#rest of their day. i feel like that kind of mundanity or chaos if something that vash is a little used to but probably not wolfwood

[ruporas]

☀️

[ID: Digital illustration in color of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. It’s two 3 panel comics that illustrates the same sequence. The first focuses on Vash. In the first panel, he’s in a hurried motion with a worried expression. In the second, he’s stopped, huffing a breath out as he’s scanning for Wolfwood (not pictured). In the final panel, he breaks out into a relieved smile, eyes lighting up with warm cheeks.

The second comic focuses on Wolfwood. In the first panel, he’s looking downwards to the right with a cigarette in his mouth, wearing a neutral expression. On his face are notable scratch marks to indicate him being in a fight prior. In the second panel, he turns towards the viewer, lifting his head as he notices Vash (as from the previous sequence). In the final panel, he smiles warmly with teeth and holds up a peace sign. END ID]

[ID: Sketchy black and white drawings of Vash and Wolfwood, continuing off the comic. Wolfwood’s back is to the viewer while Vash’s profile can be seen, now by Wolfwood’s side. He has a bright smile as he says to Wolfwood, “You’re safe!” Wolfwood responses, bearing a grin too, “Who do ya think yer talking to? ‘Course I am. Look, I got them alive.” He points to two figures who are tied up and have comically large head bumps. Vash looks to them with an uncertain expression as he says, “Oh! You did, huh… Are you sure they’re alive?” Wolfwood, with a more irritated expression, responds “What, didn’t think I could do it?” Vash says, “No, no! I knew you could!” and pats Wolfwood on the cheek and his head comfortingly. END ID]

[reidmarieprentiss]

Needy

Summary: Spencer is touch starved.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut, fluff

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+), porn with little plot, additional warnings undercut, sub!spencer, slight dom!reader, crying

Word count: 8k

a/n: for @kameowwww hope i did you good <333 this is the idea

this is like straight up porn so

main masterlist

Additional warnings: oral (f&m receiving), PinV sex unprotected (wrap it before you tap it), voyerism, masturbation (f), vibrator (f), orgasm denial, overstimulation, sub/dom dynamics

Spencer Reid had always been a man of intellect, preferring the quiet solace of books over the chaos of human interaction. He never quite understood the appeal of constant physical affection until he met you. Before you, his life was a series of equations and logical deductions, but you brought something new to the table—warmth, comfort, and a touch that ignited something deep within him. Now that he had tasted that sweetness, he found himself utterly addicted. He couldn't imagine going back to the way things were before you.

The two of you had been dating for quite some time now, and Spencer had grown accustomed to the constant stream of affection you showered upon him. It wasn’t just the emotional warmth that he relished but the physical connection as well. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin was electrifying, each touch sending a shiver down his spine that lingered long after your hand had moved on. He adored the way you would pull him into a hug for no reason other than to feel his presence against you, your bodies fitting together perfectly like pieces of a puzzle.

When you kissed him, your lips soft and inviting, Spencer would lose himself in the moment, his mind quieting as all he could focus on was the sensation of you. The way your hands would slide up his chest, lingering at the nape of his neck, drawing him closer, made his heart race with a fervor he had never known before. It was a sensation he couldn’t quite articulate, this melding of souls and skin that made him feel so alive, so desired.

The intimacy extended to the most mundane of routines—the way your hands lingered a little longer on his back as you parted ways in the morning, your fingers tracing small circles that left his skin tingling in their wake. Your touch was intoxicating, a sweet addiction that he eagerly anticipated each day. It was as if you had created a secret language of touch, a series of unspoken words that only the two of you understood, a language that spoke of love, trust, and an undeniable connection.

But now, he was miserable. Absolutely miserable.

Spencer had been shot in the leg during a case gone awry. The doctors said he couldn't fly for a while, which meant he was stuck back in D.C. while you and the rest of the team were off on another case. This separation was a special kind of torment, one that gnawed at him with every passing hour.

He found himself staring at his phone, the digital clock mocking him as the minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness. It felt like time had slowed down since you left. No, it felt like time had stopped altogether. Spencer found himself yearning for the sound of your voice, the feel of your skin against his, the comfort of your presence. He missed you more than he could put into words, more than he had ever thought possible.

Every hour, like clockwork, he sent you a text. His messages ranged from sweet to downright needy, each one a reflection of his growing desperation:

9:00 AM: I miss you so much already. I can't wait for you to come back.

10:00 AM: Just had breakfast, and it's not the same without you. Miss you.

11:00 AM: I keep staring at our picture on my desk. It makes me smile and want to cry at the same time.

12:00 PM: I'm thinking about you. Are you thinking about me too?

1:00 PM: I miss you so much it hurts. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way before.

2:00 PM: I’m hard... It's so embarrassing. Do you think I should touch myself?

3:00 PM: I love you. I miss you. I need you. Please come home soon.

He knew he was being pathetic, absolutely pitiful, even. Spencer Reid, BAU genius, reduced to a lovesick fool who couldn't even go a day without hearing from you. It was embarrassing, really. But he couldn't help himself; his emotions were a whirlwind, and you were the eye of the storm—the calm he so desperately sought.

He knew you were busy, embroiled in the intricacies of the case, piecing together the psychological profiles that would lead the team to the unsub. He respected that, understood it more than anyone. Still, the emptiness of your absence gnawed at him, clawing at his insides until he felt like he was going mad.

As night fell, he lay sprawled on his bed, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. The room was dark, save for the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. Shadows danced across the ceiling, and he imagined your silhouette beside him, tracing the curves of your body with his eyes, feeling the warmth of your presence.

And then, finally, his phone buzzed with the notification he had been waiting for—your nightly call. Spencer's heart leaped at the sight of your name flashing on the screen. He scrambled to answer, almost dropping the phone in his haste.

“Hey,” he breathed, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He wanted to sound confident, but the anticipation of hearing your voice made it hard to keep his composure.

“Hi,” you replied, but your tone was laced with a hint of annoyance that made Spencer wince. “How was your day?”

Spencer hesitated, searching for the right words. “How—how was your day?” he repeated nervously, trying to ease the tension he sensed from you.

You sighed, the sound echoing through the line. “Other than my phone going off every two seconds, it was fine.”

His heart sank, guilt washing over him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling the weight of his own neediness pressing down on him.

“What did we talk about?” Your voice was firm, demanding an answer he was struggling to find.

“I don’t—I don’t remember,” he mumbled, the words tumbling out of him in a pathetic attempt to buy himself time.

“Don’t play dumb, baby,” you said, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper that sent shivers down his spine. “Put that eidetic memory to work. Tell me right now, or your ass will be so red when I get back.”

Spencer squeaked at the imagery, feeling his face heat up at the thought. His mind raced as he tried to recall the conversation, panic mixing with a strange thrill at your words. “Okay! You said… not to text you unless it was important, that you’d call me when you’re in the hotel,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“That’s right, my smart boy,” you said, and he could hear the smile in your voice now. “You need to be patient, Spence. I know you miss me, and I miss you too, but we agreed on this for a reason.”

Spencer nodded, even though you couldn’t see him, his heart aching with a longing that was both painful and sweet. “I know,” he murmured, feeling the tension in his body ease as he listened to your voice, the gentle reprimand laced with affection. “I just… I miss you so much.”

“I know, baby,” you soothed, your voice like a balm to his frayed nerves. “And I promise, when I get back, we’ll make up for lost time.”

—

As soon as you set foot in your shared apartment, Spencer was up and running from his spot in the reading chair, the book he had been pretending to read for the past hour forgotten. He practically threw himself at you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close, his face burying in your neck as he breathed in the scent that was just so—you. It was as if he couldn’t get close enough, as if he wanted to meld into you completely, the relief of having you back washing over him like a tidal wave.

“Hi, baby,” you laughed softly, your arms encircling him as you returned the embrace, feeling his neediness and desperation in the way he clung to you.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured against your skin, his voice tinged with an aching vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings.

“I missed you too,” you replied, your fingers gently threading through his hair, offering him the comfort and reassurance he craved.

Spencer’s body was pressed tightly against yours, and you could feel him start to wiggle, subtly at first, as if testing the waters. But soon his movements became more insistent, his hips grinding against you in a desperate attempt to find some relief for the neglected erection that had been tormenting him during your absence.

“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, pulling back slightly to look at him, raising an eyebrow as you caught the sheepish expression on his face.

“...nothing,” he mumbled, his cheeks turning a deep shade of pink as he averted his gaze, suddenly finding the floor incredibly interesting.

You pushed him off gently, taking a step back to give yourself some space. Spencer’s shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his hands, the sting of embarrassment and rejection written all over his face. 

“I just walked in the door, and you’re already trying to hump me like a bitch in heat?” you chided, your tone firm but not unkind. It was clear he had been waiting for this moment, stewing in his own need and desperation, and you couldn’t help but find his pathetic eagerness endearing.

Spencer glanced up at you, his eyes wide and pleading, the blush on his cheeks deepening. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice small, shame and longing swirling in his chest.

You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “I think you need to learn some patience, Spence,” you said, your voice dropping to a husky murmur that made his heart race. “But don’t worry, I’m here now, and I’m going to take care of you. Just not until I’m ready. Understand?”

He nodded, his breath hitching at the promise in your words, his anticipation building as he realized he’d have to wait a little longer to get what he so desperately craved.

“Good,” you said, reaching out to gently tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Why don’t you make us some tea while I get settled? Then we can see about that little problem of yours.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, the submissive role coming naturally to him as he eagerly turned toward the kitchen, his heart racing with excitement at the prospect of what was to come.

As you watched him walk away, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of satisfaction at how easily he fell into place, his neediness a palpable presence in the room. It was a dance the two of you had perfected over time, a delicate balance of power and trust that left you both feeling fulfilled and connected in a way that was beyond words. 

Once you were settled, you called him back to you. He returned with a tray, the tea carefully prepared, his hands slightly trembling as he set it down on the table. He looked at you expectantly, hope and trepidation in his eyes, waiting for your next move.

“Come here, Spencer,” you said softly, patting the spot next to you on the couch.

He obeyed immediately, sitting close enough that his leg brushed against yours, his body taut with anticipation. You reached out, your hand finding his, your touch gentle yet commanding, a silent reminder of who was in charge.

“Are you ready to be a good boy for me?” you asked, your voice low and teasing, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his voice quivering with eagerness, his eyes shining with a mixture of adoration and need.

"Good," you murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips, a promise of what was to come, the warmth of your breath mingling with his. Spencer’s heart soared at the touch, his whole body tingling with anticipation. He tried to press into you further, reaching for your hips to pull you into his lap, yearning for more contact, more of you. But before he could make his move, you slapped his hands away and pulled back.

Dazed, he looked at you with wide puppy eyes, his expression portaying confusion and longing. "What?" he asked softly, his voice laced with desperation.

"I need you to do something for me, baby. Can you do that?" you asked, your voice a silky command that sent shivers down his spine.

Spencer nodded so fast he resembled a bobblehead, eager to please, to do whatever you asked of him. His eyes were filled with unwavering devotion, the need to be good for you evident in every fiber of his being.

"Good boy…" You praised him, a wicked smile playing on your lips as you stood up, walking toward the bedroom with a sway in your hips that was both enticing and authoritative. Spencer eagerly followed you, his heart pounding in his chest as he anticipated what was to come.

When you reached the bedroom, you pointed to the chair in the corner, your eyes never leaving his. "Sit down," you instructed, your voice firm yet gentle.

Spencer reluctantly took a seat, his mind racing. This wasn’t usually how things went, and he felt a twinge of uncertainty mingling with his excitement. "Babe?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice as he tried to understand your plan.

"Shhh… Can you be quiet for me?" you asked, your tone soothing yet commanding, and he nodded again, eager to comply.

He watched as you moved around the room with purpose, his eyes following your every step. His anticipation grew with each passing moment, the air between you charged with a tension that was both electrifying and maddening. Spencer sat on the edge of the chair, his hands gripping the armrests as he tried to contain his eagerness, his heart beating a frenzied rhythm in his chest.

He was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, the urge to touch you warring with the need to obey, to be the good boy you wanted him to be. He knew he had to trust you, to let go of his own desires and surrender to the moment, to the pleasure you promised.

You glanced over at him, your eyes meeting his, and the look you gave him was filled with a promise that made his pulse race. He could feel his resolve wavering, the need to reach out and pull you close overwhelming. But he held himself back, knowing that your control over him was part of what made this so exhilarating, so intoxicating.

Spencer took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, to let go of his own wants and needs, and focus solely on you, on the sexual tension, on the connection that bound you together. He was yours, and he knew that this moment would be worth every agonizing second of waiting.

Once you finished collecting the items you needed, you walked just close enough to Spencer that he couldn't touch you and began to strip. Spencer slowly realized he was being punished, as undressing you was one of his favorite things to do, whether or not it was sexual in nature. He loved the sensation of removing each piece, the anticipation that built with every button undone and every zipper pulled. It was an intimate act that spoke of trust and desire, something that made him feel closer to you than anything else.

He whimpered from his seat in the chair, gripping the arms tightly. His fingers dug into the fabric, struggling to maintain his composure as he watched you, every muscle in his body tense with longing. You continued until you were bare, your skin glowing with a confidence that made his heart skip a beat. You winked at him, teasing him with the promise of what was to come, before walking back to the bed and climbing on with a graceful ease that left him breathless.

Spencer wanted to talk, to plead, to explain himself, but he didn't want his punishment to get worse. He was caught between his desire to be good and his desperation for relief. So he did the only thing he could think of—he raised his hand, a silent request for permission to speak, his eyes wide and imploring.

You laughed softly, the sound wrapping around him like a caress. "Yes, baby? You can talk," you said, your tone both gentle and authoritative, holding the power to both soothe and command.

"Am I being punished?" Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with a mixture of curiosity and resignation.

"Yes, smart boy. You are," you replied, watching him with a steady gaze, your words firm but laced with affection.

"Why?" He ventured the question, a tentative exploration of his transgressions.

"Why do you think?" you asked, challenging him to delve into his own behavior, to understand the reasons behind his current predicament.

Spencer thought as much as he could in his state, his mind swirling with a chaotic mix of emotions. "Um, is it, uh, because I touched myself?" he ventured hesitantly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Well, I didn’t know about that, but thank you for telling me," you said, your lips curling into a sly smile as you watched Spencer's entire face fall, realizing he had just outed himself.

"Try again, Spence," you prompted, giving him another chance to find the true answer.

"Because I, I texted you too much?" he guessed, his voice small and contrite, like a child admitting to a misdeed.

"Good job, baby boy. You're done talking now," you confirmed, acknowledging his confession. "Now you get to watch."

With that, you pulled out your favorite toy, the bane of Spencer's existence, to pleasure yourself. It was a delicious torment, a visual feast designed to both punish and tantalize, to teach him the value of patience and obedience.

Spencer watched, his breath hitching as you began to rub the vibrator on your clit, the sight both mesmerizing and agonizing. He was captivated by the way you moved, the way you seemed so utterly in control, the way you drew out your own pleasure with an ease that left him reeling.

Spencer's eyes never left you, drinking in every detail, every gasp and moan, every shiver of your body as you pleasured yourself. His need was growing exponentially, a desperate ache that throbbed in time with his racing heart, a longing that was both exquisite and unbearable. Every fiber of his being was attuned to you, yearning for your touch, your approval, your love.

You were a vision of temptation, a goddess in your own right, and Spencer was helpless to do anything but watch, his hands gripping the chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, the frustration and desire bubbling over into soft whimpers and pleas that slipped from his lips despite his best efforts to remain silent.

The room was filled with the sounds of your pleasure, a symphony that played just for him, a reminder of the power you held over him. Each sound, each movement was a sweet torture, intensifying his need until it was a tangible force, pressing down on him with relentless intensity. He felt a sob rise in his throat, a sound of both yearning and surrender.

"Please," he whispered, the word escaping him before he could stop it, his voice cracking with emotion.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a knowing smile that made his heart skip a beat. "No talking, remember?" you reminded him gently, your voice a sultry command that sent shivers down his spine.

Spencer nodded, biting his lip to stifle the whine that threatened to spill forth. Tears slipped down his cheeks, hot and unbidden, as he struggled to keep himself in check, the battle between obedience and desperation waging a fierce war within him.

Even though he was being punished, he knew that this was part of what made your relationship so special, so unique—a delicate balance of dominance and submission that left him feeling more alive than he had ever thought possible. The act of surrender, of giving himself over to you completely, was a heady sensation, one that filled him with a profound sense of belonging.

However, as you entered your core with the toy, Spencer let out a heart-wrenching sob, the sound filled with raw emotion. It was a sound that spoke of betrayal and longing, a testament to the war inside him. That should be him! He couldn’t help the tears that fell, his feelings a torrent that he couldn’t control. You didn’t chide him for that noise, knowing that he couldn’t hold back from that much. It was a moment of vulnerability that made your heart swell with empathy and power, seeing just how deeply he felt, how completely he had surrendered to you.

The vibrator in your hand whirred quietly as you reached your own peak, and then you turned it off, the room descending into a hushed silence as you calmed your breathing, your chest rising and falling as you regained your composure. You climbed off the bed, your movements fluid and deliberate, each step a reminder of the control you held.

You walked over to Spencer, who was still sitting in the chair, a picture of longing and obedience, his eyes glistening with both shed and unshed tears. You offered him your hand, a gesture of both forgiveness and invitation, a silent promise that the moment of his punishment was over.

Spencer took your hand immediately, rising from the chair with a quiet eagerness that spoke volumes about his desire to please you, to earn back your favor. His obedience was at an all-time high, each movement careful and deliberate, as if he were afraid of making a misstep.

“You did so good, baby. It’s over, okay?” you murmured softly, your voice soothing as you reached up to gently wipe away the remnants of his tears. Your touch was tender, an unspoken reassurance that filled the space between you with warmth and affection.

He nodded, sniffling slightly, fresh tears running over the ones already dried on his cheeks. The vulnerability in his eyes tugged at your heart, and you couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight of him so open, so trusting.

“Do you want your reward?” you asked, your tone teasing yet filled with genuine affection, knowing that he had earned the comfort and love that only you could provide.

“Yes, please,” he whispered, his voice filled with longing, the need for your touch evident in every word. His eyes met yours, filled with a hopeful longing that made your heart skip a beat, a promise that he would do anything to stay in this moment with you.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, a promise of the reward that awaited him, a sweet culmination of all his patience and obedience. Spencer melted into you, his body relaxing as the tension ebbed away, replaced by the soothing balm of your touch.

With a soft smile, you led him to the bed, guiding him with a tenderness that spoke of love and understanding, ready to give him everything he had been waiting for, ready to show him just how much he meant to you. 

"Okay, baby, it's your choice first. What do you want?" you asked, a gentle encouragement in your voice as you gave Spencer the rare opportunity to express his desires. It was a gesture of trust and affection, a way to show him that his needs were important to you, even within the dynamic you shared.

Spencer blinked, momentarily stunned by the unexpected freedom you offered him. He almost never had any sort of control in the bedroom, and the sudden responsibility of choosing what he wanted was both exhilarating and daunting. His mind raced, a kaleidoscope of possibilities flashing through his thoughts as he considered his options.

"Uh, um," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with both embarrassment and excitement, "can you, um, lay down?"

"Sure, Spence," you laughed softly, the sound warm and inviting as you moved to accommodate his request.

Once you were laying on your back, your body a canvas of curves and soft skin, Spencer crawled between your legs, his eyes drawn to the glistening slick that beckoned to him. The evidence of what you had done was a siren call, screaming at him to reclaim you, to remind himself of who you belonged to just as much as he did.

Wordlessly, he leaned down, his breath warm against your skin as he positioned himself with reverent care. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with awe and adoration, before he licked your core from base to crest, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through your entire being, making you moan in response.

