#our way of saying we are hanging out and touching toes

[nyrasvoid]

A Knight’s Prize pt.2

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: you overhear a scheming conversation between Otto and Alicent Hightower, leading you to doubt Ser Gwayne’s true intentions.

Warnings: none i think?? if you find any let me know

A/N: this second part was written based on one of the comments of part one

- Word count: ≈3.5k

Part 1

The day after your encounter with Ser Gwayne, you find yourself wandering the corridors of the Red Keep. You wore a teal dress, a perfect blend of Velaryon blue and Hightower green, with gold embroidery down the fabric. A simple gold tiara adorned with tiny pearls rests on your head, while a silver pendant shaped like a dragon, its eyes gleaming with emeralds, hangs around your neck. Your heart flutters with a mix of hope and anxiety as you walk, your thoughts consumed by the image of Ser Gwayne. You can’t help but wonder if your paths will cross today, if perhaps he might seek you out again, this time not as a competitor but as a suitor.

As you turn a corner, the sound of voices pulls you out of your imagination. You recognize them instantly, calculating tone of Lord Otto Hightower and the softer voice of Queen Alicent. You pause, turning around and hiding behind the column where they could not see you.

From your position, you peeked around the corner and saw them standing near the entrance to the library. You feel your pulse quicken as you lean closer, trying your best to hear their conversation.

"Father," Alicent begins, her voice filled with worry. "This match between Gwayne and the Princess... it troubles me."

Otto watches her calmly, his expression unreadable. "And why should it trouble you, my daughter? The girl is a Princess of the realm, of Velaryon and Targaryen blood, and a potential queen one day. A union between our houses would solidify our influence over the Iron Throne."

"But she is a bastard," Alicent argues quietly. "The rumors about her parentage... they are known throughout the court. If Gwayne marries her, it could stain our house, taint the Hightower name with whispers and scandal."

You feel a chill run down your spine, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your dress. The word 'bastard' feels to you like a knife, a painful reminder of the whispers and glances that have haunted you all your life.

Otto remains calm, his tone firm and decisive. "Alicent, you must understand the greater game we are playing. Whether she is a trueborn daughter of Ser Laenor Velaryon or not, she is still the granddaughter of King Viserys and the heir to the throne after Rhaenyra. To have her as a daughter-in-law would elevate our house beyond any stain that her lineage might bear."

Alicent hesitates, her gaze fixated towards the ground. "But what of Gwayne? Does he know of these ambitions? Has he agreed to be a pawn in your game?” she paused and took a deep breath. “If he is to marry a bastard and stain our name, he must at least have a say in this.”

Otto smiles, a cold, calculating smile that sends a shiver down your spine. "Gwayne knows his duty, as we all do. His personal feelings are of little to no matter, compared to the power our house could gain. He will do as he is told."

You feel as though you have been betrayed. Could it be true? Is Ser Gwayne merely a pawn in his father’s game? Have his charming words and tender touches been nothing more than a farce, a way to secure your hand and, with it, the power that comes with your name?

You take a step back, tip-toeing slow and carefully to avoid being discovered. Your thoughts becoming a storm of confusion and hurt. Is this the true nature of the man who seeks your favor? Does he see you as nothing more than a prize to be won?

Just as you’re about to leave, you hear Alicent speak once more, her voice filled with doubt. "But what if she learns of this? What if she refuses him? The Princess has her mother’s spirit and the blood of the dragon. She will not be easily controlled if she feels betrayed."

Otto simply responds - "Then we must ensure she does not learn of it. The Princess is young, and like any young woman, she is vulnerable to the charms of a skilled and handsome knight. Gwayne will win her over with affection."

You finally decide to retreat, wanting to hear no more words of their scheming. As you walk through the halls of the Red Keep, you can’t stop thinking about Gwayne. How could you have been so blind? Could Ser Gwayne be part of this plan, or is he a victim of his father’s ambition too?

The sounds of the tournament grow louder as you approach the field, but you no longer feel the same excitement. You watch as Ser Gwayne enters the field, facing the famous Ser Loras Tyrell. Ser Gwayne’s armor gleams in the sunlight, a shining steel plate adorned with the green fabrics of House Hightower. His cloak, bearing the Hightower sigil. A plume of green feathers decorates his helmet, making him stand out against the other knights. He carries his lance with confidence.

Ser Loras, wearing an armour decorated with the golden roses of House Tyrell, sits on his horse, his gaze fixed on Gwayne with a look of superiority. The two knights lower their lances, and at the signal from the herald, they charge.

The first clash is brutal, their lances meeting with a deafening impact, both knights remain mounted. The crowd roars in excitement, eager for more. Again, they charge, and again their lances crash together, breaking into pieces. But neither man yields.

On the third pass, Ser Loras leans slightly into Gwayne’s track, his lance striking against Gwayne’s shield. With the force of the blow, Ser Gwayne is knocked from his horse. He hits the ground hard, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

You rise from your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean on the gallery’s fence to see what is happening on the field. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchange looks, as they notice your concern. They have not forgotten the disrespects and insults of the Hightowers towards your family, and your growing interest in Ser Gwayne is not something they view favorably.

From behind your seat, Otto Hightower watches with a smirk, his eyes catching the worry on your face. He seems almost pleased by your reaction, his mind already thinking about your betrothal to his son.

As you slowly sit back down, your brother Jacaerys, seated beside you, leans in and whispers, “Do you have any interest in that Hightower cunt?”

You glare at him, your voice low as you reply, “It is of no interest to you, Jace.”

He frowns but says nothing more, his gaze returning to the field as the match continues.

Ser Gwayne, rises from the ground and calls out to Ser Loras, his voice carrying across the field, “Dismount, Ser Loras, and face me with steel if you dare!”

The crowd murmurs in excitement as Ser Loras hesitates for only a moment before dismounting. The two knights draw their swords, the clash of steel ringing across the field.

Ser Loras is fast and agile, but Ser Gwayne fights with a relentless ferocity that soon begins to wear his opponent down. You watch in distress, worrying for Gwayne, your earlier doubts momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Finally, with a powerful strike, Ser Gwayne forces Ser Loras’s sword from his hand, sending it to the ground. Loras stumbles back and Gwayne presses the tip of his blade against the Tyrell knight’s throat.

“Yield,” Ser Gwayne commands, his voice firm.

Ser Loras meets his gaze for a long moment before finally lowering his head in surrender. “I yield,” he says.

As the day’s events draw to a close, you retreat to the gardens of the Red Keep, seeking solace in the cool evening air.

You reach a secluded corner of the garden, where the scent of blooming roses fills the air, and there, waiting for you, stands Ser Gwayne. His armor has been removed, he smiles as you approach, but the warmth you once felt in his presence is now overshadowed by the coldness in your heart.

"Princess," he says gently, "I've been looking for you. Is something the matter?"

You hesitate, your mind racing with the memory of what you overheard in the library. The scheming of his father and sister, the way they spoke of you as if you were nothing more than a pawn in their game. You swallow hard, unable to meet his gaze fully.

"Nothing is the matter, Ser Gwayne," you reply, your voice cold and distant.

His brow furrows, sensing the change in your behaviour. "We are betrothed now," he says, "Should we not start spending more time together? I want us to know each other, to trust each other."

"Trust?" you echo, your tone filled with sarcasm. "Trust is a rare luxury in a place like this, wouldn’t you agree?"

He looks taken aback by your sharpness but remains calm. "Princess, I understand your apprehension. But we are to be married. We must find common ground, if not for our sake, then for the sake of our houses."

The mention of your marriage—the idea of leaving your family, your mother, your brothers—. You glance away, "It’s not so simple, Ser Gwayne.”

He steps closer, his voice softer. "Should I come to your chambers before the dinner to accompany you? We could speak more... openly."

You nod, though your enthusiasm is lacking. "Very well, Ser Gwayne. If it pleases you."

You return to your chambers, there, you prepare for the dinner. The thought of marriage, the thought of leaving behind everything you’ve ever known to go to Oldtown, fills you with sadness. And then, of course, there’s the matter of children—something that makes you sick to your stomach just thinking about it.

As you finish dressing, you hear a light knock on your door. You take a deep breath and open it to find Ser Gwayne waiting for you, dressed in elegant dark green attire.

"You look beautiful, Princess," he says with a small smile, his eyes tracing the lines of your gown as he extends his arm offering you to hold onto it.

"Thank you, Ser Gwayne," you reply, your voice polite but distant as you accept his arm.

As you walk together through the corridors of the Red Keep, he tries to make conversation. "I’ve been thinking about Oldtown," he begins, his voice calm. "It’s a beautiful city, with a rich history. I think you will grow to love it there, as its Lady."

You nod, but your thoughts are elsewhere. "Perhaps," you say, not wanting to engage in the conversation.

He senses your hesitance and changes the subject. "And what of children?" he asks gently, "I imagine we will have many, strong and healthy. You will be a wonderful mother, I am sure."

The thought of children—of bearing his children—unnerves you. "We shall see, Ser Gwayne" you reply coolly.

As you enter the grand dining hall, you take your seats beside each other. The hall is filled with the noble houses of the realm, and King Viserys announces your betrothal with a smile. There are cheers and applause.

Ser Gwayne turns to you, "Would you honor me with a dance, Princess?" he asks, his voice soft.

But the last thing you want is to dance with him, not after everything. "I’m afraid I do not wish to dance," you reply, turning away from him.

Moments later, Ser Loras approaches and asks for the honor of a dance. Despite your earlier refusal, you accept his offer, rising from your seat and allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. You can feel Ser Gwayne’s eyes on you, a mixture of hurt and confusion in his gaze, but you ignore it.

When the dinner finally ends, Ser Gwayne is there to escort you back to your chambers. The walk is silent, tension in the air. As you reach the door, he stops, his hand gently grabbing yours.

"Princess," he begins, his voice low and strained, "why have you been so distant with me? And why did you dance with another when I asked you first?"

You pull your hand away, feeling the anger within you begin to boil. "I am not distant," you say, though the lie is evident in your voice.

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "We should not start our marriage based on lies, Princess. If something is troubling you, tell me. We are to be husband and wife. We must trust each other."

The pressure of his words, finally breaks you. "You want to know what’s wrong, Ser Gwayne?" you snap. "I overheard your father and sister speaking in the library. They spoke of using me, of marrying me off to you to gain power, to strengthen their hold on the realm. How can I trust anything you say?"

Ser Gwayne’s eyes widen in shock. "I had no idea," he says, "I swear to you, Princess, I was not aware of any of this. My feelings for you—my desire to marry you—are my own, not theirs. You must believe me."

You turn away, tears threatening to spill over. "How can I? How can I believe anything when everyone around me is filled with ambition?"

He reaches out, gently turning you back to face him. "Because I will prove it to you," he vows. "I will confront my father and sister. I will not allow them to manipulate us, to use you as a tool for their own gain. I promise you that, Princess."

You stare at him, a storm of emotions going through your mind. Without thinking, you reach up, grabbing his face in your hands. The softness of his skin under your fingers sends a shiver down your spine, leaning in to press your lips against his.

The kiss is desperate, filled with all the confusion you’ve been holding back. His lips are warm and firm against yours, and for a moment, you lose yourself in the sensation. His hands come up to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss.

When you finally pull away, your breathing is uneven, your heart pounding in your chest. He looks at you, his hands still resting on your waist.

"We must wait," he says gently, his voice tinged with both desire and restraint. "I do not wish to dishonor you, Princess. We should save this for our wedding night, as it should be." He takes your hand, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

You nod, unable to say anything, but before you can even try to speak, Ser Gwayne steps back, “Goodnight, my lady," he murmurs, "I will see you tomorrow."

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing at the doors of your chambers, your heart pounding in your chest.

Slowly, you retreat into your chambers, closing the door behind you. You move toward the vanity, removing the silver pendant from your neck and placing it carefully on the table. Your hands are trembling. You slip out of your dress, replacing it with a simple nightgown. As you slide into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, your thoughts race.

You try to push the events of the evening from your mind, but it’s impossible. Ser Gwayne’s words echo through your mind, his touch still lingering on your skin. He seemed sincere.

Your thoughts go to the future, to what it means to be Lady of Oldtown, to be married to a man whose family you cannot fully trust. The idea of leaving your mother and brothers fills you with a deep sadness. Perhaps, despite everything, Ser Gwayne might be different. He could be a good husband, a good father. He could make this marriage something more than just a political arrangement.

Pt 3???

[luv4berry]

my eyes only.

earth 42!miles morales x fem!reader

SUMMARY: miles belleves that you're for him and for him only, no sharing. not even with your best friend.

GENRE: angst to fluff

WARNINGS: bickering/arguing, suggestive(?), kissing, idk if this counts as toxic miles lowkey right in his anger but at the same time is he fr, jealous miles, y/n is lowkey a walking red flag, cursing, man idk

AUTHORS NOTE: the autism is rlly autisming with this movie </3

“baby you not stupid and i know you aren’t, why you acting like that?”

“miles, leave me alone.”

“nah, cause i already told you ion like him, why you still talking to him? you fuckin’ with him or sum?” he narrows his eyes at you, clasping his hands in between his legs while cocking his head to the side.

“im not having this conversation with you, call me when you done having your lil tantrum or whatever.” you ignore your boyfriend's scowl as you slide to the end of his bed and silently load everything into your coach tote bag, incoherently mumbling to yourself.

“the childish shit im talking about man.” he shakes his head, twin braids following suit. he gets out of his rolling chair, snagging the bag from your hands and holding it above his head where you can’t reach.

visibly annoyed, you roll your eyes at the tantrum he was throwing. before you had even dated him you laid down all possible icks, including your best friend. you told him how your relationship with said best friend was non-negotiable due to the significance he held in your life before miles. before miles, he was the one who you cried to, who you confined in about your family, your feelings, your insecurities. though after getting with miles you weren’t as close with him, he was still your best friend.

“miles give me my shit, don’t piss me off.”

