes wished them true—you did. The affections you held for him were undeniable.

But that was quite frankly not the reality you lived in.

Xavier had never been clear about it with his signals, nor direct about his feelings, nor—nor anything else. Nothing official had ever occurred between either of you, not in this oddly-structured game of tag, so shrouded in this push and pull, where the rules remained ambiguous, and where the outcomes presented just as vague.

And it was a terrifying thing to assume.

Yet, without properly explaining why… he had been adamant all day to walk straight into it—the bridge, its surrounding legend, all of it. 

“When good luck is involved, it’s better to believe they exist. You have nothing to lose.”

Those were words he was fond of saying, and the only words he would ever use to give you a reason.

The same could be said for this moment.

You found yourself being thoughtful as you fell into step with him, eyes scanning your surroundings, watching the couples that seemed to float in and out of your peripheral vision. There weren’t as many of them as you thought there would be—the bridge was now in your line of sight, its pearly-white structure jumping out against the backdrop of the setting sun. At the very front of its steps was a little bed of flowers; blue, you noted, tinted ever so slightly with the swirl of cotton candy from the clouds above.

The river below it rippled with a darkening pinkish hue.

The sun would be below the horizon in just a few moments.

And at the same time, in perhaps a minute or two, the bridge would be lit up in an equally captivating display of beautiful colors.

Even without the legend, you wouldn’t have minded getting to see something so pretty.

“...Your ice cream is melting.”

You blinked at his voice, your eyes drawing away from the scenery and back to him.

It could have been the shadows of the sunset that made him shine a little brighter in your eyes, now, that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to formulate any sort of response.

His eyes softened, the gentle breeze brushing through his hair.

Sometimes, you thought, there was something about him so inexplicably out of reach. Yet here he was, giving you attention, reaching for your hands, allowing for the heat from his skin to linger upon your own for even just a moment…

And then in these moments, you couldn’t help but think of how lucky you were.

“Aren’t you going to finish that?” he mumbled. There was a slight shift of his gaze towards the cone in your hand, before he looked at you again. “It might make your hand all sticky if we go and walk on the bridge right now…”

He was right, of course.

Your own gaze drifted down to the hand with your ice cream, now less of a rabbit, and more of the standard scoop of ice cream for all that it had melted. Parts of it had even begun to drip down onto your hand, but you had barely noticed the feeling.

“Oh, I… I mean, we can wait for the lights to turn on first, so…”

Blinking again as if to snap yourself out of your reverie, you lifted your hand—

Xavier beat you to it.

He had his thumb and index finger wrapped around your wrist, slowly pulling it towards him.

A smile.

You didn’t miss that smile, how could you? Slight, and perhaps, barely visible otherwise, but your breath caught in your throat—Something had you gravitating towards him, nearly entranced in the heat of his stare, sucking in a sharp intake of breath as his tongue darted out to lick at the stains of vanilla that ran over your palm.

You were blushing, probably.

You couldn’t even tell, at that point.

Soft, tiny little kitten clicks at your skin, almost as if to clean up the mess—you couldn’t really have bothered to focus on the expression you were making, feeling your own heart beat so loudly out of your chest that you were certain he could hear it.

“Xavier…” you mumbled.

His eyes twinkled, and he moved his mouth to the treat in your hand, taking a bite of his own.

“Can’t let it go to waste, right?” he licked at his lips.

The clusters of people, then, long-forgotten in the moment you had dared to share with each other, let out a resounding exclamation at amazement, as a click resounded in the air and the bridge before the both of you erupted into dazzling colors. Yet, your skin still tingled at the feeling of his touch, and you felt dazed as you turned your eyes back to him.

“I guess we, um… We should finish this before we go…?”

He chuckled, and then he nodded—“I… Think vanilla isn’t a bad flavor.”

—ꜰɪᴠᴇ.

The spin in your head made your vision hazy. You couldn’t remember, anymore, what time it was—only that your system had become intoxicated long past coherence, and the grass you sat on had a strangely soothing texture to it. And in front of you, right then, was that red, empty solo cup you’d brought with you outside.

You vaguely made out some loud music, and a voice in the background—Tara’s, probably. But you couldn’t be bothered to decipher what she was saying. You didn’t register that she was actually right beside you, trying to keep you engaged in conversation, a hand over your shoulder.

How long it had been like this?

You weren’t quite sure, either.

What you could remember was that Tara had planned a little girls’ party of her own, and it had gotten bigger than anticipated… And you supposed you’d ended up drinking more than you’d expected to. Eventually, you found yourself out in her front yard. It was the night breeze that felt comforting, despite the cold. There were stars out that night—a few of them shone brilliantly above you, and though you weren’t looking at them anymore, their presence made you smile.

It was only when a shadow passed over your figure that you looked up again, head lolled a little to the side, rapid blinks trying to steady on the person in front of you.

“There you are!” Tara stood up from beside you, dusting off some of the dirt from her pants. With a grunt, she managed to pull you up, though your weight naturally rested on her shoulders. Unbeknownst to you, she let out a pleading sigh. “Sorry, Xav… I didn’t notice how much she drank until she went wandering out here…”

Oh…

Xav.

The nickname registered in your head, and your vision, a little less blurry at the snap the information had given you, managed to form Xavier’s figure in front of you. His hair was a little unruly, the white hoodie so familiar on him a little more disheveled than you knew it to be—his eyes, too, held a certain level of concern that you were able to make out.

He had probably been sleeping.

There was a twinge of guilt that lapsed over your face, but it didn’t last—his presence brought on a giddiness you couldn’t have thought to control, and a lopsided grin easily came to prove it.

You slid off of Tara to fall straight into his arms; the scent of his laundry detergent had you sighing. It was almost by instinct that your arms wrapped around his waist.

“Xavier…”

A nuzzle against his chest had Tara clearing her throat then, and she made a pointed gesture.

“Well! She couldn’t stop talking about you, so I figured you were the person I should call! Sorry, really! I didn’t realize it would get this out of hand, but I do need to get to the other guests, too, so I hope I can leave her in your hands! Thanks, Xavier!”

You didn’t notice her leave, not until you felt a warm hand on your back, a familiar, soothing voice speaking softly into your ear.

“Hey… Let’s get you home. Let me just… Call a cab, and—”

“...But you’ll just leaveeee…”

He paused.

“I’m… Taking you home, so you can get some rest.”

“T’my place?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’ll stay w’me?”

The silence that followed only had you clinging to him tighter.

“Seeee…! You’re not answering! You’re gonna leave me ‘gain… N’I dunno when I’ll see you ‘gain, n’theenn…!”

Your voice trailed off on its own, resorting to nuzzling against him, feeling as if parting from him in this moment would never give you another to hold him so close like this.

But it didn’t last.

The fact was: Xavier was gentle with you; still.

Patient. 

Enough to pry you away from him, enough to get you to comply to get in the cab with him, enough to usher you up to your apartment and unlock the door… until the familiar warmth of your couch had you happily sprawling out, hugging the pillows close to you.

You barely had any recollection of what had happened; it was enough for you to know that he had been with you.

That he was still with you.

“Xavie…”

Your hands reached out for his, registering late that you’d been reaching for the glass of water he was holding rather than the hands themselves.

And you frowned.

“Huh? C’mere… Wan’ hold you…”

You made out the shake of his head, gentle gestures to sit you up properly on the couch.

“You have to drink water first,” came his reply.

His voice was so soft.

You could let it get to your head, the mere sound of it bringing a silly grin onto your face, a giggle bubbling past your throat. “Oooh… Can you say it again?”

It was clearly nonsensical, and you noted yet another shake of his head, the patience in his eyes ever evident despite all of your antics. It could only make you giggle even more, your hands falling to your lap, expression clearly very much out of it.

Until—

“Angel… You’re too drunk. You really need to drink this.”

Angel.

The giggles, the laughter, all stopped abruptly. You felt your expression shift into that of wonder, your eyes wide and blinking curiously. Somehow, the nickname sent all kinds of flutters into your stomach—ones you couldn’t bring yourself to understand, especially in the state that you were in.

You leaned forward:

“You’re right… You’re like an angel…”

Your voice was light and airy, nearly akin to a gasp, and perhaps you might have giggled it off again had Xavier not reacted with a sigh. Because before you could do anything else, he moved his hand to rest gently over the curve of your spine, bringing the glass up to your lips.

It registered, then.

Your response was immediate, as if nearly conditioned, allowing him to tilt the glass upwards. You found yourself eagerly gulping at the water as it flowed down your throat; you hadn’t realized how much you needed the water. You were suddenly all the more grateful he had given it to you, gasping for air once the glass had been drained empty, and then blinking to look at him through hazy eyes.

“Better?” he murmured.

The hand on your back gave you soft, gentle rubs as he set the glass down, and then he reached up to brush the strands of hair from out of your face.

Immediately, you stilled. All traces of your giggles seemingly washed away with the water you’d drunk. You certainly didn’t feel any less intoxicated than earlier, but his touch through your shirt, and the soft caress on your cheek, felt all the more heightened that this moment felt nearly surreal to you. It was then that you could notice those favorite blue eyes of yours, staring into your own, searching your own, soft, and full of worry, and—

And something else. 

Something you weren’t coherent enough to put a label to.

But something that caused tears to well up in your eyes.

“Xavie,” you pouted, though you kept relatively still nonetheless, if only to lean more into his touch. “Why’re you lookin’ a’me like that?”

You caught the faintest trace of a smile on his lips, but he didn’t move away.

“Like what, angel?”

That nickname again.

You groaned as you fell back against the couch, grabbing a pillow to bring it up to your face.

Something about that nickname was driving you insane.

You felt your cheeks flush a cherry red, not just from the alcohol, and more likely from whatever else he was making you feel. You couldn’t quite tell what expression you were making, hidden behind the pillow, fighting some sort of giddy urge to let out a squeal. You didn’t even know how you had the space to overanalyze it. But the questions swirled in your head before you could stop it—has he said it to anyone else before? Was it just… you? Was it supposed to be… Common, and you weren’t aware of it?

The possibilities that plagued you only allowed another groan to sneak past your lips;

“Wh- why’re you callin’ me that, too! A-an’ being all soft with me, s’like… like you mean something…”

You felt the couch shift beside you, and although you still refused to look at him, you felt yourself naturally gravitating into his warmth.

“Do you… want me to mean something?”

This time, you sniffled.

Saved from his gaze, you quickly moved to bury your face back into his hoodie, allowing yourself to focus on his scent, on the way he held you like this, on the way—for even just a moment—he felt… yours.

“Dunnoooo,” you whined. “I’unno what you’re thinking… I never knowww what you’re thinking! Always so nice to me n’then you leave me all alone the next, then I’unno where to find you anymore… Say all these things n’keep me all close t’you, then you act like nothin’ happened…”

You rambled into his chest, your voice slurred and muffled into the fabric, gripping at his hoodie as if he could disappear in any next second. They were similar words to what you’d said by Tara’s front yard, similar feelings of refusing to let him go. But speaking them out with more clarity—whatever clarity you could muster the way you were speaking now—felt like twisting a knife into your heart.

Because all your thoughts had been clouded with him.

They were all-consuming, deliberately buried down into the pit of your stomach only to resurface with an intensity you could barely fathom yourself. How he’d been treating you, the words that he’d say… For the past days, for the past weeks, just—just him. Him, and his eyes, and his hair, and his voice. His touch. His presence. His comfort.

The Xavier you knew you’d come to love.

A hiccup bubbled in your throat, and you let out a quiet whimper in attempts to quell it.

Love.

Was that the emotion you couldn’t pinpoint?

Was that what you were feeling?

The visceral grip that he had on everything that you were; was that what you could call… Love?

“This isn’t the kind of time we should be talking about this…” You felt him murmur into your hair, a soft kiss placed on the crown of your head. Yet he wasn’t pulling away. He kept his hand on your back, soft, gentle caresses, trying to soothe you from the outpour of emotions you had barely the consciousness to control. “You’re not going to remember this tomorrow. How about we talk about it then?”

“B-but… But you always make excuses!” 

“Angel…”

You looked up this time, sniffling in irregulated breaths, eyes watery with tears that were threatening to spill.

“You can’t call me that!” you insisted. Your hands balled into a fist. “D’you know what that means?! W-what if it’s making my heart all restless? N’you can act all calm like it’s nothing!”

“...I’m sorry…”

“An’—an’ you’re… You’re so warm… You’re like a fluffy cloud… N’what if you leave? What if you’re only here ‘cause m’like this, and then the rain passes n’you just leave me all alone again, an’... A-an’ then the sky won’t have any stars, either, n’I’ll be all alone—”

You could register the mix of confusion and concern on his face, your words barely making sense even to you, but your grip on his hoodie remained tight. You felt it, the way your tears rolled down your cheeks, your own expression a mix of desperation and a confusion that likely mirrored his own.

“Just… Just don’t… Don’t leave, Xavier…” you felt your lower lip tremble. “I’on wanna be left all alone… M’scared… I’on wan’ you t’leave…”

Your voice became smaller and smaller with each word, and you were left there, sniffling for a moment, looking up at him with a certain kind of hopelessness.

You were aware, at least, that you likely looked pathetic in his gaze like this.

“...M’sorry, Xav, I-I’unno what…”

Your words swallowed back into your throat when he reached out, brushing his thumb over your cheeks, over the corners of your eyes, wiping away your tears. His touch, as always, felt like a gentle caress. Patient, despite the incoherence of your thoughts and your actions; kind, despite the way you were keeping him here with you very likely against his will.

But he squeezed your hand.

You knew what that meant.

You gulped, looking up at him again, allowing his touch to lull you into a calm as it often did.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “I won’t leave. You have me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Through the haze of your eyes, half blurred from the alcohol and half from the tears, you caught the softening of his gaze. He moved closer, a little bit—slow, steady movements. And then he pulled your arm back over him, his own moving to rest in your hair… Until you were encased in the warmth of his embrace.

Almost just as earlier, except this time more… real.

He didn’t feel like an afterimage, not now.

Not in this moment.

His head dipped down, nuzzling against your neck, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, I’ll… I’ll do better. I’ll stay with you. I’ll be right here.”

His breath tickled your skin when he spoke. And, to you, these were words that you felt were more genuine than you had heard from him in a while. It was enough to have you comfortably settling into his hold, eyes falling closed, breaths beginning to even you out.

Your head still throbbed.

It was a combination of everything; all of these feelings, and the alcohol that had planted itself into your system far past any level of sensibility.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe you wouldn’t recall any of this when you woke up the next day.

You tended not to remember things when you got like this, after all.

But still, your arms wrapped around him, returning the embrace.

“...I love you, Xavier,” you whispered.

Maybe he wouldn’t remember anything, either.

—ꜱɪx ... xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ.

The soft clinking of spoon against the mug was all he could hear.

It was late in the afternoon, leaves rustling gentle against the kitchen window. The atmosphere was quiet, and peaceful—enough for him to let out a little yawn, eyes blinking slowly in the golden rays of the light.

The tiredness was catching up to him.

Fluctuations had been far more unsteady than usual these past few days, and it only meant another morning full of missions for the both of you. Now, here, where in his apartment the both of you decided to relax in, was the first moment of pause the two of you had been granted in a while.

He recalled, too, the complaints you’d muttered on the way back. Though you’d done so on the premise he wouldn’t hear you, he did, anyway. It brought a little smile to his face thinking of the tone of voice you had taken.

For though headstrong and dedicated to your job as you were, you, like all Hunters in the Association, had the right to feel weary. You deserved moments of rest, such as now. Xavier couldn’t blame you for your complaints. He wouldn’t dare.

Like a distant whisper in his mind came words that were familiar to him; words that he wished he had another moment to comfort;

“I’m tired, Xavier… What if I can’t brandish my sword one day? What then?”

The memory made him close his eyes, jaw tightened in a grind of his teeth.

What he’d said, then, were words he had never gotten the chance to fulfil—words he could never take back. He could remember them, still. It was of the last few times that their conversations had been cordial.

And it was the moment he realized that words were not enough; they never would be. Not if he couldn’t live by them. Not with all the promises he had easily broken.

He wondered, then, how many things of the past he’d come to regret.

With a shake of his head, Xavier carried the mug carefully out the kitchen, sure not to let its contents spill. This was your favorite flavor of tea, and it always had been. If he couldn’t make up for lost hours and missed opportunities then, he would make up for it now.

He would try to.

“Hey, Xavier?” Your voice called out, getting steadily clearer to him as his footsteps padded the wooden flooring of his living room. It was his apartment, one he’d know the layout of like the back of his hand—yet he found, instead, that his path had moreso been mapped out by the sound of your voice. “I realize I never got to ask what these are. Is this… Are these what I’m thinking they are…?”

He blinked.

You weren’t where he’d left you, just earlier.

You’d stood up from the couch, the soft rabbit plushie now out of your hands and since left to the side, looking a little dazed. His own gaze flitted from the toy up to your figure, crouched beside a little wooden stand by the corner of the room. In a manner he’d always found familiar, your head was tilted to the side, pure evidence of your own curiosity. And on top of the stand lay a case, beige as most things in his home, raised slightly open to reveal the touches of a little turntable.

Immediately, his eyes softened in understanding.

“It’s a record player. And those are vinyls.”