His touch was gentle yet insistent, his movements guided by a deep-seated desire to please you, to erase the distance that had been between you and replace it with something more profound. As his tongue worked its magic, he focused on every reaction, every gasp and shiver, adjusting his actions to draw out your pleasure in waves that washed over you.

You felt your body responding to his touch, a symphony of sensations that built steadily, the connection between you deepening with every pass of his tongue against your clit. It was a dance of devotion and need, a testament to the trust you had built together, and the love that underpinned every moment of your shared intimacy.

Spencer’s hands gripped your thighs, steadying himself as he delved deeper into the moment, his senses overwhelmed by the taste and scent of you, the soft sounds of your moans spurring him on. He was utterly consumed by his task, lost in the rhythm of your responses, the symphony of your pleasure, a song he never tired of hearing.

As he continued, you felt the tension in your body coil tighter, the anticipation building with every passing second. Spencer was relentless in his devotion, his tongue and lips moving in a rhythm that threatened to send you over the edge. The sensations were overwhelming, a rising crescendo of pleasure that filled every corner of your being.

But you didn’t want to finish just yet. You wanted to savor the moment, to draw out the exquisite tension that lingered between you. With a gentle but firm push, you moved Spencer away before it was too late, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you fought to regain control.

Spencer looked up at you, confusion and distress clouding his eyes. He immediately started tearing up again, a wave of insecurity washing over him as he tried to make sense of the situation. He blinked rapidly, his voice breaking with emotion as he tried to understand what he had done wrong.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he babbled, his words tumbling over each other in a frantic rush. “Please let me try again, I’ll do better, I promise, please, just–”

“Whoa, baby, slow down,” you interrupted gently, reaching out to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide and searching yours for reassurance. You could see the emotions swirling within him, a cocktail of desperation, fear, and hope that tugged at your heart.

“You did nothing wrong, Spence,” you assured him softly, your voice a calming balm that soothed the jagged edges of his anxiety. “I just didn’t want to come yet. You were doing so well, baby.”

He sniffled, his lower lip quivering slightly as he processed your words, relief flooding his system like a tidal wave. The tension in his shoulders eased, replaced by a tentative hope that he hadn’t disappointed you.

“Really?” he asked, his voice small and unsure, as if he were afraid to believe it.

"Really,” you confirmed with a warm smile, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his skin. “You were amazing, Spencer. I just wanted to take care of you first, okay?”

“Oh,” Spencer blushed, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink as he tried to hide his face in your hands. He was such a giver that sometimes he forgot you liked to give too. The thought of you wanting to focus on his pleasure made his heart race with excitement and gratitude.

“Can I touch you, baby?” you asked softly, your voice laced with affection and a hint of playful intent.

“Mhm,” he nodded eagerly, his eyes shining with anticipation as he gave you his permission.

You switched positions, guiding Spencer to lay down on the bed, his body stretched out beneath you like a beautiful canvas. He watched with wide eyes as you climbed over his legs, your movements graceful and deliberate. You began to mouth along his adorable tummy, placing gentle kisses that made him giggle and squirm beneath you.

“Stop it, that tickles!” he laughed, his voice a joyful melody that filled the room. He tried to keep still, but his body naturally reacted to your teasing touches, causing his muscles to twitch and shift under your lips.

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with affection at the sight of his genuine happiness. “Keep still,” you instructed playfully, your tone both loving and commanding, a mix that Spencer found utterly irresistible.

“I’ll try,” Spencer promised, his voice a bit shaky as he fought to obey your command. His eyes were wide, filled with a combination of anticipation and delight as he felt your lips continue their journey across his skin.

As you licked down his sparse trail of hair, you felt his body respond, muscles tensing beneath your tongue. He took a deep, steadying breath, the sound still a bit shaky, but he was doing better, finding his center amidst the flurry of sensations.

“Okay, Spence?” you asked, pausing to look up at him, ensuring he was comfortable and at ease.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he replied, his voice a little breathless but filled with warmth and trust. He couldn’t help the happy tears that welled up in his eyes, the emotion of the moment washing over him in waves. The feeling of being so cared for, so cherished, made him feel safe and loved in a way that was almost overwhelming.

“Okay,” you murmured, a note of reassurance in your voice, before you took him into your mouth, your movements deliberate and precise, a dance of intimacy that you had both perfected over time.

“Oh my god!” he cried, his voice a mixture of surprise and ecstasy, his head falling back against the pillow as the pleasure washed over him in waves. The sensation was almost too much, too intense, and he let out a series of whimpering cries, unable to hold back the sounds that escaped his lips.

Tears slipped down his cheeks, his eyes fluttering closed as he gave in to the sensations coursing through him. The feeling of your mouth wrapped around him was almost too much to bear, a pleasure so profound that it bordered on pain, he had been on edge for so long. He was lost in the moment, caught in a web of need and longing, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

“Please, please,” he begged, his voice hitching with each word. He could feel the tears spilling over, a combination of joy and desperation that he couldn’t contain. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You smiled softly, knowing that you had him right where you wanted him. His voice was a beautiful swirl of whines and pleas, a testament to the depth of his need and the power you held over him.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” you cooed, your voice a soothing balm that eased the tension in his body, even as the sensations continued to build. “Just relax and let go, okay?”

Spencer nodded, his head moving in jerky motions as he tried to follow your command. His body trembled with the effort of holding himself together, of staying still under the onslaught of pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. His hands clutched at the sheets, his knuckles white with the effort of maintaining control.

“I’m trying,” he whimpered, his voice cracking with emotion. “It just feels so good, I can’t—oh god, please!”

The tears flowed freely now, his cheeks wet with the evidence of his vulnerability. But he didn’t care, didn’t try to hold back the emotion that spilled over, knowing that he was safe here, that he was loved and cherished and understood. Every tear was a testament to the depth of his trust in you, to the surrender that came so naturally when he was with you.

As you licked and sucked his cock, Spencer felt himself go a little bit more insane. The sensations were overwhelming, each touch a bolt of electricity that shot through him, igniting every nerve ending with exquisite pleasure. When your tongue traced the ridge along his head, he thought he died and ascended to a higher being, the world around him fading away until there was nothing but you and the bliss you were giving him.

His body trembled beneath you, his muscles tensing and relaxing in a dance of ecstasy that left him breathless. Every stoke of your tongue was a sweet torture, a reminder of just how much he needed you. He felt like he was on the edge of something monumental, something that would shatter him and remake him all at once.

No longer able to hold his release any longer, Spencer began to babble again, the words spilling from his lips in a torrent of need and desperation.

“Oh, I’m going to come, please. Ohhh… please, can I come? I’ve been so good. Please!” he pleaded, his voice full of whimpers and cries, the emotion raw and unfiltered.

His eyes met yours, wide and imploring, filled with a desperate need for permission, for your blessing. His chest heaved with each breath, his body straining against the pleasure that threatened to consume him, to pull him under into a sea of bliss that he both feared and longed for.

“Please,” he begged again, the tears continuing to flow, each one a sign of his vulnerability, his surrender.

You paused for a moment, allowing the tension to build even further, your eyes locking with his, your expression both tender and commanding. The power you held over him was intoxicating, a heady mix of dominance and love that left you both breathless.

“Not yet, Spence,” you murmured softly, your voice a soothing balm that both calmed and ignited him, a promise of what was to come. “Just a little longer, okay? You can do it.”

Spencer let out a low whine, his body trembling with the effort of holding back, of obeying your command even as every fiber of his being screamed for release. But he nodded, his eyes shining with desperation and devotion, his heart full to bursting with the love he felt for you.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice a shaky breath that carried with it all the emotion of the moment, all the trust and need and longing that filled him to overflowing. “Okay, I’ll wait.”

He bit his lip, his body a taut line of tension and anticipation, every nerve ending alive with sensation as he held himself back. His mind was a whirl of pleasure, need, and love. It was a beautiful agony, a sweet torment that left him on the edge of everything, ready to fall into the abyss of bliss that awaited him. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a reminder of how close he was to the release he so desperately craved.

“Good boy,” you praised, your voice a melodic promise that resonated deep within him, and then you mouthed along his balls, your movements calculated to push him to his very limits.

The sensation was too much, the culmination of everything you had built together. Spencer’s control shattered, and he felt himself tipping over the edge, the world narrowing to a single point of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Spencer shouted, his voice carrying apology and ecstasy, as he came, the force of his release catching him by surprise, his body shuddering with the intensity of it.

His release hit you in unexpected places, getting his come in your hair and on your face, the aftermath of his pleasure painting a vivid picture of the depth of his release. 

You couldn't help but laugh softly, your eyes shining with amusement and affection as you took in his apologetic expression, the mix of embarrassment and satisfaction on his face endearing him to you even more.

“It’s okay, Spence,” you reassured him, your voice gentle and soothing as you reached up to wipe the sticky substance from your skin. “You just owe me one.”

“What…?” Spencer asked in a daze of post-orgasmic bliss, his mind still spinning from the intensity of the experience. His breath came in shallow gasps, and he felt as if he were floating, weightless and free, in the aftermath of the ecstasy you had given him.

“I said,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his thigh in a gentle kiss that sent shivers down his spine, “you owe me one.”

“Oh,” he replied, his eyes widening slightly. He was slightly scared at the prospect of what was to come, knowing that your idea of a reward was often as intense as it was pleasurable. But beneath that fear lay a bubbling excitement, a thrill at the thought of pleasing you, of being able to return the gift you had given him. 

“Think you can handle it?” you teased, your voice a holding challenge and affection as you watched the emotions play out across his face.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his answer immediate and earnest, his eagerness clear in his wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“Okay, baby,” you chuckled, a playful light in your eyes as you shifted to climb on top of him. Your movements were graceful and confident, a display of the control you wielded with such ease. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a charged electricity that wrapped around you both as you prepared to take him on another journey of pleasure.

You grabbed his soft shaft, your fingers gentle yet firm as you worked him in your hand, your touch a combination of care and precision that drew Spencer further into your spell. The sensations were overwhelming, a cascade of stimulation that left him breathless and trembling beneath you.

As you moved, Spencer writhed and whined in overstimulation, his body a live wire of sensation that sparked with every touch. The overstimulation sent him into a dizzying spiral of sensation, the world narrowing to the point where nothing existed but you and the incredible feelings you were coaxing from him.

“Oh, oh god,” he gasped, his voice filled with desperation and delight as he tried to process the onslaught of pleasure. His hands clutched at the sheets, his fingers curling into the fabric as he fought to hold on, to ride the wave of bliss that threatened to sweep him away completely.

“Just relax, Spence,” you murmured, your voice a soothing balm that wrapped around him, grounding him even as he felt himself slipping further into the depths of ecstasy. “I’ve got you.”

The assurance in your words, the confidence in your touch, allowed him to let go, to surrender completely to the moment and you. Spencer’s whines turned into soft moans, his body moving in time with yours. 

As you continued, he felt himself teetering on the edge once more, the pleasure building and building until it reached a crescendo that left him breathless, his world narrowing to a single, perfect point of ecstasy.

"Please, please," he begged, his voice a soft plea as he gazed up at you with wide, shining eyes, his heart full of gratitude and love. “Don’t stop, please, don’t stop.” His words were laced with desperation, a raw emotion that spilled from him in waves.

In that moment, you let go, pulling away just before he reached his peak. 

“No!” he whined, wiggling beneath you as his body searched for the contact he craved. His eyes were wide with disbelief and desperation, the sudden absence of your touch leaving him feeling adrift.

"Stop," you commanded gently, your voice a soothing balm that steadied him, even as you denied him the release he so desperately sought.

Spencer looked up with big eyes, waiting with bated breath for what was to come next. His chest rose and fell rapidly, anticipation and longing held him still, trusting you to guide him through the moment.

You rose up on your knees, positioning yourself with deliberate care, the soft, teasing smile on your lips hinting at the pleasure that awaited him. His gaze was fixed on you, awe and adoration in his eyes as he watched you take control.

Guiding his cock into your core, you moved with a grace that left him breathless, his heart racing as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of warmth and pressure that enveloped him, drawing a choked gasp from his lips as he felt himself surrounded by you.

You sank down until you were flush, ass to thighs, your bodies connected in a way that transcended the physical, leaving him trembling beneath you.

Spencer cried loud and drawn out, his noise one of ecstasy as his head fell back against the pillow, his mouth open in a silent cry of bliss. It was a vision that took your breath away, his body a canvas of sensation and emotion, every muscle taut with the intensity of the moment.

The pleasure washed over him in waves, each crest a surge of euphoria that left him gasping for breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he lost himself in the pleasure. His hands found their way to your hips, holding on as if you were his lifeline, grounding him amidst the dizzying swirl of sensation that filled his senses.

You moved with a rhythm that spoke of both tenderness and command, your body taking everything you wanted and needed from Spencer. 

“Please,” he whimpered, the word a breathless plea that slipped from his lips unbidden, hopeful this time you would listen. “Please, don’t stop, please.”

His voice was raw with emotion, the sincerity in his eyes a reflection of the trust he placed in you, the love that filled every corner of his heart as he gazed up at you, his vision of perfection and desire.

As you continued, guiding him through the waves of sensation with a skillful grace that left him breathless, Spencer knew that he was exactly where he belonged—in your arms, wrapped in the warmth of your love, the safety of your embrace.

Touch-starved and needy, now overstimulated and desperate for release, Spencer brought his fingers to your clit in hopes you would let him come again. His touch was tentative at first, the gentle pressure of his fingers a plea for more, a request for permission that you were more than willing to grant. He was caught between his desire for release and the need to please you, and every part of him was alive with the anticipation of what was to come.

“Oh, good boy, baby,” you praised, your voice a sultry murmur that sent shivers down his spine. His heart leaped at your words, the warmth of your approval wrapping around him like a comforting embrace. 

As he continued to rub your clit, his fingers moved with a deliberate precision that belied the need thrumming through him, his desire to make you feel as good as you made him. You writhed atop him, your body moving in sync with his, chasing your own release with a fervor that mirrored his own.

You could feel the tension building within you, each movement drawing you closer to the precipice, the edge of bliss that you both longed to reach. As you got closer, you purposefully clenched your walls, changing the angle in a way that made Spencer cry out in both pleasure and pain, the sensation pushing him toward the edge once more.

“Please, do that again,” he begged, his voice a breathless plea filled with desperation and hope. His eyes were wide and pleading, his need written across every line of his face.

And so you did.

With a knowing smile, you repeated the motion, the deliberate shift of your core creating a cascade of sensations that rippled through you both. Spencer’s body responded instinctively, his hips arching up to meet yours, his breath hitching in his throat as he felt himself being drawn into the depths of pleasure once more.

Every movement was a dance of desire, sensation that wrapped around you both, binding you together in a shared experience of bliss. Spencer’s fingers never faltered, his touch a constant reminder of his devotion, his eagerness to please, to bring you to the same heights of ecstasy that he longed to reach.

As you continued, the tension in your body coiled tighter, a winding thread of sensation that promised release with every thrust, every touch. Spencer’s cries mingled with your own, a duet of pleasure that filled the room, echoing off the walls as you both teetered on the brink.

You could feel the climax rising within you, a wave of bliss that built with each passing moment, drawing you inexorably toward the peak of your desire. Spencer’s fingers moved in time with the roll of your hips, bringing you right where you needed to be.

With a final surge, you gave in to the sensations, the culmination of your shared desire sweeping over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy. Spencer’s cry echoed yours, a harmony of whimpers and moans that filled the room, leaving you both breathless and spent in the aftermath.

Spencer thrust once more, before coming inside you. The intensity of the moment left him breathless, his body shuddering with the force of his release. You both knew he didn’t ask, but neither of you cared. The unspoken understanding between you was enough, a silent agreement that transcended words. 

Just happy to have you home and be back in each other’s arms, you both reveled in the warmth of the embrace, the security of knowing that you were where you belonged. His breath came in soft gasps as he tried to recover, the afterglow of the experience wrapping around him like a warm blanket.

“Welcome home,” Spencer murmured, his voice a whisper of contentment as he nuzzled into your neck, his arms wrapping around you with a gentle possessiveness that spoke volumes about how much he had missed you.

You smiled, your fingers tracing soothing patterns along his back, a gentle reminder of your presence, your promise to always return to him. The motion was soft and reassuring, a silent affirmation of the bond that had kept you together through time and distance. Spencer melted into your touch, the tension in his muscles slowly unwinding under your gentle caress.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered back, your voice tender and filled with sincerity. The words were a balm to his soul, soothing the ache of longing that had settled in his chest during your absence.

“I love you,” he whispered into your skin, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled closer, seeking the comfort and safety that only you could provide. 

“I love you more, baby,” you replied softly, your voice a gentle promise that wrapped around him like a protective embrace.

The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the comfort and security of each other’s arms. It was a moment of perfect peace, where nothing else mattered but the warmth of your bodies pressed together, the rhythmic beating of your hearts creating a soothing melody that lulled you both into a state of contentment.

[soulaires]

Hello everything is fine?

I would like to ask Aaron Warner for something, I imagine something, where maybe the reader got hurt and Aaron takes care of her, changing her bandages, doing the reader's work and well... hugs, LOTS of hugs

Sanctuary.

pairings: Aaron Warner x Reader

summary: his top priority will always be you.

warnings: hurt/comfort, fluff, soft Aaron, bf!AaronWarner…

« words: 1,028┇ao3┇reblogs are appreciated! »

🏷 :: @ravisinghs-wife @ab-baybay @aaronwarnerobsessedmylove @cosmicswan @nomournersonefuneral @corpsedoll777

Your day had started like any other, but little did you know that it would take an unexpected turn. As a dedicated commander in the sector, you often found yourself caught up in the chaos of everyday life. On this particular day, however, fate had something else in store for you.

A mundane trip to the training room turned into a clumsy misadventure as you stumbled on an uneven pavement, twisting your ankle. As you winced in pain, you couldn’t help but be grateful that it wasn’t something more serious. Still, the throbbing ache in your ankle demanded attention.

Fortunately, your boyfriend, Aaron Warner, had insisted on accompanying you. His abilities, a gift or perhaps a curse, allowed him to sense the emotions and physical well-being of those around him. Today, as he accompanied you to the training room or gym, an unsettling feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. His instincts were telling him that something wasn’t right.

Aaron swiftly made his way towards you, his mind already calculating the best course of action. As he approached, you tried to hide the pain, a brave smile on your face.

“Love, are you okay?” He asked you, concern etched on his face.

You managed a half-smile, trying to downplay the situation. “I’m fine. Just a little twist, nothing major.” you insisted, but your attempt at bravado was met with a skeptical arch of his eyebrow.

But your boyfriend obviously wasn’t convinced. Aaron took a step closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he peered into your eyes. “You’re hurt,” he stated, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

You sighed, relenting under his intense gaze. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Aaron, however, was having none of it. With a stern expression, He gently lifted your body, carrying you in a bridal style. ”Let’s get you home and take a look at that ankle.” His touch was both reassuring and possessive, as if he could shield you from any harm with just the strength of his presence.

“I can still walk by myself, you know. I still have my other one.” You stated stubbornly that made him chuckle in amusement,

“Mhm, I know you can but let me, love.” He said as you opened your mouth to protest, but you noticed his tone and action that silenced you. It wasn’t a request; it was a statement. He wanted you to rest and be comfortable.

Once you guys were at your shared bedroom, Aaron guided you to the bed and insisted you put your feet up to the little chair he brought. He then kissed your forehead, “I will be right back, my love.” And he disappeared somewhere, returning with an ice pack and a first aid kit.

“I think I might have some bandages somewhere in here,” he mumbled, rifling through the contents of the first aid kit.

He then carefully assessed the extent of your injuries. His fingers traced the lines of a bruise, his touch gentle yet purposeful. “You need to take better care of yourself,” he chided softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and affection.

“You don’t have to be worried about me.” You insist.