“why? what you hiding? ain’t no way you not messing with him.”

in the stillness of his room, your phone rapidly vibrates inside your bag, miles interest immediately piqued when his fingers curve around the device, the name “dante <3” flashing on the screen.

he laughs to himself, but you knew better than to think it was a laugh of amusement. the manner of his laugh was deeply provoked, a telltale sign that it had an underlying meaning. he sends you a hard look, “so we adding hearts now too? bet.” he says while answering the facetime call.

“y/n?” dante calls out to you, the camera panned toward the ceiling, his ruffled locs in frame.

“nah she busy right now homeboy, what you want?”

“uh okay? can you ask her if she can retwist my hair this sunday?”

“nah.” he blatantly answers.

“huh?”

“dante hang up!” you call out from behind miles, to which he sends you another glare. before dante can respond miles hangs up, turning his whole body to face you. “so wassup?”

“miles give me my phone.”

“your phone? ma this our phone.” you roll your eyes once more and quickly snatch your phone from his grasp, shoving it into the tote bag and slipping your black crocs on. “don’t text my phone either.” you yell on your way out slamming his room door, silently praying that mama rio wasn’t home.

it was getting more and more difficult to manage the pit that sat in your bosom from the fight you had with your boyfriend earlier. you were used to talking to him in your dimly lit room around this time, your hands playing with the loose coils at the back of his head while saying cheesy things to each other, exchanging light pecks and subtle touches.

you groan loudly, tired of sulking to yourself you decide to get up from your bed, do your makeup and take pictures. you sit at your vanity, shuffling your playlist while opening up your makeup bag.

about 20 minutes into your routine, you hear incoherent voices coming from just outside your door. you tip toe towards the door, peaking your head out to see miles, helping your mom set the dinner table while engaging in small talk. “yeah, basketball’s good.” he says, smiling at her with all 32 pearly whites.

“y/n’s upstairs, ill call you guys down when dinners ready.” she smiles, coaxing him towards your room. you quietly shut the door, scrambling towards your vanity table, acting as if you had not witnessed the scene that took place just outside your door mere seconds ago.

you hear him quietly enter and creep up behind you, the mirror capturing his movements. you line your lips, ignoring your lovers presence even when he wraps his arms around your torso and repeatedly kisses your face.

“who you looking all fine for?”

you greet him with nothing but silence, putting your manicured finger over his lips which he attempts to bite.

“oh so it’s like that?”

“yeah, it’s like that, and I didn’t invite you over. go home.” you get up from your position, walking towards the door that he left open, closing it.

“what i told you ‘bout that mouth? you got all sorts of attitude today.” he argues, trailing behind you.

you scoff while crossing your arms, turning around and mean mugging him. you watch as he takes a moment and backs up, giving you a once over. the argument that had him so worked up earlier dissipated into thin air, his focus now on the biker shorts that hugged you a little too tight, and the cropped cami that hung a little too loosely. you watch a ghost of a smile adorn his lips.

“nasty ass.” you snap him out of his thoughts.

he snorts, taking a seat on your bed and pulling you in between his legs. “you still mad at me?” he questions you, raising his brows.

“it’s not gonna magically go away miles, you didn’t even try to apologize, showing up at my house at 8:00 kissing me and shit isn’t gonna fix anything.” it was the truth, and you weren’t backing down from it. you wanted an apology, you weren’t willing to go any further with him till you got said apology, you couldn’t push this to the side.

“y/n, baby, you know i love you but im not fucking with the way you making it look like im wrong for feeling the way i feel.” miles argued.

“because you are wrong! i told you about him before we even got together, you can’t expect me to drop him in 2 seconds just because you asked, he’s my best friend!” you argue back, keeping your voice down cautiously due to your nosy family on the other side of the door.

“no ma, im your best friend, you for my eyes only.”

“if you came here to argue with me you should just go.”

“we don’t sleep mad at eachother, we fixing this right now.” he says, dragging you into a straddling position atop him, his arms momentarily wrapping around your waist. your eyes dart around your room, refusing to make eye contact in fear of folding immediately.

“i just want you to put it this way, you got this fine ass girl, right? but then she got this ugly ass—“

“miles.” you warn him.

“… she got this boy best friend that she always on the phone with, always going out with, and she always wanna see him when you’re right there. she always talking about him, texting him when with you, answering his calls.” for the first time in a while you realize how off that sounds, maybe you had been the wrong one, though your stubborn nature made it hard to admit it.

he begins to speak again, “im not asking you to cut him off, im asking you to minimize how much you talk to him—im a guy and i know how we think. you might think y’all homeboys but he plotting on you, just think of it like that baby.” he finished while rubbing the skin of your thighs in slow tender circles.

“im sorry.” you quietly murmur under your breath into his shoulder. just barely loud enough so he can hear. but no, he had to hear this, you admitting you made a mistake.

he taps your thigh, “speak up, cant hear you.”

“you heard me, don’t be annoying.” you said when you realized his true intent, embarrassed by how you had previously acted.

miles snickered to himself, “ma?”

“yeah?”

“my fault for getting loud with you earlier, i didn’t mean to do all that.” he admitted, kissing your shoulder blade.

you remove your head from the crevice between his neck and shoulder, repeatedly giving him big smooches on the lips in acceptance of his apology which he gladly returns.

the moment is ruined by knocking on the door. you scramble off his lap which ultimately ends with you landing on the floor with a thud. snickers come from your bed, a deadpan expression immediately sweeping over your features.

“hope y’all not in there being nasty.” your mother calls out, “get decent and come downstairs to eat.”

love, berry <3

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[12:18 pm]

Hang outs with your group of friends always seemed to end like this. Just you and best friend!Jeno getting too lost in your own conversation to notice that everyone around you had left. It wasn't even something that you or Jeno had quite picked up on yet, but your friends certainly had.

It just had always been you and Jeno for so many years now. Friends groups changed, people grew up, others moved away, some even had falling outs with each other, but not you and Jeno. You were each other's constants. Of course you would be, he knew you better than you even know yourself and vice versa.

Your friend group had decided to do a picnic brunch in the park that had ended about... 20 minutes ago, not that either of you noticed. The two of you were still sat and chatting atop the blanket you brought for the picnic.

Jeno laid on the blanket, staring up at the clouds, enjoying the fresh breeze in the air, the sweet aroma of spring that wafted around you two, and the soft humming that came from beside him. On the other half of the blanket you laid on your stomach, plucking flowers from the grass while you hummed under your breath.

You loved moments like this, calm, quiet moments with your best friend where you didn't feel like you had to fill the silence. Jeno was one of the few people you felt like you could have these moments with. The silence wasn't uncomfortable or awkward, it was comforting and normal for you.

"Can you stop ripping flowers from the ground, you menace?" You heard Jeno taunt from beside you.

You scoffed, stopping your movements as you shifted toward Jeno. His eyes still shut, long, dark eyelashes brushing over the tops of his cheeks. He had a serene but somehow still mischievous smirk on his face. His unstyled hair rustled very gently with a burst of warm wind as you stared down at him.

"How am I bothering you by making myself a bouquet?" You ask softly, tucking his hair behind his ear.

He didn't startle, didn't flinch at your touch. He just smiled, "how many flowers did you pick for your bouquet?"

"Only two... before I was rudely interrupted," you respond and Jeno chuckles as he imagines the pout on your face. When he opens his eyes, he laughs even louder, because he was right. You were pouting at him exactly as he imagined.

He plucks one of the floral weeds from your fingers with a gentle smile and tucks it behind your ear. The yellow of the flower is a nice contrast to your hair and brings out the beauty he's always seen when he looks at you.

He doesn't catch it, but your breath hitches in your throat and you're thankful that it's warm enough to blame the warmth of your face on the heat outside. Biting the inside of your lip, you take the second flower in your hand and tuck it behind his ear, nestled right into the dark mess of hair.

"There," you breathe out as you gaze down at him with a sweet smile, "now you look even more pretty and we match."

"Not more pretty than you, right?" Jeno asks as his hand cups your cheek.

You lean in to his touch, "I think we can be pretty in our own ways."

Jeno shakes his head, his gaze warm and loving, "I could never be as pretty as you."

You don't know what happens and when your friends inevitably ask, you and Jeno will just say that something... just felt right. Maybe there was a click, a shift in the air, just a sudden understanding between the two of you.

All you know is that you lean in and Jeno tilts his face up and suddenly you're kissing. You're kissing your best friend and it just feels right. His lips slot against yours like a missing puzzle piece, it's the perfect amount of pressure, and it just feels right. It's not sparks, it's not fireworks, it's an overwhelming warmth that starts in your face and spreads all the way out to your fingers and toes.

You and Jeno may know each other better than anyone else, but it's still a little funny that neither of you noticed that you fell in love with each other.

[jobean12-blog]

For the First Time and Forever

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader (princess!reader)

Word Count: 1,181

Summary: Marcus can't stay away any longer and comes to you in the middle of the night with a confession and so much more.

Author's Note: First of all, why are summaries so hard- ugh and I suck at them haha- anyway, I reallllllly loved writing this one. It's their first time together and I wanted it to really feel extra deep- hopefully that comes across. Extra thanks to all the lovely people who have been so kind and supportive with my little stories, I really appreciate you! Thank you all so much for reading and much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: sweet softness, fluff, lots of love, fluffersmut (best way I can describe it haha), lots of feels, love making

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The jiggle of the iron lock startles you from your reading and you jump up from your bed and hurry toward the door. You wait, your breath caught in your throat, for a signal.

A book slides under the small space at your feet, stopping when it hits your toe. You bend to pick it up, smiling before pressing it to your chest and quietly unlocking the door.

He has never been to your room, and when he walks in, he barely glances at anything, his eyes trained on you. His hands cradle your face, and he pushes you back toward the wall, his mouth firm on yours.

As gentle as his hands are on your skin there is nothing gentle about his kiss. It’s hard and desperate, a hunger that he can’t seem to satiate.

“Marcus,” you gasp, grabbing his wrists.

His eyes seem to refocus at the call of his name and when you look over his shoulder at the open door, he mutters a curse and quickly walks back to shut and lock it.

In seconds you’re back in his arms, his hands gripping and pulling ineffectually at clothing that is in his way.

“I am sorry my love,” he whispers against your lips. “But it seems you have me losing my mind. I could not wait another second to see you.”

The only light in your room is from the small oil lamp hanging near your bed and it casts a small burst of warm yellow light around the pillows.

He kisses you again then pulls away to watch you walk backward toward your bed.

“Marcus, I…”

“Undress for me.”

You take a deep breath.

Looking down at your clothes you lift shaky hands to your tunic and slowly unwrap it from your shoulder and torso. The linen falls to the floor and you’re left in nothing but your two pieces of underclothing.

“Your nervousness makes me think you do not know that I am in love with you Princess.”

You lift your gaze, eyes wide and hands frozen.

“I love you,” he repeats.

You’re silent as you reach behind you to unravel the linen that covers your breasts. It falls at your feet followed by the fabric you loosen at your hips.

“I love you.”

The words are a whisper on your lips, and he takes a step closer, his dark eyes wandering reverently over every inch of your bare skin.

“And I’m terrified.”

He takes you in his arms, all your softness pressed firmly against the hard lines of his armor.

“I would be lying if I did not say the same,” he murmurs. “I am frightened I put you in danger each time we are together. Frightened that I may not survive your father’s plans and our time together will be far too short.”

You gently touch his face, tracing the outline of his jaw until you find his lips.

“I will not watch you die,” you whisper. “It will not be so.”

Your movements are delicate and slow as you untie the cuirass and remove it from his chest, next pulling the scarf free of his neck.

You press a kiss to his neck and feel him swallow against your lips.

When you have his belt loosened it falls to the floor and you start to lift his tunic, ridding him of the last piece of clothing before looking your fill.

He breathes out your name, his voice shaky with distracted and insatiable desire.

“And I will have you know, Princess, that each and every moment spent loving you have been the greatest I have ever lived.”

And in that instant everything became about the feeling of his mouth on yours, the feeling of his hands on your body, his lips pressing more words of love into your skin. You feel every breath he takes and absorb every sound that leaves his lips.

His mouth grows hungrier and more urgent as he lays you on the bed and moves down your body. Slowly, he presses two fingers inside you and slides his tongue through you. He takes his time, savoring and teasing until you cry out his name.

“You are stunning beyond compare,” he whispers when you’re finally still and he crawls over you. “It is overwhelming how it affects me so.”

You reach up and drag your nails along his chest, grabbing his shoulders and urging him closer and then pushing him back so you can watch when he reaches between your bodies to position himself against you.

“Please” you whisper.

He groans, exhaling as he lowers his body over yours and pushes into you fully. The sensation is blissful. The stretch rides the edge of the most pleasurable pain and the feeling of his skin against yours, his face buried in your neck, and his hair silky between your fingers, is everything all at once.

His hands pull your thighs around his waist and his hips pivot as he moves inside you.

You’re out of words as he rolls you on top of him and he watches your face until it’s too much, too intense, and you’re falling together, your lips pressed to his and his arms keeping you impossibly close.

Marcus is curled up behind you when the sun barely begins to lighten the sky. His hair is rumpled, curls wild as it frames his peaceful expression. He’s hard and pressing into your back, gently rocking his hips, and not saying a single word when he realizes you’re staring.

His hands are calm and deliberate, teasing. He starts to build a slow burn under your skin, kissing you everywhere, touching you just how you want, just how you need. The sun has barely broken the horizon when you collapse together again and fall to sleep.

He stands quietly, crossing the room and retrieving his clothing and armor. Before he’s fully dressed he leans over you and whispers, “my love. I must go,” against the shell of your ear.

Goosebumps break out over your skin, and you stir, mumbling with a stretch.

“I do not want you to go. Ever.”

He braces his hands on either side of your head and hovers above you.

“You are even more gorgeous in the morning light. Did you know that?”

“Yes?” you smile, lifting your hand and brushing your thumb across his bottom lip.

He sucks it into his mouth then releases it to lean down and kiss you. The sounds of a rainstorm begin as water pelts the roof and thunder rumbles in the distance.