He walked up behind you to tap on your shoulder, and the way your eyes lit up at the sight of the mug in his hands nearly made his heart skip a beat.

“Really?!” you exclaimed, taking the tea into your own hands. Your shoulders lifted, whether by the warmth of the drink or your own excitement, Xavier wasn’t quite sure. But he smiled, nonetheless.

“Really.”

“Aren’t those from… Incredibly long ago? I mean, I’ve always known you were old-fashioned by nature, but I didn’t expect you to have things like these, too… I don’t think I’ve ever seen them outside of those little antique shops we pass by sometimes.”

You were rambling, almost.

He knew you got like this when you were excited.

Your expression became more animated than usual as you spoke, leaning in to get a closer look, and he almost laughed.

For all the times you’d call him adorable, he almost wanted to say it back to you, this time.

He almost did.

But when you looked at him next, there was a certain plea to your gaze, the corners of your mouth then turned down into a little pout. “Please can we play something?” The hopefulness laced into your voice didn’t go unnoticed by him. “I’ve never heard you use it before! What’s the use of having it sit around if we don’t get to hear what it plays?”

It felt ironic, looking at the image presented before him. The stand the player rested on had two shelves lodged within it, the bottom hosting a set of vinyls, the one above it hosting none other than a stereo. And suffice to say, the stereo had been used a lot more. The case of the player was well-kept, cleaned and shined every now and then… But it was obvious it had barely been used. It might as well have been new. Xavier himself couldn’t recall the last time he’d used it.

But that you were asking him to, only meant that he would give in. It was difficult to say no to you.

He could hardly dream of it.

“Okay,” he said finally, nodding his head in the direction of the vinyls.

The both of you crouched down to look at the titles, Xavier watching intently as your fingers traced over the record sleeves. They were soft, slow, contemplating motions. You took each one out of its place to look at the cover, eyes skimming the title, before putting it back down—rinse, and repeat.

This time, he did laugh. There was a confused sort of wonder on your face; he was sure that these titles were anything but familiar to you.

“Are you having trouble choosing?” he offered, leaning in closer to look at the records themselves.

Here, sitting so close to you, he could feel the warmth from the tea that you had only taken a few sips of, the scent of your perfume equally as notable in the space between you. Part of him, perhaps, wanted to prolong the moment.

He liked being close to you.

“Mmh… I’m not sure what to expect from either of these,” you admitted, your face scrunched up in concentration. Still your hands trailed over the jackets, and without thinking, he reached over to rest his own hand over your wrist.

When you looked at him, he was pleasantly surprised to find the faint traces of a blush over your cheeks.

You truly were adorable.

But he shook his head.

“Well… They’re a lot different from what we’d be used to now,” he leaned in closer to you to give you a little nudge. “I could choose for you, but I want you to experience it for yourself, too. So, maybe… Choose something you feel drawn to?”

He stood up, then, willing his heart to calm enough for you not to notice how your proximity was affecting him. Instead, he busied himself with the case, lifting up the lid completely to reveal the knobs and switches not otherwise visible just earlier. He tried to remember the last time he’d cleaned it, but it seemed to be in a condition good enough to be able to work, anyway. There was a part of him that let out a sigh of relief at the confirmation; the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you with it.

“Katharine McPhee…” you mumbled, then.

“It’s a pretty name. The cover looked interesting, too, and the song title is… Well…” Your voice trailed off with a shrug, and he looked back at you, blinking at the vinyl you held in your hands.

Slowly, his lips turned back into a little smile.

Oh. That song.

You handed it over to him, expression expectant, as you took another sip of your tea.

“I actually… Don’t really remember how to use it.”

The soft admission fell from his lips, an honest warning that only earned a scoff from you in reply. He didn’t look at you this time, as he gently slid the record out of its jacket and placed it on the turntable. He didn’t need to, after all. He’d memorized enough of your expressions—the mirth in your eyes, the tugging of a teasing smirk against your lips that would eventually spill into a grin… He was sure you had your head tilted in quiet observance, his own hands moving to push the needle flush against the record.

After he reached over to flip the power switch on, he straightened, arms crossed, a hope in his eyes that could have mirrored your own. In a similar manner, you peeked out from behind him.

And then the first notes of a song flouted out from the box.

Mellow tunes wafted around the living room, a different kind of fullness to it compared to the music that both of you were used to hearing from the speakers. The gentle strumming of the guitar, the soft hums that started off the song—he breathed out a sigh of relief, while you, on the other hand, let out an exclamation of amazement.

In his head, he would have likened your behavior to that of a puppy who’d gotten a new toy. The mere thought of it had him glancing away for a moment, the back of his hand covering his mouth to hide his smile.

Yet, he—couldn’t quite look away from you.

It was hard to look away.

It always has been, when you had since filled his heart with a song of its own, and he’d always been so vividly aware of your presence ever since.

As if you were the only thing that truly mattered to him.

And perhaps, you were.

He could think back to these past months, every little glance the two of you would share, every brush of your hands, every caress he dared to initiate, every hold on you he’d be greedy enough to take for his own.

One of the earlier nights he’d let his self-indulgence get the better of him, he almost said those words—always on the tip of his tongue, always surging through his heart with an intensity he had to fight back so as not to scare you. And I love you became goodnight; I love you became stay; I love you became come back; I love you became come with me.

It became a glance. It became a touch, it became the tug of your hand. It became gentle ruffles of your hair, it became smiles, it became laughs, it became—you.

Love became you.

And now, the crisp noise emanating from the player seemed to wrap you in its embrace, smoothly, as you began to sway. Your feet shifted side to side as you let your head bob in time with every step, every little shuffle. You’d tucked your hair behind your ear, and your eyes closed. And he couldn’t help but notice—admire—the warm cascade of sunlight over your hair, shrouding you with a glow more ethereal than he’d ever seen… even with you. You were brighter than the sun. Brighter than the stars. Brighter than anything else, brighter than whatever light his Evol could possibly conjure, and just enough to match the warmth that being here with you, unfiltered and peaceful… filled him with.

“You know… I really like this song!” Your voice echoed through the music then, more noticeable to him than any other sound in the room. You turned your head, eyes meeting his own—”You’re right, it doesn’t sound at all like the kind of music we’d listen to these days, but the melody is really catchy, and her voice is really smooth, and—”

“Dance with me?”

Xavier spoke before he could stop himself.

In the next second he felt a sudden surge of heat at his own statement, nearly retracting his words to look away in embarrassment…

But he didn’t.

Instead, he reached out his hand.

He was sure the tips of his ears were near-glowing red.

He tried again.

“May I… Have this dance?”

And for all that his heart rate had always been naturally slow, he could hear the steady thrum of it in his ears. Louder than usual, quicker than usual, more anticipating than usual. If there was anything that could get him nervous, it was you.

Always you.

But you took his hand.

Your palm in his was small, but just as warm as you always were to him. Just as beautiful, as you always were to him. And perhaps, the world began to fade away, then. It often did, when he was with you. Only, now, in the confines of his home, symphonies echoing in the background, he knew that he was free to hold you as close as he did.

Neither of you spoke for a while as he pulled you up against him, his arms wrapping around your waist, your head against his chest. This was the closest the two of you had ever been in a long, long while, and he realized, then, that the pulse of your heart seemed to beat readily in time to his.

“I didn’t peg you to be a collector type, huh,” you mumbled.

You weren’t looking at him, eyes focused on the shuffle of your feet. He took the opportunity to rest his chin on the top of your head.

“I’m not,” he said quietly. “It was… A gift from a friend, but I haven’t gotten to use it much. It’s… been sitting around.”

He felt you laugh softly against him.

“Yeah? But you’ve kept it around, anyway. Who knows just how old this thing is…”

“...But, it works.”

“Mmh… yeah, it does. Thankfully. And… You know how to use it.”

“I hoped that I would.”

This time, you raised your head, and his breath hitched in his throat. Seeing your eyes, so up close like this, brought on a wave of emotion that he found he had to choke back.

It didn’t stop him from speaking.

“I… thought it might be something you’d like. I’m glad that you do.”

The smile that spread across your face in response to that nearly made his heart jump out of his throat. And the tug of your body closer to him was all he could do to keep those words from spilling out of his mouth.

I love you.

He could say it with a look.

And, sure, you had said it.

He remembered that night.

He’d barely gotten a wink of sleep, holding you in his arms as he had, but you weren’t—You weren’t sober. 

And neither of you had talked about that night.

It was as if your relationship had meant to continue for as long as it could without addressing it, and it was driving him insane, and—

And if he could, he would have this moment drag on forever, just you in his arms, a slow dance to the music, as far as he could lie to himself that you were already his without either of you having to say it.

But he knew that was not the case. It couldn't be. And he knew that you knew it, too. He saw it in the way your expression flickered into one of apprehension, and your lips parted to speak.

“Xavier… What are we?”

Your voice came as a soft whisper, with a question he found that he had no immediate answer to. He searched your eyes, brows furrowing, trying to ascertain what it is you were expecting him to say. 

He knew what he wanted the two of you to be.

He didn’t know what you were. He didn’t know what… you wanted.

So that was what he said.

“What do you… want us to be?”

It was as if all he knew how to do in that moment was deflect the question back at you.

And you frowned.

“Xavier, that’s not… I don’t…”

The turmoil that made itself obvious in your voice had his heart dropping almost immediately.

Because that was it.

You weren’t sure.

Those words you’d uttered to him just that night were nothing more than a drunken ramble, and he was right—this wasn’t the same as all those years back. Here you were, in his arms, yet every time he’d think you wanted him just as much as he did you, you’d pull back.

How cruel that you would think the same of him, when you could barely be receptive to what advances he could make.

Then, perhaps, he realized there was a limit to how much he could take.

“I know what I want,” he mumbled, then.

His hands moved up to rest against your cheek, a gesture that had become familiar to you, despite the emotional charge behind it, despite the way he could only wish to hold more of you in exactly this way.

And there was so much of you that he held in his heart.

He didn’t even know how to place it anymore. So many years of feelings he’d harbored for you, always, all this time, yet he never knew how to explain it. Neither to you, nor to himself. Because he’d never felt this way with anyone else. To be so full of contentment in someone’s presence; to be so hopelessly enamored by every little thing—even after all this time, this was new to him. New, and profound, and—

And terrifying.

To love you so wholly, so insurmountably, so… so much.

It almost felt foolish how terrifying it was.

His heart felt as though it had lodged itself in his throat, and he was sure that his voice would falter as a result, but this—this was it.

How could he move forward any longer without letting you know?

And it was the way your eyes remained steely on his that allowed him to speak again, determined—

“I want you.”

The music had since been long forgotten. Familiar, yet faded within distant memory, as the world, once more, became filled with you. It had always been like that. In his mind, there were many things that had since receded into cloudiness; a grey abyss of things that once were. Now, the only thoughts that ever seemed to hold clarity to him were thoughts of you.

How much he wanted you.

How much he needed you.

How much he… loved you.

Perhaps, he couldn’t say those words just yet.

Instead, he swallowed them with a kiss.

A chance; a risk—an obvious display of the bounds of longing that he’d reached, that had filled to the precipice, that had tortured him beyond an anguish of waiting.

It was an anguish that only you could fill.

The touch of your lips against his, soft and supple, the way you craned your neck for more of it, the way your arms tugged him closer, closer, pressing him into you if he should dare pull away… 

“Again,” you whispered.

And he had his answer, then.

You wanted this just as much as he wanted you.

So he kissed you again.

And again.

And again.

“More,” you pleaded, and each and every time you parted with one another, he could only think, perhaps, that there was no place else he would rather be than here with you. The quiet, crackling tune faded into your heedy breaths against each others’ lips. Right then, the music came to its own end, bringing with it a different kind of symphony that now danced within the depths of your eyes.

He felt your hands slide down from his neck back to tug at his sweatshirt, and his forehead moved to rest against yours.

“Satisfied?” he smiled, his voice lighter than it had been today.

“When it comes to you? Never, really.” Your noses bumped together, the slightest nuzzle filled with an insurmountable kind of affection. ”Because I want you, too.”

Those were simple words—but a direct revelation of your feelings, a direct reciprocation of his own, and—naturally, they spoke volumes. Enough for his heart to fill with warmth. Enough for his shoulders to relax, with a sort of relief he wouldn’t be able to explain to you if you asked. And he held you in his embrace, arms still wrapped comfortably around your figure, knowing that he could let go, but… he didn’t quite want to. Not at all. Not when you felt so right with him here; not when the implication of your words settled deeply into his chest.

So instead, he let out a slow, heavy breath, and perhaps he couldn’t help it anymore. His lips gradually inched back impossibly closer to yours, his gaze straying down from your eyes, dizzying, almost, at the way you were barely touching—

“How much?” he mumbled, because an agony of waiting couldn’t possibly be resolved in a single moment.

You let out a soft laugh.

“For forever,” you rolled your eyes, but you smiled. “If having you forever could ever be enough.”

His breath hitched.

Forever.

Forever sounded like bliss with you. Forever sounded far more wondrous than whatever fantasies lived in the pages of those books on his shelves; far more than anything he had ever, ever wished for. And he had wished for this for a long, long time. For you had always been in his heart. He knew, now, that he was in yours.

And forever was as long of a time he was willing to spend with you.

“I’d like that.”

Then his hands gripped your waist tightly, desperately, as his lips came crashing down once more—and this time, the desperation that had coiled itself in the depths of his heart found freedom in the way that he kissed you. Like clawing; almost, as if afraid he could never get another moment like this, as if afraid you could disappear from right in front of him, right then and there.

As if he wouldn't let you.��

He couldn't. 

And the longer the kiss continued, the hungrier it became.

There was the scent of your perfume, the scent of your shampoo, the taste of your lipgloss… All-engulfing, more, and more, until all he could feel was you. All he could taste was you. You, and you—so warm, and so right, and—his.

All his.

All while he felt your hand tangle into the roots of his hair, and you panted hazily into his open mouth, desperately wanting to breathe, and yet—neither of you wanted this moment to ever end.

And the both of you had an inkling of exactly where this was intending to lead.

Feet shuffled against the floor, a few steps backwards, but neither of you got very far before Xavier was lifting you up into the air. His arms supported the weight of your body through your back and your knees, positioning you into a princess carry—he noted the squeal that you let out, your eyes finding his in search of confirmation. It was, perhaps, instinct the way you clung to his waist next.

But he had never been more grateful for the straightforward layout of his apartment, keen to lay you down on his bed with a promise of much, much, much more. The weight on the mattress shifted, and his figure crawled over your body, the faintest brush of his knuckles against your skin. From this angle, you caged between his arms, legs slotted between yours, his weight holding him up by his forearms—you were beautiful.

More beautiful than you always had been.

The redness that surrounded your lips, lipstick askew, swollen from your kisses… Your hair was splayed out against the pillows, disheveled than things had started with. And there was a certain longing in your eyes that, he was sure, quite vividly reflected in his own.

He could feel the way his hair had likely gotten just as unruly, the sting in his scalp still tingling from where you had tugged and scraped just moments before. Yet he made no attempts to fix it, the annoyance of his hair nearly in his eyes of no importance to him in this moment. Not when you were here. Not when the tension in the air left him feeling dizzy, the prospect of having you closer making his head spin.

“My starlight,” he whispered, then.

He watched, fondly, at the blush that covered your face—and he came to the realization that the midday glow had melted into skies of velvet. 

And this was different, now, from any past sunsets he had ever watched with you.

Now, it streamed in through the window in skyburst reds and yellows. vibrant hues painted over your face, your body… A skyward hearth reflecting the solace he could only ever find in you.

And you were his sky.

You were his home.

You were his… everything.

It was these words that were swallowed back as his lips descended past your cheek, past your jaw, down your neck. He would let actions speak louder than words, this time; the words uttered instead into your skin. His fingers worked deftly to undo the buttons of your blouse, hips rolling into you, a friction that had his breath tremble against your neck. And then a suckle over the soft flesh on your shoulder made you gasp—he’d do it again, and again, lips trailing your skin in search of every mark of you he could finally, finally make his.

His eyes closed.

He could savor the sensation—hot breaths against you, the drag of his hands across the smoothness of your skin, those slow, loving circles he rubbed into your waist before he could tug your clothing off of your body.

Not a word was spoken; not yet.

Only hushed gasps and shaky breaths, every roll of his hips, the friction of his erection against the outline of your sex nearly driving both of you into a quiet dance of insanity.

You broke the quiet first.

“Xavier.”

A shaky whisper as his fingers trailed downwards, pressing flush against your lips, feeling the desperate cling of the fabric against you.

Another stroke of his finger, lewdly accompanied with the wet, sticky sound of your arousal—

“Xavier.”

He looked at you, then. Dragged his gaze from over your figure to the haze in your own.

And he whispered; “Beautiful.”

His strokes against your cunt had your bottom lip quivering, hands slipping from over his back to the mattress below. Little taps against your clit, finger dipping the fabric nearly inside, your wetness seeping through with ease… He could feel every pulse of your pussy, your need for stimulation never more clear to him than in that moment.

And—

“Xavier… Xavier.”

You sounded so sweet.

Every utterance of his name had hip drawing in a breath; he had never before in his life heard it called out with so much… love. 

He wanted more of it.