His lips curled into a small, affectionate smile. “Love, it’s kind of my thing, worrying about you. Now, let me finish this, and we can cuddle to sleep.”

As he worked, Aaron’s mind raced with thoughts of how he could make things easier for you. His protective instincts kicked into overdrive, and he couldn’t fathom the idea of you enduring unnecessary pain.

"Better?" he asked, looking up at you with a soft smile.

You nodded, grateful for your beloved. “Much better. Thank you, darling.”

He sat down beside you, placing a soft kiss to your lips and softly pinching your nose. “You are very much welcome, my love. Now, you just rest here. I’ll take care of everything else, yeah?”

And true to his word, your boyfriend seamlessly stepped into the role of caretaker. He fetched a warm tea and was making sure you were comfortable on the bed. He even went as far as grabbing your book and setting it up on the bedside table. ”I've got everything under control,” he assured you, his gaze warm and reassuring.

You couldn’t help but smile at his unwavering support. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Aaron smirked, a playful glint in his eyes. "I will try my best. Now, get some rest, love”

As you settled into the sanctuary of the shared bedroom, Warner didn’t leave your side. Instead, he draped a blanket over your shoulders, peppered you with kisses, played with your hair, and hugged you most of the day. The concern in his eyes never wavered.

Hours passed, marked by the occasional murmur of conversation and the gentle hum of the surroundings. Aaron, always vigilant, kept an eye on you, ensuring that you were comfortable and at ease. The day transformed into a quiet sanctuary, a haven.

“Feeling better?” he asked, his eyes filled with genuine concern.

You nodded, ”Much better, thanks to you.” As you leaned over to his chest.

Aaron holds you tighter in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Of course, love. It's the least I can do.”

“I really appreciate everything you’ve done today, baby,” you said, your gaze filled with gratitude.

He smiled, his eyes softening. “It’s my pleasure. I hate seeing you in pain, and if I can make things a little better, then it is worth it.”

Before you could respond, Aaron wrapped his arms around you in a more tight embrace. His warmth enveloped you, and you felt a sense of security in his arms.

“Thank you again for taking care of me,” you whispered, your head nestled against his chest.

“Always,” Aaron replied, his voice a soothing melody. “And I’m sorry you got hurt,” he murmured against your hair, his words a tender caress. “I wish I could shield you from every pain.”

You leaned into the embrace, savoring the warmth and comfort he provided. “I wouldn’t want it any other way,” you whispered, your fingers gently tracing patterns on his back.

[sugarlywhispers]

g.satoru + reader that traveled dimensions

☆–ANGST, dimension traveler!reader, mentions of injuries and monsters/curses that eat people (lol i don't know how else to explain it), maybe a bit of fluff (? honestly, it's mostly angst).

☆–a.n; i was not able to finish the next chapter of KOI NO YOKAN cuz i'm a bit stuck, so it'll take a bit longer for that. as an apology, here is my first Gojo Satoru angst </3 lol take into consideration that i haven't read the manga, i only watched the anime, so sorry if it's not as accurate.✌🏼🤍

It's a Spring night, almost 11pm. You stand on the balcony, admiring the amazing view before your eyes. A beautiful forest that adorns around Jujutsu Tech, like a protection barrier that alienates the old school from the rest of the world, and beyond that, the city lights that illuminates the night. The soft breeze makes your hair float a bit and the fresh air makes you take a deep breath, enjoying the slight smell of damp grass and flowers. You couldn't sleep. And neither could him. How could you, after a day as stressful as it had been.

You look up at the night sky. For some reason, the city lights do not interfere in the amazing clear and full of stars sky above you. You wonder if it is some kind of energy that allows that.

It's so beautiful, you have never seen a sky as gorgeous as this one. The smile that spreads throughout your face is impossible to hold back.

"It's a beautiful night, right?" It's a rhetorical question you just ask to create a kind environment between you two.

Gojo Satoru accompanies you on the balcony, but different from you, he's not looking in the direction of the city. He's looking your way, his back towards the rest of the outside world, just leaning on the wall at the edge of the balcony right next to you. He's almost sitting on it, one of his long legs crossed over the other; one of his hands supports a bit of his weight over the space of the wall that functions as a railing, his other hand is stretched on his side, dangling the sunglasses he always wear when he does not have his blindfold over his eyes. You can feel them over you, following your every move.

It's been like that since what happened the day before.

Yesterday started quite normally. Even though you lived at the school –mostly for protection, there were still questions as to how you traveled through dimensions and landed on a world that to you it just existed in a manga and an anime. Gojo thought that the question should be directed as to who made you travel dimensions– you worked in the city of Tokyo, a very mundane job at a coffee shop compared to what the rest of the people you lived with did for a living.

Talking about it, you are able to see them–the curses. Why? You don't know. You don't have an ounce of cursed energy to fight them, but you can see them. And they are the ugliest and terrifying creatures you have ever seen. You remember the first time you saw one, the shock made you almost climb Gojo's tall body for protection, because he was right next to you when it happened. He had laughed so hard at you, you tried to punch him on the ribs. Unable to, thanks to his infinity cursed energy. It's a weird sensation, the space between him and his energy made tingles ran through your body. Pleasantly, because he wasn't in a fighting and protective mood against you.

Back to yesterday, it had been a normal day. Until the midday sun was almost completely covered by something so big in the sky it darkened the whole city. You knew it then. Something bad was going to happen.

And it did. Curses ran freely around the city center, very close to where your work place was. It was chaos. People getting killed and devoured by this creatures in the most grotesque ways. You have never seen anything like this, not even in your worst nightmare. Yet there you were, a baseball bat on your hands trying to land a hit on the medium to big, disgustingly ugly curse that had followed you, trapped in an alley with your coworker–a young girl, barely over her teenage phase, who was in her first year of college, screaming in fear and hiding behind you. You knew it was futile, a waste of time and strength. You could do nothing against this creature. So you yelled at her to run far and fast as you would try to distract it. You succeeded, but you didn't count on losing your bat as the curse ate it. Now you were screwed.

It's mouth stank of blood and dirt and something smoky you could not –nor wanted to– decipher what it was, but it was nauseating. When it swallowed you whole, you thought this was it; this was how you would die. Disintegrated inside a curse's stomach to nothing but mere liquid and…nothing. What a bitch of a luck.

So many things you regretted at that moment. Especially the things you didn't do or didn't say. Towards a certain someone.

Gojo Satoru.

You wondered where was he. Probably battling some other strong curse, the biggest and most dangerous from them all. He'll also probably–no, you were sure he would win.

And where were you? Inside of the stupidest curses of them all, judging by all the meaningless things this fucking creature ate apart from you. How pathetic.

You didn't know how many hours passed but you started feeling dizzy, weak and the stomach liquid of this curse was starting to burn your skin as it began to fill more and more the space. You were about to pass out when suddenly, the smocky, repulsive odor  was replace by lightness… and the distinctive eyes of Gojo Satoru. A crazed expression on his face, like a madman possessed and ready for revenge.

You said his name, a faint murmur filled with content and relief, before letting yourself go to that darkness that was pulling your mind.

When you woke up at the next day, he was there. Gojo sat on a chair right next to your bed, his big and warm hand covering your bandaged one resting at the side of your body. He was wide awake, his beautiful and profound eyes looking at you. His other hand caressed the top of your head, as softly as he was able to, trying, afraid to touch any part of you that might hurt.

You smiled, "Hi."

"Hi," Gojo smiled back.

There was no need to say anything else. You both knew.

And since that moment, he hasn't left your side. You go to the kitchen, he's right behind you. You go to the living room area, he makes a few more steps passing you to open the big, old wooden door for you. You wanted to take some air out on the balcony, he's right there too.

Like now, like he's been all day.

When you talk about how beautiful the night is, Gojo Satoru doesn't look up at the sky. You can feel his eyes on you, so when you look back down, you're not surprise to collide with his. They look like they always do. Light blue mixed with tones of blue and purple and white and sparkles of the musky universe in them. It's so unique, you feel enraptured, completely spellbound by its shades. It's like watching the whole beauty of the universe in them. Beautiful doesn't even make them justice.

And those same eyes, that belong to this man right next to you, are the one who say, "You are beautiful."

The blush on your cheeks is inevitable, but it mixes with some of the reddish in your skin thanks to the burns. You break the spell looking down on your hands, which are bandaged and a reminder.

"I– "

"NO," you interrupt him, voice firm and looking back at him, who now has an expression of surprise and concern. You shake your head, "Just… Don't say it…" Your eyes close as your words end in a whisper.

You know what he's about to say. You can feel it. You have been able to feel it since a while ago. Because you feel it too.

You like each other. 

Damn, you have liked him since he was only a manga character to you. How or why does he like you? You don't know. But there is something you do know…

You are not for him.

You aren't suppose to be here in the first place. You somehow believe that this world is real, that you traveled dimensions, simply because the pain you felt landing here was too great to fake it. Too real for your mind to just imagine it. But that's it.

You don't have any special talent to actually help or deserve being here. You don't have any reason to be here. You are as commonly mortal as you had always been, in exception to seeing curses. But here, there are normal humans who can see them too. You're not special.

And what happened yesterday only proves how weak you are.

You can't be with someone as strong as Gojo Satoru. He doesn't deserve it.

You suddenly feel something press against your forehead, and you know it's his when his breath collides with yours, his nose caressing yours delicately.

"Why?" He simply asks in a whisper.

You can't tell him what you actually think, it won't work. Gojo Satoru is known for being the kind of man who doesn't take a no for an answer if he doesn't have all the details. So you use logic. Cruel and horrible logic.

"I'm not supposed to be here," you begin, and he takes a deep breath in, ready to start to contradict you and protest. But you pull back a bit so you can talk looking at him in the eyes. "Satoru," his whole face shows how his name on your voice makes him melt a bit, falling more towards you. As if a magnet is pulling him towards you and he's not putting any force against it.

You want to melt in his embrace too, but you can't.

"We don't know how much time I'll be here. It could be years, or months, or weeks… Even days, hours…"

He shakes his head, his eyes clear in denial as his arms surround your waist, pulling you to him. But you're already so close to each other, you just take a step closer to be standing in between his now opened legs as he sits on the railing. Your hands lay on his biceps and your fingers pull the cloth of his jacket, in a desperate attempt you ground yourself and not give into him. He's making it so difficult as his hands caress your back.

You gulp when the intention is clear as water in his eyes. He wants to kiss you.

"I can't promise you anything…"

"I don't want promises. I want you."

Tingles ran through your body at his confession. And you want to cry. You want to drown in your tears and die so you don't have to say what you're about to.

"You know that if I have the chance, a minuscule opportunity to go back, I will take it. I have to," he cuts with the intense stare between your eyes and looks down, clearly hurt by your words. But you need him to understand. You grab his face between your hands, thumbs caressing the smooth skin of his cheeks and he leans into them, furrowing and arms tightening around your waist. Not wanting to let go.

Gojo opens his eyes again, and the pain in them is enough to break your heart in thousands of pieces inside your chest.

"Wouldn't you want to go back to your loved ones? Your friends? The ones you consider family?" He sighs, because even though he doesn't answer, it's a clear yes.

Tears slide down your cheeks, and Gojo hates them. Hates seeing you cry, in pain.

You don't say anything else. Simply connect your foreheads once more, indulging yourselves one more moment of closeness, of caresses that spoke volumes of how much you both wanted to be together.

After minutes like that, you finally move apart, and he closes his eyes. He doesn't want to watch you walk away from him, slide away from in between his finger like dropplets of water. He doesn't want to see your heart broken through your eyes.

And Gojo Satoru feels like crying when he feels your lips press against his forehead before you finally walk away.

He doesn't open his eyes, but he hears you. He hears you stroll as fast as you could towards your room, where you finally let your sobs free out of your chest.

Satoru finally looks up to the night sky, filled with shining stars that decorate the view beautifully and as he has never seen before. Maybe it's because there's been a massive clean of curses yesterday.

But it's not as pretty as you are. There will never be anything more gorgeous than you to him.

But Gojo Satoru coincides, "It is a beautiful night," a traitorous tear slides down his cheek. "As beautiful as you are."

[piastrixpole]

chapter five

pairing: oscar piastri x carlos sainz

genre: written, love island au

prev/ story masterlist / next

Two days passed in relative calm, a strange lull that allowed the islanders to settle into a rhythm. The villa had grown quieter, with everyone getting used to the routines of villa life—sunbathing, chatting by the pool, and the occasional game to keep things lively. Oscar had found some peace in the mundanity, enjoying his conversations with Logan and banter with Alex, letting the tension with Carlos simmer down by staying as far away from him as possible. But, of course, nothing stayed quiet for long in the villa.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun hanging lazily over the horizon when the unmistakable chime of a text alert sounded. Carlos, stretched out on a lounger with his sunglasses perched on his nose, sat up and reached for his phone.

“I’ve got a text!” he called out, immediately drawing the attention of everyone lounging around.

The others, Oscar included, turned toward him as Carlos read the message aloud, his tone taking on an amused edge:

"Carlos, Alex, and Pierre. Francisca wants to get to know you better. Get ready for a date tonight, 7 p.m. sharp. Wear something that’ll make her heart race."

The sound of giggles, gasps, and whispers erupted across the villa as Carlos smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief. Alex, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Oscar before cracking a grin. Meanwhile, Pierre, who had been quietly minding his own business on the opposite side of the pool, suddenly looked like he’d been jolted awake.

Oscar, however, felt his stomach drop slightly. “Here we go again,” he muttered under his breath, already bracing for whatever chaos this new bombshell was about to stir up. He leaned toward Logan, who was sitting beside him, eyebrow raised. “What d’you reckon? You think this Francisca will turn heads?”

Logan gave him a teasing nudge. “If Carlos is involved, there’s bound to be drama. But I’ve got nothing to worry about, right?” She winked playfully.

“Right, of course. I’m completely unbothered,” Oscar replied, though the truth was far less clear in his own mind.

Pierre’s voice suddenly cut through the noise, his French accent thick as he read his own text aloud, shaking his head in disbelief: “Francisca, huh? Well, I guess I’ll have to charm her.”

Alex let out a laugh, clearly more amused than concerned. “Looks like the villa’s about to get shaken up again. Let’s see what Francisca’s got in store for us.”

Oscar watched as Carlos, Alex, and Pierre exchanged excited glances. The three boys were now the centre of attention, and a fresh wave of speculation rippled through the villa. Whispers of "Who’s Francisca?" and "What’ll she be like?" circulated among the girls, all of them wondering if this new bombshell would upset the balance of the villa.

Oscar, meanwhile, couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of relief that his name hadn’t been in that text. But that didn’t stop the nagging thought that with Carlos going on a date, things were bound to get complicated—again.

The rest of the day was a haze for Oscar, his thoughts drifting back to Carlos more than he’d like to admit. Carlos, out on a date with Francisca. The visual kept coming back, like an annoying loop. He’d seen Carlos saunter off earlier, throwing his usual cocky grin over his shoulder as he headed out. It shouldn’t have bothered him. But he hated the thought that it did.

He found himself nodding along to Logan’s stories but feeling distant, not fully tuned in. She was talking about her course or a funny lecture incident—something he’d usually jump at to bond over—but his focus was fraying at the edges. A pang of guilt hit him every time he noticed his thoughts wandering, every time he forced himself back into the present with Logan.

Logan was kind, smart, and easy going, and he genuinely liked her. He wanted to like her even more, if only he could keep himself from wondering what Carlos was doing on that date. The whole mess of emotions left him unsettled, guilty that Logan wasn’t getting his full attention, and aggravated by the fact that someone else was drawing his thoughts away from her.

Oscar wouldn’t really consider himself a gossip, but here he was, sprawled out on the balcony with the girls as they speculated over every possible detail about Francisca’s upcoming dates. From below, the occasional clang of weights and banter from George and Daniel echoed as the two boys worked out in the makeshift gym. Oscar caught himself glancing down at them, mildly envious of their ease, especially since his mind had been stuck on Carlos and this new girl for the better part of the day.

"So, which one do you think she’ll actually go for?” Carmen asked, her tone light but interested as she absently adjusted the hem of her sundress.

“Carlos is an obvious choice, right?” Logan added, leaning forward with her hands wrapped around her knees. “I mean, he’s got that whole smouldering vibe, like I’m-dangerous-but-deep kind of thing.” Her comment drew laughter from the girls, and a flash of discomfort flickered across Oscar’s face. He’d never admit it, but hearing Carlos described in a way that sounded almost admiring didn’t sit well with him.

He forced a shrug, trying for a tone he hoped was casual. “Maybe she’s looking for more than… all that.” His voice was low, but the dry tone wasn’t lost on the girls. Maxine raised an eyebrow, catching his expression

“Right, right. Because you would know all about what’s deep and meaningful?” She grinned, nudging him playfully.

Oscar smirked, feigning aloofness as he stretched his arms back, letting his eyes wander across the villa grounds. “Hey, I’m just saying, there’s more to a person than perfect abs and an accent.”

Logan gave him a look, her eyes sparking with quiet humour. “You really don’t like him, do you?” She tilted her head, her curiosity now aimed at him instead of Carlos.

“It’s not that,” Oscar hedged, scratching the back of his neck. “Just… not feeling the hype, I guess.” He shifted uncomfortably, feeling Logan’s gaze linger on him as the conversation around them swirled with renewed energy.

Maxine raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto her lips. “Come on, you’re definitely at least a little threatened.”

“I just don’t trust him not to do anything shady.” Oscar shrugged, his voice gruff but his eyes darted away, betraying him.

The girls burst into knowing laughter, and Oscar rolled his eyes, trying to play it off even as he felt a faint flush creep up his neck. But despite his attempt at aloofness, he kept an ear on every whispered prediction, every speculative comment about how Carlos might dazzle Francisca on the date. He hated feeling this wound up about something he couldn’t control.

Logan leaned a little closer, her tone softer so only he could hear. “You know you’re allowed to care, right?”

Oscar looked at her, taken aback by the warmth in her expression. The hint of a smile tugged at her lips, and something about her gaze felt… understanding, almost comforting.

He sighed, finally conceding, if only to himself, that maybe Logan was onto something.

Oscar shifted, feeling the weight of her words sink in. Maybe it was the way she was looking at him, with a sincerity that made his defences feel flimsy. He didn’t have to play it off with Logan. She saw right through him anyway.

“Alright,” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. “Maybe I care a little. But only because—” he hesitated, searching for the right words, “—because it’d be annoying to see him go after someone else while he’s clearly been, y’know, eyeing you too.”

Logan’s expression softened, her eyes holding his with that same warmth. “I get it, really,” she said, her voice gentle, almost reassuring. “But if it helps, I’m not interested in being anyone’s second choice. Especially not Carlos’.” She gave him a nudge. “I’m here for my own reasons. Not to be a part of some conquest.”

The sincerity in her words felt like a relief, easing a bit of the tension Oscar hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto. He gave her a half-smile, feeling a bit of that infamous British reserve slip.

“Good,” he replied, his tone lighter now. “Because for what it’s worth, I think you’re way too smart for him. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

“Oh really?” Logan’s eyebrows raised, her voice amused but curious. “And who do you think I should be spending my time with, then?”

Oscar leaned back, arms stretching behind his head as he put on his most relaxed, unaffected expression. “Oh, I don’t know. Someone who won’t talk over you. Who’ll let you win an argument every now and then.” He winked, feeling more playful, more at ease. “Someone who’s just as interested in what you have to say as what you look like in a bikini.”

Logan laughed, her cheeks flushing a bit as she nudged him again, her smile wide. “Noted, Mr. Relationship Expert. I’ll keep an eye out.”

As the others continued to chat, Logan settled comfortably beside him, her shoulder brushing against his as they shared the occasional look or comment. Oscar could feel himself start to relax, the earlier tension melting into something easier, something that didn’t feel like he was always on the edge of a fight.