Your lips move from his mouth and to his ear. “I am sore but in the best way.”

You rock your hips against his. “I want more.”

“Woman,” he growls. “I will never tire of hearing those words.”

Pushing on his chest, you roll him onto his back. “Do not go Marcus.”

The sheet falls away and he grabs your hips. “I love you,” he whispers. “I will do anything you ask of me.”  You bend down and capture his lips, breathing the same words into his mouth.

@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @tripletstephaniescp

[deathofacupid]

synopsis: in which what begun as an arranged marriage, blossomed to love. for sukuna, at least. a/n: for my beloved @salsakiyoomi, whom i wrote this for, and who also inspired me. it's, like, 1.7k words, so definitely longer than i'd thought. banner credits to @/aquazero.

"do you think," he begins, his voice a hesitant murmur, so unlike the usual booming pronouncements of a king, that you almost miss it. "do you think it would be fair… to give us a chance?"

you glance up from your book, a collection of ancient poetry, the words blurring as you try to process his question. "sorry?" you ask, genuinely unsure if you’ve heard correctly. the firelight dances in his usually sharp, confident eyes, softening them in a way you’ve never witnessed.

he clicks his tongue, a nervous tic you’ve only ever seen him display in moments of extreme agitation, and shakes his head slightly. a flush creeps up his neck, staining his pale skin a delicate pink. it’s a startling sight on the usually stoic king.

is it embarrassment? fear? the thought is so foreign, so incongruous with the image of sukuna, that you almost dismiss it. almost. yet, as he stands there, fidgeting like a schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, you can’t fathom any other explanation.

sukuna clears his throat, the sound rough in the sudden quiet of the room. "i think… we could try," he says, the words coming out in a rush. a pause hangs in the air, thick with unspoken possibilities. "us."

you blink, your mind struggling to catch up. "what do you mean? we are married, are we not?" the words feel hollow even as you speak them.

"that’s different," he grumbles, scuffing the toe of his boot against the expensive rug. "that’s… not real."

you close your book, the leather binding snapping shut with a sharp sound. setting it aside, you watch him pace, a restless energy radiating from him. you’ve never seen him this… uneasy. vulnerable. it’s unsettling. "we sleep beside each other. we eat together. we share the same last name. what is not real?"

the answer comes quickly, almost too quickly, as if he’s been rehearsing it in his head. "our love. that’s not real."

you shake your head, a small, involuntary movement. "well, of course. we agreed that—"

"—fuck what we agreed to," he interrupts, the crude language shocking you into silence.

"sukuna," you breathe, your eyes widening.

gathering a sudden burst of courage, he steps closer, taking your hands in his. his touch, usually so demanding, is surprisingly gentle. "petal," he whispers, the nickname he only uses when he thinks no one is listening, "i want more."

"i… i don’t think that’s wise," you stammer, instinctively pulling back. the hopeful light in his eyes dims, and your stomach clenches.

"you don’t love me, sukuna," you continue, your voice trembling slightly. "we wouldn’t work like that. things are… perfect right now. the arrangement we have, we’re at the top. we don’t have to worry about… feelings. we—we don’t have anything getting in the way."

"who’s to say they would get in the way?" he counters, his voice laced with a desperate plea.

"we know they would," you insist, the years of carefully constructed logic solidifying your resolve. "and what makes you believe that—that i feel the same?"

"nothing," he admits, his gaze dropping to the floor. "i don’t know. but if we’re already ‘married,’ would it hurt to…?" he trails off, the question hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken desires.

"besides," you say, grasping at any logical argument, "we’re awful to each other."

"i don’t mean any of it, though," he protests, his voice rising in frustration.

"you did before," you remind him, the memory of his cruel words stinging even now. "and i don’t know if i can be with someone like that."

"people change," he whispers, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of understanding.

for a fleeting moment, you waver. you allow yourself to imagine it: a life with sukuna, not as a political alliance, but as something… more. a warmth spreads through your chest, a dangerous, tempting feeling. but then, the cold reality of your responsibilities crashes down on you. you can’t risk it. you can’t risk the stability you’ve worked so hard to achieve.

what if it all goes wrong? what if you have an irreparable fight? what if he uses his power as king to ban you from the battlefield? you love being out there, fighting alongside your troops, protecting your people. you won't be confined to some gilded cage. you won't be stripped of your purpose.

"no," you whisper, the word a death knell to his hopes. "no."

love was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"petal," sukuna breathes, his voice thick with a desperation that claws at something buried deep within you. he reaches for you again, but you recoil, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the heat that had pulsed between you moments before.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

you clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms. "it's about what's best for the kingdom," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "it's about… stability. it's about ensuring our people are safe. love is a luxury we can't afford."

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. he doesn't look back. you watch him go, your breath catching in your throat. a single tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down your cheek.

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty.

you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom. you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain.

the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

a love that was a liability, a weakness to be exploited. and you, you were strong. you had to be.

"petal," sukuna breathes, his voice thick with a desperation that claws at something buried deep within you. he reaches for you again, but you recoil, the chill in the air a stark contrast to the heat that had pulsed between you moments before.

"don't," you say, your voice flat, devoid of the warmth he craves. "don't do this, sukuna. you're playing a dangerous game, one you're destined to lose."

his eyes, usually blazing with arrogance, now flicker with a vulnerability that makes your chest ache. he looks like a wounded animal, cornered and confused. it almost breaks you. almost.

"is this about the throne?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "is that what this is about?"

you clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms. "it's about what's best for the kingdom," you say, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "it's about… stability. it's about ensuring our people are safe. love is a luxury we can't afford."

he laughs, a harsh, broken sound that echoes through the opulent room. "a luxury? you think this is a life of luxury? living a lie, pretending to be something we're not, for the sake of appearances?"

"it's the life we chose," you reply, your voice unwavering, even as your heart crumbles inside. "it's the life we have to choose. there's no other way."

he stares at you, his gaze searching, probing, as if trying to find a crack in your resolve. but you’re a fortress, built on years of expectations and responsibilities. you won’t yield.

"you're wrong," he says finally, his voice low and dangerous. "there's always another way. you're just too afraid to see it."

he turns and walks away, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy. he doesn't look back. you watch him go, your breath catching in your throat. a single tear escapes, tracing a lonely path down your cheek.

as the door closes behind him, the silence in the room is deafening. you’re left alone with your carefully constructed world of duty and obligation, a world that suddenly feels cold and empty. you’ve won. you’ve protected the kingdom.

you’ve made the right choice. but as you stand there, the weight of your crown pressing down on your head, you can't shake the feeling that you’ve lost something far more precious than anything you could ever gain. the victory tastes like ash, and the silence screams with the echo of what could have been, a haunting melody of a love that was never given a chance.

and in the quiet solitude of your gilded cage, you realize that the greatest sacrifice you made was not for your kingdom, but for yourself. you sacrificed your own happiness, your own chance at love, and in doing so, you condemned yourself to a lifetime of regret, a slow, agonizing decay of the heart.

the crown is yours, but the cost… the cost is everything.

[thebisexualdogdad]

I can be romantic sometimes - Tim Bradford x Male!reader

“Well don't you boys look handsome,” Angela jokes as you and Tim walk into Luna's charity gala in your suits.

“Why thank you Angela, see Tim I told you you looked good,” you smile at your boyfriend before turning back to Angela and Nyla, “he wanted to stay home and eat pizza and watch Die Hard for Valentine's day.”

“That does sound like Tim,” Nyla laughs.

“The only reason I'm here is because I was promised alcohol and a fancy hotel room to end the night in,” Tim says sarcastically.

“And you will get all of that,” you wink at him.

The gala goes on and Tim does his best to pretend to be interested in all the conversations he's thrown into, the only thing getting him through is his drink and the occasional grab of your ass he's able to sneak in.

Eventually the auction comes to a close and Luna says her thank you speech and Tim drags you to a more secluded part of the ballroom.

“Finally, now can we go to our room?” He says with his hands on your waist, kissing you wantingly.

“Yes, we can go to our room now mister grumpy cop,” you smile into the kiss.

“Of course Lucy showed you that,” he sighs but takes your hand and guides you towards the elevator.

Luckily you're the only ones who enter so Tim can press you into the wall, kissing you harder and starting to loosen your tie. Stumbling into your room you see something out of the corner of your eye and pull back.

“Are those rose petals in the shape of a heart on the bed?” You ask him.

“I can be romantic sometimes,” he chuckles, taking his suit jacket off then yours.

Kicking your shoes off the two of you make it to the bed, you laying back on the rose petals with Tim smiling down at you. He undoes his shirt, letting it hang open as you attempt to get out of your pants, Tim helping you the rest of the way before ridding himself of the remainder of his clothes.

Once both naked he climbs on top of you, kissing you hard as he rubs his cock against your thigh. You feel him getting harder so you reach down to stroke him, Tim moaning from your touch.

“Do you want to top tonight?” You mutter into the kiss.

“God yes,” he sighs.

He kisses down your neck and to your chest as you continue to work him up with your hand, Tim taking two fingers in his mouth then gently swirling them around your hole. He eases one finger inside, letting you adjust then slowly pumping it before adding the second.

When you feel prepped enough you tell Tim, “I'm ready,” and he nods, grabbing the lube he left on the nightstand when he came by earlier to arrange the rose petals.

He lathers himself in the lube, raising your hips and teasing you with the tip. You roll your hips when he pushes the first few inches of his cock inside, moaning loudly when he bottoms out.

Tim looks at you to make sure you're okay to continue and when you give him the go ahead he finds a slow pace with his hips. As he moves faster the rose petals start to bounce on the bed.

You watch the way Tim's abs flex as he's fucking you, Tim's attention on the way your cock is swaying with every thrust. He holds on tight to your hips, staying focused on making you cum.

After a few minutes you feel your orgasm approaching, Tim raising you higher for a new angle that makes your toes curl.

“Right there, just like that,” you moan.

Tim grins, doing his best to hit that spot inside you as your eyes roll back. You reach down to touch yourself, yelling a few obscenities when you cum all over your stomach.

“You are so hot when you cum,” Tim tells you, sweat beading down his chest as he nears his own release.

“Cum inside me Tim,” you reply and he does just that, filling you up as he rides out his climax.

Taking a moment to catch your breath he pulls out, laying down next to you in the rose petals.

“Better than pizza yeah?” You chuckle.

“Way better than pizza,” he agrees.

You roll over and put your hand on his stomach, inching it down to his now flaccid cock, “how about we order room service and get in the shower. I can have a turn topping and by the time we finish you'll get both sex and a pizza.”

His cock twitches at the thought and he jumps up from bed to find the phone, “we have to do this every Valentine's day.”

[rwrbficrecs]

the mountchristen pharma job by @coffeecatsme (book-verse)

@suseagull5914: Another unique, fun fic! Heist AU meets just a hint of Christmas feels, and combined with the fact that it jumps around in time, this author constantly keeps you on your toes, wondering what will happen next. A must read!

The Flight Before Christmas by @indomitable-love (book-verse)

@dot524: Alex is a flight attendant, and he’s good at what he does. But for some reason, this tall blond guy annoys the heck out of him. What will happen when they are both stranded in a snowstorm over the holiday and stuck sharing a hotel room? I’ll give you three guesses. This one had great banter and a dab of angst, and it was such a fun read!

If You're Not Made For Me (Why Did We Fall in Love?) by @captainjunglegym (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Not going to lie, this was a challenging read, which lingers long after! Henry and Alex are in an established relationship, so certain of their future together. Then they stumble over the question of having kids... What follows is messy and ugly, touching and relatable, almost destructive, but resovled in a very sensitive way. This hurt phenomenally good!

london's so nice, back in your seamless rhymes by @firenati0n (book-verse)

@na-dineee: Alex, newly moved to London, meets Henry on his first day of work while riding the bus into the city. From that day on, they commute together every morning and evening, and with each passing day, their feelings for each other grow. What can I say: it was soft, it was fluffy, it was so sweet. It was everything I needed to feel all warm and happy.

I'm a risk (please take it) by dazedandconfused (book-verse)

@na-dineee: A rom-com.' Yeah—my ass. But, Wikipedia says rom-coms focus on romantic relationships and the associated dramatic twists and obstacles. Fair enough, that fits. 3.5 years of pining, angst, hurt—but a happy ending. This fic was incredible !! I can’t stop thinking about it, weeks later I’m still imagining how Alex & Henry might be doing now. Absolutely brilliant!

kiss me on this cold December night by strwbrryfox (book/movie-verse)

@suseagull5914: If you like holiday fics and coffee shop AUs, this is the fic for you! This fic is oblivious Alex, pining firstprince, and the ins and outs of being part of a workplace environment during the holidays all wrapped up in a pretty bow that will leave you swooning.

Tell Me All Your Secrets by @everwitch-magiks (book-verse)

@dot524: Every time Alex visits his sister in NYC, he ends up hanging out with her best friend, Henry. Henry’s been gone on Alex from Day 1, but he assumed Alex was painfully straight. When a short-term relationship with Liam helps Henry realize that’s not the case, things start to change. The story culminates with Alex experiencing Pride in NYC for the first time. A delightful slow-burn with lots of yearning and realizations - such a satisfying and fun read.

I Will Follow You Into The Dark by @here-queer-jointpain-severe (book-verse)

@suseagull5914: This fic, the author's fic for the A Royal Big Bang event, has everything: introspection, fantasy, Alex going above and beyond for his love for Henry (as he should!), and the complex plot and suspense that will have you clicking the next chapter button until you reach the end. This fic is such a good glimpse into so many of the relationships in the book from such a unique angle!

Like Flowers In The Springtime, Every Day Is Valentine’s (That’s What Your Love’s Like) by @rockyroadkylers (book-verse)

@na-dineee: This has to be some of the fluffiest post-canon fluff ever written, I’m sure of it! After two years together, Henry is more than ready to sweep Alex off his feet in the most extravagant way possible. Of course he is over-the-top—what did you expect? And Alex, bless him, is completely here for it—he loves it and loves Henry, and I couldn’t help but melt into a puddle. An absolutely wonderful comfort read!