Lips moved to mouth at your breast, as your panties were pushed aside. Slow, open-mouthed kisses, dangerously close to your nipples but not quite—

His finger, then, slid directly over your folds, and you caved.

“Xavier—!”

A louder, uninhibited moan of his name, your back arching into his touch.

And there, displayed in his eyes, was a look of wonder. A look of love.

Your legs spread in response, inviting, daring. You were baring yourself to him so willingly, that you didn’t need to say anything else. The plea in your eyes was enough.

The plea in your voice was enough.

“Xavier…” you spoke again, barely a whisper, your hands moving back to thread through his hair.

And how could he ever deny you? 

You shuddered immediately as his lips moved to wrap around your nipple, the heat of your skin against him pulling the corner of his lips up into a little smile. Every flick of his tongue had your body twitching beneath him, and he felt every little jerk with a certain sense of pride.

It was so easy, then, for his finger to push inside. 

You gasped, and he pushed deeper—the gentle probing of your hole had you pliant and starved for his touch, his name falling out from your lips in a chant.

“Xavier… Xav—Xavier— Xavier—!”

He groaned against your skin. Your sounds were like music to his ears, a jolt straight down to the tent in his boxers that was almost painful.

Yet still, his eyes never strayed from yours.

He let his teeth graze over your bud as his finger curled inside you, pressing against your gummy walls, just slow, easy thrusts to guide you into the rhythm. And he could see it in your eyes. He searched them, equally as lost in the swirl of haze that had you drowned in the pleasure he gave you—and it was beautiful. Almost heart-wrenchingly beautiful. How he had always wished, yearned, to belong to the inner world behind your irises, and now he—he could.

He only pulled away from your breasts to rest his head by your ear, a low chuckle resounding. He felt the effect of it almost instantly as you clenched over his finger, but he didn’t stop there—a second digit found its way in.

“Shh, I know, angel, I know.”

Quiet, soothing whispers against your ear, his other hand moving to brush the hair out of your face.

This time, the light from the window was bathed in twilight—

He smiled.

That even the moon and the stars would smile upon you, would cover you in their light… The sky itself would speak of love. Of you.

He watched, as your hips, illuminated by the evening glow, began to make more desperate motions. You drew his fingers in deeper, guiding them to rub against the spot that had you crying out another chant of his name. His thumb brushed up against your clit, then, and your hand reached out to grab his arm.

Another smile.

“Is it there, angel?” he murmured. His hair fell over your face as he moved to face you, lips ghosting over yours. And he caught every gasp, every moan, ever drone of his name and every shudder of pleasure he could elicit by repeating the same actions.

Again.

And again. 

And again.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, wanting him close, his ministrations unrelenting. Long fingers dipped in and out of the heat between your legs, sounds of slick and arousal emanating from your cunt in time with the murmurs you keened into the crook of his neck.

“Close?” he whispered.

Whimpers fell from your mouth as he kissed at the corners of your lips, gently coaxing you closer to your high. Each pump of his fingers had your body arching higher, higher off the mattress, the soft cooing of his voice a catalyst to the climax you were so close to.

“Please,” you begged. “Please, Xavier… Please!”

Your words nearly made his throat close up, eyes closing momentarily as his cock twitched in response to you.

“I know,” he mumbled, “I know, starlight. You can do it, just a little more. Focus on me. Does it feel good?”

He leaned up to kiss the little beads of tears that formed out of the corner of your eyes, whispering against the flutter of your eyelids as the only coherent response you could give was a feeble nod.

“Then cum for me, angel.”

You gasped, and he felt it. Your walls constricted, your body arched, and his words, his voice playing into the heat in your core, so much so that it was much, much easier for you to let go. The coil snapped, and your hips bucked upwards, his name mixing with curses upon your lips that he found… delightful to his ears enough to smile.

“That’s it. There we go. You’re so good, angel, look at you…” He let out a slow breath as he withdrew his fingers from you, watching as your body twitched in the aftermath of your orgasm. Slowly, he slid down your body, hands gripping your thighs to spread you apart, and he placed a soft, barely-there kiss against your clit.

Your body jerked at the contact, and he immediately rubbed soothing circles into your skin, cheek resting against your thigh as he looked up at you with a smile.

“I know,” he whispered, again, “I know. You’re sensitive. I won’t do too much.”

But you shook your head.

His eyes blinked slowly, carefully, as he felt your fingers in his hair, coaxing him back up to you.

“Angel?”

“You’re an angel.”

Your breathing had calmed enough for you to speak this time, the familiar words falling from your lips in a way that made his heart skip a beat.

“You…” he breathed out in disbelief as your foreheads touched, taking in the slightest hint of mirth that became visible in your eyes.

And after all this time—through all the doubts that swirled in his head, through all the desperation to get the timing perfect, in manner with the perfectionism that had been instilled so deeply into his heart—

It was you who spoke the words first.

“I love you.”

And the lump in his throat had prevented him from responding immediately, but you knew.

Your hand reached up to cup his cheek, and like all the years he had felt such a familiar gesture, he allowed himself to surrender. The weight of his head fell into your palm as he nuzzled closely into you, his own eyelids fluttering, as if savouring every bit of affection that you held in that caress.

“My starlight…”

A feeble rasp of the little nickname he’d made for you was all he could muster in the moment, and you, in return, could only chuckle.

Perhaps, it made the moment feel more real.

A soft sigh fell from your lips as he pressed back up against you, as your hands worked to pull down his boxers, as the throbbing of his cock pushed against folds.

“Starlight, I…”

His words melted into a groan as it was you who moved your hips against him, the slide of your sexes coating his member in your slick. And the quiet of the night could not have rang in his head any louder than the wetness between the both of you, evidence of the desire that rang true in your bodies as his hips seemed to move with a mind of their own. His eyes closed as he dragged his length along your folds, breath stuttering as the head of his cock would catch on your entrance with each withdrawal of his hips.

Your breaths were shaky as you hugged him closer, receptive of his slow grinds into you and against you, and he realized, then, that this was real.

Your words were real. There was no alcohol laced into your words this time. Instead, you nodded your head, and he noticed it—a different kind of intoxication, the reflection of his figure stirring in your eyes with unspoken need.

“Xavier…” You whispered again, and it was a plea.

Such a multitude of ways that you could say his name.

“Xavier… please, take me.”

And with one slow thrust, he was there.

Closer to you than ever; as close as the two of you could be.

A moan fell from his lips as the tight passage constricted around him, the thickness of him stretching your walls to accommodate the feeling of being so full. 

And it was enough.

“I love you…”

His head fell against your chest as he felt himself tremble, the sensation overwhelming. You were so snug and warm around him, so… perfect. There was no stopping the words from falling out of his lips. He would say it again.

“I love you.”

He felt your breath stutter against the crown of his head, and he buried himself deeper into you, nuzzling into your chest, his body alight with a heat that he could barely begin to fathom.

He loved you so much, it ached.

And you moaned as your head threw back, hands clawing into his back, as his hips began to move. Slowly, at first, the languid pacing of his hips allowing you to feel the drag of his length against your walls, allowing him to soak in the way your cunt would suck him right back into you.

“Xavier, Xavier, Xavier…”

Your sounds were soft from your lips, a melody that had him rhythmically moving in the tune of, only picking up the pace ever so slightly—because he could hardly get enough of you. You drank each other in shamelessly, savouring the taste of your skin, every inch of your bodies colliding with every movement, and it was—enthralling. Breathtaking. Every snap of his hips as he breathed heavily against you had you shuddering. You would meet his grinds with needy little humps of your own, and he—

He could lose himself in this.

And all he could focus on was the endless litany of his name upon your lips, the quiet sound of skin against skin, the near-filthy squelch of your cunt with each dance the two of you would play in.

Until he could barely breathe.

Until his lips were back on yours, and you would hold each other close, hold each other tight, never letting go because this—all of it—was exactly what the both of you needed.

Xavier felt it, then. The squeeze of your walls, the flutters, the pulses—he lifted his head.

His vision was hazy.

All he could think of was you; all he could feel was you; all he could see was you. The flush of your cheeks, the way your eyes looked back at him with a darkened, half-lidded gaze, the way your mouth held open in desperate pants for air.

And he moved harder, harder, faster—

“Angel,” he choked out, holding himself up by his elbows on either side of your body.

“D-don’t stop, Xavi, please, don’t—don’t—”

“M.. M’not stopping, angel… I know… I know, feels s’good, doesn’t it…”

He angled his hips, deliberately pushing his cock against the spots inside of you that he’d memorized, and—

“X- Xavier…!”

His teeth grit as you clenched around him, legs drawing over his hips and keeping him flush against you enough to trigger his own release.

“Take it… C’mon… take it, angel, take it, take—it—”

His head dipped to bury against your hair, tucking you under his chin, keeping you caged in his arms for as long as he could. His hips stuttered as he pumped inside of you, spilling his load with a wave of euphoria that had you both letting out a cry of pleasure. And he pulled out just the littlest bit before sliding in again, shallow thrusts making a mess of his cum, the throb of his cock pulsating against your walls…

Muffled groans turn into trembling breaths, heavy pants as the atmosphere gradually relaxed into contentment.

“I love you.”

He peeled off of your body only to gently stroke at your cheek, taking in the glow in your smile at his words.

So he said it again.

“I love you.”

And he leaned in to pepper kisses over the side of your face, like little specks of stardust, a gather of constellations that could only fill his universe full of you.

You laughed, softly, nuzzling your nose against his.

“You make my heart smile,” you sighed, and he placed a kiss at your eyelids in response.

“And you make mine. Always.” An honest reply. His hands found yours, fingers intertwined, a soft, gentle massage into your palm. “...I love you. I’m sorry I took so long.”

And you smiled.

“You did take long,” you hummed. “But now that you’re here… It’s worth it. Just... Make it up to me and cuddle for a little. Okay?"

His eyes fell closed.

This time, he felt—this was a promise he could make for you. This time, knowing he had you, he thought… Perhaps, he could. 

“...Mhm. Rest now,” he whispered. “And I’ll be by your side. Always.”

“You said it again, my heart's in motion; every word feels like a shooting star. I'm at the edge of my emotions, watching the shadows burning in the dark, and I'm in love—and I'm terrified."

[Terrified ; Katharine McPhee]

⁺₊ / an: first of all scene 4 was inspired by the tamsui bridge in taiwan, second of all can you believe this is the first time i used 3rd person pov limited (non-reader)?? and it was such ??? a challenge??? and third of all DID YOU NOTICE… that i used the slow dance trope in direct contrast to sylus’ "once upon a december" drabble hehe i’m smart sometimes <3

ANYWAY my thoughts on this is that writing this made me realize why xavier/mc has always felt so special to me, and why the 21 days card made me so emotional :'> this took reallyyy long to finish because i reaally wanted to convey the gentleness in their relationship (through a reader insert, no less!) while also keeping all that fear and desperation and uncertainties of falling in love still very much real and present 🙏 writing the outline and scenes 5+6 made me cry a little,,, i hope reading this fic has allowed you to feel the depth of their love, too <3

also : mention for @sadfragilegirl for that one request you sent a while back! since you requested "passionate loving smut" with xavier i'd think this fits in with that hehe

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[sugarandspicewriting]

Jealousy, Jealousy!

Summary: You're approached by someone at the bar. How do they react?

Warnings: 800 words. Mentions of insecurities on Marcille's part.

A/N: These were starting to rot in my google docs so enjoy!

Laios

girl

Congratulations on getting this man to understand that you are interested in a monogamous romantic relationship with him and got him to agree. The hardest part is over.

If he sees you having a conversation with someone it’s unlikely he’ll care. Unless they’re beastkin or some type of monster hybrid then he’ll care.

Even if he’s standing there with you and blatantly hitting on you he’ll probably say something like “yeah aren’t they so cool :) “

Sighs

It’s far more likely that you’ll be the one experiencing jealousy in the relationship since he's just as oblivious about people flirting with him than he is people flirting with you.

Marcille

She is the one who gets jealous in a very obvious way but at the same time is the one who will most vehemently deny it. 

You're having a polite conversation with an adventurer about your respective experiences in dungeons and you can almost feel her pouting at you.

When you turn to look at she has the same face she makes when Laios has a meal recommendation.

Disgust and general upsetness.

Marcille hates that she feels this way, but her insecurities always get the better of her, especially if you're a short lived race.

She already has so little time with you in this world, and she's loath to share it.

As much as she wants to, it’s unlikely that she’ll interrupt the conversation. If she sees that whoever you’re speaking to is making you uncomfortable she’ll step in but she’ll most likely just sit and pout into her food.

When you go home, she’s unusually quiet.

Unless you’re the kind of person that’s completely oblivious to other people's feelings, you’ll understand what’s going on.

The best course of action is to gently remind her that you love her and that you want to spend your life by her side, no matter how long it is.

Kabru

Somehow turns it into an opportunity to gain information

You’re chatting away and all of a sudden he’s sliding next to you and putting his hand on you somewhere and he’s doing that smile he does at the other person that tells you that he’s about to get this person's life story

If you’re introverted this could be a blessing, because he can honestly just take over the conversation from there. Kabru will buy you a drink for your troubles and you can sit there and sip while they yap.

If the person is actually interested in you the interaction will become hostile but only in its undertones.

Kabru has invested too much time and energy into being seen as kind and charming and he doesn’t want to wreck it.

He’ll start saying things like ““It’s very crowded here. Do you think anyone would notice if someone disappeared?”

“I think red is your color. Would you want to wear some soon?” 

Okay weirdo (affectionately) 

Hopefully the person he’s talking to gets the hint. If they don’t he’ll make up some excuse to remove both of you from the situation. 

Mithrun

He leans more towards possessiveness rather than jealousy.

If someone is talking to you and he doesn’t like it he will simply grab you or the offender and teleport away.

Which one he grabs depends on how aggressive he deemed them to be

If it's just a normal conversation he’ll teleport you away outside the bar. It’s pretty irritating especially if you were enjoying yourself or you were getting good information. Threaten to make him sleep on the couch. He’ll say he’s sorry but he will absolutely do it again. 

If he decides your conversation partner is being flirty with you, you’ll sense his anger without even seeing him  just before he disappears with them.

When he makes his way back you angrily ask what he’s done. He tells you he just gave them a stern talking to. Yeah sure. That person is never seen again and he receives a strongly worded message from Pattadol everytime it happens.

You should probably actually make him sleep on the couch.

Thistle

Thistle does not get jealous because he has no reason to.

No one in the Golden Kingdom is dumb enough to try and invoke his wrath especially when it comes to you.

You’re all he has left after Delgal disappeared.

Similar to Mithrun, he’s more possessive than jealous.

If he is spending time with you, he expects to have 100% of your attention.

He took a break on searching for Delgal to come and see you because he loves (is dangerously obsessed) with you! Don’t you appreciate it! Love him!

Even before the mess with Delgal when he was still a jester, I can’t imagine him being jealous.

He’s got such a one track mind, focusing on your happiness and Delgal’s, he wouldn’t really notice anyone else.

[biteofcherry]

Drip

stucky x female reader

Bucky Barnes x female reader x Steve Rogers; Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers

summary: Bucky and Steve graciously make your fantasy of watching them together come true. But it comes for a price. One you may have not be prepared for.

warnings: smut; consensual; D/s undertones; power imbalance; hints of voyeurism; blowjob; handjob; orgasm denial; a small dose of degradation

Masterlist

You could never keep a poker face and you were rather shitty at being stealthy, so it wasn't a surprise that the two supersoldiers noticed the glances you stole their way on occasions.

They probably recognized more than glances, since you couldn't help but feel hot all over and clenched whenever you saw the two of them kiss. Or show any brief touch of intimacy.

Their relationship wasn't a secret, but Steve and Bucky weren't big on public displays of affection.

Around the compound they acted professional and sweet, presenting a healthy dose of love for each other. Perfect, charming gentlemen.

It only spurred your imagination further, as you spent nights in your bed with your hand between your thighs, thinking of how passionate they were with each other when no one was looking.

When they cornered you in an empty corridor, after you did a quick inventory of the quinjet post-mission, you had no quick wit to bullshit your way out of the trouble.

However, the expected lecture on being inappropriate (and perhaps relocated to a different post for making them feel uncomfortable and objectified) didn't happen.

Instead, you were invited to join them in the shower.

You really should've said no. Show them that your fantasies had their limit and you weren't a perv eager to become a true voyeur.

But there was something in the way they spoke to you that was coercive.

Steve’s tone wasn’t exactly an order, but it was shaped like an invitation you couldn’t refuse, or else there would be consequences (even if no threat was laid). 

Bucky somehow steered your body, so that you were already walking along with them while they revealed they’ve caught you staring at them on multiple occasions. They weren't a flirtatious types, but they were acutely aware when someone desired them. Especially when that someone was really bad at hiding that craving.

Embarrassment swallowed you whole, making you squirm as you padded between the two men. Then a rush of adrenaline and excitement won, clouding your better judgment as they asked for your final decision. 

If it was to be your last day of work for the Avengers, you would at least be an unemployed pervert who got to see Captain America and Winter Soldier naked and touching.

A currency no salary could match.

Though your bravado dispersed as you stepped into the showers few minutes later.

You felt uncertain as you took small steps across the wood-imitating tiles. The spa-like design of the compound’s bathrooms not working its calming magic at the moment. 