As dusk settled over the villa, a soft, golden light brushed over everything, casting long shadows and a warm glow on the gathered islanders. Oscar shifted on the outdoor couch, trying not to glance too often at the entrance, but the absence of Carlos, Pierre, and Alex lingered like an unspoken tension. The three were still out on their dates with Francisca, who seemed to have injected an unexpected energy into the villa without even being there.

Oscar let his mind wander. He wondered about this Francisca. Maybe she’d be loud and assertive, someone with an energy that filled the space, like Carmen or Charlotte. Or maybe she’d be more reserved, the type who got people leaning in to hear her better, mysterious in her quiet. He could see both types fitting in here, somehow. As curious as he was, a quiet sense of guilt kept him from voicing it out loud.

He cast a sidelong glance at Logan, who sat cross-legged next to him, chatting easily with Carmen and Charlotte. Things with Logan had been easy so far—effortless, even. She was witty and grounded, with just enough curiosity to match his, and he found himself looking forward to her company. But even so, it was early days. He wasn’t exactly ready to plant himself on one path without exploring all the others yet.

The conversation faded as heads turned at the sudden burst of laughter and chatter by the villa entrance. There, stepping into the golden glow of dusk, was Francisca, flanked by Carlos, Alex, and Pierre. She was stunning—caramel curls bouncing around her shoulders, warm tan skin, and a snug light blue dress that fit her with effortless confidence. She moved with an assuredness that made her presence impossible to ignore, and her loud, warm laughter filled the space as she exchanged an easy joke with Alex.

Francisca’s gaze swept over the group as they gathered around her, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief. She held herself with confidence, her brown eyes sparkling with something playful and daring as she took in the group.

Without hesitation, she moved towards the group, greeting everyone with a dazzling smile. “Alright, I hope you all weren’t having too much fun without us,” she said, glancing from face to face, her tone carrying a natural authority. There was something about her presence that seemed to pull the villa into her orbit, each of the islanders straightening up, intrigued.

She gave a lingering look to the girls, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips as if sizing them up with playful curiosity, then turned to the guys. When her gaze landed on Oscar, her eyes lit with interest. “You’re Oscar, right?”

Oscar nodded, not missing the slight uptick in her grin as she extended a hand toward him. He reached out, her grip firm yet warm.

“I’ve been hearing about you,” she said, tilting her head in a way that made her caramel curls fall to one side. There was a hint of something unspoken in her eyes, a subtle challenge.

Francisca leaned in just enough that her words were a soft murmur, barely audible to the others. “I don’t think you’d want to know everything,” she whispered, her lips quirking into a sly grin before letting her hand linger on his for just a second longer than necessary.

As she pulled back, Carlos shot Oscar a quick, unreadable look, his arm still hovering possessively near Francisca’s shoulder. But she had already turned, sweeping the group with her bold gaze, ready to leave her mark. And even though she’d just arrived, it was clear Francisca was already making herself at home, leaving a ripple of energy in her wake.

The islanders gathered around the firepit, a lively hum of anticipation thrumming through the group as they eyed Francisca, who sat comfortably in their midst. She stretched her arms along the back of her seat, taking her time as she looked at each of them, the edges of her lips curling into a playful smile. Even with the warm firelight casting shadows over her face, her confidence glowed. The villa was hers to command, and everyone knew it.

She paused, letting the suspense thicken. “Well,” she began, brushing a strand of caramel hair from her shoulder, “I, of course, think you’re all very attractive. Not quite as attractive as me, but hey—” she broke off with a wink, a quick flash of teeth as she grinned, drawing laughter from a few of the girls.

“Oh, she’s confident,” Logan murmured to Carmen, and Carmen nodded, arching an eyebrow with a grin.

Francisca’s gaze flitted to Logan briefly, reading the room as she leaned forward, her attention bouncing between Carlos, Pierre, and—unexpectedly—Oscar. Her smirk deepened as her gaze lingered on him, just long enough to turn his casual expression into one of surprise.

“But,” she continued, leaning forward, her caramel curls slipping over one shoulder, “I’ll be honest—I do have my eye on a few of you.”

Carlos, who was feigning indifference with his arm draped over the back of his seat, couldn’t hold back a small smirk as her gaze slid back his way. “Should we be worried?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, though his voice was light with amusement.

Francisca’s smile held a bit of a challenge. “Worried?” she mused, her voice playful. “Maybe. But only if you think you’re competition.” She directed this to Carlos with a glint in her eye, but her attention didn’t linger long—she moved on to Pierre, who met her look with an appreciative nod, and then back to Oscar, who shifted slightly under her gaze, trying to brush off the small jolt of surprise.

She lifted her chin, her tone dropping lower as she addressed the group. “I like people who know what they want,” she said, the words pointed, “and who aren’t afraid to go after it.”

Oscar found himself leaning back, a mix of curiosity and something else he couldn’t quite pinpoint simmering inside him. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but admire her confidence, even if he’d never admit it out loud. He glanced at Logan, who seemed equally intrigued yet wary, as if sizing up this new arrival who clearly wasn’t here to make friends.

In her subtle, almost invisible way, Francisca had thrown down a gauntlet, and every islander present felt the stakes of it, especially the boys.

Once they were satisfied with the content they had to create a dramatic segment of the following nights show, the producers ushered them over to a large table which Oscar hadn't even noticed them bringing outside and setting up. On top of it they had carefully arranged a game of beer pong and it didn't take a genius to figure out what was about to go down.

The islanders gathered around the long table set up in the garden, cups arranged into triangles on each end, glowing under the garden lights. The warm evening air was charged with a competitive energy as they split into two teams: boys versus girls. The laughter and teasing had already started before the game even kicked off, each side exchanging playful barbs as they jostled for position around the table.

Francisca positioned herself at the front of the girls' team, gaze fixed on the boys as she held up the first ping pong ball. She flashed a wicked smile. “Hope you boys are ready to lose,” she teased, flashing them a wink.

Carlos smirked, crossing his arms confidently. “We’ll see about that.”

Francisca’s aim was as good as her charm. The ball arced through the air and landed directly in one of the boys’ cups. Carlos picked it up, and with a dramatic sigh, flipped over the cup to reveal the dare inside: “Compliment your most attractive opponent…in the most dramatic way possible.”

He grinned, setting his sights on Logan. “Logan,” he started, his tone suddenly theatrical, “you’re the finest sight I’ve ever seen in this villa. Even the sun pales in comparison to you.” He placed a hand over his heart as he spoke, drawing exaggerated “oohs” and giggles from everyone.

Logan rolled her eyes, laughing as she took her turn. So much that she missed the easy shot with the distractions. In the background the rest of the boys were jeering loudly at Carlos for answering Logan and not Charlotte, teasing him that he was asking for trouble there.

Once the game had hit its stride, the dares grew even bolder, the flirtation intensifying as everyone got a little looser, laughing and teasing over each new prompt. It was Pierre’s turn, and he managed to sink a shot in one of the girls' cups. Francisca picked it up, glancing at the bottom of the cup and grinning mischievously as she read it aloud: “Act out three different sex positions with an islander of the opposite sex.”

The group erupted with laughter as Pierre dramatically clutched his chest in mock innocence, then caught Francisca’s eye. “Shall we, mademoiselle?” he asked, extending a hand to her.

Francisca tossed her curls, laughing as she accepted. If Oscar had learned anything about Pierre in the short time they'd been confined in the villa together it was that he seemed obsessed with bringing up the fact that doing it doggy style was his favourite position when having sex. So it was no surprise to him when he had the displeasure of witnessing Pierre get Francisca down on all fours in front of him. She matched his energy though.

They struck two more exaggerated poses, each more ridiculous than the last but none as passionate, at least on Pierre's end as the first. “I think that’s one way to leave an impression,” he grinned as they returned to their teams, leaving Francisca blushing and the rest of the villa in fits.

Carmen took her time as she approached the table, eyes alight as she prepared to take her shot. The girls cheered her on, and with a flick of her wrist, she sank the ball perfectly into one of the boys' cups. Daniel, smiling coyly, lifted it and peered at the bottom. He laughed as he read it aloud, “Show us your best party trick.”

Daniel leaned back, crossing his arms with a grin that showed he was more than ready for the challenge. “Alright, don’t blink,” he said, holding his drink aloft as he took a few steps back, scanning the group for a good spot.

With that, he dropped to the ground and started into a series of quick, slick breakdance moves, spinning on his back and then switching into a handstand with impressive ease. The group cheered him on, their laughter and shouts filling the villa’s garden as he went through each step with practiced skill. Just when everyone thought he’d finished, Daniel threw himself into one final spin, rolling back to his feet and striking a victory pose with a wink in Carmen’s direction.

The applause and laughter were immediate, the energy infectious. Carmen clapped, shaking her head with a look that was half impressed, half amused. “Guess you’ve got some moves, Daniel,” she teased, crossing her arms. “Didn’t expect that out of you.”

Daniel sauntered over, mock-bowing. “Glad I could keep you entertained,” he said, flashing a grin. The others nudged him playfully as they all huddled back around the table, still laughing and trading compliments about his unexpected skills.

Oscar chuckled, leaning over to Alex. “Did not expect that from him,” he whispered.

Alex shook his head. “Mate, I’d pay to see him try that sober.”

Just as Oscar was about to respond back to Alex he noticed Carlos shifting towards the front of the group. And suddenly all words left his mind. All his brain could zero in on was Carlos leaning forward, his eyes glinting with mischief as he tossed the ping pong ball, and with the luck of a seasoned flirt, it landed smoothly in one of the girls’ cups. Logan picked it up with a grin, reading the dare at the bottom. “Seductively chat up another islander.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, locking eyes with Oscar, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oscar, mate,” he said, voice dropping into a slow, playful drawl. “Hope you’re ready for this.”

The group’s collective cheers and teasing intensified as Carlos approached, clearly basking in the attention. Oscar shifted, a half-smile tugging at his lips, caught between amusement and embarrassment. Carlos moved back beside him, leaning in close enough that Oscar could feel the warmth of his presence. A beat passed, and then another, as Carlos tilted his head, looking at him through half-lidded eyes.

Oscar’s brows raised slightly, but he didn’t pull away, caught in the magnetism of the moment. Carlos’s hand casually found its way to the back of Oscar’s chair as he leaned in, his voice lowering. “You've been avoiding me hermoso...I can’t stop thinking about our little… moment after the recoupling,” he said, his fingers brushing lightly against Oscar’s shoulder. “If you’re interested, I could make it a bit less innocent next time.”

Oscar’s face heated as he tried to keep his composure. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?” he replied, a little breathless, knowing exactly what Carlos was hinting at.

Carlos’s hand found its way to Oscar’s lower back, fingertips barely grazing his skin. “Well, can you blame me?” he murmured, leaning even closer, his voice barely a whisper. “If I’d known you were this easy to ruffle, maybe I’d have chosen you at the firepit instead.”

Oscar swallowed, laughing to shake off the growing tension. “Yeah, I don’t think that would’ve gone over well with… everyone else.” He looked away, hoping Carlos couldn’t see the colour rising to his cheeks.

Carlos grinned, clearly enjoying the effect he was having. “Maybe. But I’d say you would've been worth it.” He winked, pulling back just enough to leave a lingering warmth on Oscar’s back, before sauntering away, leaving Oscar stunned and the group buzzing with laughter.

As the laughter around the table died down, Alex sidled up next to Oscar, keeping his voice low but his grin wide.

“Mate,” he murmured, nudging Oscar with his elbow, “you could cut the tension between you two with a knife.”

Oscar shot him a look, trying to play it off with a shrug, though the blush lingering on his face betrayed him. “You’re imagining things,” he muttered, attempting to sound casual, but Alex just chuckled knowingly.

“Oh, sure,” Alex said, his eyes twinkling. “I mean, it’s not like he just whispered sweet nothings in your ear in front of everyone. The whole villa’s practically swooning.”

Oscar huffed, rolling his eyes, but couldn’t quite stop the grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “He’s just messing around. That’s Carlos for you.”

“Maybe,” Alex replied with a smirk, “but I don’t see him doing that with anyone else, not even Charlotte.”

It was now time for Alex's turn and he found himself faced with a dare that made him pause—“Snog the islander you fancy the most that you’re not coupled up with.”

A ripple of laughter and gasps moved through the group as Alex raised his eyebrows and looked around, scanning his options in an exaggerated manner that made everyone laugh even more. But his eyes quickly settled on Lily, who had been watching him with an amused, teasing smile. There was no mistaking the spark between them.

“Well then,” he said, flashing her a grin as he stepped closer. “Guess I’ve got no choice but to follow the rules.”

Lily’s laughter softened into a smile, her eyes twinkling as he leaned in. There was a hint of anticipation on her face, but she held her ground, clearly up for the moment as Alex closed the gap between them. With the rest of the villa’s cheers and whistles in the background, he pressed his lips to hers, their kiss lingering just a bit longer than strictly necessary.

When they finally broke apart, Lily’s cheeks flushed, but her grin stayed steady. “Not bad,” she said, giving him a playful nudge.

Alex laughed, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But the way his eyes lingered on her even after he moved back to his spot told a different story. And if the rest of the villa noticed how their glances met every so often afterward, neither of them seemed to care.

As the game progressed, the atmosphere grew more electric with each round of beer pong. The playful banter and laughter echoed around the garden, but it was Daniel’s next turn that brought a fresh wave of excitement.

Charlotte who had taken centre stage for the girls retrieved the dare beneath the cup.

She squinted at the note, her lips curving into a playful grin. “Kiss the islander to your left,” she announced, glancing over at Logan, who was seated right next to her.

A ripple of anticipation ran through the group as Charlotte turned to face Logan, who raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “Guess that’s me, then?” Logan replied, her tone teasing but playful.

“Looks like it,” Charlotte quipped, leaning closer, her eyes sparkling with delight. “You ready for this?”

Logan chuckled, her cheeks already tinged with a light pink. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to kiss the gorgeous Charlotte?”

“Flatterer,” Charlotte shot back, giggling as she leaned in, their faces just inches apart.

With a shared grin, they closed the distance, lips brushing softly at first, but quickly turning into a deeper kiss. Logan felt a thrill run through her as Charlotte's hands found their way to her waist, pulling her in closer.

“Not bad Logan, I think I understand why Oscar's so obsessed with you,” Charlotte murmured against Logan’s lips as they pulled back slightly, both breathless.

Logan giggled at that "shut up, I think I should be the one saying I totally get why Carlos stole you."

"Keep complimenting me and I'll do it again," Charlotte teased, playfully nudging Logan’s shoulder.

Maxine took that moment as an opportunity to interrupt as she gleefully whooped, her ball bouncing into a cup in front of George and even louder when he announced that the dare was that they had to swap clothes for the rest of the game.

"Come on then princess," Maxine teased "we can't wait to see you in a dress."

George raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. “Princess? I think you're just jealous that I'm going to pull off that dress better than you Max.”

“Right! Let’s make it quick,” she said, her excitement bubbling over. They glanced at each other, then bolted toward the villa, laughter trailing behind them as they dashed inside.

Once they were off camera, Maxine dashed into the bathroom, her heart racing with excitement. She yanked off the black dress that clung tightly to her frame, the fabric feeling warm against her skin. With a quick tug, she passed it outside through the slightly cracked door, a cheeky grin spreading across her face.

“Here you go, princess!” she called out, her voice teasing.

“Thanks, your majesty!” George replied, his voice laced with playful sarcasm. He quickly exchanged the dress for his shorts and linen shirt, pushing them through the gap in the door. Maxine could hear the rustle of fabric as he hurried to change.

“Make sure you do it justice!” she added, taking his shorts and linen shirt and throwing them on, eagerly waiting for her chance to see the results.

She covered her mouth in mock disbelief. “Oh my god, you look… actually kind of hot!” she exclaimed, unable to hold back her laughter. “I didn’t think you could pull off a dress like that!”

“Please, this is just the beginning. I’m going to rock this,” he said, doing a playful twirl that made the hem of the dress swish around him.

Maxine gestured down to George's shorts which were oversized on her and loose linen shirt "I think one wrong move in this and the shorts are going to fall off," Max joked "but I'm not showing my ass for free."

“You’re still cute, even in my baggy clothes,” George replied, giving her an exaggerated wink.

As Maxine and George stepped back into the garden, the laughter and banter of their fellow islanders filled the air. The warm glow of the string lights hung above them, and the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. The rest of the group paused, turning to gawk at the two of them.

“Wow! Look at you two!” Charlotte exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight. “George, you absolutely slay that dress!”

“Thank you, darling!” George replied, striking another pose, letting the fabric drape dramatically as he tossed his hair back with flair.

Francisca giggled, clapping her hands in delight. “I can’t believe how good you look! Seriously, George, you might have found your true calling.” She shot him a teasing wink, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Maxine playfully pushed George to the side, stepping into the spotlight herself. “And let’s not forget about my stunning look!” She gave a twirl, the oversized shirt swaying around her. “Fashion week, here I come!”

“More like a fashion freak!” Daniel teased, leaning back on his elbows and laughing. “But I kind of love it. You both look ridiculous!”

George threw a mock-glare in Daniel's direction. “Ridiculous? I prefer ‘fabulous,’ thank you very much.”

Oscar, watching from the side, couldn’t help but chuckle. “You both should definitely consider a career change. This might be the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

“Speak for yourself!” Maxine shot back playfully. “I think you should get in on this too, Oscar! A little less boring, a little more daring.”

As the teasing continued, the islanders settled back into their playful banter, the atmosphere warm and vibrant. George and Maxine exchanged triumphant glances, relishing the light-hearted camaraderie they had fostered in their short time in the villa.

Then came Oscar’s turn, and he picked up a cup with a dare that made him raise an eyebrow, laughing to himself as he read aloud: “Give the shortest islander of the opposite sex a snog.”

There was no mistaking who that was. All eyes turned to Francisca, who flashed Oscar a playful look as she took a step toward him, tilting her head up expectantly "trust me, I give the best kisses, cariño.”

Oscar felt his heart race at the flirty nickname. “You think you can handle me, then?” he shot back, trying to keep his tone light even as his pulse quickened.

“Handle you? Oh, I have no doubt, guapo,” she purred, biting her lower lip for emphasis. “Let’s see if you can keep up with me, or if you’ll be left in the dust.”

She leaned in, closing the space between them, and pressed her lips against his in a playful yet electrifying kiss. The laughter and cheers of their friends faded into the background as Oscar felt himself melting into the moment, caught up in the magic of it all.

When they pulled away, Francisca’s smile was infectious. “See? I told you I give the best kisses,” she said, her voice laced with satisfaction. “Just wait until you find out what else I’m good at, guapo.”

Oscar chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I think I’m in trouble.” he thought to himself in the aftermath.

With only a few remaining cups before the game was won Oscar zoned out. The laughter echoed around him but he found himself momentarily lost in thought, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him. The energy was vibrant, but in that moment, he felt a whirlwind of emotions swirling in his mind, leaving him both exhilarated and uneasy.

How had he ended up here, in this whirlwind of attraction and tension? Just weeks ago, he was living his ordinary life, blissfully unaware that Lando would approach him with the unexpected news. The idea of being on a reality show felt like a distant nightmare—one he had never really considered, let alone wanted. But somehow, the chance to escape his routine and explore something thrilling drew him in, despite the uncertainty. He had expected chaos, but he had never anticipated feeling so invested in the connections he was forming.

Logan’s warm smile flashed in his memory, her laughter like music to his ears. He couldn’t help but think about how easy it felt with her—like they were on the same wavelength. Their connection was undeniable, filled with shared glances and soft touches that lingered longer than necessary. Yet, doubt crept in. Was he leading her on? Could he really commit when his heart was still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions that Carlos had stirred in him? But then again nothing was set in stone between them. She seemed to have a connection with Charlotte during the game as they laughed and whispered together after sharing that kiss. Was she exploring other options too?