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️

[allzelemonz]

Developing Powers: Clark Kent X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ and ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: M/Mentions of sexual situations, nudity Warnings: Characters are the same age, high school aged characters, awkward teenagers, pillow fights, farm boys being farm boys, showers, cold showers, accidental peeping Tom, mentions of masturbation Summary: Clark’s developing powers complicate things when his best friend stays over the weekend.

Clark’s pillow hits your head and you fall backwards onto his bed with a grunt. Before you can react, he’s on top of you with his hands pressing you down on your chest as he laughs in victory.

“Not fair, Kent.” You huff, struggling to reach for your pillow.

He grins, grabbing your wrist. “You started it.”

A knock prompts you both to look past the foot of Clark’s bed to the door. Pa Kent stands in the doorway, laughing lightly. “You boys are supposed to be in bed, lots of work in the morning.” He looks down at you. “And I won’t have your father thinking I ruined your work ethic, young man.”

Clark moves off of you. “Just messing around, Pa.”

“I know.” He smiles. “But I let him sleep over so you two could get to work early.”

“We’ll go to bed, sir.” You say, sitting up. “Sorry if we were being loud.”

“Just get your showers and get in bed, boys.” He turns to you. “We milk our cattle early, up by four.”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

Pa Kent gives one last fatherly point before he closes the door and his footsteps creak over the floor towards his and Ma Kent’s room.

Clark tosses you a towel, hitting you square in the head as he giggles. “You can go first.”

You stand, giving his shoulder a light shove as you grab your backpack and disappear into the hall. Clark giggles to himself, just happy Pa agreed to let you stay the night to help with farmwork over the weekend. He flips through his homework packet, trying to find the energy to actually read the questions. He doesn’t. It’s Friday, his best friend is staying over, math homework can wait. He tosses the packet onto his desk, writing a note to do it on Sunday. With any luck, his developing super-speed applies to his math processing too.

When Clark looks up, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He can see you. His x-ray vision has slipped before and he’s been practicing his control on it, but it’s never caused him to glance up and see his best friend naked. Not just naked either, naked with water dripping over your skin and absolutely no limbs obstructing his view of your hanging dick.

Clark’s face turns bright red and he slaps his hands over his eyes. His skin has turned hot and his heart is beating a mile a minute. Sure, he’s been in a locker room with you and you’ve used urinals around each other but he’s never got such a full frontal in his life, there’s always been a wall or arm or folding pants in the way. Clark takes deep breaths, trying not to think, but when he looks back in the direction his eyes peer through without control. His breath hitches, he nearly chokes, watching your hands run over your dick. It's just scrubbing, just washing, but Clark’s mind wanders to images of you alone in your bedroom and he has to bury his face into the pillows of his bed to get his head back.

He’s sweating, face hidden in his pillow as he tries to breathe. He shouldn’t think about his best friend like that, he shouldn’t even be able to see you through the stupid walls. When Clark catches his breath and shifts to sit up, he freezes. The cotton of his boxers rubbing with the rough denim of his jeans, all making sparks of sensitivity shoot down to his toes by shifting against his now hard dick. Clark wants to scream. He just got hard at the mere thought and sight of his best friend touching himself.

The water shuts off and Clark scrambles to grab his stuff, holding it in front of himself as you walk out. His heart skips as you do, your hair still a bit wet and the pajamas clinging to your body from only just being put on.

You stop, looking at him strangely. “Uh, you okay?”

Clark nods, trying to hide his flushed face. “Mhm, yeah, just really need the shower.”

He rushes past you, disappearing into the hall. He closes the bathroom door behind him, breathing heavily as he tries to clear his head again. When the thoughts remain, Clark turns the water on cold and closes his eyes. The water washes over him, helping his erection die down in the icey temperature.

[daisynik7]

cw: fluff, established relationship, suggestive at the end

Author’s Note: this drabble was inspired by my snookums @dprkento because we were talking about building forts together the other day and I thought how cute would it be if we did that for husband!Nanami?! anyways, ily, thank you for always making me feel so special and loved. Divider by @/cafekitsune.

It’s been a stressful week for both you and your husband, more so for Nanami though, who has worked overtime nearly every day since Monday. When Friday finally arrives, you come up with an idea to help the two of you unwind. It’s a bit unconventional, maybe even a little childish, but you have a good feeling that it’s just what he needs. 

Around seven in the evening, you hear the familiar jingle of keys from the other side of the front door. You crawl out from under your creation, chest thumping with excitement, unsure how he’ll react to all of this. Waiting by the entrance, the door swings open to reveal Nanami, eyes tired, shoulders hunched, the aura of an overworked man surrounding him. He shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack while he removes his shoes. When he sees you, his expression brightens, a small smile forming on his lips, always happy to be home. You greet him with a warm embrace, wrapping your arms around his torso, squeezing him tight. He nuzzles his nose to the top of your head, inhaling your scent, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Hi.”

You giggle into his chest then peer up at him. “You sound exhausted.”

“I am exhausted,” he admits, bowing down to kiss you on the lips.

“Have I got the perfect surprise for you then,” you say, smirking. 

He stares at you with a brow raised, curious. “Oh no, what now?” You’ve got another trick up your sleeve, keeping him on his toes. And while he pretends to be hesitant at first, he always looks forward to whatever you have in store for him. 

Tugging on his hand, you lead him into the living room, where your masterpiece awaits. “Ta-da!” You hold your arms out, presenting the pillow fort you constructed for him. The base is made of the chairs you dragged all the way from the dining table, concealed by mismatched throw blankets laid out on top of each other to act as the roof. The interior is designed with every pillow you could find lying around the house atop the thickest comforter you have to provide enough cushioning. The finishing touch is your favorite stuffed animal sitting in the corner inviting you in, the same one that Nanami won for you years ago after spending far too much time and money on a crane machine to get it. 

His lips are parted in surprise, inspecting each inch of it carefully. When he doesn’t have any response, you nudge with your elbow. “Well, what do you think?”

He kneels down at the entrance, appreciating the interior, eyes wide with wonder. “You built this? For me?”

“For us,” you correct him, beaming. “I thought we could give up on being adults for a night and relive our childhood.”

He chuckles, crawling inside, his muscular body filling up nearly the entire space. “I never built a fort like this when I was kid. This is a first for me.” Loosening his tie, he rolls over on his back, leaning his head into the pillows, finally relaxed. He waves over to you, beckoning you to join him. 

“Hold on. Let me get the snacks.” You shuffle towards the kitchen counter, gathering all the treats you prepared for tonight: chips, candies, even a box of pizza from one of your go-to restaurants. You dump all the food near the entrance of the fort and shimmy beside your husband, laying the pizza flat on your laps. He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek before grabbing a slice to indulge on. 

When you finish dinner, you set up a laptop on a small standing tray near your feet, snuggling closer to Nanami, who has since removed his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt. From your peripheral, you can tell he’s not paying attention to the movie. Instead, his focus is on you. 

Still facing the screen, you grin. “What?”

He hums, leaning in closer, his mouth hot on your skin, not answering. He places a delicate kiss on your neck, lingering as his hand slides across your thighs, slipping between your legs. “Kento,” you breathe out, turning towards him, capturing his lips with yours. 

“Thank you for this,” he whispers between kisses, sliding his other hand beneath your shirt and up your back, fingers at the clasp of your bra. “I love you.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to undress and christen the pillow fort properly. As Nanami cradles you in his arms, watching you sleep against his chest, he admires the fort one last time before slipping into a peaceful slumber with a smile on his face. 

[disneyprincemuke]

another williams adoptee * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver

notes: this actually took me longer than thirty minutes to write im sorry

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |

you press your lips together as you approach the pit lane. you sip from your water bottle and squint as three men come into your sight. around them is a camera crew sporting the williams team shirts, the cameras pointed towards logan and alex predominantly.

and when you look closely, you can see your teammate not too far from alex, stretching. "what are you guys doing?"

logan is the first to acknowledge you out of the three. he stands up from his previous position of bending down to touch his toes and grins at you. "we're racing."

"what?" you raise an eyebrow and tilt your head. "racing?"

"yeah," alex says with a sigh, also standing from his position of stretching. "we're foot racing to those karts over there at the pit lane exit."

you crane your neck to the view behind them and notice three karts. then you look again at the two williams boys, and point at your teammate at the side. "why is he here? is he joining you?"

"yeah," alex says again. "he will always be part of williams."

"wait a second," you shake your head, closing your eyes momentarily to try and understand the nature of their competition. "you're foot racing to those go-karts over there for a round on the track?"

logan nods, beaming with the widest smile you think you've ever seen him sport all year. "yeah. you should join us!" he turns around abruptly to someone behind the camera. "do you have another kart she can take so she can join us?"

george finally steps up. "what, no! she's not a williams girl!" he cries, shoving you in the direction of the paddocks once more. "you're not welcome here - this race is for williams racers only."

"no," logan whines, chasing after both of you. he grabs the sleeve of your shirt and tugs you towards him. "come on, it could be interesting!"

"no way," you scoff, taking a step away. "you guys have much longer legs compared to me. no way i have a chance to even win this stupid race of yours."

"come on," logan whines, pouting his bottom lip out as he stares down at you. "we'll give you a three-second advantage."

"your marketing team didn't even say 'yes'," george scoffs, glancing over his shoulder to seek for the verdict that never seems to come.

"we got a spare kart!" someone shouts within the crowd around you, and you sigh, throwing your head back.

you glance at logan with a hopeful smile at you, nodding to hoax you into joining them for the race. then alex, who simply shrugs you off and continues to stretch, then george who is blankly staring at you.

"this is for williams, isn't it," you mutter, throwing the question towards their marketing team that's now scrambling around to prepare the kart for you. "i don't want to be a bother, really."

"no, it's alright!" a man smiles at you. "you're like part of williams now - you're always with logan and you've made two appearances on our instagram now. the people love you."

you grin. you take a step forward as logan guides you towards their huddle with a hand on your shoulder. george begrudgingly follows behind you, muttering something about how you've never driven for williams before. "okay, you're on. a five-second advantage, was that, logan?"

"i believe i said three."

"i don't think that's what i heard."

[nessieart]

The Way Back. XI

WC: 3.7k ish

Summary: These powers were meant to help people. Help The Avengers, your family. It felt like every time you used them, something bad always happened. Maybe someone has the answers, somewhere.

Bucky x reader || Steve x reader

Masterlist

Previously:

It uncurls its body slowly, Steve steps in front of Natasha, arm blocking her advance. Slowly unfolding limbs stretch out, toes flex before they touch the dirt beneath them. The ground pulses at the contact. The light fades and sucks back inward to the figure as it inhales a deep, gasping breath. Chest heaving then relaxing. Another pulse through the ground and then the air around them returns to normal. One foot steps forward, then knees give out, and the figure crumbles to the ground in a heap.

The glow is gone now. The only light left is in the center of its chest. She, from what Nat and Steve could tell. A woman. She rolls over, a soft groan leaving her lips.

Natasha gasps, hand flying to her mouth, "Oh my God," she rushes forward, falling to her knees by the unconscious body. "Steve, your flannel," Nat snaps him out of his thoughts. He shrugs his shirt off and hands it to Natasha.

The woman is naked, hair matted and dirty. It looks like she's been rolling in mud. It's caked on her skin in layers.

"How?" Steve croaks. He swallows around a lump in his throat. He falls to his knees next to Nat. She has tears in her eyes when she looks up at Steve. There's a look on her face that he hasn't seen in years.

"I don't know. But we have to get her inside. Call Bruce and Tony," she smooths hair back from a dirt covered face. "Hang on, Y/N. Help is coming."

The room was crowded, and Steve was getting impatient. His palms itch, and he really wants to punch something, just to keep his mind and hands busy. He leans against the door frame. Maybe to keep more people from coming in, or maybe for him to leave to take a breather. It's all too much.

Natasha always manages to sneak up on him, no matter if he's paying attention or not. She crosses her arms as she looks around the room. Bruce and Tony were on the far side of the room, conversing quietly. "Danvers said she'll be here as soon as she can. There's some uprising on," she shrugs, " some planet that lost its rulers in the snap." Nat sighs, "Not our problem. Not on the top of my to-do list." She moves into the room then, sitting on the bed that you lie on. You've been unconscious for 2 weeks.

The doctors they brought in can't find anything physically wrong with you. 'She'll wake up when she's ready,' they had said.

Even the scans Bruce did showed the same thing. You were fine - better than fine - but you still haven't woken up.

"Listen, Big Guy, there's nothing else we can do," Tony speaks up. He pats his hand on Bruce's large green forearm. "It's all up to Y/N now." He pats Bruce again before he walks away. Tony stops in front of Steve, angling his body to also look at Nat. "You both should get some rest, get some food," Nat grabs your hand, running her thumbs over your knuckles. "If she wakes up, FRIDAY will let us know," he tries again.

They all finally agree, and leave the room.

It's another two weeks before you wake up. The room is dimly lit, but the sun shines in through the curtains, the window is open, and a breeze blows in. You can smell the spring air drift in.

You jolt awake, a gasp leaving your lips, you sit up on your elbows. There's a name that wants to leave your mouth, but it gets stuck in your throat. A heavy sigh leaves your lips. What happened? You scrub a hand down your face. You feel a weight on your legs, and look down your body. A frown tugs at the corners of your mouth.

"Hello," you say. It's hoarse and rough sounding. You clear your throat to try again. "Hi."

"Hi," the little girl says. There's a book clutched in her arms as she looks at you with big, bright brown eyes. "Are you a pwincess?"

A small laugh leaves you, "A what? No, I don't think so. I'm… my name's Charlie." You lie back on the pillows behind you.

"I Morgan," she scoots closer up the bed to you. "You sleeped a lot. Like Sleepy Beauty or Snowhite," she places the book on your lap then.

It's a book of fairy tales, "Oh, I see," you hum.

"Will you wead to me?" Morgan gets settled on the pillows next to you, and you smile.