As you approached the two men, who were already naked and standing under the sprays, your own nudity and body consciousness made you curl in on yourself. 

"Are you sure it's okay?" You asked, stopping a few steps away.

You weaved one of your arms across your breasts, the other nervously around your middle as you squeezed your thighs. 

For a fleeting moment you hoped they’d change their mind and you get to run away to hide in shame. It would be mortifying, but less than actually exposing yourself and your reactions to them. 

Funny how it was supposed about you watching them, but turned into you being put into a more vulnerable position.

Somehow it skipped your horny mind that you would be naked and alone with two handsome, very powerful and overwhelming men.

Their heated, dark gazes locked on you made your heart rate accelerate, enhancing the sense of being the main entertainment of this whole arrangement. 

Suddenly, the charming, protective Captain and sweet, quiet Soldier were gone and instead you were facing the stifling flame of hunger of potential predators. It was more potent than what your needy imagination provided. Perhaps more than you were really able to handle.

Steve’s gaze slid over you from head to toe, so slow and intense it felt as if he touched you with his fingers. 

Your nipples instantly pebbled.

"If we weren't fine with you dripping down your thighs as you watch us, we wouldn't ask you to join us in the shower." 

Fuck. 

If he kept talking like that, in that lower, deeper tone, you really would be dripping down your thighs for them in no time. 

It was Bucky who moved toward you, taking slow, but sure steps. Gently, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and pulled your arm away from your chest. When your breasts were displayed fully, you heard a synchronized purr of approval.

He guided you to stand between two sprays then pushed you back slightly, until your back hit the tiled wall. 

Some drops of water bounced your way, but mostly it was the warm mist settling on your skin in the little safe nook Bucky put you in.

A front row to watch the two of them just mere inches away from you.

Water cascaded down their naked bodies. Your eyes couldn’t catch up with all the trickles, though you so desperately wanted to study them all. Lavish with your tongue each contour of muscle and crevice. Trace the veins that protruded down their arms and just above hip and curving down onto…

"You like what you see, starburst?" Bucky hummed, forcing your gaze to snap up to his.

The nickname was something new. They always addressed you by your name. But you had no trouble realizing what inspired this one - they had to notice the small tattoo on your hip.

Swirls of gray in Bucky’s blue irises seemed warmer than ever before. His mouth was curved in an amused smile, making your heart flutter silly as if you were a teenage girl offered a flash of interest from the boy you had a crush on. 

Bucky lathered his hands with soap and he moved them across Steve’s chest, up to his neck then down his arms; stroking those sculpted muscles. 

You followed that movement nearly whimpering in despair that it wasn’t you who got to touch.

"He's magnificent, isn't he?" Bucky’s hands traveled all over Steve’s body, while his gaze remained locked on you. 

"Would you like to worship his perfect body?" He asked.

At your eager nod something glinted in his eyes. Bucky’s voice resounded with a dark command, even as his face remained softly serene:

"Then drop to your knees, doll. Worshipers are on their knees before their gods."

Before you fully comprehended the undertone of degradation in the latter sentence, your knees were already hitting the tiles. 

As Bucky’s fingers ran down Steve’s stomach then wrapped around the base of his dick, your fingernails dug into the skin of your thighs as tingles of arousal pulled at your nipples and your clit.

"And that cock? Are you aching for that gorgeous, thick cock?" Bucky rasped, stroking Steve steadily.

Steve’s own hand was gripping the back of Bucky’s head, fingers tangled in wet, dark locks. Though his lips were parted on small, pleasant grunts, which he didn’t bother to hide, Steve’s eyes remained focused on you. Drinking in all the reactions showing on your beautiful face.

"Bet you'd love to run your tongue along that vein." Bucky moaned himself as he squeezed Steve tighter.

Your tongue seemed to dart out to lick your lips out of its own volition. Your hands moved, too. One up to cup your breast, the other diving between your thighs. 

"Are you thinking about it, starburst?” Steve asked, nudging Bucky’s hand away and taking a step towards you. Water washed out all the remaining suds off his body, giving you an unobscured view of the glory that was his cock. 

“Imagining how you'd cry as it stretched your little pussy?" 

Your little pussy clenched in fear and arousal at the thought of being filled with it. Even your bolder toys couldn’t compare in size. 

"And what about Bucky's cock, hm?” Steve’s hand splayed on Bucky’s hip when his partner came closer. 

With his other hand he cupped Bucky’s balls, drawing a loud grunt of pleasure from him. Then he ran his fingertips along the underside of Bucky’s cock, before fisting it. 

“Big and long.” Steve gave a few leisurely strokes. “Do you know how deep in your tight ass he could go?"

You weren’t thinking of it - of anyone in your ass - up until now. 

“Oh Stevie,” Bucky chuckled against Steve’s shoulder, where he was peppering kisses and licks, “I think our little starburst has been thinking about my cock up your ass all this time and missed the opportunity to imagine how it could fill her dirty hole.” 

Fingers still wrapped around Bucky’s girth, Steve angled his head to the side. His nose brushed against Bucky’s almost affectionately and then their lips were meeting in a sensual kiss. 

Forced to decide between watching their kiss and Bucky’s dick twitching in Steve’s hand, you let out a pathetic whimper. Your own fingers rubbed tight circles on your aching clit. Tongue itched to lick up the red tip of Bucky’s cock.

“I don’t blame her,” Steve rasped when they parted, “I love having you in my ass, too. Almost as much as I love taking yours.” 

Bucky’s soft laughter didn’t diminish the hotness of the scene. Quite the contrary, the intimacy of it that you were graciously allowed into was making you even more needy. 

Maybe the sinful beauty of their bodies was only a veneer of what you were truly craving. Maybe it's their deep connection and devotion that you got off on, dreaming of experiencing it yourself. Of being loved so strongly.

“Bet she’s thinking about it now.” Their gazes returned to you. “Look at those small fingers trying to satisfy her.”

“Cute,” Steve snorted, but then his eyes narrowed. “Who told you that you could touch yourself, starburst?”

“I-” you stuttered, feeling a wave of shame burn your cheeks from the inside. 

“Hands off.” He commanded and somehow you complied immediately. “You need them free to take care of us, little worshiper.” 

Your eyes widened as you stared up at them. When this whole event began, you were convinced it would just be a twisted little fantasy combined - you watching them, them enjoying being watched.

A hush little encounter with minimum interaction. 

Not only they broke down all the private space limits, but pushed it into entanglement you rarely even dared to fantasize about. 

They moved even closer; their cocks inches from your face as they looked down at you like the gods you made them to be. 

"Be of service, starburst." Bucky ran a single digit along your cheek.  

"Come on. We know you get off on not only imagining the two of us together, but also being with us. This is your chance to earn it."

You gulped as his finger touched your bottom lip then slipped into your mouth. For a short second, but it was enough of an indication how far they wanted to push it. 

“Show us how much you want it.” Steve rocked his hips forward, teasing the tip of his dick along your cheek. “How thankful you are to be here.” 

Hesitation in your movement wasn’t due to discomfort of touching them, but because you didn’t have much experience in the matter. Sure, you gave some quick handjobs and sucked dick before, but it all seemed awkward and poor quality to what Steve and Bucky deserved. 

Perhaps they sensed your nervousness, or maybe they really liked your touch, but the moment you wrapped your small hands around their cocks the praise fell from their lips almost instantly.

“Doing good, starburst.” Bucky stroked your head. “Just follow what you always imagined.”

At first you tried to keep the same rhythm on both shafts, but you weren’t that well coordinated. It didn’t matter though, as you quickly noticed each of them liked things a little different anyway.

Bucky moaned at the measured stroke with more squeeze around the leaking tip, while Steve encouraged you to twist your wrist.

As their sounds of pleasure grew muffled, you flicked up your gaze. The sight of them kissing and touching each other elicited another jolt of arousal; your own lips parting on a quiet moan. 

The puff of your breath tickled the angry red head of Steve’s dick, which twitched in your hand in response. It was all the temptation you needed to open your mouth and taste him. 

Your scientific knowledge wasn’t impressive, but you wondered if it was possible that the serum enhanced that part, because you swore the flavor of Steve on your tongue made you wetter. 

Hollowing your cheeks, you sucked harder. You couldn’t get him much deeper, your gag reflex was too strong to try pushing it at the moment, but you were adamant on making it as satisfying for them as you could. 

After a few beats you switched, swallowing Bucky's cock while you quickened the pace of your strokes on Steve’s dick. Every few moments you glanced up at them, feeding your own pleasure with the sight of them touching each other. 

"Such a good pet." Steve’s praise spurred you on.

Bucky groaned out your real name when you squeezed his balls while suckling on his tip. One of his hands landed on the back of your head, pushing you further down his length. He relented when you choked, but you suspected if encounters like that were to happen in the future, he would at some point deep throat you. 

“Do you want your reward, starburst?” Bucky pulled out, wrapping his own hand around his cock. 

Steve guided your fingers to massage his balls as he too fisted his cock. 

You didn’t expect arousal could spike even higher when you were already so drunk on it. But the idea of them cumming in front of you, for you, was like an electric current that sizzled your brain into mush.

“Yes, please,” you nodded eagerly, licking your lips.

“You can close your eyes, but keep your mouth open and your tongue out.” Steve instructed, his voice strained as he tried to withhold his climax a few more seconds. 

“Fuck,” you heard Bucky curse as you closed your eyes and tilted your face up, obediently opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. “So fucking beautiful, little worshiper.” 

Slick sound of quick strokes combined with the rainy hum of cascading water and the unrestricted moans of two men. Even your own heartbeat seemed to quiet so that you could enjoy the sexy sounds. 

Then warm splashes hit your face. Landed on your tongue, but also across your cheeks and forehead, some dribbled down your chin. 

You waited with your open mouth until they were fully spent, which took more time than expected, before swallowing everything that landed on your tongue. 

“Good girl, starburst.” They swiped ribbons of cum off your face with their fingers, pushing them into your mouth for you to swallow all of it. 

Then one of them easily lifted you up onto your feet and pulled you under a warm spray of water. Though your legs were shaking a bit, two bodies sandwiching you between them provided support.

“Let's get you cleaned." Bucky’s voice was a soft coo in your ear as he massaged shampoo onto your scalp.

Steve lathered your body with soap, stroking everywhere and yet not where you needed it the most. Though satisfied with making them cum, your body was still thrumming with need. One you were impatient to take care of.

"Please!” You arched against Bucky, pushing your chest towards Steve’s wandering hands. You parted your legs wider. “Please, please, I-"

"No." Bucky’s tone remained calm, but his words were firm. "You don't get to cum. Not yet."

“Little worshipers think of their gods’ needs and wishes first.” Despite the degrading and condescending meaning of his words, Bucky made them sound like a soft, caring compliment. 

“And accept their fate, even if it’s to wait for their orgasm for eternity.” 

"You've been such a good girl so far, starburst.” Steve squeezed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze to meet his through the falling drops. “I know you can still be obedient and wait for the special reward. Right?"

“Y-yes, Steve.” Your heart pounded at the prospect of getting more from them.

Even if at the moment it was more torment than pleasure.

" ’Atta girl." He smiled. "Now let’s rinse you. Then you can go dry up and dress nicely. We’ll take you out for dinner.” 

[r3starttt]

okay okay!! how about reader gets back late from patrol (so tlou au) and ellie was all worried and it’s super cute and fluffy?? (change it to your preferences if you like :)

THESE WALLS

PAIRING: Jackson! Ellie x reader

CW: fluff. outbreak|tlou universe. brief-non detailed mention of overwhelming thoughts such as fear of loosing loved ones and stress.

DON'T BUY TLOU | PALESTINE MP PALESTINE LINKS | DAILY CLICK

TAGLIST

The night lay thick with a stillness so profound that even the faintest sound seemed to echo with unsettling clarity. Ellie, trapped in the small sanctuary she had carefully curated, paced restlessly. Her gaze was perpetually drawn to the door, its unyielding silence a stark contrast to the usual rhythm of your return. Each passing moment stretched infinitely, laden with a tension that seemed to deepen with every tick of the clock.

The dim glow of a solitary lamp cast a soft, golden haze over the room. Walls adorned with wooden murals and comic book covers. Delicate strands of Christmas lights wove their way across the space, their faint twinkle casting a gentle, warm light. Yet, despite the serene ambiance, Ellie’s heart was a storm of unease.

She attempted to distract herself, but the mundane details of her surroundings blurred into an indistinguishable haze. Every action seemed to drift by in slow motion, her frustration mounting with each fruitless effort to quell her growing anxiety. She knew in her rational mind that the patrol was fraught with danger, but her deep-seated fear of losing those she loved clung stubbornly to her thoughts.

The creak of the door shattered the quiet, sending Ellie’s heart leaping to her throat. She dashed to the entrance, the door swinging open to reveal you, looking slightly disheveled but otherwise unharmed. Relief surged through her, though it was quickly overwhelmed by a tidal wave of emotions.

As you stepped into the room, the scene before you was both touching and a little comical. Ellie’s usual dorky charm had been replaced by a palpable anxiety. The carefully decorated room, filled with her beloved nerdy trinkets, faded into the background as your focus honed in on her distressed face.

“Hey, sorry,” you said, offering a weary smile. The concern in her eyes was evident, and you could tell she had been struggling.

“We ran into a few more infected than we expected. It took longer to clear them out,” you explained, trying to reassure her.

Ellie’s response was sharp, but it was laced with an undertone of deep-seated worry. “I was starting to think… I don’t know, shit had happened.” Her eyes, usually so full of mischief and laughter, were now wide and brimming with concern.

You stepped closer, the old floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. Her fingers drummed impatiently against her thighs, her gaze darting over you in a frantic search for any signs of injury.

Ellie let out a deep sigh, rubbing her temples as though trying to ward off a headache. “It’s not just about being late. It’s about you being safe.” Her voice faltered, and she turned away momentarily, struggling to regain her composure.

You reached for her hand, gently enveloping it in your own. “I’m here, Ellie. Safe and sound. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Her eyes met yours once more, shimmering with a blend of relief and lingering anxiety. “I know, but it doesn’t make it any easier—never mind,” she murmured, her words softening as the harsh edge gave way to a tender vulnerability. Her usual playful demeanor was momentarily eclipsed by her raw, heartfelt fear.

Drawing her into a tight embrace, you felt her tense muscles slowly unwind against you. “I’m here,” you whispered into her ear, your voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You gently cupped her face in your hands, pressing a soft, loving kiss to her lips. When you finally pulled away, a small, contented smile graced her face, her eyes reflecting the warmth of your affection.

“Hey…” you murmured, leaning in closer. “How bad do I smell?” You playfully nuzzled against her, inhaling her comforting scent, the familiar fragrance and the fabric of her hoodie enveloping you in warmth.

Ellie chuckled, a soft hum escaping her as she considered your question. “Baby diapers," your quiet laughs mingling.

Your lips beushed over hers, one last tender kiss on her lips, savoring the moment. “I love you."

“I love you too,” you replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “And I’ll always come back to you.”

[puppym3]

I’m kinda new to tumblr tbh but I need someone to write this so here goes lol

I love your writing and I was wondering if you could write a smut story where Chan is feeling kind of insecure about himself and the reader ends up jerking him off while like cooing to him how pretty he is

basically a fic where the reader praises the fuck out of Chan cause he deserves it 🥰

.·:*¨ insecure!bangchan x reader ¨*:·.

wc: 1.3k (the shortest i've written)

warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, kinda subby chan?, established relationship, insecurities, comfort, praise, body worship, sweet, fluffy, slight oral (m. rec), handjob, (lmk if i missed any)

a/n: omg. i just finished writing and i was about to go to bed and then i read this and immediately needed to write it. tysm @hyunjinx42 for this suggestion <3 i hope it lived up to what u wanted

i love getting suggestions so if anyone has anything they'd like me to write, pls lmk!!! i also have a taglist if anyone is interested!

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You and your boyfriend were nestled comfortably on the plush, oversized couch, the soft glow of the table lamp casting a warm, inviting hue across the cozy living room. The air was filled with a serene ambiance, created by the gentle hum of the TV, which played a movie neither of you were particularly invested in. The flickering light from the screen danced across the room.

Your head rested gently on Chan’s broad shoulder, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest providing a comforting background to your quiet evening together. His arm, strong and reassuring, enveloped you in a protective embrace, pulling you close to him. The plush blanket draped over both of you felt like a cocoon, wrapping you in warmth.

Chan’s fingers traced idle patterns on your arm, his touch light and soothing. Yet, there was something different about his demeanor tonight. His usual warmth was overshadowed by a distant look in his eyes, as though his thoughts were caught in a whirlwind of uncertainties and insecurities that clouded his mind.

Sensing the shift in his mood, you shifted slightly, your instincts telling you that something was amiss. “Hey, Chan,” you said softly, your voice tender and concerned. “You okay?”

He sighed deeply, a sound laden with unspoken worries. His gaze flickered briefly to the TV screen, but it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere. The movie played on, a mere backdrop to the inner turmoil that occupied his mind. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice lacked its usual warmth, replaced by an undertone of hesitation.