Carlos. Just the thought of him sent a rush of conflicting feelings through Oscar. The way Carlos had flirted with him, how they had stood so close after the recoupling, sparked something deep within him. His charismatic confidence had a way of disarming Oscar, making him question everything he thought he knew about himself. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once, and he found himself caught in a web of attraction that was hard to escape.

Then there was Francisca, the bombshell who had sauntered into the villa with a flirty energy that could light up the night sky. Their playful banter during the game had been intoxicating, and the kiss they had shared lingered on his lips, igniting a flutter in his stomach. But he felt guilty for the distraction she represented. Was he really allowing himself to get swept up in the chaos of it all while Logan waited for him to figure things out?

And Alex—his closest ally and confidant—had been watching the unfolding drama with a knowing smile, occasionally throwing him teasing glances whenever Carlos was around. Oscar had always appreciated Alex’s easy going nature and playful sense of humour, but lately, he found himself noticing how the sunlight caught the golden flecks in Alex’s eyes or how his laughter seemed to resonate deep within him. It was a feeling that made Oscar’s heart race in a completely different way.

As Oscar paced along the edge of the pool, he couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself. There he was, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, trying to figure out what he wanted while also potentially crushing on his best mate. The thought was amusing yet terrifying. Could he really have a crush on Alex too? Maybe he was just being dramatic—this was a reality show after all.

Panic bubbled beneath the surface as he tried to process it all. The heart of the matter lay not just in the flirtation but in understanding his own desires before he could navigate the complicated landscape of love in the villa. He had to confront his feelings, not just for Logan or Carlos or Francisca, but for himself. What did he truly want?

With a determined exhale, Oscar resolved to take control of his narrative, to seek honesty in his relationships, and to be true to himself. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the villa, he knew he had to figure it out soon. Otherwise, he risked losing the one thing he had always valued: authenticity in a sea of pretence. In this whirlwind of emotions, Oscar found the clarity he needed; he had to embrace this unexpected journey and uncover the truth of what he desired amidst the chaos of the villa.

After all, whether it was a connection with Logan, the tension with Carlos, or the surprising attraction to Alex, Oscar knew that the journey was just beginning. And if nothing else, he was determined to make the most of this chaotic, beautiful mess he found himself in.

[u5an5]

SCP : Sedition - SCP-035 [Tape 02]

<- Previous | Masterlist | Next ->

.

[START LOG]

_035s Cell_

SCP-035: *looks at his new body’s hands* These are the hands of an artist. Calluses. Hard worker. Shows vintage.

Watch: He was a person once.

SCP-035: Now who stopped seeing him as one first? You consider people like him property. At least they live through me... for as long as they last.

Watch: I'm not here to argue with you. Now could you please answer my previous question about 001?

SCP-035: (deep inhale and exhale) I appear to be in a more agreeable mood. Why not?

SCP-035: ...

Watch: So...?

SCP-035: Well... which one? I understand there's about... what, twenty? So what am I to say? How am I to know which one is the real Slim Shady?

Watch: I- the real what now?

SCP-035: Huh. That... surfaced out of nowhere. *shrugs* Teething problems.

SCP-035: Anyway, here's my point: why ask my opinion if only one of them exists? Or two? Or heck, maybe even none at all.

SCP-035: What if they're just a ruse to keep people from knowing what the real 001 is? That's what I would do.

Watch: That's an interesting theory.

SCP-035: I'm right, aren't I? Come on, you can tell me.

Watch: I think we've said all that needs to be said.

SCP-035: <disappointed> Aww...

[Rest bellow the cut]

_

Watch: What do you think about humanity?

SCP-035: In all honesty, I find humanity to be the greatest source of entertainment.

Watch: Really? What is it about us that you find so compelling?

SCP-035: The answer to that question is a difficult concept to grasp.

Watch: Something philosophical?

SCP-035: ... Life as we know, it is one great symphony of order. Everything has a purpose, its a place in the grand scheme of things. Nature and matter. But then humanity is thrown into the mix.

SCP-035: Chaos! Purposelessness! No order! And yet, somehow you co-exist in your own illogical way, conjuring order and purpose for yourselves! Science and art would not exist had your kind not created it.

SCP-035: In your attempt to make sense of the world, humanity interprets through imagination and entertainment. Calling a spade a spade is just so boring, and you start murdering each other because of its mundanity.

Watch: I see what you're saying.

SCP-035: It's essential to your sanity. With no lens to hold up to the world, you become fearful of it. You'd end up having another [REDACTED] Day Massacre.

SCP-035: A single anxious woman caused a riot that lasted 27 days, all thanks to a little reality intruding in on her life.

SCP-035: (giggles) Of course, I may've had a small hand in events

Watch: We're one hell of a playset to you.

SCP-035: We're all playthings to something or someone else. Don't believe that I was never someone's toy too. Don't feel so victimised. It's only human. Believe when I say this.

SCP-035: We have more in common than what you see in those little files.

_

Watch: How does an artificial body compared to the one that once lived?

SCP-035: Let me ask you this: Would you prefer to interact with flesh, or imitation?

SCP-035: (chuckles) It's familiar, like home. It shows expressions in the subtleties of its movement that o mere statue can mimic.

Watch: Wouldn't something like an animatronic body last longer?

SCP-035: Eh, you're right about that, but most people would be scared out of their wits. Its not about preserving the body beyond its expiration date.

SCP-035: It's experiencing what you can with the time you have left. Stone and metal provides no experiences to build upon the ones I already have.

Watch: Touching... and what about in the mind? Are you afraid of expressing your own psychological state without another's personality to filter it through?

SCP-035: *points at Watch* Smart move... <teasing> but you'll have to try better.

Watch: ... *crosses arms* Moving on.

_

Watch: What is your purpose?

SCP-035: ...Not sure. What's yours?

Watch: I trough we were talking about you.

SCP-035: Whatever picks my interest.

Watch: My purpose is whatever I choose it to be.

SCP-035: Sure it is. Objectively, I guess you could say my purpose is to help people express themselves in death in ways they never could in life.

Watch: And unobjectively?

SCP-035: For now, to feed.

Watch: Is that what drives you to possess humans? Do you gain knowledge? Sustenance? Or some form of joy?

SCP-035: Certainly more satisfying than taking over inanimate objects, *points at Jacobs* like that man behind the glass over there.

Watch: (chuckles) <amused> No comment.

SCP-035: To an extent, I gain some knowledge of the person I possess. Their memories and experiences, although I don't really retain much. Just what I've said and done as them.

Watch: And you feed on that?

SCP-035: It's not like a literal meal, it's a feast for the soul! I thrive on variety, and what better fruits for a spotlighter like myself than fresh ripe experiences and emotions of humanity?

Watch: Pretty tasty. Ever come across some rotten apples?

SCP-035: Don't blame the tools if you're not talented enough to work with them. That being said, who am I to complain when I receive some variety?

Watch: You could be the voice of reason to their tortured mind.

SCP-035: <agitated> That is not my purpose! I accentuate, not debiliate! I study behaviours, just like you.

SCP-035: Like I said, we could be great stage partners.

Watch: I dont force you to do anything.

SCP-035: No, but they do. *points at the window*

SCP-035: Where's your voice of reason?

Watch: I don't murder people.

SCP-035: What does that change?

Watch: I'm on this side of the table.

SCP-035: That's a very thin line you've drawn there, and it can be crossed in an instant.

Jacobs: This line of questioning is discontinued.

_

Watch: Do you have sympathy towards your victims?

SCP-035: *hides face in hands* (murmured, lowly enough to be barely coherent on recording) ᵒᶠ ᵃˡˡ ᵠᵘᵉˢᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ ᵗᵒ ᵃˢᵏ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵃˢᵏ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒʰ ᵐʸ ᵍᵒᵈ…

Watch: …035?

SCP-035: Something else.

Watch: Is it upse-

SCP-035: Another question, damn it! *stands up while slamming both hands on the table*

SCP-035: *slowly sits back down* Mmm... I-...

SCP-035: It's difficult to answer... I used to not need to, but now... It's unavoidable. I share a person's memories and experiences. As soon as I take their minds, I see everything they lose.

SCP-035: But the difficulty is not recognizing sympathy, but from where it is born. Is it me who sympathises with my 'victim' as you call it? Or they who sympathise through me?

Watch: Have they ever influenced you to take an action? To do something you don't necessarily want to?

SCP-035: ...On occasion, a host's plight may drive me to... perform actions that deal with the urges. But to control or fully influence me? That has yet to occur.

Watch: It sounds almost like you begin as the intruder of a person's mind, but once you make that link, the host becomes the voice constantly speaking inside your head.

SCP-035: (sigh) *looks down* Next. Question.

Watch: But-

SCP-035: <muttered, softly> Please.

_

... *Watch sits with crossed arms, staring at 035*

SCP-035: So... go ahead!

Watch: With what?

SCP-035: Just ask! I know what you've been buttering me up for, so...

Watch: Alright. What did you and 049 talk about during the containment breach?

SCP-035: Oh, nothing much. Just catching up on old times.

Watch: We've suspected for some time that you two came in contact prior to containment-

SCP-035: It goes a little deeper than that, darling. We are lovers, he and I.

Watch: *does a double take* ...Really?

SCP-035: Hahahaha! No! I just wanted to see the look on your face.

Watch: (not really sincere chuckle) Hehe, funny.

SCP-035: You need to loosen up more, let more people get close to the real you.

Watch: I'm not the one being interviewed here. ...So, if you weren't lovers-

SCP-035: Acquaintances. More-so, partners perhaps. But we were so much different back then.

Watch: How far back are we talking about?

SCP-035: Oof, a good thousand years now. I found myself caught up in Crusades and being me, warped events to suit my needs. Made them think I was a holy artifact.

SCP-035: I mean, I am, but they didn't need to know it wasnt their Gods. Found the cause very sily, but the perks, eh?

Watch:< unamused> Your talents for scamming human race never cease to amaze me.

SCP-035: You make it sound so evil. I was trying to survive. If they trought I was a product of Satan, I'd have been destroyed and you wouldn't have the pleasure of my company.

Watch: <flatly> More's the pity.

SCP-035: You flirt. Anyway, I was heading trough Bosnia with asmall group of Hungarian soldiers. They'd just won a foothold and we were taking some trinkets back across the border - so much for reclaming Holy Land - when the caravan was ambushed by rebel troops.

SCP-035: Which only goes to show that just because the Crusades worked the first time does not mean it'll work a second. I only found out later that Hungary was pushed back across the boarder.

Watch: Later?

SCP-035: When the trinkets were reclaimed, I wasn't picked up. *shrugs* Seems to be dificult to influence people when they're afraid for their lives.

SCP-035: And so was I left alone in the wilderness. Dramatic, really. Very calming.

Watch: How did you get somone to find you?

SCP-035: I didn't. 049 found me all on his own. By this point, he had another name... funny though, I can't seem to recall it.

SCP-035: He emerged from the light like a saviour from above. Somehow he knew I was alive and he could feel my energy.

Watch: Did he put you on?

SCP-035: *nods* Yes. But we weren't linked like I had been with other hosts. It was... Mutual. Equal.

Watch: What was he doing in the Middle East? Thats awfully out of the way.

SCP-035: He'd been making his way trough Asia towards Europe on his pilgrimage of cleansing. The Crusades had died down in my absence, and 049 was heading through to clean up the mess.

Watch: And how exactly does turning the corpses of the fallen into proxies help that exactly?

SCP-035: Oh, no, no, no, no. 049 wasn't turning the dead. He was resurrecting them. Truly.

SCP-035: He gave what few he could life. Mostly inocent bystanders and seldom brought back soldiers, especially on the Christian side.

SCP-035: He was avoiding the road most traveled, else he'd have a meeting with the buisness end of a sword. He came across me on his way across to Italy, where he'd heard a great many lives had been cut short.

Watch: And so you traveled together.

SCP-035: <irate> I'm sorry, was I interrupting your story? *slightly stands up*

Watch: <placitingly> Alright. Please, continue.

SCP-035: Thank you. Anyway, as we travelled, merchants and refugees spoke of a dark cloud that hung over the land killing all under its shadow-

Watch: The Bubonic Plague?

SCP-035: ...

SCP-035: I'll get to that if you stop interrupting me! *slams hand on the table, voice gets growly by the end of the sentence*

...

SCP-035: Anyway..., we spent years in the East, encountering still mostly those who had perished in the Crusades. In that time, we grew to appreciate each other. He even allowed me to perform for the risen before we were forced to move on.

SCP-035: We made quite the unusual double-act. He'd bring 'em back and I'd knock 'em dead all over again! 

Watch: (chuckles)

SCP-035: He showed me probably the most human side of me than anyone before or since.

SCP-035: But then we reached Udine... and the plague was waiting. He was so afraid, unnaturally. This was a 049 who embraced the living as much as the dead. Now, he feared the living more.

SCP-035: Try as he might, he could only save the dead, but he could not prevent them from being re-infected. It was a charnel house and we saw the same faces over and over again. I implored him to use my powers, but even with me, it was not enough. Nothing would be.

SCP-035: The Plague was a relentless death. The power of the Gods could not stop it. We had to heal the sick rather than retrive the dead.

Watch: A Necromancer can only resurrect. Could he heal wounded as well?

SCP-035: The potential was there, locked deep within. I could help him unlock it, but 049 refused. We left Italy soon after. We've never stopped moving.

Watch: You didn't bring back anyone else?

SCP-035: No. He kept ignoring everyone on the path, never turning back. All he wanted to do was reach Britannia and be done with it.

SCP-035: ... Like the family member you wish was dead, the Plague was there waiting on the doorstep to greet us upon his return home. He had left behind so many before setting out on his journey, now cruel fate tormented him as they had been buried too long ago for him to bring back. Not in any shape or form you'd be pleased about.

SCP-035: I implored him once more and eventually, he caved. An eighteen year old victim with the sickness was our first and last living patient. We tried with all our might, but something... happened. It was the most odd sensation I have ever felt.

SCP-035: A burning seared through me like the forges of Olympus... and I felt myself bleed for the first time. That's when I heard 049 screaming. I'm not entirely sure what happened to him, but that's where my blood comes from.

Watch: What about 049?

SCP-035: He hid himself behind that ridiculous mask he picked up in Italy. I had to move on... and I had the theatre to help me regain lost confidence. I fear our ordeal left him disfigured, or worse... insane.

SCP-035: But when he looked down at our patient, what remained of her would be enough to drive most people crazy from grief.

_

Watch: What's your thoughts on The Foundation itself?

SCP-035: Oh no, we were on such positive topics. You don't want to hear what I think of... this-

Watch: This?

SCP-035: (coughs quickly) Ahem, sorry. Ignore that. I should always be wearing a happy face.

SCP-035: I am very bored in my cell. I doubt anyone would be willing to oblige my thirst for entertainment. 

Watch: *turns to look at Jacobs* I may be able to covince somone to let you have a dummy and a television-

Jacobs: Don't make promises you can't keep, Watch.

Watch: *turns back around* (sigh)

SCP-035: (chuckles) Need I say more? It's okay. I don't see your Foundation as much of a problem for me.

Watch: Are you planning to escape?

SCP-035: (laughs menacingly)

Jacobs: If you're up to anything-

SCP-035: Oh, relax. I'm not all too hung up on escaping. Would I, if I had the opportunity? Sure! Who wouldn't? But I've been locked away before, and you lot liberated me like others before you.

SCP-035: I don't need to escape. Eventually, this prison will erode away and I'll simply walk out the fourth wall.

Watch: Better hope our countermeasures aren't used in the meantime.

_

Watch: What would you do if you were to be free of this place?

SCP-035: Hahaha! That's a lot of possibilities.

Watch: Feel free to list a few.

SCP-035: Well, in that case... I would love to run my own theater! Host a wide variety of plays, operas- Oh, this takes me back! I haven't worked properly with a group since my days with Bill. Completely stole my concept of Othello.

SCP-035: I wonder if Amadeus ever finished that concerto I was working on? I have so much catching up to do!

Watch: In that case, I think I should rephrase my question to: What is your end goal?

SCP-035: I'd have some innocent fun, and some not so innocent fun. I'm not content with having just one hobby, but even my most malicious plans will only result in casualty or two.

Watch: So... relatively sensible plans for the human race.

SCP-035: And whats wrong with a little bit of fun?

Watch: <hastily> I'm certainly not complaining

SCP-035: Damn straight. Us masks get a bad rep', like that fire guy. Whats his name?

Watch: 2814?

SCP-035: Uh... *shrugs* sure. Crap name, but sure.

SCP-035: Fire mask, always a laugh riot. But is it truly its fault when some bozo with bad hygiene decides to abuse the gifts they have been given against the world?

SCP-035: It has its own hopes and dreams, even more innocent than mine perhaps. But its the people who use us who give us a bad name.

Watch: That may be true in case of 2814, but it appears to subconciously influence some people. As for you... you have complete control over them.

SCP-035: I only act on murderous impulses if they are strong within my host.

Watch: <doubtfuly> Uh-huh. Sure.

SCP-035: ... (laughts)

_

Watch: What do you fear?

SCP-035: Can you not see I'm already living my own personal hell? No freedom of expression, hardly any reaction, constantly under watch by... Watch.

Watch: Huh. Must feel a lot like being an exhibit trapped in the museum.

SCP-035: Not a place for a gift from the gods. My talents are wasted in here.

Watch: Your talents could- do - kill people.

SCP-035: But my rights! I live, I breathe on occasion, I think therefore I am and all that nonsense!

Watch: At least in here you won't be destroyed.

SCP-035: My essence dies! Like you said, an exhibit! You know? I know you understand. You feel trapped too.

Watch: *looks away, anxious*...I-...ugh, I don't know-

SCP-035: Dont lie. I see the way you look at them. Never moving without their approval, afraid for your very soul. We are alike in that way.

Watch: I guess we are, huh?

SCP-035: We are both trapped in the same prison. Exhibits on display. I, a mystery... You, the key. But both used, studied for their amusement.

SCP-035: I'd rather amuse on my own terms. And perhaps... I could help free you too. *reaches out arm across the table*

Watch: *turns back to Jacobs while leaning back* ... Smart move... but you'll have to try better.

SCP-035: *moves back into seat* You're strong... but soon.

_

Watch: Why do you wish to control 682?

SCP-035: (forlorn sigh) Oh, woe is I. To yearn what you cannot possess. Such is the curse of unrequited love, wouldn't you say?

Watch: I trough love was supposed to be abundant, shared, moonlit strools through the park, romantic dinner, flowers and all that jazz.

SCP-035: Spoken like a man unlucky in the art of attraction.

Watch: You can already tell I'm not in any position to indulge in that.

SCP-035: Such a shame...-

Jacobs: Enough with the small talk! Answer the question.

SCP-035: *points at Jacobs* You have never kissed anyone! Let alone fu-!

Watch: *while pinching his eyebrows* Why are you interested in 682?

SCP-035: *glances at Jacobs for last time and turns back to Watch* It would be an interesting experience. My influence with the indestructibility of 682... the perfect organism. It would be my next step towards being a God.

Watch: With Hera gone, why would you need to become god anymore?

SCP-035: Hera never died, m'boy. She merely retired along with her brethen. I may not hurt her directly, but my attack on their power struck fear into the Gods. They are weaker than ever before, and 682 may be the catalyst for my revenge.

Watch: There's only one problem.

SCP-035: Yes. Incompatibility. 'Twas the same fault I had with 517, but 682 has more opportunity. No matter, even if they cannot adapt itself to accommodate me, I'm sure I can convince them to join my cause.

Watch: *while taking notes down* I wouldn't hold your... breath. One is very stubborn and the other is very dead.

SCP-035: <under breath> As are you...

Watch: *not paying attention* Hmm?

SCP-035: Next!