"Sure, I'll read to you."

That's how Tony finds you an hour later. He leans against the door frame, hands tucked into his pockets and a fond smile on his face. FRIDAY had let him know the second you awoke and streamed the live footage from your room to him in his old lab.

He sent a message to Natasha, who was with Steve, to hurry back to the compound as soon as they could.

Tony backs away from your room to give you more time with his daughter. Something he thought would never would happen. Steve arrives fast. His footfalls can be heard down the hall as he jogs as fast as he can. He skids to a stop at your door, eyes frantic until they land on you.

You close the book in your hands after you finish reading the last story to Morgan.

"I'm a little tired now, Morgan," you tell her. "Is that ok?" She nods and takes the book from you.

"I go find daddy now," she slides off the bed, her socked feet pad across the floor. When you look up, you see Steve standing in the doorway. Morgan fits under his legs as she leaves.

You smile tiredly up at Steve, you're not sure how long you've been asleep for, but it's dragging you back again. You yawn. "Hi, Steve," his shoulders relax, arms falling to his side as he steps towards you.

"Glad to see you awake, Y/N," your heart stops a beat, a spike of adrenaline courses through you. When he takes another step forward, you scramble back away from him, falling to the floor. Steve stops, eyebrows lower over his sky blue eyes.

He can see the fear on your face, the slight heave in your chest. Hears your heartbeat quickening the longer he stands over you.

"Where's Howie…?" You mumble, your eyes never leave his. He clears his throat, uncomfortable with the question. "Where?" You say louder. "Howard!?" You shout.

The only reason Steve would know your real name is if Howard told him. You need to talk to Howie, "Where is he?" Why do you keep having to repeat yourself?

"Ok, ok. I think you're freaking her out, Cap," someone says behind Steve.

You sigh in relief, hands scrubbing down your face. When you open them again, it's not Howard you see. And your eyes burn as you look up at Tony.

He gives you a sad smile, "Hey, kiddo," he sits on the bed nearest to where you're sitting. You're on the corner on the floor, a nightstand blocking most of your view from them. "Why don't you come out of there?" Tony holds his hand out for you to take.

You stare at it for a long minute, tears spilling over lashes and down your cheeks.

There's a shuffle of fabric on the bed, and you see Morgan. She sits next to Tony. She tilts her head to the side, a pucker between her eyebrows as she looks at you.

"Why you make Pwincess Charlie cwy, daddy?" Morgan says to Tony. She crosses her arms and puffs her cheeks out as she glares at him.

"Me? I- I didn't? Did I?" Tony looks from Morgan to you. Did she say Daddy?

You sniffle, now that they're sitting next to each other, you see the resemblance. You smile through your tears. They won't seem to stop.

You wipe the back of your hand over your cheek, "N-no. Your daddy didn't make me cry." Tony's hand is still extended towards you. He's patent. Waiting. You take it, and he helps you stand, moving you to sit on the bed next to him.

"Morgan, why don't you take Capsicle to get you and ice pop, yeah?" She squeals in excitement, grabbing Steve by the hand and attempting to pull him along. But he doesn't budge.

Steve says your name quietly, pleading, hopeful. You can feel his stare, but you can't meet his eyes. You grip the sheets tightly in your fists. Steve eventually relents and lets Morgan drag him down the hall and out of sight.

You glance back up at Tony, eyes taking in his features. He's older than the last time you saw him. The hair around his temples has gone gray, his beard is mostly gray. A few extra lines crease his face, but he's still Tony.

You cup his cheek in your palm, thumb resting on the corner of his eye. There's more laugh lines there. His eyes shine bright as he looks at you. He gives you his signature Tony Smirk, one eyebrow raised.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"You look so much like him," you mumble. Tony winces, a heavy exhale leaving his nose. He grabs your hand and kisses your palm before he removes it from his face, but he doesn't let go.

"So, Aunt Charlie," he hedges. He's trying to lighten the mood, trying to change the subject, get your tears to stop flowing.

A let laugh leaves your lips, you sniffle again. "I- it wasn't a dream, was it?" Tony shakes his head.

"Got pictures to prove it," he pulls an old photograph from his jacket pocket, flips it around so you can see.

It's the selfie you took the last day you were with Howard. His one eye is squeezed shut as you kiss him on the cheek. And despite you remembering his protests, he's smiling.

You sob out a laugh as your fingers run over the picture, "He was my best friend, and I loved him. And then I was gone. I told him - I said I'd always - I'm sorry, Howie." Tears slip down your face.

"He loved you, too, Y/N," Tony says softly. "He may not have shown it, but he loved you."

The two of you sit silently together for a while. "What happened, after… Titan?"

Tony breaths in deep. He was expecting this, but he's not sure how to tell you. Not sure how to say your sacrifice meant nothing.

But he tries, maybe in nicer words. It was never your fault. He knows that. He's been blaming himself for the last four years.

"How long has it been, since then?" You ask him. He hasn't spoken in a while. You can see the way his brain is trying to process telling you. Gears turning.

"4 years," he says. Then he tells you everything. The confession spills over his lips, and he can't stop it. The dam is already broken, and there's no stopping the flow. Tony tells you about being on Titan when Thanos left with the Time stone. Him watching everyone else, but him and Nebula get dusted.

You weren't sure you had tears left to give after hearing that Stephen and Peter were…gone. "It was my fault…" You croak out, not able to meet Tony's eye. You bring your knees up and hug them tight. Tony makes a noise of disapproval at your words.

"No, no, don't do that, honey," he tries to pry your hands away, then places his hand on your head, stroking soothingly over your hair. "This isn't on you. Don't put that guilt on yourself. It's not your fault, it never was."

Tony continues his story, telling you how he drifted in deep space for over 3 weeks. Then someone saved him, a woman with powers almost like yours. It makes your head perk up. Like you? Maybe she had the answers you've been searching for all these years.

When Tony finishes, the two of you sit in silence for a while, you resting your head on his shoulder as he holds your hand between both of his.

You hear giggling from outside the room, growing louder as the noise gets closer. Morgan runs by, arms up in the air and red stains around her mouth from the ice pop she had. After a moment, Steve passes by, a small chuckle leaving him as he follows after Morgan slowly. He stops outside the door, a lazy smile on his face as Morgan comes back and weaves between his legs.

You smile, squeezing Tony's hand, "She's beautiful, Tony." you say quietly. He hums.

"Yeah. It's mostly Pepper. But I'm trying," he sighs. "Trying to be a better father to her than mine was to me."

You look up at him, pulling your head off his shoulder, "I'm sure you're an amazing dad, Tony. And I'm sorry Howie was never the father you needed him to be." You try not to hold it against Tony that he had a difficult relationship with Howard. You know about their history and how Howard treated Tony.

But you wish he could have known the Howard you knew. And maybe it's all confusing, you knowing a different side of his father that he'd never know.

You fall asleep not too long after your talk with Tony. He could feel you sag next to him, your breathing getting heavier the longer you had your head on his shoulder. He tucks you in and assures you he'd be here when you wake up.

You awake with a jolt, like every nerve ending in your body received an electric shock. You sit up with a gasp, a hand flying to your chest, the bright light of your scar pulses quickly with your heartbeat.

There's a subtle squeeze to your other hand on the bed. You look down and notice a dirty blonde head of hair laying on the covers near your hip.

Steve's asleep, one arm curled under his head and the other covering yours. You retract your hand from his and run your fingers through his hair softly. Starting at his temples and smoothing back the hair over his forehead. It's so much longer now. You kind of like it. There's small streaks of gray here and there, but you'd never notice in the sunlight.

He shifts, humming deep in his chest, his hand closes around nothing, and his brow scrunches, he grunts. Eyes squeezing shut before they open, and he jolts awake, sitting up enough to see your hand hover in the air where it was just running through his hair.

Steve's eyes focus from your hand to your face, blinking to make sure you're really here.

"Hi," you say, putting your hand sin your lap. The brightness from your scar fades back to normal, bathing you both in a soft blue light. You're not sure how long you've been asleep for or what time it was.

"Hi," Steve's voice is rough with sleep. He scrubs a hand down his face. "H-how are you feeling?" You both scoot closer, whether you realize it or not. You thread your fingers through his, he seems to relax more, shoulder slumping as he sighs.

"I'm ok," your fingers fiddle with his, running along the digits that used to be calloused but are no longer worn from battle. You don't want to ask the question that's been burning in your gut since you first learned about your return from the past. Learned about the snap, the dusting, whatever they were calling it. The death of half the universe. You're not sure you want to know.

But you know. He'd be here if he wasn't… gone.

You pull Steve's hand into your lap, your temple bumps against his forehead, and you both sit together like that. Quietly, breathing in each others air.

Steve swallows, fingers curling around yours. "He disappeared right in front of me. And I couldn't do anything -" he chokes back a sob, and you grab his face between your hands.

"It's not your fault," you grip a little tighter to his cheeks, his eyes glaze over as he looks you in the eyes, "It is never your fault."

He inhales a deep, shuddering breath, a tear falling from his eye. "I keep losing him…It's how you died, too," he says softly. He licks his lips, "in ash. You drifted between my fingers, and you were gone."

You shake your head, "I'm here now. I'm right here, Steve."

He exhales, like the weight of the world was lifted from his shoulders for just a moment. He looks at you. A hand comes up around your wrist. You feel the air buzz around you, the jolt that woke you earlier zaps through you again. Steve must feel it, his fingers flexing on your wrist, his brow twitches.

Before he can think of something else to say, or for you to change the subject and pull away, he kisses you.

It's soft and sweet, his hand travels up your arm and to the side of your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. It's tender and loving, and you sink into the kiss.

You both get lost in it, lips molding together through quiet sighs and soft moans. You both part, breaths heavy and panting. Steve strokes you cheek again, and your eyes flutter open to look at him.

He takes one of your hands from his face and kisses your palm. His brows pull together as his eyes skate across your face. "I love you, Y/N," he says against your hand. "I think I always have. But then Bucky saw you, and who was I to get in his way. To compare to how he was. I was just some skinny kid from Brooklyn."

"I didn't know it would be you I found in that alley," you tell him. "But then it was you, and I couldn't stay away. You're my best friend - then, now. You're still that boy from Brooklyn," you both chuckle lightly. A sad smile pulls at the corner of your lips. "I think I've always loved you. It was always there. But we were best friends. Here, and back then." You sigh, eyes shifting around the room and then back to Steve.

"But I love James. For me, it was a few days ago. Those feelings aren't going to go away overnight."

Steve nods, your hands untangle, and rest on the bed between you. It's quiet again, the sun slowly rising outside, the light shimmers through the curtains. Slowly lighting the room in a soft glow.

"I'm done waiting," He says after a short while. "And Bucky's gone," Steve says quietly. Maybe for himself, as a reminder. He's lost Bucky more times than anyone else in his life. "And I'm still here," you nod, you understand. He runs his thumb over your cheek again, shifting your face back up to his. He pecks your lips once, twice, and lingers on a third. A tear escapes your eye and drips over his thumb.

The zap up your spine is fast. It tingles at your fingertips and toes.

"What was that? You feel it?" Steve asks.

"What? Yes, you can feel it?" He pulls his hands away from you. There's a tug in your chest, and your heart thumps against your ribs. You grip Steve's hand in yours and portal. You don't give him any warning.

Behind the compound, there's a giant…spaceship? "Is that…?" Steve is righting himself from his hunched position as he groans.

"Didn't think Rocket would be back so soon," he grimaces out the last of his discomfort from your instant portal.

"That doesn't explain the feeling I got. Just some guy and his ship?" You huff.

You hear voices coming from the ship as you both get closer. Rowdy and loud, disgruntled and indifferent.

"Ya know, I had better Flarkin' things to do than haul your glowy butt from star system to star system, Lady," a woman appears at the gangway with a small furry…

"Is that a raccoon?" You whisper in disbelief. "Am I still asleep?" You say a little louder.

The raccoon grunts, arms crossing over his chest as he sees you and Steve, "Ain't dreamin', toots," he gives you a once over.

You fiddle with the flannel sleeves at your finger tips, it's large and reaches down to your mid thigh. You assume it belongs to Steve. A loose tank top covers some of the scar on your chest, and boxer shorts don your lower half.

The raccoon knocks his knuckles on the woman's leg next to him, "Think ya found 'er, Cap," he continues his decent down from the ship.

You look up at Steve, a question in your brows. He chuckles, "Y/N, this is Rocket," he motions to the furry bipedal creature that makes his way over. "Rocket, this is Y/N."

"Yeah, yeah. Nice t'meet ya or whatever," he waves a dismissive hand at you as he passes. "Stark here?" he asks.

"Yep," you respond, but then, "Oh, uh, prob'ly in the lab." Steve puts a hand on your shoulder. The blonde woman makes her way over next. She nods to Steve.

"Rogers," she crosses her arms, her biceps flex as she stands tall in front of you.

"Danvers," Steve keeps his hand on you, moving between your shoulder blades. "Y/N, this is -"

"Carol," she extends her hand to you, her blue eyes sparkle with something you can't pinpoint.

"Char-er uh, Y/N," when your hand meets hers, your chest flares bright and blinding, and your powers surge through you. You gasp, and so does Carol.

She's glowing, too. Like you, but different. She's a kaleidoscope of colors, fiery and bright. And yours are blue, hot and burning. Steve has to take several steps back.

"Huh," Carol lets her powers subside, giving you a once over before her eyes land on the scar on your chest. She grins, head tilting to the side. "Tesseract?" She nods to you.

"Uh, yeah. You?" You run your fingertips over the crystal scar on your chest.

"Yeah. Explosion," she shrugs.

You both study each other for another moment. Carol smirks after a long moment, "Show me what you can do," it's not a question. She nods her head to the side. "I'll race ya."

A small smile curves your lips. When you go to take a step closer, Steve puts a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. "I'm not sure if she should. Y/N just woke from a month long coma. Maybe she should take it easy." There's a squeeze to your shoulder.

Carol looks you in the eyes, raising her eyebrows in amusement. "Yeah? She needs to take it easy? Seems like you've gotten enough rest to me."