With a gentle movement, you propped yourself up on one elbow, your eyes locked on his troubled expression. Your heart ached at the sight of him so distant, and you knew he was carrying a burden he wasn’t ready to share. “You don’t seem fine,” you said, your voice carrying a quiet intensity. “You’ve been distant for a while now. Talk to me, what’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, a fleeting moment of vulnerability crossing his features. He nervously bit his lower lip, a gesture that spoke volumes about the feelings he was experiencing. “It’s just… stupid thoughts,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your frown deepened, your concern growing. “Chan, you know you can talk to me about anything, right? No matter how silly it seems, I want to know what’s bothering you.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of apprehension and sadness. “It’s just… sometimes I can’t help but think you could be with someone more attractive. Someone who’s… I don’t know, more everything than me.”

The words struck you like a cold wave, leaving you momentarily speechless. It had never occurred to you that he, the sexiest man alive, might harbor such insecurities about his appearance.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Chan continued, his voice trembling with a mix of vulnerability and self-doubt. “Like, I see the way other guys look at you, and they all seem to be models or something. And then there’s me. I mean, I know I can be sexy when I try, but it takes a lot of effort and makeup. Sometimes I just feel like you could do better, you know?”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you shook your head vehemently, your heart aching for him. “Chan, that’s not true,” you said firmly, your hands gently cupping his face. “You know that’s not true. You’re right about one thing—you look nothing like those other guys.”

You trailed your fingers down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate care. As you slowly opened the shirt, revealing his well-defined muscles, you couldn’t help but admire the smoothness of his skin. Your touch was tender, each movement imbued with love and reverence.

“They could never look like you,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his neck. “They could never have this sexy body, and your sexy voice, and your adorable dimple.”

As you kissed a trail down his chest, your lips lingering on his skin, you felt the tension in his body begin to dissolve. Your hands roamed over his muscles, appreciating the hard-earned contours of his physique. You adjusted your position, gracefully moving off the couch and onto your knees in front of him.

Your hands traced the lines of his toned abs, your fingers gently caressing the faint lines and bumps that spoke of countless hours in the gym. “Too sexy,” you whispered, looking up at him with a playful yet adoring smile.

His face flushed a deep crimson, and he looked down at you, his breath hitching in his throat. The vulnerability in his eyes was palpable, but there was also a flicker of desire that ignited as he watched you.

Your hands moved lower, reaching the waistband of his jeans. With a slow, deliberate motion, you unbuttoned and unzipped them, pulling them down along with his boxers. The anticipation in the air was electric as you exposed him to your view.

His half-hard cock was freed, and you wrapped your hand around it, gently stroking it.

"Nobody can have a prettier cock than you," you murmured, admiring its size and shape. "Not even a porn star."

Your hand ran slowly up and down his length, looking up at him.

He groaned, his cock twitching in your hand.

You smiled, moving closer. You pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, then licked the slit, tasting the bead of precum that had formed.

"Did I mention the sexy voice?" you asked, looking up at him again. "And the pretty face? And the way your dimple looks when you smile?"

You gave the head a kitten lick, your hand moving faster.

"So beautiful," you whispered.

He moaned, his cock throbbing in your hand.

You smirked, pressing a wet kiss to the head. "Too bad nobody else can have you, you're all for me," you murmured, your other hand giving attention to his abs.

His face was flushed as he watched you touch him.

You stroked him faster, kissing his cock again. "I bet none of those guys could make me cum like you can," you whispered, licking up the side of his cock. "No one makes me feel as good as you."

His cock twitched in your hand, and he bit his lip, stifling another moan.

"Nobody stands a chance against your hot body, your cute face, and your amazing cock," you whispered, pumping him faster. "You're so sexy, you're too much."

He gasped, his cock pulsing in your hand. He was close.

"You're mine," you whispered, stroking him faster.

"Yours," he groaned, his cock throbbing in your hand.

"So pretty honey, nobody else compares," you mumbled, stroking him harder.

You pumped him faster, eager to feel him cum.

"Come for me baby," you whispered, licking the tip of his cock.

His body tensed, his hips jerking as he came. His cock throbbed, shooting hot cum over your face and hand.

"Even pretty when you cum," you murmured, stroking him through his orgasm.

His body shuddered as he finished, his cock twitching a few more times before he relaxed, breathing heavily.

You released his cock, smiling up at him. You looked up at him through heavy eyelids. "So sexy, and all mine."

He smiled, reaching for your face, and pulling you up for a kiss.

You smiled, breaking the kiss. "Is that enough proof?" you asked, wiping his cum off of your face.

He nodded, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back onto the couch.

"Thank you for that, I love you," he murmured, holding you close.

"I love you, too," you said, nuzzling against him.

The two of you lay there in each other's arms, the TV still humming in the background.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

taglist for my beauties: @loverbangchan, @reignessance

[missmeinyourbones]

we NEED "i'm just too soft for all of it." IWHT MEGUMI PLS IM BEGGING

I'M JUST TOO SOFT FOR ALL OF IT (m. fushiguro)

a/n: me making up medical shit LMFAO, repressed and emotionally constipated megumi, deadbeat dad t*ji, slight mentions and undertones of toxic masculinity

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Since he was four years old and still growing into his long-sleeved sweaters, Megumi has learned to heal his own wounds or almost die trying.

A routine that he now knows like the back of his hand, he'd returned from his latest mission with weeping cuts and exhaustion clear beneath his eyes, making a point to stop at the medical closet before returning to his dorm. With Shoko's workday over, he makes a mental note to visit her first thing in the morning when he wakes. 

He can make it through the night, he always does. Because Megumi is a thinker. He plans until he can't and covers all bases for when they're stolen. He gets by. 

What he didn't take into account was potentially running into you, of all people. Dormitory halls barren and almost eerie, he nearly curses himself for brushing shoulders as you turn the corner on the way back to your own room. 

Your timing has always been wrong, or maybe it's right and Megumi can't differentiate between the two. 

And now he's here, on the creaky wooden floor of the medicinal closet, with you kneeling beside him and prodding at his injuries with tender wrists. 

Never one to be good with idle hands, Megumi fidgets and tries to brush at the dried blood on his shoulder. The action has both of you hissing—him in a jolt of pain and you in reaction to his hurt. 

"Don't touch it," your voice falters to be stern, still coming out so gently. Megumi thinks about the irony of that—of how you can't even be sharp if you tried. You're too gentle, too soft to even sound hard momentarily. 

Humiliated at the mere idea of doing nothing, at needing help, he shakily exhales and returns his attention to the floor. 

When the damp cotton pad in your hand touches a bit too deep in one of his cuts, Megumi does his best to save face but can't help the grunt of breath that gets sucked into his lungs. 

Immediately, he feels you retract from his skin and coo your apologies. Carefully returning your attention to the burning wound, you do your best to soothe him. 

"Sorry, it's deeper than it looks. Almost over."

Megumi's response is quick and curt, like a cut of its own, "It's fine."

You nod hesitantly before grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and another clean cotton round. The cleaning of his wounds continues in silence, though your thoughts are louder than anything. 

His injuries vary in size. Some deeper, fresher, than others. Some looking like one-hit victims and others a repeated attack. You do your best to take note of where he's sensitive, where he's hurting the most. 

When you reach a certain scratch on his bicep, you're able to catch a glimpse of his face. Sweat beading on his forehead and damp hair sticking to his skin, Megumi bites the collar of his uniform to suppress any kind of noise (weakness) from you. 

When he slips up and lets out a guttural muffled groan, you think you might audibly whimper yourself. 

"You can yell if you want to," you try to help him in any way you can, "or squeeze my hand or—"

"I'm fine," Megumi attempts to bark again, but this time is different. It's not cold or sharp like it was last time. You can hear how it shakes against the echos of the closet, how it sounds like the burn of tears building in a sore throat.

And between the pain everywhere he still has feeling and the intimacy of you carefully caressing him, Megumi finds himself tearing up. 

"Hey," he feels you whisper, attempting to caress his jaw and prompt him to look at you, "hey, you okay?"

He can't find it in himself to answer nor lift his head, so he sniffles like a kicked child and crinkles his nose in disgust at his own pathetic actions.

Megumi is tough, one of the toughest people you know. You've seen him more beat up than this and barely break a sweat. Your head feels light at the realization that something's wrong. He shouldn't be in this much pain from the familiar burning of antiseptic he's felt a dozen times over. Maybe it's from a cursed weapon, or a technique where—

A stifled sob cuts you off.  

Like a glass cracking beneath pressure, you feel something inside you break. No longer caring about cleaning his cuts or avoiding sensitive areas, you can't stop yourself from wrapping around his hunched frame. 

Megumi's breath hitches as you hold him, feels your hair tickling his neck when you rub his back and whisper.

"I'm sorry, I know, but you're doing so good, okay? And I'm almost done—"

"Don't do that," he bites. 

Assuming he's referring to prodding at a specific wound, you flinch and loosen your grip, "Do what?"

"Talk to me like that," he snarls with a crack, "in that—voice."

He feels your head remove its weight from his shoulder slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't—" Megumi's voice almost breaks before he whines, gritting his teeth when he whimpers, "I can't handle it."

And just like that, Megumi is four years old again. He's scraping his knee on the concrete of his front lawn, and a blurry father-shaped figure with dark hair and legs far too tall tells him to be a man. Not being old enough to use the stove without supervision, but still knowing enough to save his cries for his pillow when Tsumiki is snoring and can't overthink his tears. He thinks of Gojo—of the first time he broke down in front of him and was met with whispers of good intent and love that registered in his brain as pity. Humiliation.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your fingertips on his wet cheeks, replacing the stinging of antiseptic with a fluttering and velvety touch. 

Between sniffled strings of apologies and a few hiccups of words that don't quite make sense, you piece together that Megumi isn't crying because he's in pain. He's crying because he can, because you're helping him in a way he never asked for, let alone known. 

"I've never...been allowed to, like, feel—"

"Hey," you're soft again, as if you ever weren't. "I know," fingers delicately brush his sticky eyelashes when you remind him, "but you are now."

"Are what?"

"Allowed," you whisper against his cheek, "to feel however you want when you're around me."

And Megumi doesn't know how you do it. How you remain a light in a world that's constantly doing all it can to kick you while you're down. Maybe you're just naive, so stupidly optimistic that it'll eventually be your own demise. Maybe.

But, Megumi can't find himself to care, because he knows that for as long as he's on this earth, he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to that light of yours. 

Back to reality and rubbing at his stinging eyes, Megumi softly scoffs. "Y'know, sometimes you look at me with those stupid eyes and I don't know what happens, but I almost feel sick."

Your laughter tastes like water, "I know what you mean. But in a good way though, right?"

"Yeah," he nods, "in a good way."

When Megumi's back finally hits his mattress at an ungodly hour of the morning—something he's been dreaming of since he'd left it hours ago—he's sickeningly sore and his eyes burn with hypersensitivity. He lets himself close his eyes thinking of your hands, the ones that soaked his now scabbing wounds and wiped his watery eyes. 

Megumi plans, sure, but he never could have prepared for you. 

[g0dlyunsub]

on your own. | part two

part one | part two

you’re strapped to an explosive and left with three minutes to convince spencer to leave you.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

contents :: general cm themes, mentions/depictions of stalking, kidnapping, death, drug injections (dilaudid), explosives, angst angst angst so much angst

word count :: 3.3k

author’s note :: it's out!! reader is so mean to spencer in the beginning, but it's all an act, i promise :( please read part one if you haven’t already, and let me know what you think!

accompanying song :: as the world caves in by matt maltese

taglist :: @myuhh8, @pleasantwitchgarden, @babyspiderling, @kitty-kei, @delusional-4-fake-people, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @themindofmoe

can you hate someone for what they have done, but still love them for whom they had been? – jodi picoult, nineteen minutes

his voice instantly fills the deep chasm in your heart.

the woman you were – a soul eager to give and receive love – died a year ago. lynne davis replaced your smile with the expression of a self-loathing woman, fed you with humiliation instead of warmth, and made you forget the taste of human companionship. you watched yourself fall apart more and more with each passing day and you never grieved your own loss, for you didn’t have the time.

so when spencer finds you in your wrecked state, slick strands of hair sticking to your forehead and the cuts on your face begging for urgent attention with their swelling undertones of red, you instantly put your head down. hearing your name stings your skin with humiliation and trepidation.

you curse under your breath. your cap wasn’t on your head anymore, so there was no shadow under which you could hide your eyes. there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, nowhere to fake. you were like a deer caught in his headlights, or like a rabbit caught in his bear trap, the shame swallowing you whole. maybe this was all karma coming to bite you in the back, its teeth sinking into your flesh so you would go cold in front of the one you once loved so selflessly.

still looking at the rocky asphalt floor, you contemplate whether you should make a run for it. for some reason, being chased down to the ground sounds more welcoming than being chased down with his words. you already knew a confession wouldn’t make up for your treason. so you turn and walk with heavy steps, steps weighed down with fear.

but spencer wasn’t willing to sit in silence for eternity. he felt a burning sensation crawl through his skin. all these months he was mourning your loss with the regret of washing the same hands that touched you. he relived your absence every day like a haunting crime, cursing his photographic memory for detailing every inch of your face as he ripped through your flesh in his imagination. he was hungry for answers.

his wide strides follow yours as the splitting sounds of the asphalt crunching under his shoes echo in your eardrums. each step pulls at the strings of your heart like a violent demand. crunch. say you’re sorry. crunch. say you’re sorry. crunch. say you’re sorry.

“y/n, wait.” 

you don’t stop. the air hits your tongue like bitter regret and sour ignorance.

“please!” 

the desperation in his voice knocks the wind out of you. hesitantly, you turn around.

you know he can smell the blood on you, the dirt rubbed into your wounds, and the grime stuck to your sweat. you clench your fist. you’ve seen this ending in your dreams so many times, where he lashes out at you with his boiling rage, and you listen because that’s the only justice you deserve. but you didn’t expect it to come so soon.

“you… you’re okay,” he says with a feathery voice, and his softness feels unintentionally cruel. why is he talking to you like that?

and why is he looking at you like that? you don’t deserve to be looked at with his puppy eyes, glossy with concern for you. 

why isn’t he yelling at you like a man seeking revenge, or glaring at you with monstrous rage?

your tone, by contrast, is icy and dark. “yeah, i… i am. you didn’t have to come looking for me.” 

“your stalker. what happened to him?” he ignores your statement and his cavernous eyes dig deeper into your gaze.

so he knew. you suck in a breath slowly as you grit your teeth.

“he’s down. i got him in the leg.”

a minute into a conversation that’s overdue by a year, and you’re already lying. but you’re so preoccupied with the thoughts of getting out of this helpless situation, you don’t realize how you’re putting down your defense.

he narrows his eyes as he studies your face. you hate when he does this, because you don’t know the thoughts he’s stirring in his head. 

after a second, he pipes up with a desperate roughness in his voice. “we need to get you to the hospital, i-i’ll let them know right now. let us help you.”

the urge to yell out no dances on your lips dangerously. you will not bring the others into this, especially not the rest of the bau. sensing the danger of his implication, you realize it’s now or never.

“there’s no need. i’m fine. i… really need to get going now.” 

you wish to say goodbye, just this once, but the hesitation that’s latched onto you since last year isn’t so easy to get rid of.

he scoffs and you think you see his hazel eyes flash with a speck of red. “yeah, just go and leave me, it’s not like you’ve done this before, right?”

your toes curl and dig into the foam of your shoes. his stare bores straight into your soul.

he doesn't give you a chance to reply. “all of our lives were in your hands. you didn’t think we had the right to know?”

his question sweeps your breath away. you wish he never asked. emotion cascades over you like a crumbling rock, and you can practically hear his rage gnawing at whatever patience was left in his body. 

“i just… i was never meant to make it this far,” you whisper quietly, so faintly you ponder for a brief moment if your voice is even audible. a penitent expression paints your face as you look away.

your response is the last straw.

spencer decides to wear you down to oblivion.

“you were never meant to make it this far? i didn’t leave my room for three weeks. for three weeks, y/n, i had to find a reason to stay alive!”

his icy tone impales your heart, and it’s a thousand times more painful than the needle your stalker pricked you with. but he doesn’t stop there.

“i’ll be honest with you because you can’t. i hated myself, y/n! did anything we ever talk about leave any impression on you? because the day you walked out of my life, just like my dad did, it really made me think that maybe everyone i loved was out to ruin me!” he throws fiery jabs with his words, each hitting harder than before.

with a crack in his voice, he adds, “i thought it was something i did that made you turn against me.”

a whimper threatens to leave your mouth. 

a choking cry sounds as he spills more heart-wrenching words. “i couldn’t pinpoint what it was, so i… i injected myself again so i could feel something. so i could feel sorry. it’s nothing you would care about, though.” he wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve, his chest heaving with shuddering exhales. 

you feel so stupid, so cruel, so god damned fucking stupid. his words tear your gut like it's a punching bag, knocking you down and throwing you around until you’re bruised to the bone. even the sun turns its warmth away from you, shunning you by making you face the shade. you stand like a lifeless doll, feeling your jaw clench as you bite down on the inside of your cheeks because the agony is too much to bear. 

for a year, you had to withhold yourself from running back to the office, to collapse into spencer’s arms. now that you were face-to-face with him, you couldn’t even look him in the eye to say you missed him.