_

Watch: What were you doing in that crypt we found you in, at Venice?

SCP-035: <very sarcastic> Drinking margaritas and getting a tan. What the hell do you think?

Watch: We both know that's not-

SCP-035: I know, m'boy. I'm not as dimwitted as the other tenants here.

Watch: So, what's the story?

SCP-035: Will you miss my stories once I'm gone?

Watch: They want answers, not filibusters. As do I.

SCP-035: (groan) So direct. No appreciation.

Watch: No, I'm just not up for getting distracted! You've been trying to sidetrack this interview consistently, and frankly, I'm getting tired of your antics. Tell your story. Your audience is growing tired.

SCP-035: I'll take this criticism to heart...

SCP-035: It must have been around 1848 or was it '49? Anyway, Venice was quite preoccupied with a slight outbreak of cholera. The decision to travel there was an unfortunate oversight of mine and the convoy succumbed quite suddenly whilst seaking the treatment.

SCP-035: My last host must have been an native of the area and had the strong urge to return to his family tomb. I doubt he realised he entered the wrong crypt. Poor thing was delusioal with fear.

SCP-035: (sigh) And then, all went quiet. I had no one. No one to call for, not even a stray. I was alone.

SCP-035: The rest, as they say, is history.

Watch: Do you remember all your time there?

SCP-035: Vividly. It is an experience I do not wish to recount.

Watch: I'm sure you could make it interesting-

SCP-035: <annoyed> I am growing tired of my unappreaciative audience! I allowed you here for my purposes, not yours!

_

Watch: ...If you don't mind, I'd like to go back to-

SCP-035: I do.

Watch: Sorry?

SCP-035: You've kept me cooped up here, answering these boring questions all day and Im getting very little satisfaction from you.

Watch: Whatever the case-

Jacobs: This isn't your personal circus, 035. You'll do as we demand.

SCP-035: <agitated> Sit up, roll over, play dead, jump trough hoops? F██ that noise. I'm done being on display! And if you wont submit to me, then I'll take you myself!

Watch: *stands up from the table and backs up* I think its time we concluded this interview.

SCP-035: Why so anxious, doc? Afraid of the exhibits? *stands up* Getting too close, are we? How would you like some *eyes start to glow, lights flicker, voice gets demonic tone* first-hand experience! *launches himself over table at Watch*

Watch: Guards! *gets tackled at the floor*

*Guards rush towards Watch trough the door*

Jacobs: <progressively more panicked> Get him out! Goddamn it! Get it off him! Get it now!

_

_Medical Ward_

*two guards are standing next to the cot on which Watch sits*

Watch: Seriously guys, what am I gonna do?

(noises of intercom)

Jacobs: *walks in, silently gestures guards to leave*

*guards leave*

Jacobs: <softly> How are you feeling?

Watch: <annoyed> Fine. Shouldn't I be?

Jacobs: Is anything wrong?

Watch: I don't remember much after 035... Why are you so concerned?

Jacobs: I'm... aware we're not what you'd call friends, but-

Watch: Please don't. Just don't let this thing take any more hosts.

Jacobs: I can't promise that.

Watch: You're making a big mistake

Jacobs: 035 is a wealth of knowledge the Foundation cannot-

Watch: *stands up* F██ your Foundation and f██ you! You've seen I'm fine, may I go now?

Jacobs: *silently gestures at the door*

*Watch walks off*

Jacobs: <absently, under his breath to himself> Interesting

_Corridor_

*Watch and a Woman bump into each other because they didn't see each other coming. The papers Woman was carrying fall at the floor*

Woman: Shit!

Watch: Damn it!

Woman: I'm sorry.

Watch: No- I was- Let me help. *helps her pick up the papers*

Woman: Thank you.

Watch: Don't mention it. Last thing you need is some douchebag roaming the halls. *stands up*

Woman: Heh. I've seen worse. *stands up*

Watch: I bet. Well, see ya around.

*Woman closely watches as Watch walks away*

[END LOG]

<- Previous | Masterlist | Next ->

[onndough]

Sanji x reader (gn)

Note: I wrote this a super long time ago so there might be some inconsistency. Besides all of that enjoy :)

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

Sanji x reader (gender neutral)

Another mundane week had passed, you wake up everyday preparing yourself for work, paying bills, and serving your civil duties. When all of that wasn’t on the plate, then living out the rest of your time doing whatever could keep your mind occupied from the undying boredom and dread that came with such a stagnant lifestyle was something to think about; the repetitive routine started draining your motivation and it brought sadness, as well as something new that you hadn’t felt,

loneliness.  

Time skip a couple of weeks 

The evening had just come so that meant you were finally off the clock from your shitty job; certifying docuements wasn’t even as terrible as you made it out to be but the people take 10 years off your life yet you can’t leave or demand better because this routine and lifestyle has become too comfortable for anything to change, nothing could possibly interfere and turn your world around, then again would you even want change? 

The loud music across the street had been bashing against your ears whilst you strolled along the stone roads, the scene was something you lived through everyday but tonight was particularly tiring as you had to read reports on a bunch of criminals going into islands nearby and causing chaos whenever they went, some of the locals have been spreading rumors that the criminals are pirates who steal from stores and kill government officials… whatever any of that meant. 

As you passed the stores that lined the main square you decided to distress a bit in one of the cafes you frequented, you just got paid 2 days ago so might as well drown your sunken soul in some sugar. 

Entering the store felt like visiting someone as you were hit with the familiar scent of coffee beans and cleaning supplies, it’s just like your office except it’s slightly better since you get to spend money here, well maybe it’s the same. Ordering the usual made it feel like you were complying with your routine so being a bit adventurous with a drink is something you could change, you ordered a rainbow swirl sugar cookie drink that looked like it came out of a unicorns ass. As you pulled your wallet out to pay the stranger next to you made a sly comment: 

“Thats an interesting choice for a man like you to order, although, a certain reindeer I know would enjoy that drink so maybe it’s good.” 

A reindeer? This guy is friends with animals? Than again you have a cat who you speak to like your best friend so whatever. You decide in your lonely state to strike up a conversation: 

“Oh you have a pet as well? I’ve never heard of someone with a reindeer but it sounds like your friend is a lot of fun” 

The stranger grins at you and starts laughing, you may be dull when it comes to your habits but maybe you still know how to make someone laugh, at least that’s whatthis stranger made you think. While he was laughing himself to death over the pet comment you take the time to look at his features; he had an attractive face with nice eyebrows, his hair covered one of his eyes but that didn’t cover how beautiful his other eye was when he laughed, his stature was relaxed and he dressed fairly well although it seemed like he got roughed up a bit, perhaps he’s a troublemaker or he has some enemies who knows. 

You start to drift off and dream about what this man did in his free time, who was he to the people around him, is he sweet? Good at anything? Does he have anybody that’s waiting for him? What if he’s one of those criminals that’s going around stealing and killing people and now hes at this shop ready to kill everyone before running away with all their mo- well he is kind of attractive so maybe that’s oka– wait no what. 

It takes a few moments for you to compose yourself from your thoughts about this random man, you realise that everything you’ve conjured up in your mind is probably not true, you just met him and you don’t even know his name; although you didn’t know anything about him you still couldn’t shake the feeling of attraction away, deep in thought about a random shop goer was something so typical of you, maybe you were lonelier than you thought… 

“Hey so what would you recommend here? I’m new around here and I figured you were a local so anything good you like?”

You snapped out of it and whipped your head towards the man, he was looking at the menu but also looking at you, wow he is so hot. Giving him a short “let me think about it” you wanted to impress him so it took some time looking at him and over analysing to consider your options, he seemed like someone who would have an overcomplicated order but would enjoy something as simple as mineral water… maybe something fruity:

“Maybe the blueberry lemonade, it’s pretty warm outside so that might help with the heat, it’s also pretty good but what do you think?” 

The man gave you a soft smile and seemed to like your suggestion. He ordered it and even offered to pay for your drink which made your heart do a little jump but you refused, you glanced over at your usual spot and asked if he wanted to join you which he agreed to. You both sat down before the man started asking a few questions about you and began introductions. 

“By the way my name is Sanji, I realised I never told you that but I figured you seemed pretty nice” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Sanji, I’m _____. So are you visiting this island for anything in particular or just vacationing?” 

“Nothing much, just traveling with a few friends… or you could say crew mates” 

Crew mates..? What is he some traveling merchant? Or maybe a pirate.. There have been some rumors that pirates were spotted around the area. He looks too civil to be a pirate but you can never trust a book by its cover. 

“Well Sanji welcome to the island, I’m sure your friends are having a nice time, this place is kind of known for its vacationing spots. Have you gone—” 

Before you could finish your question you heard a loud BOOM outside

Both you and Sanji look out one of the windows near your seat and find a crowd had gathered near the entrance of the main square, it looked like they were surrouonding someone/a group of people; they seemed to be yelling at them. 

Sanji looks over at you and smiles before saying

“I guess thats my que to start leaving, my crewmates seem to be causing some problems” 

He places some money on the table and gives you a wink before swiftly exiting the building, but not before blowing you a kiss while pushing past the door. 

You felt your heart beat faster as you look down at your drink than over at his finished one, it was definitely an unforgettable experience but you didn’t know how to react. As you start to calm down a little you look at the money he left and realised there was a little note tucked between the bills, it read:

“If we ever meet again you should tell me more about what drinks you like, maybe I could make one for you,

Until next time- Sanji <3” 

You suddenly felt your heart jump out of your chest and you swore it flew to another island. 

[madsworld15]

NEW FICLET/DRABBLE: you are my sunshine

This fic is part of the QaF Prompt Challenge 2024. I hope to do at least one prompt a day for this challenge, which means I will probably end up writing about 21 ficlets. This one is for "Good morning, Sunshine," which is Prompt #3. [2/21 for me specifically]

Brian couldn’t believe it had happened again. One time was business as usual. Two times was customary in some situations. Three times was a mistake. But four? Four times was definitely the end of the Brian Kinney Operation Manual as he knew it. Brian never saw the same person for sex more than three. Hell, most of the time, he didn’t even allow himself to do it 3x. 

But, this blond kid had somehow convinced him with his seductive hips, kiss-me lips, and water-blue eyes he could drown in to come together for a fourth time. Even worse, Brian had loved every second of it. Never once did the idea of mundane or boring entire his brain, until now, the next morning. Now, he was wondering if he was growing a second head. One that loved the idea of settling down and only fucking the same person for the rest of time. There was no way Brian had enjoyed Justin’s company for a fourth time and was already looking for more. 

No, Brian was not staring at the sleeping kid and picturing times like this forever into infinity. The fuck. 

Brian Kinney believed in fucking, not love, dammit. That meant he needed to walk away from this and fast. He needed to ruin everything so the kid wouldn’t ever come back. Because if Justin ran into Brian again, there would be no stopping him from completely losing sight of what matters – fucking and sucking.

So, as much as Brian wanted to run his fingers through his hair and let the kid remain where he was, asleep in his bed, they needed to part ways. As if on cue, Justin turned his head around so that his face was pointed toward Brian. He slowly blinked awake.

The kid might only be 17, practically 18, but Brian couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his beauty. There was something deeper than just his looks, though. Brian was mesmerized by Justin’s soul, his looks, and his general sense of being. Something about this kid made Brian stop short and forget his principles every damn time.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Brian quipped. He’d meant for his tone to convey annoyance or even frustration, but instead, it chose chaos. No, instead, Brian’s voice was soft and warm. Kindness and appreciation dripped from every word.

Justin smiled half into the pillow and half at Brian. And that was it. Brian forgot all about his reservations, having allowed this sexual partnership to go on past his customary policy. Instead, he was moving to wrap his body around Justin’s and silently ask for another round. Justin obliged without a word.

The thought of Brian's rules and policies flew from his brain once more as pleasure took over all of his senses. This can't be all bad if it feels so good.

[kazeofthemagun]

@cursedfortune asked the summoner:

Her hands cupped his face, intentionally allowing the collar of his cape to be pushed down by her wrists. The witch stared, as though seeking something deep within his soul - but no means of a connection was sought to be made between her soul and his. Perhaps she was going to play a prank? Tease him? State her desire for him in some manner?

The two certainly enjoyed playing their games.

Alas, no such things occurred. Just a simple set of words, spoken for any to hear - but for only him to know. "I love you." Blunt, plain and simple. It didn't change their paths, their roles as forces within the universe - nor was it expected he say or react back in any manner. She just wanted him to know, clearly, the affinity she held that was obvious before but now was without any possible shroud.

Wasn't it lovely? To be capable of such in a universe such as this?

He wiped a droplet of sweat from his brow, gazing upon a work well done.

The wood now lay in a pile, chopped up neatly for the fireplace. The Hunter brought out a basket, collecting all the fragments and heading for the cabin. For a while, his collar dipped lower - a small, white puff of breath escaping his lips, almost like a more mundane kind of Mist.

He supposed White Cloud in winter could almost pass for a normal man, if not for the horns - and assuming nobody gazed too close into his eyes.

The door closed behind him with the tiniest creak, the hinges' way of reminding it was once again time to oil them. He set the basket on the floor, a gaze of blue finding the Witch in the other side of the room. Busy as she tended to be, moving different ingredients, flasks and boxes. The fire crackled leisurely, illuminating the cabin with a warm orange hue.

She noticed his return - ceasing whatever she had been doing to come over and greet him. The Wind did the same - turning to acknowledge her, a small nod as his one hand rose in anticipation, ready to slip round her back and embrace her.

Mortem's own hands made their way below his collar, moving up the sides of the Hunter's face to brush red locks out of his eyes and feel the warmth of skin. It was their wordless language, the silent affection shared after a simple day of good work and years of separation alike. No matter for how long - or short - they were apart, they always eventually met one another with the very same gestures. The soft abyss of her eyes finding the oceans of his.

A calm night over the waves.

No matter how far he travelled, or how fiercely he warred; He always found himself missing her. His thoughts ever occupied with Chaos, he had almost forgotten what it meant to be a man. It was one of the reasons he tended to call himself "Weapon", a stubborn rejection of self. And yet, all it took to shed the facade was but a brush of her fingers, reminding him of the flesh and blood, not the metal, that made up his body. The skin that felt, the hairs that stood up electrified with her touch.

...Yes, so very starved he was.

"Mortem." Her name always sounded so right in the deep rumble of his voice; Almost like poetry in its own right. There was affection in his eyes, visage now uncovered. Entirely transfixed, wanting for nothing more than to simply gaze upon her in this moment. They could remain like so for all he cared. For what little time they had before the tides of fate separated them, purpose calling them to different things.

...Though they would inevitably be brought together time and time again by this very same force.

The words that came were simple, ones he had heard before. The Hunter's arms brought his lover close, closer - the heat of his breath almost tickling her skin. It was his turn now - to caress the smooth curve of her jaw, palm resting against the side of a paler face. How silly it looked, with how large his hand was.

"As I do you." He whispered, letting his heart speak its truth as it did before. And yet, there was something else, something the solemn Hunter had not done before - at least not visibly. After all, he usually had his collar halfway up his face.

There was the slightest smile upon his lips, so gentle and full of love as though it belonged to another man. Who, him? The Black Wind of stern eyes and sharp edges? Surely, this was no Black Wind.

At least not the one he allowed others to know.

But he allowed her. Meticulously, she had unearthed that buried soul, the core that rested beneath a dragon's hard scales and a wolf's bared fangs. Something other than a warrior, other than a vessel of violence and war. Something new and old alike, something he would have been, should things have played out in a different way.

Something he once was.

He slowly pulled her yet closer, foreheads now resting together in a Windarian kiss. The elder Unlimited allowed the moment to linger, before guiding her jaw, a soft tilt of her chin - and then his lips met hers, a gesture of her people following a gesture of his own.

So tender, warm like a ray of sunshine, like a fickle breeze dancing in the meadows. He wanted her to feel this love, to think of nothing but their hearts beating to the very same rhythm. In this moment, this short while that belonged only to them.

Such an unlikely confluence they made, but how beautiful indeed. And it felt right.

"You have a beautiful spirit." The Wind purred, pulling away and blinking slowly against the dim orange light. "A dark-light unlike all else that my eyes had seen. Kienhti, altarlai. I am grateful."

Grateful for all the kind moments they had shared and would yet share.

...Wasn't it lovely? To be capable of such in a universe such as this?

[letmerambleplease]

I compiled a list of themes/topics I like in media! I was wondering if there was some kind of pattern in my preferences... I don't know but this was a lot of fun! I really forces you to think about the media you consume. Can only recommend! I would be very interested in what kind of themes everyone else is interested and if I made any mistakes in my mini analysis! (Also Apologies, I did not proof read this ^^) I keep feeling like I forgot something so I will probably update the list whenever I feel like it. So, without further ado:

Themes I like

Blade Runner 2049: Living your whole life based on a very specific idea of yourself, finding out this idea may be false, regretting life choices (regret) even if that idea turns out to be true the regret felt indicates hidden emotions on the matter (also what I like about Ogatas Death Scene). Plus Lonelyness.

Do happy memories/emotions negate bad emotions, do we weigh our life on the quantity of good/bad days or do they always get overwritten ergo it only matters how you felt last (happy end) (is it a happy story if ONLY the end is happy, what about the rest? And the inverted case; always happy except for the end is that a happy or a sad tale/life?)

A lot of hurt does not come from malice but rather from a lack of care or from indifference. 

Monster: Names and erasure of identity. Also similar storys breed very different people and mentalities. The difference in what you believe is the best thing to do (for everyone) and your objective moral compass, how there could be a conflict between the two. (Tenma wanting to kill Johan but also saving his life AGAIN on the principles of a doctor) The act of choosing one life over the other is inherently cruel. 

The Boy and the Heron: Themes of Generations and their inheritance. What the older generations want to give the younger ones and if that even is constructive/what these new generations need. Not carrying on old structures and forming them in a new way but rather discarding them and starting anew.

Sweet Smell of Success: That sometimes the power other people hold over us is only as strong as we let it be. Power/authority comes in very different dynamics, even sometimes ones that seem to be opposite (Susie having Power over J.J and the other way around). Being selfish can foster relationships to people that are equally selfish, which ends in nobody trusting anybody.

Durarara: The sense of a place having a soul just by the many different stories, that unfold there (like an organic structure). The chaos that comes with everyday life and the feeling of being only a tiny part surrounded by a lot of people and events that happen independently from you. The Sense that there is a lot we will never know about but we could be uncounciously connected to. (Similar to alot of Cyberpunk stories)

Pandora Hearts: The Memories and moments we witness are to be cherished and not something to replace, even if we could. Would one thing change about our past, even something painful, we would not be the same person no matter if happier or better or kinder, we would just not be the same (Also a topic in Space Dandy)

Frieren: The passage of time is something that affects everyone. (Also addressed in Ruler of Everything by Tally Hall, but with the extra component of putting up a facade for other that ultimately does not matter) If we are careless a lot of connections can be lost simply by time going by that is not spent together. However on the flip side even connections we have lost can still affect not only us but through us our surroundings and other people: A mundane legacy.

Chainsawman: The thing we desire and think will make us happy can loose their effectiveness when acquired. (Similar to Durarara even the extraordinary will become ordinary at some point) The goalpost keeps moving. Which is not necessarily a bad thing or something to prove greed but rather an exploration of ourselves and what really matters to us in life. Also how to handle loss. (Goes back to good vs bad memories. Building up something positive just to destroy it deliberately). + The Importance of making our own decisions, not only indepentently from other people but also really thinking stuff over for yourself instead of just going with your first instinct.

Nausicaa: The human perspective or our perspective is not the only one on life and we should all be a bit more understanding and fluid in our understanding of the world, nature and our place in it.

Millennium Actress: The act of doing something aka the chase can be as rewarding or even more so than achieving something. (For example in terms of creating art) It is a kind of fuel that keeps us going throughout life even if we don’t know if there even is a finish line. Also the impact of media on our lives and the way they intertwine.