You huff out a laugh, smile tugging wider, "I'll be fine, Tough Guy. Thanks," you step away from him, and Carol ignites her powers first, then you do.

She takes off like a shot, a bullet through the sky as she gets farther away. You haven't used your powers like that in a very long time. At least, that's what it feels like.

"You don't have to do this, sweetheart. You have nothing to prove." You look back at Steve then, resolute in your decision.

"Yes, I do."

**

Next>>

-----

tags: @valckenaux ; @yunloyal

[quirrrky]

—03. LEAVE ME LOVING YOU

『MASTERLIST』 PREV • NXT »

SAMU disguised himself as his brother to save you from embarrassment, but what should be just for a day ended up in more. How long could he keep hiding behind his brother's shadow?

secret admirer, unrequited love? timeskip, mini-series

baby, there's no drug quite like denial

The whistle blared through the gymnasium. It’s Inarizaki’s last game with the neighboring school for the present school year. The third years’ focus was on the game because it would be the last game they’d be playing for the rest of their high school life, but Samu had his mind elsewhere. 

You encountered him and Tsumu together the other day, yet you just played it cool. Your eyes were filled with astonishment and confusion but then you smiled through it saying, “Oh, there’s two Miya-san now.” You excused yourself afterwards and left everything hanging in the air. Earlier during lunch time, you still hung out with him on the rooftop. It was like nothing happened. 

The ball approached his way and he’s quick to toss it right back. The crowd cheered yet Samu didn’t care much less notice. His attention involuntarily shifted to you among the sea of people in the bleachers, and you looked back at him, smiling at a distance. Shyly, he averted his gaze in a snap.  

Have you found out that he’s just disguising as Tsumu all along or do you still think that he’s his twin? 

“Geez, bro. What’re ya bein’ shy for? It’s our last days in school.” Tsumu teased—a big grin was on his face as he saw the ball comin’ for him. “If ya already have the chance...” He leaped and passed the ball directly to his brother. “Ya, better take it!”  

Samu slammed the ball with precise strength and it landed straight on the opponent’s court, earning them their winning point before the time ended.   

Their schoolmates cheered while Tsumu screamed, claiming their final win in Inarizaki.  

ೀ ‧ ˚ 🍙 ⊹˚. ♡

It’s early in the morning when you headed to the pool. You were the one assigned in your class to clean up as part of your graduation turnover. They said a representative from Class 1 would also be there to help you and you were welcomed with a familiar figure. 

“M-Miya-san?” Your eyes were wide with surprise. He looked right in your direction. “Oh, sorry. I just...I just don’t know which Miya-san it is right now though.” 

Seeing you looking at him like that made him a little flustered. Rubbing the back of his neck, he informed you, “Samu...it’s Samu.” 

A prim smile spread across your face. “Samu...” 

It was as if time stopped while his heart drummed against his ear when he finally heard his name from your lips. 

“What do we have here?’ you asked, shifting your weight on your feet back and forth.  

“I’m almost done. We just have to rinse the soap,” he pointed to the pool’s surface, while prepping up the water hose. “I got this. Ya can go ahead.” 

“No, I’ll help you,” you took the water hose from him, your hand slightly touching his. He was feeling extra nervous now that he’s being just himself, but he didn't want to be anyone else around you. “Let’s do this together.”  

He turned the faucet on, and the water instantly blasted on you. “Y/N!” Samu immediately twisted it off. You were doused from head to toe. Both looking at each other, you turned the faucet on again, now completely soaking him too in retaliation.  

You both burst into laughter until Samu tried snatching the hose from you, but you’re never letting him get his way. You ran around the side of the pool, attempting to steal the water hose from each other which drenched the both of you even more instead. 

Your little moment of fun was interrupted by the roaring thunder. Sharing a glance, you both chortled until the skies showered. With the hose in one hand, Samu held yours in another as you ran through the rain towards the changing area. His grip on your hand was firm, careful not to let you slip.  

Finally getting under a shaded area, you picked up on your breathing. Remembering that you still had your phone in your pocket, you took it out and flipped it open. It’s dead.  

Samu snickered. Uncannily, his laughter sounded so soft and comforting in your ear. His eyes rested on your bewildered gaze, holding it for a while. His expression was filled with tenderness you couldn’t fathom but it made you happy. His Adam's apple bobbed as his eyes turned a little half-lidded. He was inching close to you, and you felt your toes tipping towards him. You could almost feel his breath with how near he was. Your eyelids were triggering to close, until a sneeze came through you.  

“Are ya alright? Do ya have a spare shirt?” 

The coldness of the rain got you shivering. With your arms around your frame, easing the freeze out, you shook your head dismissively.  

“Hold on,” Samu quickly went inside the boys’ changing room and came out with a spare shirt. You looked at him querulously. “I have extra. Go ahead, change. I’ll take it from here,” he reassured, and you heeded his advice, taking the black shirt from his hand.  

The rain soon subsided, and you emerged from the girls’ changing room wearing his Inarizaki jersey. You turned to him with a beautiful smile, and at that moment, he realized that you probably had the power to stop time, his lungs and his heart all at the same time. 

Samu gulped, dryly.  

It was a little big on you, but you looked in it. His number printed on it made it seem like you were made to carry every bit of him. It was made for you. He was made for you. He shook the thought away, or at least, he tried.  

“Thank you, Miya-san.” You tapped your head as if you committed a mistake. “S-Samu! Samu!” You blushed. What’s with his name that was making you so anxious and fidgety? “M-Miya S-Samu-san-" You sneezed and he lightly chuckled.  

“Y/N!” A classmate called out to you. “It’s time for our next class already.” 

“Oh!” you hastily bowed before him, a little nervous to show your face, scared that you’d embarrass yourself even more.” 

Samu watched as you left.  

If you already have the chance, you better take it. Tsumu’s words echoed through him.  

Eventhough you were calling him by his name just now, he still couldn’t differentiate where Miya-san ends and where does Samu begin. 

ೀ ‧ ˚ 🍙 ⊹˚. ♡

With a bento in tow, Samu quietly entered the clinic. He asked for the nurse on duty who happily assisted him towards the infirmary. 

He slid open the curtain covering the bed where you were resting. You’re sleeping so soundly but your expression gave away how feverish you were.  

He was supposed to tell you everything clearly, but when he went to the rooftop, there was not a single trace of you there. He stopped by your classroom and one of your classmates informed him that you went to the clinic. 

Seated on the stool beside you, he took out the bento he prepared for your lunch, just as usual, and left it atop the bedside table.  

You looked so peaceful, and cozy all tucked in the blanket. He could watch you like this for hours and hours long. His hand reached out for your face. You felt hot to the touch due to being drenched by the poolside a while ago.  

Warmth fluttered inside his chest as he studied your features. His finger ran through your lashes and skimmed through your fluffy cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip.  

Samu kept fighting the feelings arising deep within him. He convinced himself that this would be nothing more, but here he was unable to stop the back of his hand from stroking your soft cheeks lovingly. He thought it was gonna be just for a day yet he always chose to be beside you. He told himself that he’s alright with remaining behind his brother's shadow if it meant extending the time he had with you.  

A scoff escaped from him. How foolish. 

The school bell rang, signifying the end of the lunch period and prompting Samu to stand from his seat. However, you held his hand, stopping him on his tracks and not letting him go just yet. 

“M-Miya-san...” you murmured.  

Samu was tempted to stay, but his reflection in the nearby mirror was eating him up. His stomach twisted, unsatisfyingly. He’s wearing the shirt his twin lent him and while they wore the same size, Tsumu’s number imprinted on the jersey he’s wearing punched a cruel reminder. 

If you already have the chance, you better take it. 

Would you still accept who’s beneath his facade? Would you see past his mask?   

ೀ ‧ ˚ 🍙 ⊹˚. ♡

Atsumu stretched his arms. His action was paired with a satisfying yawn. “At last, no more wakin’ up early in the mornin’.” He turned to his brother whose mind seemed to be elsewhere. “Hey, hey...don’tcha worry now, ya can still dance with yer girl. We’ll get back in time for the graduation dance.” 

“What?” Samu finally snapped from his musings. 

“Hey! Don’t tell me ya forgot! Ya promised to go with me to the sports camp! It’s our last one ever,” he reminded. “It’s only for a few days then we go back, take her to dance with ya and then we graduate the next.” 

Samu’s eyes widened. That meant he won’t get to see you and he wasn’t even able to let you know about it. 

“Oh...” Tsumu picked it up quite easily. The look on his brother’s was a dead giveaway. “Hmm...ya borrowed my shirt, right?” 

“Already gave it to ya,” Samu replied a little annoyed. 

“Oops...my bad.” Tsumu pressed his palms together. “I think I left it in my locker.” 

They stared at each other as if they were transmitting a special and weird kind of message. 

Tsumu gave him a heads up and Samu hurriedly ran back to school on his way to the lockers as fast as he could.  

After what happened this morning, with you just spending time with each other and him not pretending to be someone else, he just wanted to see you, talk to you, be with you as himself. 

His chest rose and fell as he caught up with his breath. He had arrived at the lockers, but it was empty.  

No one was there.  

You weren’t there.  

His shoulder slumped in dismay while he opened the locker, which he somehow shared with his brother. The shirt wasn't even there and Samu knew it was just Tsumu’s phony excuse to let him off the hook. 

Closing the door, he resigned in defeat. Sighing as if fate was playing him all along. Everytime he wanted to come clean and make things clear, the opportunity was always not in his favor.  

However, a sliver of hope had lit him up as he heard faint footsteps approaching. 

It’s you. 

Suddenly, all the courage he had dissipated, and the anticipation turned him into a frozen mess. Your backs were against each other as you fetched your own stuff from your locker. Though he’s already done with his business, he remained standing there not lifting a finger nor saying a word. 

“I’m all okay now, thanks to you. The bento brought me a lot of comfort,” you initiated, closing your locker. “I know that the school year’s about to end and we might go our separate ways.” Samu took a sharp breath and clenched his fists as you continued, “But I really cherish every single second I’ve spent with you, Miya...”  

Before you could even finish, you suddenly found your back pressed against the locker, a hand over your eyes and his lips crashed against yours. The kiss took away his name from your lips before it could even escape. He couldn’t take the pain if you’d say his brother’s. He couldn’t bear to hear it.  

Right now...when he had you with your eyes closed and his kiss was disarming your very being, it’s just him. Just like each of the moment he shared with you. It’s just him. Samu...Osamu. 

You easily caved into him. His familiar scent, feeling and warmth were making you wish that this won’t end. Even with eyes closed, you knew him and you just melted in his arms, hoping that this very minute would turn into hours.  

His kisses felt like a plea. A desperate plea. Desperately, he was begging you to love him back.  

Love...He parted from you, now waking up from the realization. 

All this time, he’s not fighting his feelings for you...he’s escaping the pain if you don’t feel the same way too. 

Feeling the loss of his touch, you called out to him. His name softly breezed out of your lips, but when you opened your eyes, he was no longer there.  

Your fingers went over your lips, tracing every whisper of his. Your chest tightened--heart all squeezed out. Why did it all feel like goodbye? 

『MASTERLIST』 PREV • NXT »

super sorry for the delay! I got a little bit under the weather yesterday and though I'm done with the chapter, I can't bring myself to open my laptop. we're getting there! we're getting so close to where things would culminate and fall into place! thanks for sticking with me. updates will be bi-weekly, moving forward!

REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED ♡

Please help me reach other viewers. Thank you so so much! 

TAGLIST

@miiyas @sagejin @wyrcan @dailyakira @pixelcafe-network

[arinzeture]

Slave making

Our people weren't brought right here to this country. They were first dropped off in the West Indian islands, in the Caribbean. Most of the slaves that were brought from Africa were dropped off first in the Caribbean, West Indian islands. Why? This was the breaking-in grounds. They would break them in down there. When they broke them in, then they would bring the ones whose spirit had been broken on to America. They had all kinds of tactics for breaking them in. They bred fear into them, for one thing.

I read in one book how the slave maker used to take a pregnant woman, a Black woman, and make her watch as her man would be tortured and put to death. One of those slave makers had trees that he planted in positions where he would bend them and tie them, and then tie the hand of a Black man to one, a hand to the other, and his legs to two more, and he'd cut the rope. And when he'd cut the rope, that tree would snap up and pull the arm of the Black man right out of his socket, pull him up into four different parts. I'll show you books where you can read it, they write about it. And they made the pregnant Black women stand there and watch as they did it, so that all this grief and fear that they felt would go right into that baby, that Black baby that was yet to be born. It would be born afraid, born with fear in it. And you've got it in you right now—right now, you've still got it. When you get in front of that blue-eyed thing, you start to itching, don't you? And you don't know why. It was bred into you. But when you find out how they did it, you can get it out of you and put it right back in them.

Now, I'm not talking racism. [Applause] This isn't racism—this is history, we're dealing with just a little bit of history tonight. We've only got a few minutes left, so I'm trying to go fast. I'm kind of tired, so I can't go too fast—you'll have to excuse me—but I just want to get the rest of this out.

They used to take a Black woman who would be pregnant and tie her up by her toes, let her be hanging head down, and they would take a knife and cut her stomach open, let that Black unborn child fall out, and then stomp its head in the ground. I'll show you books where they write about this, I'll name them to you: Slave Trade by Spears; From Slavery to Freedom by John Hope Franklin; Negro Family in the U.S. by Frazier touches on some of it. All night long—Anti-Slavery by Dwight Lowell Dumond—I'll cite you books all night long, where they write themselves on what they did to you and me. And have got the nerve to say we teach hate because we're talking about what they did. Why, they're lucky, really, they're lucky, they're fortunate.

Slaves used to sing that song about "My Lord's going to move this wicked race and raise up a righteous nation that will obey." They knew what they were talking about—they were talking about the man. They used to sing a song, "Good News, a Chariot Is Coming." If you notice, everything they sang in those spirituals was talking about going to get away from here. None of them wanted to stay here. You're the only ones, sitting around here now like a knot on a log, wanting to stay here. You're supposed to be educated and hip, you're supposed to know what's happening, you know—they're not supposed to know what's happening. But everything they sang, every song, had a hint in it that they weren't satisfied here, that they weren't being treated right, that somebody had to go.