“you’re right. i’m sorry that i couldn’t care. i don’t trust you, reid.” 

you shock yourself with the words that come out of your own mouth, and it feels like your body’s being controlled by someone else. the worst part, it’s not that he wouldn’t understand if you tried to explain. rather, it’s that you simply don’t have the time to explain. you couldn’t afford to toy with the idea of death when it was grabbing you right by the feet. 

“you’re lying.” his quiet voice ruffles the hairs on your neck, and you can almost feel the ghost of his hands brush your face. 

you certainly are. your shaking shoulders, your reddening cheeks, your watering eyes. your twitching lips, your sniffling nose, your sweating upper lip. the forced prolonged eye contact. after a year of not seeing each other, you wish he would’ve forgotten the behavioral markers that were your dead giveaway. but you couldn’t fool anyone with an eidetic memory.

with the outward shame crawling to your cheeks with a burning flame, your hands instinctively reach to touch the back of your neck. you stop when you feel a wire peeking from under your jacket collar.

shit.

“what is that?” spencer’s voice quavers with disturbed curiosity as he lowers his head to get a better view of your clothed neck.

you try to mask the wire by turning to the side ever so slightly, but spencer never fails to let a single detail slip past his attention. he’s already making steps towards you, and you take several of your own backwards, waving your hands.

“stop. don’t come any closer. don’t!” you yell, frantically shaking your head as you hold your arms up to try and bar him from coming any closer.

but he doesn’t listen.

he grabs both of your hands with one of his, overtaking your arms with such force you worry that he’s going to tear your limbs out, and unzips your jacket.

the last of your hope splinters like a glass vial.

a tear slides from your bottom eyelid, and you watch helplessly as it drops and trickles down along the vein of his arm. you hang your head low, afraid to look into his eyes.

but you’re forced to anyway, because the timer for the bomb on your chest activates with a beep, startling the both of you.

2:59.

“fuck. y/n, you…” the harshness of his voice scathes your already-wounded heart.

you shake your head, the darkness closing in as you fight to keep a steady breath.

“i need you to leave right now, spencer reid,” you beg with the words of a desperate plea.

“no,” he responds sternly, a glare splitting your walls with such anger you clamp your mouth shut. 

he forces the jacket off of you and turns you around to get a better view of the electrical components. he reaches for his phone, but you grasp his arm before he can call for a bomb squad.

“don’t bother. we don’t have time.”

and your cover’s blown. the moment you say we, you know you’ve made a fatal blunder. if you really didn’t care, you would’ve let him dial the number.

he knows you care deep down, despite your abrasive words. 

“four wires, red, white, blue, and yellow,” he begins, and you know your denouement is set in stone. 

2:40. 

“if we cut the wire or fuse connecting the trigger and the explosives then we’ll have a chance at disarming the bomb. we still need to account for the possibility of a secondary trigger or the existence of several detonators, as well as if there’s a trigger mechanism that monitors when they’re being cut.” you can’t tell if he’s trying to comfort you while he starts his inchoate examination or if he’s trying to comfort himself. maybe it’s both.

“spencer, i’m begging you, please. go,” you say as you try to move away again, but he backs you up against the brick wall of the alleyway. he grips you even tighter, nails digging into your skin. it hurts like scalding pain.

you’re dying for him to stop trying. 

the kid inside of you cries a bitter symphony of hot, painful thoughts. you don’t want to die, not when you have decades ahead of you to redeem yourself. but you reason that you don’t deserve a good ending, and that spencer is the only one that should come out of this alive. 

but then again, survivor’s guilt is a dastardly power.

2:15. 

“spencer, please. it’s my last wish.”

he looks at you for a brief moment, locking his gaze with yours. he’s so close to you yet feels so far. 

“l-look. i need you to let me concentrate,” spencer says shakingly, lightly tracing his fingers along the blasting cap. your breath hitches in the back of your throat, and you forget how to exhale.

1:59. 

sweat trickles from your forehead, and you don’t dare move to wipe it. you hear his elevated breaths and watch as a concentrated expression overtakes his face. 

you close your eyes.

you hear the bickering chirps of the birds in the distance, the sounds of construction as steel clashes against steel, and the faint laughter of women ringing out like freedom.

it’s a beautiful rhapsody to listen to when you’re dying in the subtlety.

1:30. 

you open your eyes. in a stupor of fatigue, you decide to apologize.

“i’m so sorry, spence, i’m so sorry.”

it feels pathetic to say it now.

“i’m such a coward,” you cry, and you carry the blame with your fingers as you try to release his grip on your arm one last time.

1:15. 

“d-don’t. say. that.” the tears are now streaking down spencer’s face, merging at his chin and dropping like raindrops to the floor.

“you need to leave,” you croak out, biting back a bitter sob as he tries to look at the device harnessed around your chest again.

“please,” you try once more.

“i’m never leaving you.” his hushed voice cracks and slaps against your eardrums like whiplash.

0:59. 

“i never stopped trying to reach for you, y/n.” he breaks the brief silence like waves crashing against the coastline.

“you didn't say goodbye and a part of me thought you were coming back,” he continues, and you break down, the words gutting you like a brutal kick to your stomach. the waves relentlessly lap, rumbling deep in your shredded horizon. 

“i… encountered your article in the news journal by chance,” he reveals, and your heart plummets even further.

of course. how naive of you. how could you forget that he was subscribed to every news journal, when you knew he read the news columns and the advertisements every day? you should've known you would fall straight into his hands.

“all of the linguistic features screamed that it was you. you… never moved up to new york.”

a hiccup leaves your chest between gasps.

“i confirmed it was you by asking garcia to cross-check every writers’ name and id in the database.” his knuckles are white, and the vapor from his breath fogs the silver metal of the device.

“i went to every managing editor’s residence to ask if they knew anything about you,” he huffs and you hear a click as the glass shard he’s using as a makeshift knife saws through something. you don’t look down.

0:20. 

“i eventually came across the right person, because she gave me your email address. i sent you that email 48 days ago regarding your article, the hygiene hypothesis as an explanation for the increased rates of allergic disorders.”

“that– that was you?” a breathless whisper escapes your lips as disbelief tangles your thoughts.

you remember the email as clear as day. it was the only email that complimented your style of writing among the crowded stash of spam mails, and you starred it so you could look back at it any time. to think that spencer would never reach out to you online because he hated electronic correspondence made you completely overlook the option in the first place.

but did it matter? knowing this or knowing that couldn’t change your fate — and because you couldn’t even convince the man you abandoned a year ago to leave you, you were bringing him down with you.

0:10. 

you sigh.

what a shameful ending, to seal your fate in the arms of someone who never deserved to share your pain. what a terrible ending, to have just three minutes to let the world know your time is up. and what a regrettable ending, because even after losing everything you ever had, your stalker’s still forcing you to reap what you sowed.

if it makes you feel better, spencer, i've lived with regret every day since i left you.

if it makes you feel better, spencer, maybe in an alternate universe you and i never met. 

if it makes you feel better, spencer, you won’t ever see me again.

they’re all fragments of an apology left unsaid.

“why did you go through all of this… after everything?” you ask.

you don't expect an answer.

you let your hand fall to the ground because you don’t deserve to hold his.

0:03. 

0:02. 

0:01. 

——

“because i needed to hear you say it to my face,” a shaking voice pulses from your right ear. 

it sounds too real to assume that you’re in heaven.

you open your eyes. spencer’s eyes are already fixed onto yours, radiant under the sun's golden rays. they're almost blinding.

you look down at the timer.

it’s frozen at 0:01.

a quivering exhale leaves your mouth, and you let out a painfully scratchy sob. spencer’s hands lie pressed against the wall right above your shoulders, and his hot breath fans over your neck as he leans over you. his mop of hair lightly brushes against your skin, and goosebumps scale down your body as you catch your breath.

you then feel him tear the explosive vest away from your body, the sounds of velcro crisp against the still air. 

you don’t even ask how he did it. he’s alive, you’re alive, and that’s the only thing that matters.

a million thoughts buzz in your head, and you don’t know what to say, so you just breathe out his name with panting breaths. 

“you didn’t have a choice.” spencer gives you a sorrowful smile, and his words seem to absolve you of all of your mistakes.

with an angelic stare, he takes in the sight of you. every tear, every eyelash damp with your sweat, every crack in your dried lips.

“please don’t ever leave again, y/n. i don’t want to lose you.” he says beseechingly, his face peppered with glimmering tears. the sentence burns your tenderest flesh.

“i won’t, i promise,” you whisper hoarsely, and the two of you fall to the ground slowly, taking in each other’s hold for the first time in a long time.

as you hear the sirens sound in the distance, you let yourself succumb to spencer’s grasp and whisper a hundred thank you's against his chest. 

how beautiful, the way your heart beats in unison with his as he murmurs words of abounding love and warmth, the way his arms press against your convulsing muscles to summon comfort, and the way you don’t even have to say a word for him to understand.

because in every universe, spencer will fight everything and everyone to extinguish death from your sight, even when you have nothing to return. 

[freyito]

"ꜱᴛᴀʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ" ⨟ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴡ/ ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏꜱ

i know i was like just hornyposting and all buuuut i've had such a rough couple of days and everythings really building up. figure i'd sit down and write out my favorite "prompt". hurt/comfort... without the hurt, i guess. too hurt to write the hurt :P. essentially what the boys would do when your feeling down and ask to stay with em, of course. is this what im calling the boys now? yes. its MY fic and MY comfort, i get to choose the silly little name for my boyfriends.

cw: gn reader, angsty undertone, comfort, just fluff, bonus characters!, not proofread

⎯ Liu Kang

You do not even need to speak. Liu Kang can see it. You are hurt, near breaking. You trail behind him all day, head down. You actively seek his touch, small things, reaching for his hand, brushing your fingers against his bicep. You are afraid to say it, and yet, he knows.

That night, before he leaves your room to attend to his duties as Earthrealm's protector, you finally speak up. Those three simple words, so quiet, so soft. He does not hesitate to turn around. He is logical, he likes to think, but you pull him in. Within moments, he is in bed with you, his arms wrapped around you firmly. He presses his forehead against your cheek, and whispers,

"I will not leave you, my dear, I am here. Forevermore."

⎯ Bi-Han

Bi-Han knows you almost better than the back of his hand. However, he prefers to let you wallow in peace. He is afraid of pushing past your boundaries, and as such, he is far more distant. Yet, he worries. He worries with his whole heart. However, he cannot let it show. So he is as cold as ever, in front of the Lin Kuei. Strong, vigilant, unyielding.

Tonight, he does not let you go. He misses you so, and you have no need to tell him what you need. It is tender. He pulls you on top of him, holding you close by the waist. And yet, you still speak. And he listens. His gaze softens, tremendously. He looks as if he may be on the verge of tears. His voice steady, as he speaks, yet his face betrays his tone,

"There is no possibility of leaving you, no, not even in death."

⎯ Kuai Liang

Kuai does not know what ails you- but he must. He must know. You have done well to shy away from him, but he is hot on your trail. He knows that hollow look, devoid of emotion, too afraid to show any. Because if you show one, you show all. He does not smother you, no, but he does question you.

The questions stop at night. It is quiet. He is afraid of pushing you further. So Kuai Liang leaves you alone in the bed, with one last kiss on your forehead. Yet, he stands in the doorway. He waits. You speak. And he listens. All you say is one word. He retreats back in bed with you, pushing you closer to his neck. He runs his hands through your hair, calming you down. To still your beating heart. And he speaks with conviction,

"I am here, as long as you need, forever, if you so wish, my love."

⎯ Johnny Cage

Perhaps, Johnny is too much for you recently. And that's okay! He knows his limits. Yet, he finds himself seeking you out. He misses your warmth, your smile, you. He knows that he can be loud, that he can be a lot. And he's always given you space. Yet that look you hold, it is miserable. And he knows exactly what you feel. He follows you around, as if a lost dog, the entire day. He wants you to have space, but he wants you to say those words.

And you do, that night. Finally, those words escape your lips. Just what Johnny wanted to hear. He's got you wrapped up in the blankets, pulling you up into his chest. His hand rests on the back of your head, gently rubbing his thumb into your hair. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and whispers, gently, almost out of character,

"It's alright, sweetheart, I'm not leaving, not tonight, not tomorrow, not anytime."

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

You cannot hide that sinking pain within your heart, Kenshi can hear the melancholy dripping within your words. He can hear it in your breath, your actions. How your footsteps drag, how slow you walk. He can see it, too, do not be fooled. You stay close, unnecessarily close, you look up at him with such heavy eyes, you stay quiet. He knows. He is waiting for you to act on it, to act on the voice he hears at the very edge of his mind. He is a telepath, you must remember.

And so, when you speak your mind finally, he is all too eager to make sure you know he won't leave. He pulls you up onto his chest, his heartbeat even, soft, and regular. The moment is tender, and he lets your words hang in the air. Silence covers you two like a blanket, comforting. And finally, as he runs his hand down your sides, squeezing your waist gently, he speaks,

"Do not be afraid to tell me what you want, my heart. I will stay close, I will stay."

⎯ Kung Lao

Kung Lao does not need words to stay by you. Night and day. He is glued to your side, trying to cheer you up with his charm. He does not give you enough room to sulk. He's dragging you along with him, even if it's something as simple as watching him train. To keep you at ease, to put a smile on your face. He is making sure everything he does has that effect.

Yet, you still ask him to stay when night comes. He does not deny it, and he pushes himself closer. As if you were not in his arms already. But he makes sure you know he heard you, he squeezes you, and lets out a soft sigh. There is nothing that will take him away from you, and you must know,

"I won't. Nope, not even tomorrow. I'm here as long as you want me here."

⎯ Raiden

You cannot keep Raiden away from you. The minute your expression is somber, he is following close behind you. He does not ask, or interrogate you. But he follows. He is on the lookout for any sort of thing that could have stolen his light from him. What has gotten to you, what dares rip the spark of his life from you? He does not know how to ask you, he is afraid that perhaps it is him.

But it is not. Your hand pulls him back to you by his wrist as you speak. And he obliges. He does not know what has made you feel this way, but he does know, that maybe even this one night will be enough to bring your smile back. He will stay here, as long as you need, as long as he needs. And he makes it known,

"Oh, my light, nothing can keep me away from you."

⎯ Zeffeero

Zeffeero is on you the minute your face so much as drops. Perhaps he is a stubborn lover, too prideful to admit that he cares deeply for you. But he cannot handle loosing your presence, his sunshine. He wants your attention, but does not say so outright. He will do that little thing with the water manipulation and the shapes to amuse you... without you asking. And when that does not bring the smile back to your face, he does not know what else to do.

His heart near stops when you tell him to stay that night. He feels so stupid to have skipped over that part. But he accepts. He tries to show restraint, however he is by you within a matter of seconds. He places a kiss on your jaw, before hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrap around you, keeping you close. Just as he wanted to the entire day, and he finally speaks,

"Do not scare me so, my dear. I want to keep you safe, and I'll stay until you no longer want me by your side."

⎯ Tomas Vrbada

Your distance is noticeable. However, Tomas does not act upon it. He believes that you need the space you have put between you and him and everyone else. So he does not question it. However, there is a void where you once were. His world fills with the same emptiness and sorrow you felt at your absence. He cannot help but seek you out in the final hours of the dawn. He is afraid, once more. He does not want to pressure you, so he turns his back to you.

You surprise him with your words, he near spins on his heels, a wide and beautiful grin gracing his face. He makes no effort to hide this. His happiness, his light has asked him to stay, and he would be a fool to deny them such a request. He practically throws himself back onto the bed, and wraps his big arms around you. He presses his forehead against yours, and holds your gaze. He speaks, quietly, softly, and you can even hear his smile in his voice,

"I am here for you, Drahoušek. I always will be. Do not be afraid to come to me."

⎯ Baraka

Oh, how Baraka feared this day would come. You have turned your back to him, the air around you rife with despair. He is not afraid that you suddenly dislike him. He is afraid of loosing your positivity. One of the very few things he has held onto because of his affliction. You make him forget all that is bad within this world, within him. And now, there is an absence. He does not know what to do.

But that night, you guide him. Through his own sulking, your words pull him away. Yes. He will gladly stay. If that is what you want. If that is what it takes. He keeps his distance, still. He will always be afraid of his infection spreading. But he sleeps in the same room. And just before you drift off into sleep, you hear him,

"I cannot lose you. Please, tell me when, and I will be there."

⎯ Geras

Geras has reason to believe the reason you have pulled away from him is because of his absence. Because of him. Human emotions are a strange thing, they are intricate, even more so than the dozens of timelines he has watched over. Oh so suddenly, you are turned away from him, too caught up within your own thoughts to voice what has been troubling you. Perhaps it is the fact that he does not have nearly enough time for you. That is the answer he settles on.

Before he can leave you that night, your pleas make him stop. They make him understand, even for a second. He was so sure you were asleep. And yet, you are awake, asking him to stay. He is unsure what to do. But, he must give his love what they want. What they deserve. So, he leans in, and places a gentle kiss on your cheek. His words follow soon after,

"I will always be here, my duty is important, but so are you. Know this, I am always watching over you."