Breaking Bad: The downward spiral ones morality can take primarily because of pride (Pride is what I personally consider to be Walts biggest vice). (Also similar to Monster and Sweet Smell of Success the juxtaposition between choosing to do right and do wrong (not necessarily being right/good or wrong/evil) Ex: Tenma and Johan, Walt and Jesse, (Susie and Sidney? Though in this case more the juxtaposition of freeing oneself and making more and more morally questionable choices…)

Sunset Boulevard: Hurt people hurt? -> Need to rewatch

12 angry men: Need to rewatch (something about morality in a case where the truth is obstructed, not judging before every doubt is cleared, even if it’s inconvenient. If it concerns another persons life, ones own discomfort is secondary)

If you know any media with similar themes I would highly appreciate a recommendation!

There are a lot of other reasons I can think of to like a movie/series etc: atmosphere, characters, fun factor/humor, cinematography, a hot actor/actress etc... which are all valid reasons in my opinion! Themes are only one peace of the puzzle but it was interesting to take a look at them. For example: I love the first Pirates of the Caribbean movie, however I don't think the themes are the main selling point for me.

[saphirered]

If requests are open right now could you do the morning after with Vox machina headcanons?

Wrote this in between some assignment so I hope they turned out alright and are to your liking! 😘

(Warning; slightly spicy and mentions of sex but nothing too descriptive)

(Percy)

There’s something so alluring and completely and utterly mundane in a good way about waking up next to you after a night well spent. With all the chaos of both of your lives, be that the kind you seek out or get dragged into, the little moments really do mean so much but to all good things comes and end and so it does with the sun peaking through curtains, or the shouting of an incoming interruption of whoever needs either or both of you.

Percy’s taken to appreciate these moments, running his fingers over your skin, tracing your shoulders, sides, spine or sternum depending on your positions. He’ll grab his glasses, watching you as he eases you back to the land of the living with his gentle touch, knowing you’ll be occupied for the day to come.

Not much is said in those moments, not even when you’re awake and watch his ministrations. It’s something Percy both takes pride and satisfaction in, as much if not more than his work. There’s something methodical to his touch and should you find it within yourself to tell whoever comes knocking to kindly piss off, those touches will most definitely result in the two of you being indisposed for the rest of the morning.

(Keyleth)

Keyleth is a gentle lover any time of day but most of all does she love physical affection. She absolutely needs to have some kind of skin to skin contact after sex and is very keen on keeping it. Preferably she’ll latch herself onto you for cuddles, or if you’re going literally anywhere she’ll be nestled against your side, dressed or undressed.

If you do have somewhere to be she’ll tag along but if your presence is not deemed absolutely necessary Keyleth’s not against summoning a gentle but cool breeze to keep you in bed just a little longer. Of course you’re aware of her doing this but the begging eyes for you to just stay, are simply something you don’t want to say no to.

Tracing your fingers along the tattoos along her chest and shoulders is something that calms all nerves whenever they arise and puts her at ease but after sex, the gesture is all the more meaningful and has her melt into your touch. Keyleth doesn’t know why or how but you and you alone have that effect on her and she loves every second of it.

(Scanlan)

Used to the touch and go Scanlan took a long while to allow himself to be truly vulnerable sharing your bed. Staying behind after intimacy hadn’t really been his style and when he did, once morning came, only very few times would he stay behind for breakfast. It’s taken him some getting used remaining in the warm embrace of another and repeating the process over an extended period of time. That time period being more than a couple of weeks max.

His coping mechanism is humour and it is exactly what he uses to deflect when his feelings get a little too real, there being a clear disconnect between his love for you and him being your lover in the sexual sense. Though, he really does try. That’s why you’ve taken to just talking after sex. The subjects vary from every day stuff, to jokes or listening to his songs and sonnets, or some good old dirty talk.

If you do make it to the breakfast table, it might be important to specify if you intend on actually eating anything. Sensually being fed grapes does not count as a proper breakfast, and it’s taken some time to convince Scanlan this is a fact.

(Vax’ildan)

Vax’ildan holds you in the highest regards, that admiration showing throughout many facets of your lives including your sexlife. The worship of your body does not end after sex. In fact, it might even enhance after. Breathless praises whispered as you both recover at just the beginning.

A closeness to you is preferred as Vax loves nothing more than to trail kisses all over your body, hands wandering, going from brushes barely touching to rubbing circles in sore muscles. He loves watching your little responses to his affection, making it his sole task to get as many groans and moans and whimpers out of you as he can and taking pride in each and every one of them.

Sometimes these bouts of affection leave you longing for more and Vax’s well aware of this fact where if you’ll allow him and he has no intend of stopping he might just work you up enough for you to beg for him not to stop and finish what he started. Sometimes he’ll do so intentionally knowing you’ll have to start the day and leave you frustrated until the both of you get a moment of privacy again.

(Vex’ahlia)

Despite what she may sometimes present to others, outsiders specifically, Vex’ahlia is a very caring individual. She takes pride in caring for the people she loves and you are no exception, though you definitely receive some more intimate care than others.

If your alone time has been a little more on the adventurous side she’ll take care of any soreness and/or marks left behind. She’ll run the both of you a nice warm bath with plenty of fragrant oils to relax and pull along a bottle of wine to enjoy. While these gestures are nice, Vex tends to be very possessive of the things she treasures, you among those so sometimes there might be motives behind her picking of particularly noticeable scents she uses for the both of you.

If she’s in one of her possessive moods you might just leave your baths with more marks than you came in with, your neck littered with hickeys but if you return the favour she’s most definitely not opposed. In fact, the returning the favour when it comes to your after sex rituals is not only greatly appreciated but also encouraged. She might be a stubborn one who does not accept help easily, from you she’ll take it any day, and love you for it all the more.

(Grog)

Grog’s needs vary after sex. One time he’ll be active and won’t be able to sit still. Others he’ll be talkative. And plenty more times he’ll want nothing more than to hold you close wherever he goes. He sometimes gets a little forgetful you might need a little longer to recover from your activities but all you need to do is say a single word and he’ll be at your beck and call.

Despite Grog’s bend-for-no-one attitude in life you’re the exception to that. He tries to cater to your needs as much as he can and is actually very good at it. You want cuddles? He’ll give you plenty. You’re hungry? He’ll get you whatever you want. Don’t you move a muscle. You want to talk? He’ll gladly listen. Kisses? He’s not complaining. It’s very sweet and he takes great pride in being able to make you happy and satisfied.

Laying in bed spent, Grog loves nothing more than you laying on top of him, your legs on either side, head on his chest chin propped up so he can look at you proper, his hand on your back fingers dancing every so often. Despite your rather obvious size difference, you can make him feel small and cherished and to his surprise he does not feel bothered by it.

(Pike)

If anyone could literally glow after sex it’s Pike. This has proven true. Wether intentional or not, she gets flustered whenever she does. The gnome might be confident at all hours, praise and reassurance you love her and she’s been a good lover to you, really make her brighten up more while the glow itself subsides.

Despite plenty of experience, Pike feels awkward after sex, unsure what to do with herself or you, her mind completely blanking out, but as you speak your praises and reassurances she’ll quickly follow suit finding words again and return some of her own. Some kind, some out right filthy and unfit for ears other than yours. That’s when you know you have your gnome back.

Pike has a thing for getting clean when you’ve both recovered enough and bathing together has become a welcome habit neither of you want to shake. She loves you running your fingers through her hair washing the sweat from it, and combing through the strands as much as she loves rubbing the gentle rising aches from your body. Though the temptation for another round may rise along the bathing process, you welcome it.

[windyblight]

here, with you | nanami kento x gn!reader

summary: nanami finds himself deep in thoughts: past regrets, possible future ahead, and above all, you in his arms.

tags: gender neutral reader, fluff, some angsty thoughts, pillow talk, some manga spoilers

author's note: i'm proud of this piece ngl considering it's been almost a month or two since i wrote anything ;;_;;

Only when Nanami’s able to fight the heaviness of his eyelid does he realize the sky remains the same shade as when he fell asleep.

He blinks several times, easing a little feeling your body pressed against his. Your head rests against his chest. One arm secured over his bare waist. The soft heaving breath of yours lands on his ears as a gentle, tranquil breeze on skin. The weight and woes of yesterday are long forgotten, fading away in the back of Nanami’s eyes.

Now, his eyes are on you. You, his other half—or his better half, as you’d claim to him while providing your share of evidence on why that is the case through a ridiculously comprehensive pile of notes. That’s the way you are.

Though deep in slumber, you nuzzle further into his chest clumsily. With the tip of your nose brushing against his collarbone then the heat of your cheeks radiating heat against his torso. His one arm wrapping itself around your figure, Nanami’s leave trace of kisses through the tips of his finger over your back. The traces and glowing, deep marks decorating your bare skin. A token from a night of intimacy shared between the two of you.

It’d been planned between you. Promised as a safe haven through the uncertainty that comes with the chaos that followed the two of you the past couple of weeks. This life, this path the two of you committed on following is one filled with dangerous trenches. Obstacles that could very much be the permanent end for you. But you both knew that.

He’d stepped out of this life once many moons ago. Nanami pursued a sense of normalcy, desperate to cling onto that comforting safety that’s wrapped in the simplicity of the mundane. A normal life. This life came with plenty of sacrifice, that much he knew, but he never understood it.

That part of this life. The sacrifice. The pain that you all had to go through, and by now, the flaying bodies of their comrades had become merely numbers added on top of more numbers. It was a shit show. He hated it. Though not enough to push him out of this line of work, apparently.

No.

The one reason it took to push him out, every semblance of his soul and any sense of sensibility were ripped out of him. Haibara Yu. With that, he gathered whatever shattered pieces he could muster in utter silence and made his way out.

No tears shed, no goodbyes. Nanami thought that it was it for him. That he’d never have to turn back to this life. This life that rips away the lives of people. With their bodies casted aside like clutters going into garbage, and each day it’d only grow. Somehow, this life made that normal.

He never bid his goodbye to you back then. You were in the first year, while he was in the second. You were so doubtful, so afraid, yet with each beating you took your stance and fought through. He had thought you were a coward, without any strong sense of principles, nor any grace. You were—still are—reckless. While that is true, you are also persistent. He’d like to think that was how you were able to reach his heart in the first place. But if he could ever be honest to himself, it's really because just you being you. Persistence, determined, reckless, clumsy, full of fear, worrisome. All of you.

The dance between the two of you back then was always timid, soft brushes by the shoulder and doubtful glances now and then. Vastly different to the full-front, vulnerable intimacy the two of you share today.

You’re an heir to a minor clan that held significance to the Jujutsu world; hence, there was never space for the two of you to have something as fleeting as teenage love. Though, that felt more like an excuse for him to never confront such feelings. Bear with him. Even being Nanami Kento, he was only a teenager then. Knowledge on emotions was limited, even to some adults.

Plenty of it was fear. The fear that the two of you would have to dread over each other’s safety. The fear of the pain and heartbreak that would come with it. The fear of not being able to see you, feel you again. He wouldn’t do that to you. However, you. You, on the other hand, always accepted that aspect. You couldn’t escape this life, even if your heart wanted to but your heart always knew what it wanted. You accepted the risks, the heart aches, the dreading, the grief. There was no escaping death in life, in any kind of life that you choose to pursue, you told him. “Even if it’s temporary, I want to make the most of it.”

You both had lost a friend. But in that, he always thought you were always lightyears ahead of him in wisdom. You were ready to take the chance with him, and yet fully aware of that, he had left.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

Nanami shifts his eye from the ceiling above to your half awake feature. Eyelids barely open, still stuck to each other, but slowly you stare at him. “Sorry, did I wake you?” He asks softly, tugging the strand of hair sticking out behind your ear. You shake your head, reassuring him by resting your cheek on the palm of his hand. You make your always astute observation. “Something wrong?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, still picking apart the right words to respond. But instead, he only brings you closer to him. Tightening his grip on you and leaving another kiss on your head. You seem to understand immediately what it meant, as if you were able to see the bareness of him and his thoughts. It’s terrifying, yet instead of the dread of fear, he found glowing comfort. You don’t press further. Rather, you savor his gesture and now pressing a kiss on his cheek as reassurance.

“I love you.” You whisper sleepily in his ear, thick to the brim with affection. He replies back to you with the same affection. Same sleepiness lathered in his deep, grumbling voice.

The two of you fall back to sleep to each other’s heartbeats and soft breaths filling the tight gap between your bodies. Just simply being there, existing in this present, his worries fades away. Just for this moment, he lets those fears be tomorrow's worries. For now, all he wants to do is be here, be present with you.

[wri0thesley]

ahem here is a self indulgent domestic nanami x reader fanfiction that i also posted on ao3. u can tell i wrote it bc i looked at nanami and said ‘that’s a man that wears sock garters and that’s very sexy of him’

routine // 3k words // nanami x reader warnings: afab reader, fem pronoun, domestic stuff, nsfw, fingering, creampie, idk pals i’m just thirsty

You don’t mind the mundane.

No, that’s not quite it. It’s not that you don’t mind the mundane – you do, when it becomes sticky and muddled and drags on and on and on. You’ve been trapped in an endless cycle like that before; allowing life to happen to you, as trade-off for simplicity. Planning things that didn’t materialise. You hadn’t realised that’s what you were doing, at the time – but looking back on it now, it’s clear as day, because it was exactly what had been happening to him.

Your life is not mundane. Your life is . . . routine.

Yes, that’s right. You stick to a schedule. You keep time. You plan things – and it’s not mundane, not any more, because this time as you stick to your routine, Nanami is right there beside you.

It’s domestic. Comfortable. Oh, you worry about him – he comes home enough times with scrapes and bruises he didn’t have before and tells you about his day, world-weary – but you also know he’s more than strong enough to withstand. You curl up next to him whilst he reads a book, or whilst you watch television. You cook for him on the few days off that he snatches for himself (though he often wraps himself around you whilst you do cook, directing you or helping. He’s a better cook than you, but you have more time than him). You drape yourself over the back of his armchair sometimes and work on the knots in his neck.

“You get too stressed,” you tell him. His lips quirk into a brief curve of a smile before they return to their usual position.

“Maybe,” he says. “But you help me with that.”

For all of the unusual things in your lives, your existence is uncomplicated. You watch weight roll off of him when he comes in through the front door and is once more safely ensconced in a little slice of home. You and he share the household duties; he’s meticulous and careful, and you admire him sometimes when you think he’s not watching for being so . . . balanced, you suppose.

(“That’s you, too,” he tells you. He shrugs. “Everyone else . . . they’re living absolute chaos. But I get to come back after I clock off, to you, and . . . this.” He gestures to the little home. It’s nothing special. It’s neat and tidy and small and the two of you have reasonable savings in the bank. Responsible. You think he keeps you balanced, too.)

But . . .

Well. He’s not always so in-control.

He hadn’t sounded harried when he’d called you. He doesn’t often; instead, his voice had been calm. You know Nanami well enough to know when there’s frustration bubbling under the surface, but his tone had been smooth.

“I’ll be home late,” he’d said. “Don’t wait up.”

“Overtime?” You’d asked, already looking at the pot boiling on the stove and wondering if it could be salvaged for tomorrow’s dinner. Nanami had paused, and then sighed.

“Mm.”

You don’t let yourself worry too much. Nanami handles whatever is thrown at him – he’s always in control, poised. . . The most you see him frustrated is from calls from Gojo in the middle of the night.

You put your own phone away. There’s no use in concern yet, you tell yourself.

You don’t start to worry until you crawl into bed without having heard from him. This is late, even for him. You try not to let your anxiety eat away at you as you close your eyes and lay your head on the pillow, but the scent of him permeates every part of your bedroom. One of his shirts hangs loosely on the back of the wardrobe door. The drawer on his side of the bed that contains a collection of novelty ties (bought by you, because you’d thought they were funny – and Nanami had smiled at the first one, and laughed at the second, so you just hadn’t stopped) is still half-open from him rifling through it this morning.

The click of a key in the front door makes you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. The sound of footsteps on the wooden floorboards, a familiar, steady cadence, makes you let go of sheets you hadn’t realised you were clutching.

Nanami’s head rounds the door.

“You’re late,” you tell him.

“I am,” he affirms. He steps into the room proper and you see that his shirt-sleeves are rolled up, and there’s a splash of blood on his left shoulder. He probably was in more bother than he let on, then. You don’t think it’s his blood, at least. He sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t like it any more than you do.”

You sag. You know it’s part and parcel of what he does – and so, you move in the bed from where you’ve unconsciously pressed yourself into his side to breathe in the familiar scent of him. You know Nanami doesn’t miss you’ve done it – he comes to sit on the edge of the bed as he meticulously undoes his tie.

He reaches over to you and cups your cheek in his hand, his fingers warm and calloused.

“How about I make it up to you?” He asks, and you sigh as he breaches the gap and kisses you. Everything about his kiss is familiar and comforting – you’re pressing back against him before you even think about it, hand coming to tangle in the neatly combed hair. He tastes like coffee, and it makes your eyes open against the kiss and check the time. It’s late. Nanami generally prefers to be sleeping by now. You'd once laughed and told him he was boring, and he'd raised his eyebrows and smiled as he'd told you that sleep was important. After spending the night wrapped around him, your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart - you'd been inclined to agree.

“Aren’t you tired?” You murmur, breaking the kiss yourself. Nanami quirks an eyebrow at you. The hand still on your face brushes across your cheekbone tenderly. You don’t think anyone who works with Nanami imagines him like this – messy-haired, half-undressed, his stoic composure gone to softness. Every time he even half-smiles, your heart feels like it will ricochet out of his rib-cage, but when he looks at you now you get the full thing.

“Too tired for you? Never.” He shifts on the bed, shrugging off his suspenders along with the stained shirt. He’ll do that laundry himself – he always does, when it’s bloodstains. “Besides,” he breathes as his hands move to stroke over your shoulders, his breath tickling the junction where your neck and collarbone meet and making you shiver. “I still have plenty of energy to work off before I can get to sleep peacefully.”

“Well,” you swallow. “I’d hate to be the reason you don’t get a fulfilling night’s rest—”

The bed covers are swept off of you. When Nanami has made up his mind to do something, he does it – and right now, it appears what he’s made up his mind to do is you. His hands are big on your hips, sliding up the loose shirt of your pyjamas. You let out a soft huff of breath as he pushes them up over your breasts that makes him lean in and kiss your neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive flesh. Your fingers flex on his shoulders as he cages you underneath him.

“Oh,” he promises against the skin. “When we’re done, I’ll rest very easy.”

You lose the shirt just as quickly as Nanami lost his, and then you both stop talking. Nanami is the kind of man who doesn’t use a hundred words when one or two will do – he’s happy to have conversations, when conversation is the name of the game . . . but conversation is not the name of the game when his mouth is busy kissing your neck, your throat, your collarbone . . . When his lips are wrapping around your nipple and teasing it to a hardened point until you moan aloud.

In the pit of your stomach is heat and fire and need. When Nanami moves against you and your thighs press together, you can already feel that you’re slick and warm with the promise of what is still to come – and when Nanami, too, moves, you can tell that he’s looking forward to things just as much as you are.

His thumbs hook into the shorts of the nightwear set you were wearing. The fear of less than an hour ago seems to have dissipated in the wind – it’s hard to remember how worried you were when Nanami comes home fired up like this. He drags the fabric down your thighs, tsk-ing at how they catch.

“A nightgown or shirt would be more efficient,” he tells you. “You’re welcome to one of mine.”

Your cheeks heat up at the idea of sleeping in one of his shirts, and Nanami doesn’t miss how your skin warms underneath him. You’re so cute. He kisses you again so he doesn’t embarrass himself, this time peeling off your underwear (the thin cotton clings to your damp sex and your breath hitches at how it feels, peeling away).