The slave maker knew that he couldn't make these people slaves until he first made them dumb. And one of the best ways to make a man dumb is to take his tongue, take his language. A man who can't talk, what do they call him? A dummy. Once your language is gone, you are a dummy. You can't communicate with people who are your relatives, you can never have access to information from your family—you just can't communicate.

Also, if you'll notice, the natural tongue that one speaks is referred to as one's mother tongue—mother tongue. And the natural intelligence that a person has before he goes to school is called mother wit. Not father wit—it's called mother wit because everything a child knows before it gets to school, it learns from its mother, not its father. And if it never goes to school, whatever native intelligence it has, it got it primarily from its mother, not its father; so it's called mother wit. And the mother is also the one who teaches the child how to speak its language, so that the natural tongue is called the mother tongue. Whenever you find as many people as we who aren't able to speak any mother tongue, why, that's evidence right there something was done to our mother. Something had to have happened to her.

They had laws in those days that made it mandatory for a Black child to be taken from its mother as fast as that child was born. The mother never had a chance to rear it. The child would be brought up somewhere else away from the mother, so that the mother couldn't teach the child what she knew—about itself, about her past, about its heritage. It would have to grow up in complete darkness, knowing nothing about the land where it came from or the people that it came from. Not even about its own mother. There was no relationship between the Black child and its mother; it was against the law. And if the master would ever find any of those children who had any knowledge of its mother tongue, that child was put to death. They had to stamp out the language; they did it scientifically. If they found any one of them that could speak it, off went its head, or they would put it to death, they would kill it, in front of the mother, if necessary. This is history; this is how they took your language. You didn't lose it, it didn't evaporate—they took it with a scientific process, because they knew they had to take it to make you dumb, or into the dummy that you and I now are.

I read in some books where it said that some of the slave mothers would try and get tricky. In order to teach their child, who'd be off in another field somewhere, they themselves would be praying and they'd pray in a loud voice, and in their own language. The child in the distant field would hear his mother's voice, and he'd learn how to pray in the same way; and in learning how to pray, he'd pick up on some of the language. And the master found that this was being done, and immediately he stepped up his efforts to kill all the little children that were benefiting from this. And so it became against the law even for the slave to be caught praying in his tongue, if he knew it. It was against the law. You've heard some of the people say they had to pray with their heads in a bucket. Well, they weren't praying to the Jesus that they're praying to now. The white man will let you call on that Jesus all day long; in fact he'll make it possible for you to call on him. If you were calling on somebody else, then he'd have more fear of it. Your calling on that somebody else in that other language—that causes him a bit of fear, a bit of fright.

They used to have to steal away and pray. All those songs that the slaves talked, or sang, and called spirituals, had wrapped up in them some of what was happening to them. And when the child realized that it couldn't hear its mother pray any more, the slaves would come up with a song, "I Couldn't Hear Nobody Pray," or the song "Motherless Child": "Sometimes, I feel like a motherless child. Father gone, mother gone, motherless child sees a hard time." All of these songs were describing what was happening to us then, in the only way the slaves knew how to communicate—in song. They didn't dare say it outright, so they put it in song. They pretended that they were singing about Moses in "Go Down, Moses." They weren't talking about Moses and telling "old Pharaoh to let my people go." They were trying to talk some kind of talk to each other, over the slave master's head. Now you've got ahold of the thing and you're believing in it for real. Yes, I hear you singing "Go down, Moses," and you're still talking about Moses four thousand years ago—you're out of your mind. But those slaves had a whole lot of sense. Everything they sang was designed toward freedom, designed toward going back home, or designed toward getting this big white ape off their backs.

Malcolm X

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Chaos Before the Oscars

X Men Masterlist

It’s Oscar night, and Y/N is already fully dressed, standing before the large mirror in the bedroom. Her gown, an elegant, floor-length piece in deep navy blue, fits her figure perfectly. Her makeup is flawless, and her hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders. She looks like she stepped right out of a high-fashion magazine, but her gaze isn’t on herself. Instead, she watches with an amused grin as her two men, James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender, frantically rush around the room.

“Where the hell is my shirt?” James shouts in frustration, pulling open drawer after drawer. “I swear I just saw it here!”

Y/N sits down on the edge of the bed, casually crossing her legs, and watches the spectacle unfold. “It’s hanging on the hook, darling,” she says calmly, barely lifting her gaze from her two men. “You shouldn’t be so nervous. This isn’t your first time at the Oscars.”

“Nervous? Me?” James replies, though his frantic rummaging says otherwise. “I’m completely relaxed.”

“Sure,” Y/N murmurs with a smile. “So relaxed you almost put on the tie instead of the shirt.”

“Funny,” James retorts, giving her a slightly annoyed glance before finally finding the shirt and tossing it on.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Michael is struggling with his tuxedo. “Why the hell are these things always so tight?” He fumbles with the collar while simultaneously wrestling with the bow tie that refuses to sit properly.

“Maybe it’s because you’re always in such a rush,” Y/N says, folding her arms across her chest and enjoying the scene.

Michael sighs in frustration and turns to her. “Alright, I admit it. Will you help me before I completely ruin this damn thing?”

Y/N rises with a smile and walks over to Michael. “You two would be completely lost without me, wouldn’t you?” She stands in front of him and expertly begins tying his bow tie. Her fingers glide smoothly over the fabric, and Michael immediately relaxes under her touch.

“I’m sure we would’ve managed somehow,” Michael says, though he’s grinning.

“Somehow,” Y/N echoes, shaking her head slightly. “It’s amazing you both managed to succeed in the film industry when you can’t even handle a bow tie.”

James, now fighting with his shirt, throws her an amused glance. “Oh, we have other talents.”

“Oh really?” Y/N challenges as she finishes adjusting Michael’s bow tie. “Like what?”

"For example..." James begins, stopping to think. "Well, for example in... improvisation. Or in charm."

“Mhm, charm,” Y/N repeats slowly, turning toward James. “Maybe charm will help you when you’ve buttoned your shirt wrong.”

James looks down at himself and groans loudly. “Damn it!”

Michael laughs and pats James on the shoulder. "You are really in top form today”

“I was distracted,” James defends himself, hurriedly starting to fix the buttons.

“Sure,” Y/N says, stepping closer to help him. “I know all about distractions.”

James looks down at her as she unbuttons and rebuttons his clothes. "Can you blame me? You look incredible."

"Oh, I know," Y/N says with a cheeky grin. "But you guys don't look bad either... once you're done, anyway."

Michael steps behind her and gently places his hands on her shoulders. "You're particularly quick-witted today, you know that?"

"Maybe it's because I'm the only one here who doesn't have a nervous breakdown over a shirt or a bow tie," Y/N replies dryly, patting James on the chest when she's finished. "There. Now you almost look decent."

"Almost?" James asks, raising an eyebrow.

"All that's missing is the jacket. But honestly,” she gives him a sharp look, “as long as you put it on the right way, I’m happy.”

Michael laughs again and falls onto the bed. “I love it when she’s so direct. It keeps us on our toes.”

Y/N gives him a challenging look. “I’m sure without me, you two would never make it out of the house on time.”

James shakes his head as he pulls on his jacket. “Probably not,” he finally admits. “But… that’s what makes us so interesting, isn’t it?”

Y/N stops, her arms folded across her chest, as she looks at the end result of her work. Both of her men look stunning in their tuxedos, but the journey there was beyond chaotic.

“Interesting?” she repeats, stepping back to look at them both. "I would call it more 'challenging'."

"But you love that," says Michael, winking at her. "A little chaos, a little excitement..."

"Maybe," replies Y/N, grinning. "But a little more organization wouldn't hurt either."

James steps towards her and gently puts his hands around her waist. "Well, that's what we have you for, isn't it? You're the connecting link in this chaos."

"Right," mutters Y/N, playfully pushing him away. "But now we should go before we're really late."

"Wait," calls Michael, who stands up and frantically searches for his cufflinks. "Where are they..."

"In your jacket pocket," says Y/N without even looking. "Exactly where I put them so you don't lose them."

Michael reaches into his pocket and smiles. "You're a real miracle, you know that?"

"I know that," Y/N replies, shaking her head as she heads for the door. "Come on now. I'm not the only one who's supposed to look good tonight."

"Before we go," James murmurs, pulling Y/N gently to him, "is there something else I need to get off my chest."

"Oh yeah?" Y/N asks, looking up at him curiously.

James leans forward and presses a soft, intense kiss to her lips. Y/N closes her eyes briefly and returns the kiss with a slight smile. As they separate, she feels Michael behind her wrap his arms around her waist and gently kiss her shoulder. "I think that's our ritual before we leave," he says quietly.

"A ritual I don't want to miss," Y/N murmurs, turning slightly to Michael to kiss him too. His lips are warm and familiar, and when they finally pull apart, her gaze falls on James, who is standing next to them, smirking.

Michael raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer to James. "I think I'm not the only one who deserves a kiss tonight," he says with a mischievous smile.

James smiles slightly, steps closer. Their lips meet in a gentle kiss, and Y/N watches them with a satisfied smile as her two men lose themselves in their own togetherness for a moment.

When they pull apart, Y/N shakes her head slightly. "You two... are impossible."

"You know that," James says as he gently takes her hand.

Michael joins them, and together they leave the room, hand in hand, ready for the evening.

[cliophilyra]

Unbake My Heart

Unadulterated tooth-rotting fluff for our holiday gift exchange - for the lovely Ruta - @gaybonesforivy Happy New Year my dear!! I hope you have a wonderful 2025 🥳 ❤️

It’s very short and very sweet but I like how it came out 😊

Read on AO3 or below

Watery winter sunlight filters though the gaps in the drapes, falling across Tommy's back. He stirs in his sleep, his hand moving across Buck's chest to rest over his heart. Buck smiles, resting a hand on top of Tommy's and kissing his head, looking down at him with a kind of disbelief. He's still here. He wasn't a dream, he didn't leave in the middle of the night. He stayed.

The last thing he'd expected, half way through baking his third loaf of bread yesterday evening, was for Tommy to turn up on his doorstep to talk, and for talking and tears and recriminations and apologies to turn to kisses and touches and more, happier tears. Even after Tommy had fallen asleep with his arms around him and his head on his chest, Buck had fought to stay awake as long as he could, looking down at his long eyelashes fanned against his cheeks, mapping the familiar muscles of his back with his fingers. Needing to memorize every sound, every breath, every tiny movement, just in case he woke to find himself alone again.

But here they are, the sun is up, it's officially tomorrow and Tommy is still here, sleeping peacefully, body heavy and relaxed in his arms. Buck grins to himself and presses his lips to his curls again, a kind of calm he hasn't felt in months settling into his bones.

Tommy hums to himself and runs his hand up Buck's neck, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "Morning," his voice is heavy and rough with sleep but he lifts his head to look up at Buck with a lazy smile, gorgeous blue eyes blinking slowly.

Buck takes his face in his hands and kisses him on the mouth, sliding his thumbs across his cheekbones. "Morning baby," he whispers. Joy and relief well up inside him and threaten to spill over. "Fuck I missed this so much," he murmurs. He knows he sounds a little choked up.

Tommy kisses him again, slow and sweet, and warmth spreads to the tips of his fingers and toes. "Oh sweetheart, I missed you more than I can ever say. I'm so sorry."

Buck raises a finger to Tommy's lips. "Hey-hey, it's ok, we talked about this, right? No more apologizing."

Tommy lets out a deep shaky breath and nods, pressing a kiss to his finger. Buck wraps his arms around his broad waist, fingers digging into his back and pulls him flush against his chest, tangling their legs together as he rolls them over and grins down at him, leaning in for another kiss, deeper this time.

As he begins to move down, trailing kisses, burying his face in Tommy's neck, chasing the comforting warmth and the familiar scent that makes his head spin, the unexpectedly loud sound of the doorbell makes them both jump.

Both of their heads turn toward the sound then back to each other. Tommy raises a questioning eyebrow. "Expecting someone?"

Buck shakes his head slowly in confusion but then realization dawns. "Shit!" he gasps, jumping out of the bed. "It's my sister! And Chim, and Jee! Fuck I forgot. I said I'd bake Christmas cookies with Jee today."

Tommy struggles to sit up, casting around for the clothes they'd left strewn across the stairs and the bedroom floor last night. Buck is halfway down the stairs in just his underwear before Tommy reminds him he probably needs to put pants on. He races back up, grabbing some sweatpants that are almost certainly Tommy's and dragging them on along with an LAFD t-shirt, and running back down, stumbling towards the door as the bell rings again.

"Hang on!" Tommy hisses. "Gimme a minute."

"No time!" Buck flings open the door with a too-wide grin that he's pretty sure makes him look slightly insane.

Maddie and Chim step back in surprise. "Took your time there Buckeroo - late night?" Chim grins, walking past him into the loft, handing over the grinning little girl in his arms.

Buck staggers a little as Jee wraps her arms around his neck and giggles when he pretends he can't hold her up. "Wow you're getting so big Jee!"

Maddie follows them in and puts a bag of Jee's stuff down on the kitchen table, squeezing Buck's arm as she passes.

"How're you doing?" she asks with a sympathetic smile.

Buck tries to school his face, not letting his glance cut towards the bedroom. He wonders where Tommy is hiding. Should he just…?

"I—" he starts.

"Have you used up all the flour in the state yet?" Chim asks.

Buck gives a weak smile, embarrassment crawling up his spine. He and Tommy might have talked through their issues but that doesn't mean he wants him to know exactly how pathetic he was without him.

"Ha. Yeah well, it's-it's Christmas. So…y'know…lots-lots of baking to do," he laughs awkwardly, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Maddie gives him an odd look.