⎯ Syzoth

You've ran off. And Syztoh does not know what to do with himself. He paces, he fidgets, he waits. He must see you again. But you were so hurt beforehand, and he does not know why. You have withdrawn into yourself, without a word. And Syzoth does not know how to comfort you. He knows you are feeling down, horrible even. Yet, he feels as if he has ran you off. His insecurities well up within his mind as he waits. And waits.

And the time comes where you ask him, you reach for him. Your voice quivers. Oh my, how could he have let this happen. He pulls you in, almost bringing you down to the ground. He wraps himself around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His nerves calm, in that moment. Muffled, he speaks, his words true and clear, if not a little shaky,

"I waited, my love, and I will stay. I will always be here. Every moment, every moment you need me."

⎯ Havik

Havik is apprehensive. He does not quite understand what to do in this situation. With you, his lover, in front of him, a mess, voice hoarse, your emotions addle your mind. He looks at you dumbfounded. He reaches for you, but his hand does not meet your shoulder. Now, you feel as if you are miles away from him. Space. That is what he understands, now.

But, the space he has given you is broken that night. You find him in bed, intertwining his fingers with yours. His scarred flesh does not scare you, as much would believe. His eyes are warm, peaceful for once. The words are on the tip of your tongue, yet you do not need to speak. Havik answers, regardless,

"Finally. Do not run from me like that again, I do not mean to leave you alone."

⎯ Shao Kahn

To return home, where you are not waiting for Shao in the kitchen, it is a nightmare. The worst is the first thing that runs through his mind. You are lost, perhaps. Taken. But he finds you, safe and well. Back to him, on the edge of the bed. He does not speak, but he lets his presence be known. He lays down on the bed, facing you, and simply watches.

Until it is time for you to speak, you look at him with such sad eyes. He is there. You do not have to ask, for you know the answer. But you ask, anyways. Shao simply reaches a hand out to you, and pulls you back in bed gently. Tonight, he can. Maybe not tomorrow morning, but tonight, he can. And he will,

"I will always stay by your side. I am here to keep you safe, do not forget it."

⎯ Shang Tsung

Shang Tsung pampers you, right out of the gate. He hates to see you like this, so sullen, so quiet. It is his goal to pull you out of this feeling. Even if it hurts his wallet. And yet, it seems his plan falls short. He is disheartened, to say the least. Perhaps he might sulk, as well. But he doesn't, or he tries not to, anyways. He simply follows you around, now. Trying to lift your spirits.

And that only comes when night falls, nestled underneath the covers. Shang Tsung is still close. Extremely close. Yet, you can't help but ask, regardless. And he listens. He chuckles softly, and pulls you in for a quick peck on the lips. For a moment, he stares into your eyes, rolling your words over in his mind. His tone is sly, but his words are, for once, kind,

"There you are, my darling. Of course I'll stay. Who would I be if I didn't? I'll stay forever, if I must."

⎯ Reiko

Reiko wants to be soft with you, and yet, he can't find a way through to you in this moment. He does not understand why you've withdrawn from him. Why you are so somber. He decides that it is space you need, not him. So, he gives you exactly what he believes. Yet, he still keeps an eye on you. He wants to make sure you are safe, regardless. Even as you sulk.

You find him once more at the end of the day, laying in bed. The idea of him, of Reiko, relaxing, seems so odd. Yet, he is lounging. He is waiting. So you speak, and all he can do is look at you. He gestures towards the bed, and you do so. Laying down, he holds you close. Properly. His arms wrapped around the small of your back, your forehead against his chin. And he speaks, finally,

"If I am to say no, then I would rather be decapitated by General Shao himself. Do not ever hesitate to ask, you know I will."

⎯ Erron Black

Outlawin' and Gunslingin' is a hard trade. What's even harder is making sure you are happy. And now, you are pulling yourself away from Erron. This mood you're in... he's going to get you to snap out of it, dammit. And he tries. He tries real damn hard. He flaunts off his skills, just how quick and precise he can fan the hammer, maybe take down some poor bird from the sky. Yet, you still look at him, devoid of emotion.

Erron has all but given up until you find him in the bed that night. Somehow, you look more of a mess then before. And he just can't forgive himself for it. Yet, you still ask. He's dumbfounded, really. He doesn't know what to say. But, his body knows what to do. Absentmindedly, he pulls you into the bed by your hand. He keeps you close, yet still leaves distance between your bodies. His hand finds your cheek and caresses it with his thumb. Finally, he's found his words, and so he speaks, for you,

"Ya ain't gotta worry about me leavin', pumpkin. I'll stay riiiiiiight here, long as ya need."

⎯ Takeda Takahashi

You're quiet. You're so damn quiet and it's almost irritating for Takeda. He can't get to you, he can't break through this heavy, melancholy air around you. He's following you around, regardless. He's going to find out why you're acting like this, and if it's because of someone, he won't mind sweating a little. But it isn't. It isn't cause of anyone, it isn't cause of him. It's cause of you. And now, he truly doesn't know what to do. So he backs off.

Until you find him once more, seeking his attention. His touch. His comfort. Takeda doesn't deny this, as you slink into bed, behind him. You tap him on the shoulder gently, and he turns his head back to you. Before he can speak, you ask. The lightbulb goes off in Takeda's head, and suddenly, he feels horrible. You didn't need him following you around like a bodyguard all day, nor did you need the bombardment of questions. You simply needed him. So, he responds,

"Don't scare me like that, dammit. Of course I'll stay, but just... yeah, yeah. I'll stay."

© freyito, 2023 | masterlist | queue | kofi DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Part 8 continuation of your little date, I hope you enjoy! Also haven't proofread it because I didn't want to make you all wait another week for it. Sorry. You're welcome to point out errors to me. English words were hard this time, sorry if some of it is redundant. Part 7 | COD Masterlist | Part 9

Simon watches you from the corner of his eyes while you two walk alongside each other through the park. You’re tossing a ball for Wraith and the guard dog basically turned into an overgrown puppy at the sight of the toy.

It’s gotten late and after you spent the entire afternoon in the Café talking, Wraith needed a walk. Instead of saying goodbye you invited Simon to tag along. That’s a win, right? It’s a big step. You voluntarily decided to spend more time with him and Simon can feel himself vibrate with excitement.

“So an ex-soldier. What exactly did you do?”, you ask him while you toss Wraith’s ball for the thousandth time. You turn your pretty face towards him and he meets your eyes, puts his hands into his pockets and slightly shrugs his shoulders.

“Spec Ops.”, is his simple answer and you furrow your brows.

“Spe- what?” The confusion in your voice is adorable and Simon balls his fists, stuffs them deeper into his pockets so he doesn’t do something stupid (like pull you in and kiss you breathless).

“Special Operations. We weren’t really deployed somewhere permanently, instead they sent us wherever we were needed. Lots of stuff I am not allowed to talk about.”, he explains and wonders if you’ll be scared of him again.

When he looks at you, your eyes are wide. “Oh.”, you mutter and seem to think hard. It grows quiet for a minute and a small smile finds its way onto Simon’s lips. You’re chewing your lips again, seemingly troubled and who the fuck allowed you to look so adorable doing that.

“What is it, sweetheart.”, he asks, his voice warm and soft. He really hopes you can’t hear the lovesick undertone.

“I don’t know what I’m allowed to ask.”, you explain and grin self-conscious. He wants to lick the awkwardness off your lips (whoa okay, he really needs to get his thoughts in check).

Instead of doing that like a total creep, he tells you: “You can ask whatever you want, sweetheart. We’ll see what I can answer.”

You nod and think again. So far you haven’t protested his continued use of petnames. He enjoys it, enjoys claiming you with words in a subtle way. The only thing he’d enjoy even more would be you claiming him back. With words, marks, a collar, anything as long as he gets to be yours.

By now you’re walking closely besides him, and every now and then your arms brush against each other. It sends a shock up his arm every time, makes his neck tingle and his jaw clench in an effort to hold back, to not overwhelm you. The last thing he wants is to fuck up with you. As much as he wants to hold you he’d rather endure torture again than make you uncomfortable by coming on too strong.

“Why did you retire?”, you finally ask. “You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not!”, you immediately add in the same breath and Simon chuckles a bit at that.

The way you’re glancing at him seems nervous. It’s oddly endearing, like you’re nervous of misstepping with him. He quite enjoys that look on your face. Making you nervous in a way that doesn’t stem from fear is weirdly thrilling and he wants to keep doing it (would you be nervous if he pushed you up against a tree? If he used his height to his advantage and had you at his mercy? Would you be nervous if you had him at your mercy? God, he wants to be at your mercy).

“’s alright, sweets. Had a mission that went south, can’t really go into details. After that they set us up with a comfortable new life and told us to start over.” He can see the curiousness plain as day in your eyes and he wants to kick the officials who’re keeping him from just telling you everything.

Maybe someday he’ll do it anyway. Fuck if anyone can dictate him what to talk about. He’ll definitely tell you someday. Once he’s yours and sure you won’t run from him for revealing his past.

You cock your head at that. “Can you tell me about your team?”, you ask instead of prying and he could kiss you for that alone (he’s not sure he could have denied you, had you asked with your sweet voice and big curious eyes).

He nods at you and your face practically lights up with a big smile at the opportunity to finally get more info. He’s tempted to tell you every single confidential thing he knows, just to see you light up like that again.

“The lads are all in town. We’re four. Johnny, the fucker, owns a bakery. Flirts with everyone that comes in. People dig the accent.”, he begins and you perk up.

“Accent? It’s not the Scottish one, is it? What was his name…”, you seem to wrack your brain for it. “Mac…. Mac…”

“MacTavish.”, Simon supplies and you beam at him.

“I know that guy! His bread is to die for.”, you claim and Simon can’t really tell you that he already knows you frequent his friends bakery (he might have seen you there when he went to visit Johnny at work; might have worked out the times you go to Johnny’s and visited him more often around that time).

“He seems really nice but…”, you trail off and when you don’t continue Simon gently nudges you with his elbow to go on (you don't seem bothered by the contact, and he's surprised by himself for daring to do that so casually), curious what you might have to say about Johnny. You hesitate.

“Go on, sweetheart.”, he urges gently.

 “… he kinda intimidates me.”, you finally admit and suddenly Simon is grinning like the cat that caught the canary. Johnny intimidates you. Who would have ever guessed.

Johnny, who only recently teased him that ‘the cutie’ would never warm up to him because of his scary mask, intimidates you. Yet scary Simon is the one you’re taking a stroll in the park with. He desperately wants to rub it in Johnny’s face.

“Don’t tell your friend about it, but I can’t ever seem to remember his name. My friends and I refer to him as MacFlurry.”, you add, blushing but grinning mischievously.

Simon stares at you for a second and he can see the smile slowly drop and the apology forming on your lips when he starts laughing. He clutches his ribs, doubling over. Oh he’s gonna have so much fun with this information.

After a few seconds your laughter joins his as you’re helplessly giggling along, his booming laughter infectious.

“That…”, he laughs. “That’s great. Fucking MacFlurry.” He practically wheezes in laughter. Shit, he wants to marry you. Right here, right now.

Your giggle is beautiful and slightly bashful. Simon wishes he could catch it in a jar so he might listen to the heavenly sound again and again.

Finally he catches his breath and straightens up a bit, his eyes are twinkling, creases all around them from smiling so widely. He wants to tug you in close and thank you for existing.

“You know, sweetheart, I could always introduce you to MacFlurry and the others. We’re meeting up this evening. Wanna tag along?”, he blurts out before he can reconsider and your eyes grow wide and alarmed.

[soleilnewspaper]

Ever since Potions class…

Series masterlist

Summary: In the wake of your feelings being revealed, Sirius and Remus are forced to face the aftermath. James grows increasingly frustrated with the two and decides to play matchmaker.

Pairing: poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

Warnings: Angst, mentions of self loathing and one’s inner demons, swearing, use of Y/N.

Word count: 3.6k

AN: Okay so I’m not sure if I entirely love how this turned out but here we go. If you do enjoy this, please do all the tumblr things, reblog, like and ect!! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.

In the wake of your impulsive rush out of class left your classmates were left in a state of shock and amusement.

A few snickers from the group of girls situated near left wing right at the back was the Professor’s last straw. It goes without saying. Hormonal teenagers and love potions never pair well together.

“Could we perhaps return to the lesson?” Slughorn’s voice momentarily brought the classroom to a silent halt. “I highly doubt this will be on your potions exam.” He stated making sure to put extra emphasis on this in reference to the gossiping girls.

His voice fell to deaf ears as the class continued to grow louder.

“Bloody hell, do ye not have anythin’ better to do your lives?” A voice shouted from the back of the classroom causing everyone to focus on the blonde Gryffindor girl it had come from.

“Thank you for your effort, Miss McKinnon but I urge you to consider a calmer approach.”

If looks could kill, Slughorn would be done for with the way the girl was death glaring him. Yet, she had still managed to shut them all up.

Slughorn attempted to get back on topic, his patience wearing thin but he prevailed for his love for the subject outweighed it. A hand raise from Lily Evans was quick to send the man back into a warm smile as she answered the questions about the potion.

Not long afterwards the lesson fell back into place. Slughorn droning on and on about Amortentia. His words seamed to blur together for Remus. Despite his multiple attempts to focus his efforts proved unsuccessful.

The werewolf glanced down at his notes and came to the conclusion that none of it would be useful. Much of it was incoherent and jumbled together in a sea of words.

Thankfully he was not the only one struggling to understand what had transpired only moments ago. His honey brown eyes met sliver ones. Those belonging to his beloved boyfriend next to him. Who was receiving a very concerned look from one James Potter and two Peter Pettigrew.

James mouthed something to Sirius but for the life of him he couldn’t understand it. Growing more frustrated by the minute as he tried to speak to his best friend in hushed tones. Neither boy wanting to get detention, for the third time this month.

“Of for-“ The black haired boy was interrupted by the feeling of his boyfriend’s hand on his shoulder. A silent message was conveyed between the two; not here.

The class was excruciating long before the professor finally dismissed them. The walls of the dungeon seemed to feel longer than normal. That unmistakably English autumn breeze making its way through the cracks.

Students blurred together in a sea of red and green. Some rushing to their next class, others looking for a spot to spend their free period.

“Moons..” Sirius’s voice brought Remus back into reality. The elegant sound dripping with concern and undertones of confusion- no that wasn’t it - it was fear.

“Hmm, love?” Remus responded with tired eyes, and a smile which was far from being real. The werewolf wasn’t sure who he was trying to conceive, Sirius or himself.

Remus felt as Sirius hands slipped into his own. Far more gentle than usual. Public displays of affection were often very much not gentle when it came to Sirius Black. The protective nature of his presence was anything but subtle with his affections.

The two boys remained just like that for a few moments. Silent, in a crowded hallway but their eyes only remained on each other.

A chuckle escaped Remus’s lips which left Sirius frowning his brows in confusion. That confusion only intensified when his chuckle turned into a roar of laughter. Very much uncharacteristic of Remus John Lupin.

“Merlin, do you need Madam Prompery?” Sirius said with a mild grin starting to grow.

“Fuck-“ Remus put his free hand on his lover’s chest his expression betraying his serious tone. “Your cologne really is strong.”

“I hate you.”

“As if you could ever.” Remus warmth was spread into his smile. Sirius shaking his head before running a hand through his hair.

James Potter hated how his friends claimed he ‘mothered’ them to much, but in all honesty they needed it. Not so secretly he loved it.

Most recently his patience was wearing dangerously thin. Due to two of his best friends.

It had been over a month since your incident in potions class. The school had long since moved on and it was old news by now.

A fact which James was not fully content with. He had told himself that this was just the process. Remus and Sirius were dealing with it on their own terms. No need to meddle. Simple as that.

However, day by day it becomes more difficult to not meddle. Surely, they should have some reaction by now. Well, a normal reaction.

Their reactions were not what he wanted to classify as normal. First, it started with Remus using sarcasm as a coping mechanism to brush it under the rug. Then Sirius added in the combination of avoidance and lashing out.

James loved his two friends dearly. Truly, he did but they were driving him into insanity. For James Potter had an ego the size of England but a heart of gold.

So when two of his best friends continued to avoid dealing with the fact that you had feelings for them, he was granted a little lean way. Especially, since he knows they both feel the same for you.

Years of feeling unloved has undoubtedly left a mark on Sirius. Where he refuses to disrupt the balance he has created with Remus in fear it’ll all come crashing down.

Remus, on the other hand, was full of self loathing and stubbornness. Meaning he would not be admitting anything either.

Which is exactly what lead James to break his own rule of no meddling.

Sirius had just began to remove his Qudditch gear when James dragged him by the ear. Causing the rest of the team to watch in confusion as the two boys walked out of sight.

Once they reached out of earshot from the rest of the team, James let go of Sirius ear. The black haired boy’s hand instantly went to touch his ear rubbing it. While his best friend stared at him through his glasses.

“Merlin, what the hell Prongs?” Sirius asked in attempt to understand the sudden change in his mood.

“You can’t keep avoiding it.”

“Avoiding what?” Sirius frowned his brows having absolutely no clue what James was on about.

“Pads, you cannot seriously be this blind.” James dumbfounded running his hands over his face.

“Mate you’ve lost me.”

“Oh for the love of Godric.” James removed his hands from his face and took a deep breath before stepping closer towards Sirius. Placing his palms on Sirius’s shoulders.

“You. Have. Feelings. For. Y/N.” James stated drawing out every word individually.