"Well I'm not complaining," Chim grins, opening Buck's fridge. "Not saying I want you to stay single and miserable forever," he says, grabbing two lemon loaves, "but you moping over Tommy does have it's perks for the rest of us."

The sound of someone clearing their throat upstairs has them all looking up with a start. Tommy is standing at the railing of the bedroom.

"Hey Howie," he says with a grin.

Maddie rounds on Buck, eyes wide, eyebrows up to her hairline.

"Uh—" Buck starts, blushing fiercely. "Surprise?"

Jee starts bouncing in his arms, reaching out with grabby hands. "Uncle Tommy!"

"Merry Christmas Buckley-Han's," Tommy says, walking down the stairs, sounding only slightly smug.

Maggie grins up at him while Chim lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Guess this means no more cake then?"

Tommy laughs as Jee launches herself from Buck's arms to his. "Oof—hi Princess Jee," he smiles, lifting her up. "I'm pretty sure we can make cookies instead, right Evan?" He leans over and presses a kiss to Buck's temple and Buck feels like his heart might explode.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Set My Love On Fire (Kinktober)

Word Count: 3.1k

The soft sound of jazz music filled the room as Elias and you sat cuddled up together on the couch in the cozy apartment. The warm glow of the overhead lights cast a gentle hue on your smiling faces as you both talked about your day and laughed at each other's jokes. Elias wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him and kissing your forehead tenderly. "This is nice," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Just the two of us, together like this." You let out a small sigh of contentment, snuggling into his embrace. "It is," you reply, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your chest. "Just the two of us, in our own little world." Elias strokes your hair gently, his fingers tangling in the strands. "Sometimes I can't believe how lucky I am to have you," he says quietly. "You make every day feel like a dream." Elias' words sent a flutter through your chest, warmth spreading from where his hands caressed your scalp down to your toes. He always had a way with words, making you feel cherished and adored. "I feel the same way about you," you whispered back, nuzzling into his neck. "You're my everything, Elias." The music shifted to a slower, more sensual tune, the tempo mirroring the growing intimacy between you. Elias' hands began to roam, sliding down your back to rest on your hips. His touch was electric, igniting a hunger within you that only he could satisfy. "I want you so badly right now," Elias breathed, his lips grazing your ear. "Can we…?" He trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air, his intentions clear.

A shiver ran down your spine as his words sent heat pooling in your core. You could feel the tension in his body, the desire in his touch, and it mirrored your own aching need for him. "Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please." Elias's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to send a spark of pleasure through you. He pulled you closer, his body taut with coiled desire, the air thick with anticipation. "I've been wanting you all day," he murmured against your neck. "I can't wait any longer." Elias captured your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth hot and demanding against yours. One hand slid up your side, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbled beneath his touch. He tugged impatiently at your clothes, desperate to feel your bare skin against his. "I need you naked," he growled, breaking the kiss long enough to yank your shirt over your head. Buttons flew everywhere as he tore open his own shirt, revealing his chiseled chest and abs. His eyes were dark with lust as they raked over your exposed body, drinking in every curve and hollow. "Fuck, you're perfect," he rasped, his hands skimming over your sensitive flesh, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Elias' touch was like electricity, igniting a burning desire within you that threatened to consume you both. His words and the heat in his gaze fueled the fire that was consuming your body, leaving you trembling with want. You reached for him, your hands skating over his bare chest, tracing the ridges and planes of his muscles. "Elias," you breathed, your voice shaking with need, "touch me. Please." Elias groaned at the pleading note in your voice, his control slipping away. He pushed you back onto the couch, covering your body with his own, his weight pressing you into the cushions. His mouth found yours again, hungry and insistent, as his hands roamed your curves, exploring every inch of your heated skin. He dipped his head to your breasts, taking one hardened peak into his mouth and sucking hard, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His free hand slid between your thighs, finding the damp heat there, stroking and teasing until you were writhing beneath him, begging for more. "I'm going to make you scream my name tonight," he promised roughly, his fingers delving deep inside you. "Over and over again." Your mind was a haze of sensation, your body completely under the control of his touch. His words sent a thrill through you, the promise in them stoking the flames in your core. You arched your back, pressing your body into his, craving more of his touch, his kiss, his everything. "Elias," you gasped as his fingers skillfully sought to bring you pleasure, "I need you. Now."

Elias growled in response, his fingers still working magic between your legs while his other hand moved to position himself at your entrance as he pulled his fingers out of you. He thrust inside you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure rippled through you. He began to move, slow at first, giving you time to adjust to his size before picking up speed. His pace grew frantic, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper with each passing moment. "Fuck, you're so tight," he ground out, his breath hitching as he fought to hold on. "I love being inside you." Elias' words, combined with the relentless pounding of his hips, drove you to the brink of ecstasy. Each thrust hit a spot deep within you, sending waves of pleasure crashing over your senses. Your body clung to his, urging him on, as you chased the high he'd awakened within you. "More," you begged, your voice a ragged whisper, "please, Elias, give me more." Elias's eyes flashed with primal desire at your plea, his movements becoming even more urgent. He gripped your hips tightly, angling them to take him even deeper, and then he was slamming into you with abandon, the force of his thrusts rocking the couch. "Take it, baby," he grunted, his voice strained with effort and pleasure. "Take every fucking inch." The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans of ecstasy. Elias's pace was brutal and unrelenting, pushing you higher and higher until you felt the coil of tension in your belly begin to snap. With a keening cry, you came undone, your inner walls clenching around him as wave after wave of bliss washed over you.

Your climax tipped Elias over the edge, his body convulsing as he emptied himself inside you. He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily, his heart hammering against your chest. Gradually, his breathing slowed and he lifted his head to look at you, his expression one of pure satisfaction. "That was incredible," he said huskily, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "You were amazing." As the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through your body, Elias collapsed beside you on the couch, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. You nestled into his side, relishing the feel of his strong arms around you. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you lifted your head to look at him, a devilish gleam in your eye. "Can I ask you something?" you asked, your voice low and sultry. Elias raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Of course, baby. What's on your mind?" He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer as he waited for your question, his curiosity piqued. You bit your lip, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "Well, I've been wanting to try something new in bed…something adventurous." Elias's eyebrow rose further, a mix of surprise and intrigue flickering in his eyes. "Oh really? Do tell, darling."

You felt a flush of excitement at his anticipation. "I was thinking…maybe we could try something a little different tonight," you said, letting your words hang in the air. Elias's eyes darkened at the implication, a smirk playing on his lips. "And what exactly did you have in mind, love?" "Wax play," you replied bluntly, watching as his lips parted in surprise. "I've always been curious about it, and I thought it might be fun if we tried it." Elias's expression shifted as he processed the idea, his gaze growing heated as the possibilities set in. He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he had when deep in thought. "I see," he murmured, his voice husky. "You want me to drip hot wax on your naked body." Elias's eyes glinted with intrigue and arousal as he considered your request. "It's definitely not something I've done before, but I'm always up for trying new things with you," he said, his voice dripping with seduction. "As long as you're sure about this, I'll do whatever makes you happy." He leaned in close, his warm breath caressing your ear as he whispered, "Just imagine the feeling of the molten wax against your skin, the sting followed by the coolness as it solidifies. And then there's the visual - your body adorned with intricate patterns, glistening with wax." Elias's words painted a vivid picture, stoking the flames of desire within you. "Let's get started," you breathed, your pulse racing with anticipation. Elias grinned, getting up to grab a candle and a lighter.

You watched as Elias rummaged through a drawer, your heart thudding in your chest with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. When he returned, he held a long, slender candle, the wax a rich, creamy white. He also had a lighter clutched in his hand, the flame dancing at its tip. Elias settled back onto the couch beside you, his gaze fixed on your face, searching for any hint of hesitation. "Are you ready for this, love?" he asked, his voice thick with desire. You nodded eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes, I'm ready," you assured him, reaching out to take the candle from his hand. You examined the candle, running your fingers over the smooth surface, before turning to meet Elias's gaze once more. "Show me how it's done," you commanded, your voice laced with lust. Elias's eyes widened at your boldness, surprised by your eagerness. He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He nodded, taking the candle back from you and lighting it with the lighter. Once it was burning steadily, he held it up, the wick glowing orange. "Just relax and trust me," he instructed, his voice soothing. "Let me take care of you, love." Elias gently guided your body onto your stomach, positioning you so that your back was exposed to him. He drizzled a small amount of wax onto your skin, watching intently as it cooled and hardened into a delicate pattern. Then, with a steady hand, he applied more wax, creating a design that seemed to dance across your flesh. "You're doing beautifully," he praised, his fingers trailing along the edges of the wax, making sure it adhered properly. He occasionally blew on the wax as he worked, causing it to melt slightly before hardening again, leaving behind a mesmerizing texture. Elias continued to adorn your back with intricate designs, each one more breathtaking than the last. Finally, he stepped back to admire his handiwork, a satisfied smile on his face. "There, all done," he announced, his voice tinged with pride.

You lay there, eyes closed, completely boneless and blissful. The sensations on your skin were unlike anything you had ever experienced before; the heat, the cold, the slight sting, the smooth texture of the wax. It was like nothing else existed except for the sensations Elias was creating on your body. "That was…" you murmured, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the words to describe the experience. Elias knelt beside you, his hands gently tracing the wax designs on your back. "Words can't capture it, can they?" he mused, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin beneath your shoulder blades. "But maybe this will help." He dipped his finger into the still-molten wax, collecting a small bead. Carefully, he placed it on your lower back, just above the curve of your ass. As it cooled, he blew softly, watching it spread and pool, forming a small, shimmering puddle. "We could add some color to it," Elias suggested, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "A nice red to contrast with the white." He reached for another candle, this one tinted a deep crimson. "What do you think, love? Want a little pop of color on your beautiful skin?" Your body jerked slightly at the new texture on your skin, the hot wax sending a small jolt of pleasure through you. You hummed in agreement, your eyes still closed as you savored the sensations. "Yes," you said breathlessly, "Please."

Elias smiled, pleased by your enthusiasm. He dripped a small amount of the red wax onto your lower back, near the spot where the previous bead had formed. As it cooled, he used his fingers to shape it into a tiny heart, the contrasting colors creating a striking visual effect. "There you go," he said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your shoulder blade. "A little love token, just for you." His hands roamed over your back, admiring his handiwork. "You know, I never realized how much I'd enjoy decorating someone like this," Elias confessed, his voice low and intimate. "Seeing the wax melt and harden on your skin, creating these unique patterns…it's incredibly arousing." He nuzzled your neck, his warm breath tickling your ear. You shivered at his words, the combination of the sensation of the wax on your skin and his voice so close to your ear sending tingles down your spine. "I never realized how much I would enjoy being decorated like this," you admitted, your voice thick with desire. "But I am," you added, arching your back slightly, presenting your body to him with a wiggle of your hips, "very much enjoying it." Elias groaned, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pulled you back against him. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy," he muttered, his hardness pressing insistently against your ass. "I want to mark every inch of you, make you mine in ways no one else has." His fingers dug into your skin, leaving faint impressions as he ground against you. "Tell me what else you need, love. I'll give you everything."

Your breath hitched at the intensity of his words and actions, your body responding instinctively to his touch. "I need you inside me again," you whimpered, pushing back against him urgently. "Fill me up and make me yours." Your hands fumbled between your legs, seeking the warmth of your core. "Please, Elias, I ache for you." With a growl, Elias flipped you over onto your back, hovering above you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "As you wish," he purred, he stroked himself a few times, coating the head with pre-cum before positioning himself at your entrance. "Ready for me, baby?" Elias asked, his voice strained with desire. Without waiting for an answer, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. A guttural moan escaped him as he felt your tight heat enveloping him. "Christ, you feel incredible," he gasped, beginning to move, his hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm. Your nails dug into Elias's shoulders as he filled you so completely, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the sudden intrusion. But as he started to move, the pain melted away, replaced by waves of intense pleasure. "Oh god, yes!" you cried out, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Harder, Elias! Fuck me harder!" Your body arched off the bed, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans of ecstasy.

Elias obliged your plea, pounding into you with unbridled passion. The force of his thrusts made the couch creak ominously, but neither of you cared, lost as you were in the primal dance of lust and desire. "Take it, baby, take every fucking inch just like that," Elias grunted, his breath coming in ragged pants as he drove into you again and again. One of his hands slid down to grasp your thigh, using it as leverage to piston even deeper. The other found your breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. "So fucking tight," he groaned, his pace becoming erratic as he neared his climax. "Gonna fill you up, love. Gonna mark you as mine." Your vision blurred at the intensity of the sensations overwhelming you. Every nerve ending felt electrified, each brush of Elias's body against yours igniting a firestorm within. "Y-yes, please!" you begged, your voice hoarse with need. "Claim me, make me yours!" As if summoned by your plea, Elias's thrusts grew more urgent, his cock throbbing inside you as he chased his release. The hand on your thigh tightened its grip, while the one on your breast squeezed almost painfully, sending you hurtling towards the edge. With a final, brutal plunge, Elias buried himself to the hilt, his member pulsating as he spilled his seed deep within you. The sensation of his hot cum filling you triggered your own orgasm, and you came apart with a scream of pure bliss, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around him.

Elias collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His spent cock remained nestled inside you, still twitching with aftershocks. After a moment, he rolled to the side, taking you with him so that you ended up curled against his sweat-dampened torso. "Holy fuck, that was intense," he murmured, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace. "You okay, love?" Elias asked, concern creeping into his voice despite the sated look on his face. "That was quite a ride." He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle now compared to the fierce passion of moments ago. You nodded, still trying to process the overwhelming sensations that had just coursed through your body. "I'm…I'm more than okay," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That was…amazing." You snuggled closer to Elias, relishing the warmth of his body and the feeling of being held so securely. "Thank you," you murmured, meaning it deeply. "For everything." Your hand traced idle patterns on his chest, marveling at the rapid beat of his heart. In this quiet moment, with the aftermath of their lovemaking still lingering, you felt a profound connection to Elias, a sense of belonging you'd never known before. And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that this was only the beginning of a journey together.