“You. Are. Actually. Mental.” Sirius replied in the same tone James had used on him.

“Pads, I see how you look at her. I’d been be blind not to.” James voice soften as he looked into the eyes of his best friend.

“I cannot stand her.”

“No, that’s just want you’ve been telling yourself to avoid your feelings. You did the same thing with Remus.” James concurred.

“I never hated Remus.” Sirius scoffed at James’s statement.

“You’re right, you never hated Remus but you did push him away when things got to real.”

Sirius and James stared at each other for a few minutes until Sirius broke. It felt like it would last an eternity.

“Fine, I do.” Sirius shrugged Jame’s hands off his shoulders. “It’s driving me fucking crazy, alright?”

“It is all I think about most days. Not matter what I do, how hard I try, I can’t get her out of my goddamn mind. “ His voice begins to raise with every word that leaves his mouth but he didn’t stop there.

“How fucking screwed am I-that- that I can’t stop thinking about some girl when I already have most wonderful guy to ever exist. Huh?”

“You don’t think I see that. You don’t think I carry that I feel like shit every day-“ Sirius breathing became heavier with every moment that passed practically hitching after every syllable.

“Hey, hey, hey, deep breathes Pads.” James steadied Sirius holding him in place with both hands on either side of his arms. Sirius nodded in response allowing himself to calm down.

“Did you forget she smelled Remus too?” James smiled making sure to remain eye contact with Sirius.

“Course not. I’d never forget someone else smelling my boyfriend in Amortentia.”

“Siri, she has feelings for both of you. You have feelings for both of them. Is it making sense yet?”

“But what about Remus?”

“Were you dropped as a child?”

Sirius hand flew to hit his best friend lightly across the head at his comment.

“Oi, don’t hate the messenger.” James smirked before ducking his head before Sirius could land another hit. “Remus wants what you want. The two of you are just to stubborn to see the other feels the same way.”

As almost if a lightbulb went off in his head, everything became clear to Sirius. Without another word, the dark haired boy sprinted towards the library leaving James alone behind the tents.

“Thank you James for opening my eyes.” James threw his arms up into the air while intimating his best friend’s voice.

“Sure no problem.” James made his way back to the Quidditch locker rooms, mumbling incoherently under his breath.

The library was filled with the imperceptibly squeaking recognisable as the souls of Madam Pince’s shoes. The librarian’s breath felt down the hairs on the necks of students who dared touch her precious books. Outside the setting sun could be spotted in the distance. Its rays streaming through the glass windows.

A tall werewolf sat hunched over a wooden table brimming with books of all kinds. Pools of chocolate irises trained on the words displayed on the worn pages. Sandy brown waves framed his scarred face.

A gush of wind blew over the boy drawing him out of his reading. His head rose allowing his eyes to scan the room for what the cause of the wind was. A soft smile creeped up his cheeks when he spotted his beloved.

Nevertheless the smile was fleeting. Not lasting longer than a few trivial seconds before turning into a concerned frown. Sirius ‘s form darted towards Remus rapidly.

Beads of sweat dripped from his skin. A result of running directly after qudditch practice from the pitch to the library. Strands of black hair fell from his ponytail to lay around the ends of his jaw.

“Everything alright, love?” Remus asked gently. Not fully sure or ready for what would be awaiting him once Sirius decided to open his mouth.

Slowly he took a step towards Sirius, followed by a few more until he was inches away from him. Only then did he notice how his sliver eyes were glossy and red. The sight sent a shiver through Remus’s core causing chain reaction to occur.

His hands found their way to the contours of Sirius’s face. “What happened?” The hints of anger from protectiveness in Remus gentle voice told Sirius he truly had no idea what he was about to say.

“We have feelings for Y/N.” The use of we told Remus everything he needed to know. Remus pulled his brows together. Nodding his head to try to comprehend the thought.

“Okay, and we are both sure of this?” Remus conceded.

“What do we do, Rem?” Sirius breathed out, leaning into Remus’s touch. Using him as the pillar which supported him and kept him from falling apart.

“Honestly, er, communication is good, or so I’ve been told.” Remus fingers softly rubbing the sides of Sirius face in circular motions.

“Wait, hold up, when did we come to this conclusion?” Remus dropped his hands but didn’t make any move to leave Sirius’s side.

“Twenty minutes ago.”

“Right, er, well, I’m goin’ to need more than that, love.”

“Let’s just say James was involved.” Sirius explained blankly. Remus chuckled at that, imagining James in full ‘mom’ mode.

“Moons, you do feel the same, right?” Sirius interwoven his fingers with Remus’s letting his eyes fall onto them for a moment. His voice insecure now, betraying himself.

“You’re not the only one. I feel it too.” Remus hung his head low. Staring at his fingers interlocked with his boyfriend’s. “Ever since…”

“Ever since potions class.” Sirius finished his sentence for him.

“Siri, why did you not say anything before?” It was Remus’s turn to be concerned now.

“I thought you would hate me.”

“Sirius, what gave you that fucking idea?” Remus started to ready his speech he’d given his boyfriend countless times before, but then stopped, deciding this situation called for a different approach.

“You already forgave me for…well..everything..I couldn’t tell you I had feelings for someone else..” Sirius attempted to avoid Remus’s glaze, but of course he wasn’t having it. Remus used his index finger to lift Sirius’s chin to ensure he was looking at him.

“I thought I was betraying you in some way. By having feelings for someone who wasn’t you.” Remus confessed what had been lying heavily on his mind for a long time now.

“I didn’t even fully accept that I had feelings, until James forced it out of me.” Sirius let out a deep breath.

Remus closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Sirius who in return wrapped his own around Remus’s lanky waist.

The darkness of Sirius family name haunted him in more ways than one. Vulnerability was not something he was taught. Therefore, Remus needed to tread carefully. For he knew the consequences Sirius’s darkness could cause. Remus understood that Sirius almost never dealt well with such situations.

Remus had his own demons, which differed from the ones Sirius battled. Self loafing was Remus’s chosen method of poison. Purely created by the treatment he had seen his kind receive. The same treatment which his parents, friends and lover had sworn to protect him from.

In spite of the fact that their darkness were far from the same. The two wizards had learned to navigate through each other’s absence’s of lights.

Yet in the wake of their newfound discovery they were facing uncharted territory. Your pure existence had thrown disrupted the balance between the two of them. Yet, neither one seamed to feel any resentment towards you for it. Instead the thought of your presence only brought warmth and comfort to them both. They had known you for years, not candidly. Rather in the form of sharing classes with you or passing you in the hallway. Additionally, there was the fact that you seamed quite close with Sirius’s younger brother. That they knew to be a fact.

They did know you, they had been picking up on things about you for months. Perhaps for Sirius he had been doing so since the moment his brother invited you to their home all those summers ago.

Neither one ever thought anything would come from it, which is why they denied any interest in you. Not that anyone had ever thought there was to begin with.

With heads hung low and fingers intertwined, Sirius and Remus entered their shared dorm.

James was in the midst of writing an essay for charms class. His reasoning for leaving said essay to the last minute was the pressure would advance his argument. Pranking first years with Sirius three days ago had nothing to do with it.

The sound of water coming from the faucet indicated that Peter had taken the chance to shower.

Sirius padded over to his empty bed and let himself fall back onto the red blanket. Laying flat on his back with his feet dangling off.

Remus began to untie his tie feeling a relief when he was able to undo his top button. Exchanging his robes for a sweater and comfortable loose fitting pants which hung low on his hips.

James peered through his glasses to see for any indication that his efforts had been successful.

“I take it you two talked?” James temporarily turned his attention away from his essay. He would pull an all nighter if it meant his friends were happy.

A nod from Remus and a grunt from Sirius were the only responses he received.

“We’re still deciding what our next steps are.” Remus sighed leaning against one of the pillars of his bed.

“Our lives are fucking screwed.” Sirius mumbled into his pillow.

“Okay, that’s a tad dramatic.” Remus moved to sit by the foot of Sirius bed. Moving his legs to lay them on his lap.

“Here’s a thought.” James began, making sure both boys were listening before continuing. “Talk to her.”

“Got any other ideas?” Sirius raised his head from the pillow to side glance James earning himself a disapproving head shake.

James lounged forward on the sheets of his bed to grab the nearest pillow which was sent flying to Sirius’s head.

“Oh Godric, OH GODRIC.” James sudden outburst caused Remus to raise an eyebrow.

“Must I do everything for you, then?” James stood up from his bed planting himself in the centre of the room with hands on his hips.

It had never been your intention to come between a couple. Nor did you ever hope to be the cause of any issues in a relationship.

You had actively planned to get over your feelings for Sirius and Remus. Yet, they only grew more than you could have ever imagined.

In order to try move on you avoided Remus at every available opportunity. While you annoyed Sirius beyond expectation making him hate you. Which in turn made you somehow convince yourself you hated him.

Neither fact was true. You did not hate Sirius nor did he hate you. Both of you were just trying to ignore what you felt for each other.

Even so, your avoidance of Remus never proved successful. Your heart longed for him as much as it did for his boyfriend.

Thankfully, you had thought no one had noticed your growing infatuation with them. Then, potions class happened. Now everyone knew.

Avoidance had proved again to be your saving grace. You honestly do not know how you would have survived the week without it. Skipping classes might have been detrimental to your overall grade but it was a cost you were willing to take. For the time being, anyway.

The only problem was when you avoided them your friends grew increasingly suspicious of your intentions. Particularly Regulus, who had heard in passing about your ‘incident’.

You missed being able to stare at them in hallways when no one was looking. Or watch the way they laughed with their friends in the great hall.

Unknowingly to you, the boys had been trying to track you down all day. They could not go to your dorm because you resided in a different house to them. House members would undoubtedly become suspicious if word spread of the two attempting to find a way into your dormitory this morning.

Remus made the suggestion to entrust the guidance of your friends. Sirius opposed the idea as one of your friends including Regulus.

Luckily, fate had other plans for the three of you.

After a long day full of classes you could hardly wait to return to the tranquility only your dorm could offer.

The moment your eyes met the sliver and brown hues of your favourite boys. You gave up on tranquility entirely.

Every instinct streamed at you to run away. If it hadn’t been for Sirius, you would have listened to them.

“Y/N!” Sirius called out to you, as if you could ignore him now.

“Hello Sirius.” You offered some general decently, it was the least you could do, you thought. “And hi to you Remus.”

“Could we please talk?” Remus’s voice was timid, more so than you had ever heard before.

“Listen, I truly am sorry for what happened. Please know that I don’t expect anything from either one of you-“

“Stop, Y/N, could you let us speak please?” Remus’s voice warmed your ears more than you liked. That voice could fix anything you thought. You offered a small nod in response to his ask.

“Rem and I, we’ve-well…you see..fuck. God, why is this so hard, okay. I-we wanted you to know that..have feelings for you!” Sirius barely managed to get out his sentence before he blurted it out point blank.

“Excuse me?” Your eyes widened in complete and utter shock. This was not at all what you were expecting.

“Both of us. When you smelled us in the Amortentia, it got us thinking-and-well we realised that we both share feelings for you.” Remus explained more gently than Sirius, emphasising his syllables.

“What does this mean?” You chocked out.

Sirius and Remus exchanged looks sharing a message between themselves which left you feeling more despondent.

“We did some research, well, Remus did and I consulted James and Lily.” Sirius stated, choosing to use the word consulted instead of admit that Lily and James had been piecing it together for him for the last few days.

Remus waited for you to give any indication that you still felt comfortable before he continued for Sirius. A simple head nod from you gave him the reassurance he needed.

“Are you aware of the term polyamory?” Remus asked you gently, bringing his hands together before himself.

“I’ve heard of it, yes.” Your voice took on a different tone as you continued to feel confused by the boy’s actions.

“Well, we want to try it, with you, I mean.” Sirius breathed out.

“What he means is, if you’re open to it of course. We were wondering how you would feel being a third in our relationship.” Remus stepped towards you, leaving little to no distance between him and you.

Remus’ honey brown eyes shimmed with affection. Though you weren’t quite sure who it was meant for.

Sirius’ head cocked to the side ever so slightly resembling that of a lost puppy. Dark hair falling in disarray. Whilst Remus kept his focus on you. Resisting the urge to take your fingers into his own.

They both desperately awaited your response.

Taglist: @maraudersforlife2005, @h3arts4strs

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[fxoye]

i'm honestly at a loss right now. like... what even is happening on the SNW star trek reddit thread?

i know i shouldn't be surprised at this point, but the level of pushback and dismissal when it comes to even the mere possibility of spock being queer is just... baffling.

like, i get that reddit has its share of toxicity and closed-mindedness, but for some reason i thought the star trek fandom would be a bit more evolved, you know? this is literally a franchise that has always been about inclusivity, diversity, and pushing social boundaries. and yet here we are, in 2024, still having to justify the basic idea that hey, maybe the character with a decades-long history of queer subtext and coding could, in fact, be queer.

it's just wild to me that this is even a debate. like, i'm sorry, but the idea of kirk and spock's relationship having homoerotic undertones is not some fringe tumblr headcanon - it has been acknowledged and explored by literal cast members, writers, and even gene roddenberry himself. the term "slash" in fanfiction comes from kirk/spock stories, for crying out loud. this is not new!

and yet we have people in that reddit thread acting like the mere suggestion of a queer spock is some sort of sacrilegious retcon that would ruin the character forever. as if spock's entire 50+ year history would be erased if he so much as looked at a man with anything other than heterosexual brotherhood.

it's just so frustrating and disheartening to see this level of knee-jerk dismissal and erasure, especially in a fandom that prides itself on being progressive and imaginative. like, we can envision a future with warp drives and aliens and literal magic space gods, but a queer vulcan is a bridge too far? okay then.

and the thing is, no one is even saying that spock is definitively, unquestionably gay, or that every single iteration of his character needs to be explicitly queer. all we're saying is that there is room for that interpretation, and that queer stories have just as much right to be told as any others. but apparently even that is too much for some folks.

it's a reminder that even in supposedly "enlightened" geeky spaces, homophobia and heteronormativity are still alive and well. and it's exhausting, honestly. as a queer trekkie, i'm just so tired of having to constantly justify my existence and fight for scraps of representation.

you know what, i'm gonna say it: the erasure and denial of spock's queer subtext, and specifically the spirk ship, is not just frustrating - it's straight up homophobic.

like, let's look at the facts here. kirk and spock's relationship has been coded as romantic and even erotic since literally the beginning of the franchise. the term "t'hy'la", which has been used to describe their bond, translates to "friend, brother, lover" in vulcan. that's not subtext, that's just... text.

and the evidence just keeps piling up from there. the way spock is the only person who can pull kirk out of his darkest moments, the way they constantly risk their lives and careers for each other, the "this simple feeling" speech in the motion picture... like, come on. even the kelvin timeline movies had scenes of them practically eye-fucking on the bridge.

and don't even get me started on the plethora of literary references that heavily code their relationship as queer. kirk and spock's dynamic has been compared to achilles and patroclus, gilgamesh and enkidu, alexander the great and hephaestion... all classic examples of homoerotic male partnerships. the iconic back-to-back pose from the episode "bread and circuses" is a direct visual reference to the novel "ishmael" by barbara hambly, which depicts a gay romance between two men. (as somebody pointed out; this is not accurate and since i was hazed asf (meds) when i wrote this, can’t remember what literary parallel i was actually trying to draw here. let me dig through my stash of gay literature history and i’ll address this 😭☝️).

these are not coincidences or fan delusions - they are deliberate, well-documented artistic choices layered into the very foundation of kirk and spock's relationship. and the fact that so many people are eager to ignore or downplay them in order to cling to a heteronormative fantasy of male friendship is honestly pretty telling.

and look, i get it. it's easy to claim "they were just best friends" because that's what we've been culturally conditioned to see as the default. but the reality is, intimate male relationships have been historically desexualized and stripped of romantic coding in order to maintain heterosexual norms. the achilles/patroclus model of male love used to be widely understood as having a romantic and even sexual element - it was only in the 19th and 20th centuries that it was aggressively reframed as "platonic friendship" in a textbook example of straightwashing.

so when people insist that kirk and spock's bond could never be anything other than a sexless bromance, they are literally upholding centuries of homophobic revisionism designed to erase queer love from our cultural narratives. and i'm sorry, but that's not something i can get behind as a queer fan.

you cannot look at the overwhelming evidence of kirk and spock's queer subtext, the decades of analysis exploring their relationship through a romantic lens, the undeniable impact and influence of queer interpretations on the very fabric of this fandom... and tell me with a straight face that it's all meaningless or invalid.

kirk/spock walked so that every other slash pairing could run. it is the ur-text of queer shipping in modern fandom. and while it may have started as subtext, it has long since transcended those limitations to become an integral part of star trek's cultural legacy.

but at the end of the day, i know that fandom will always be what we make of it. no amount of downvotes or closed-minded rhetoric can change the fact that queer interpretations of spock have been part of his story since day one, and will continue to be so long as there are lgbtq+ fans who see ourselves in him.

so to my fellow queer trekkies: keep boldly going, keep reading the subtext, keep telling our stories. they can call it illogical all they want - we know the truth. and as a wise vulcan once said: "there's no point in denying the facts of one's nature." 🖖🏳️‍🌈