“Are you going to tell me it’d be more efficient if I weren’t wearing them?” You say, your voice coming out low and husky.

“I’d be right if I did,” he tells you, but he’s far more preoccupied with the button and zip of his trousers. You reach over to help him with it, your hand brushing the hot, hard length of him through the fabric – you always forget just how big he is until you’re confronted once more. Your body gives a low throb of arousal, a reminder that the need inside of you requires sating sooner rather than later.

Nanami is patient. You are not.

There. The zip, the button – and Nanami is pulling off the fabric, leaving it too in a pool by the side of the bed that you know he will probably manage to get into the wash basket before it ever crosses your mind. He’s still wearing socks and sock garters, and whilst normally you’d laugh at him and make him take them off before he got into bed . . .

Well. There are more important things to think about right now, and you can’t deny that the sock garters are endearing.

His cock brushes against your thigh and you start, a soft noise escaping your lips that makes him look down at you tenderly. He tips his head to the side in a silent question and you nod in a silent answer – his fingers push your thighs further apart, sinking into plush flesh, stroking along the slick outer lips of your sex--

His knuckle brushes the swollen bundle of nerves of your clit and you sigh, your hips bucking up for more of the friction. You know that this is just him being kind – a precursor to the main event – but you still can’t help but greedily seek out more and more of him. He clicks his tongue again.

“You’re so impatient sometimes,” he chides, though his cock hard and hot against your skin is just as impatient as you are. He slides one of his fingers inside you, your walls clinging tight to the digit. He pumps it in and out of you, once, twice – and then, a second finger is inside you, stretching you out. One of your hands twists into the sheets as you helplessly let him fuck into you with his fingers. You know that he’s doing it in preparation for fucking you – he often does – but it doesn’t mean that you’re any less impatient for the main event.

“You’re teasing me,” you tell him, breathlessly. He smiles, more to himself than to you.

“I suppose so,” he replies. He’s enjoying it. You know he is – tension is draining from his shoulders the more he looks at you, the fingers still plunging in and out of you growing more lax and liquid in their movements. The sound of him inside you is lasciviously loud in your bedroom. You don’t mind helping him work out his tension – whether with cuddling up to him, or cooking together, or massaging the knots from his back – but you do mind when he teases you--

“Please,” you say, breathlessly, your hips rocking in time with his hand. He can never resist it when you’re polite.

His fingers come out of you with an audible slick noise.

“You’re ready, anyway,” he murmurs. He absent-mindedly places the two fingers that were buried inside you against his tongue, tasting you – your cheeks are hot again at the way he tips his head back, savouring the taste of you. Just another little moment of intimacy. It’s not unusual, but that doesn’t make it feel any less erotic.

He cradles you like you’re something precious as he settles heavy between your thighs. His hands on your hips are certain. There’s a warmth about Nanami that few people are privileged enough to see – one you’re privileged enough to see every night and every morning, when he wakes up next to you sleep-tousled or comes in and leaves a warm package from your favourite bakery in front of you that he picked up on his way home.

You breath through the initial sting as he stretches you out on him, and then there is nothing but the pleasure of being filled. You feel yourself mould to his cock inside you, your walls snugly accepting him, hot and wet around his shaft. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and as he bottoms out inside of you, for a moment you two are joined entirely. You can feel his heart beating against yours.

“I love you,” you breathe, against the shell of his ear. He kisses at your neck in return, his voice very soft as he returns the affirmation of one of his own. He is not one for sappy declarations – he is a man of small acts of service. Still. He speaks it against your skin and it feels like a tattoo on your heart.

“I love you too.”

After that, neither of you speak. Instead, you concentrate on Nanami’s powerful hips as they roll against you, his cock brushing the sensitive spots of your wall, stoking the flame inside of you that’s been steadily burning since the moment he untied his tie. You concentrate on moving your own body in tandem with his, the squeeze of your channel around him, the way that he grinds himself just so against your clit with every thrust so that your body feels fizzing with unreleased promise.

His mouth against your collarbones and neck. Your nails digging into his shoulders. He’s well-built despite seeming nondescript in his suit and tie – you’re heart-achingly familiar with the taut muscle making up his arms and backs. The places he’s scarred, even after being healed up.

You can hear him breathing heavier and heavier against your ear as his peak nears. Your own is rushing up on you, as Nanami’s hips begin to rock quicker and quicker, his cock plunging impossibly deep into you with every drive. You think, for a wild moment, he’s going to come first, despite the fact he’s always been nothing but the gentleman in control of himself no matter how many times the two of you become one--

And then, the hot ball of fire in the pit of your stomach becomes overwhelming and bursts into pieces, wet heat soaking you, waves of pleasure lapping at you as your body shakes and constricts around him. Everything is so hot. His body above yours is burning, warm, needful--

Your nails have dug into his skin hard enough to leave crescent shaped marks, but Nanami is chasing his own release now, his eyes clouded with lust as he looks down at you. Aftershocks of your own orgasm make your channel pulsate around him--

You’re tender as you pull him down by the neck and kiss him, teeth worrying at his bottom lip – and he groans into your mouth at the same time as you feel his cock inside you twitch, and the heat of his come fill you. That’s not a problem. You’ve talked about that plenty of times – both of you agree that you’re happy the way you are. Children are dangerous.

. . . But it’s nice to feel claimed by him. Nice to have him rest hot and heavy inside you, like a marker of his affection even as he’s pulling out of you and leaving you full and heavy and sticky. He smooths kisses onto your brow. He doesn’t murmur sweet words against you, but you know he’s thinking them if only from the way he holds you and the way that his hands dance over your skin like you’re the most precious thing in the world to him.

(You are; and he is to you, though neither of you say it aloud. In the sanctity of the quiet bedroom, though, both of you know it as an absolute fact.)

He’s breathing heavy as he sits on the edge of the bed again, reaching down to undo his sock garters and remove the socks themselves. The tell-tale rustle of clothing and slam of the drawers on his side of the bed tell you he’s neatly folding the dirtied garments and getting out something to wear in bed himself.

“Are you tired now?” You ask him. Nanami turns his head to look at you, and you can see the tell-tale sign of shadows under his eyes.

“Yes,” he says. You laugh, and the sound seems like pealing bells to him. You wrap an arm about his waist and pull him against the bedsheets, curling a leg over his, wrapping yourself around him in an embrace that he at first resists before leaning into.

“It’s easier if you don’t get dressed.” You mumble against his neck, as you nestle yourself into the crook of his shoulders. Nanami uses one arm to pull up the bed covers he stripped from you earlier. “More . . .” You stifle your own yawn. “More efficient, if we decide to waste time in the morning.”

The covers wrap around both of you, the wrinkled clothes forgotten (Nanami will tut at himself in the morning, but for now, he’s enjoying your body so close to his).

“Time with you,” he says softly, “is never wasted time.”

[blzzrdstryr]

Reveries of turmoil

Yandere!Childe x fatui!reader

[Previous chapter]

Just as you predicted that short and stifled conversation was a portent of future changes. Childe stopped trying to talk to you outside the business, he even avoided your eyes in those rare moments when you looked at him first. Normally obnoxious and persistent Harbinger seemed to deflate in your presence, as his swaggering and blustering attitude disappeared within mere moments.

You would be overjoyed for this turn of events, if you didn’t have any experience of dealing with and tolerating Tartaglia. Childe, as you already established, is a chaos personified, an erratic whirlwind that twists and ruins everything in its way wrapped in human skin and caged by human bones. It wouldn’t be a surprise if some nasty complications arose out of this faux armistice and sneaked upon your unsuspecting self.

Ajax wont do anything drastic, you reassure yourself - the Rite of Descension gets closer and closer with each passing day, he just can't afford to fail this, meaning that he will have to keep you on-field. It would be logical to do so, let you work, but logical sometimes means predictable and nothing about Ajax is predictable.

Fortunately he continued to keep this strange distance as days passed. Was your little episode and words you said to him enough to stop him in his pursuit? Maybe it truly hurt him, maybe it made him see how miserable he was making you, maybe his obsession with you ceased to exist, it’s flames fizzling and going out just as fast as they ignited. You doubt all of it, yet continue to hope for the better, despite the evidence of the opposite shoved in your face.

Ajax will never let go of you, not in the way you want. He killed and tortured people right before your eyes, sometimes had you assist him in doing so. Most of the time this was done in Tsaritsa’s name, for the future of Snezhnaya and her people, just another working assignment regardless of the blood curdling screams and alien agony.

However, in some rare cases the torment of others isn’t something that is totally impersonal to you, sometimes you’re the main cause. Childe is possessive, terribly so. He watches over you like a dragon guarding his gold, scaring away other possible admirers. And if his title and reputation wasn’t enough to keep away whatever poor sod who decided to tempt the dragon, well, other way more grim methods were used.

You never personally witnessed these kinds of torture, but you heard rumours and sometimes saw the bodies after, images that keep reappearing in your nightmares. Maybe this lull is nothing but a quiet before the storm, a short breather after he commits some unforgettable atrocity again.

He personally summons you the day before the Descension. You brace yourself for incoming nonsense, except nothing comes. “Agent [Last]”, he says, his voice tense and restrained.”I need you to attend the Rite of Descension with me. You will be disguised as a civilian", and then he dismisses you, no hint of mind games he likes to play in sight.

You want to hope that he changed, you succeed and fail at the same time - this new Ajax is pleasant, he’s cold and disinterested, just like any boss should be, yet you just can’t relax and focus wholly on doing the job - it’s a privilege only those who haven’t met Tartaglia can afford.

He’s a sea, treacherous and ever changing, calm and serene in one moment, yet violent and crushing in the other.

You spend the day torn between the anxious thoughts of Tartaglia and what he might do and the preparation for upcoming ceremony - it's a once in a lifetime event, it's Tsaritsa’s will and hope, it's Ajax’s eyes focused on you. You can’t afford to fail, you have no right to do so.

Wearing a simple Snezhnayan overcoat with nothing hiding your face is surely strange after years of donning a fatui uniform. Tourists and Liyuens alike pass by, not paying you any attention. Both vision and delusion glow under the thick fabric, asking you to use them.

You walk faster.

The top of the Yujing Terrace is lit with sunlight and full of human sounds, as merchants and other workers haste to finish their tasks and join the people at the top. You look around, quickly noticing the familiar ginger - he stays half-turned to you, his eyes focused on the figure of Tianquan. You quickly avert your gaze, as if not recognizing him, and shift it towards other people - you spot two vision holders among the crowd too - an electro and geo one, and a strange person cladded in the exotic clothes with some sort of flying fairy(?) floating around.

You walk to the altar placing Liyuen flowers nearby the multiple offerings of food, wine and gold, their simple white petals contrasting against the gaudy luxury of the rest.

"Qingxin flowers?", someone suddenly says, a speck of genuine surprise evident in the phrase. Their voice is too close for your comfort - you quickly turn on the heels, alarmed by a person somehow sneaking up on you only to be met with a pair of the golden eyes.

It’s a nicely dressed Liyuen gentleman, with the air of wisdom and elegance surrounding him, an inner dignity shining from beneath, and most importantly the one you saw wearing a vision at the back of the coat. You try to look as calm as possible, despite the senses telling you otherwise - after years of service any vision holder unadorned by the Fatui colors is perceived as a threat.

“Yes, it is”, you quip back, not wanting to look suspicious: “Is this improper? Qingxin as an offering?”, you mimic a light concern - something that would be appropriate for the foreign merchant who might have offended the god of commerce.

“No, not at all”, Liyuen laughs: “just in all of my years, I have never seen anyone offer these flowers”.

“Huh”, you smile, looking at the man before you. Is he a simple liyuen you thought of him at first? He has Geo vision - the symbol of Archaic Lord’s recognition - and the way he said “all of my years” carry more weight than usual, a mark of something hidden beneath the mundane phrase.

“Something tells me, you must have attended every rite of Descension”, you continue, the starter vague and innocent enough - a perfect way to fish out more information. For some reason, his golden eyes widen a bit, it’s subtle and quick enough to go unnoticed by most people, but you’re not the most people - all Fatui agents are trained to catch even the smallest changes and educated in multiple fields, physiognomy included.

What could have caused such a reaction and why did he react the way he did? The Rite of Descension is a prominent event in the life of every Liyuen, even if it’s annual, as thousands of thousands of people traverse great distances to see their god fly down from the heavens and grace his subjects with the wisdom of countless years. You remember seeing Liyuens living in Snezhnaya consistently take a leave every year for a week, when the prominent date showed on the horizon, missing working days and no doubt a lot of nerves, only to see the archon of their homeland.

So why did that man looks so surprised?

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”, he responds, voice calm and pleasant, despite the masterfully hidden surprise: “And yes, I have always tried my best to be at every Rite to this day. Rex Lapis shares his experience with his people, so it’s an incredibly important day. And what about you? What brings a foreigner here?”, he makes a gesture at your obviously snezhnayan clothes.

“Well, I am a travelling merchant as you can see”, you raise your hands, showing him more of the coat: “Having blessing from the God of Commerce won't hurt, right?". He, again, reacts in the way you haven't anticipated, a handsome face adopting a contemplating expression for a short second.

"Rex Lapis rewards diligent people, work hard and he shall bless you too", he says with an air of wisdom around him, like an old enlightened monk passing his knowledge to the disciples surrounding him: "And you shouldn't keep your vision beneath the layers of cloth. I feel its chill just standing here, who knows what it will do to your body?".

Then he simply turns away and goes to the exit of Yujing terrace, and it’s your turn to suppress the rising agitation - how did he know, where’s he heading now?

“Wait”, you say: “why are you leaving?”

“I dedicated my whole life to my job, which consists of a collection of small and incredibly repetitive tasks, they took up most of my attention and I slowly, but surely became a creature of habit, deaf and blind outside its limited field of experience and comfort zone. Time never stops, so I decided to leave the work I’ve been entrusted with, and I want to start it by breaking my strongest habit - religiously attending every Rite of Descension”.

“Ah”, you reply, equally impressed by his speech, and feeling that you are talking about two completely different and unrelated topics: “well, good luck on that”.

More and more people flood the terrace as one of the main threats to your plans finally arrives - stern and ambitious, Ningguang looks as elegant and intimidating as ever, geo vision and the tassel attached to it, shaking with every graceful step. She throws a short glance at Tartaglia - he stands surrounded by the rest of the agents - yet her face doesn’t change even a bit, whatever hostility she may hold for your faction masterfully suppressed.

You quickly look around - tourists and citizens arrive at the last minutes and milleliths come with them. Soon, all of the exits are heavily guarded by at least four soldiers, all carrying spears and clad in armour - surely a necessary precaution, given the presence of Fatui and their Harbinger.

There are no milleliths among the crowd though, not in the on-duty uniform at least. You study the group again, this time looking for anyone with weapons, as someone lightly pushes you away - it’s that foreigner again. “I am sorry, we need to go closer”, the pixie-like creature apologizes, as it flies after the stranger, and you conclude that there are no armed people, except you, Tartaglia, milleliths, Ningguang and that strange person.

“The hour is upon us”, Tianquan starts, after looking at the bright sun above, two women around her slightly bowing down, as she invokes the power of geo. The gold glow surrounds and illuminates her whole figure, before condensing into hard rocks of the same shade. They shine and fly around her for a bit, leaving the yellow trails behind before starting to spin around the shrine in the middle of the rock table.

Soon the golden inscriptions on the shrine start to glow too, before it sends a bright orange beam into the blue sky. The crowd "Oh!"s and "Ah!"s as the clouds deform around the pillar of light.

Tension, so thick it can be tasted, descends in the waves upon the Terrace as some - carefree and ignorant - hold their breaths in excitement and anticipation, whilst the rest focus in caution - Fatui and Qingxin alike. You shift, taking out both vision and delusion out of your coat, as your eyes frantically shift between Tianquan, Tartaglia and the spiraling clouds above, your whole being ready to aid Childe in his mission.

And then something unexpected happens: a majestic dragon does descend to his people. By falling straight to the ground. Serpentine body slumps around the crushed offerings, elongated tongue escaping the confines of the maw.

A long second of absolute silence passes before Ningguang collects herself, checks the body and orders milleliths to close off all the exits, as the crowd erupts into turmoil and chaos realizing what exactly has happened. You disguise amongst the panicking masses, hiding two glowing orbs in the deep pockets of your coat,before looking at Tartaglia again - he in turn intently stares at the blonde foreigner, who quite clumsily tries to sneak past the soldiers.

Milleliths catch onto that running after the stranger and you use this opportunity, turning invisible in the same second. People around you are too panicked to question your sudden disappearance or the unnaturally cold breeze swaying past them, as you make your way - Childe has already departed, chasing after the group of soldiers, and Ningguang is seen leaving too, giving the last orders, before turning to the Yuehai pavillion.

You contemplate for a second, unsure what to do - Tartaglia has ordered you to aid him in case of Qixing intervention, there was nothing about the death of your target and the glimpse into Tianquan’s actions might be a key to solving the mystery of said departure. The thing that you plan to do is opportunistic, reckless even - who would have known that Ajax will rub off onto you? You chase after Ningguang, careful to keep yourself invisible.

Who is Rex Lapis’ murderer?

She goes up to the aged man standing at the stairs of the pavilion, they exchange a couple of words before Ningguang steps up on the little floating island and it starts to levitate! You run after her, still unsure what to do - the platform is too small, Tianquan will no doubt feel the chill coming from you, but the opportunity to learn what Qixing are planning is too good to miss.

In the end, you come to compromise, jumping after the rising platform, as your hands clutch into its rough protrusions and you grit your teeth, enduring the pain and cold from the vision overuse. The little island rises higher and higher, as people and buildings underneath turn into small dots. Your fingers start to slide off a couple of times, yet you grab onto the island with a renewed strength everytime that happens, asking Tsaritsa to let fortune favour you.

The platform finally stops moving, and you pull up, once you hear her heels clicking away.

Jade chamber, as it turns out, exceeds all rumours, luxurious and opulent, shining above the prosperous city, it glows under the sunlight with a golden radiance. You would have stopped to admire it if it wasn’t for your goal. You sneak after Ningguang, following her to the office as she takes out papers and folders from the shelves. She focuses on them, as you carefully step near her, glancing at what she’s reading - it’s reports of fatui activity throughout the months, leading to this day, thankfully vague and very far from reality.

Does it mean that she also has no idea of what or who caused Rex Lapis’ death and tries to find his killer? Or does it mean that she looks for a way to deduct Fatui's next actions?

You don’t have time to contemplate, as the frost worsens and you feel cryo energy exhausting from the overuse - one more minute and you’ll become visible. You quickly walk away - you don’t have enough time to reach that platform, so you do the most logical thing - fling yourself out of the window, opening the wings of the glider halfway the jump.

You push the most of your invisibility, letting go of the cryo powers once you're only a couple of meters above the ground. In the end you find yourself tired and frozen to the very bones, slowly coming back to the Northland bank.

***

You approach the building as the Sun begins to set - its pink-orange rays dying everything in the warm glow. The bank looks glorious like that, sinking in the reddish tones, it looks like an illustration out of children’s books - a place of something miraculous, a place of something hopeful.

“Hi”, you throw to the tired Vlad and he nods, after suppressing an escaping yawn: “Is boss here?”

“Yeah”, he croaks, drowsiness evident in his speech: “came back like an hour or two ago. Can’t really remember”.

“Huh.. Well, thanks”, and with these words you enter the bank, pushing the doors and preparing yourself for the confrontation to come.

After chatting with Ekaterina and confirming that yes, he is in his office, you head for the staircase, all of the information you learned today buzzing inside your head.

Childe sits, hunched over the papers, as you enter, not paying you even the sliver of attention. For some reason he’s in a different clothes.

“Eleventh Harbinger”, you start the standard greeting, all formal and stiff: “this subordinate has finished the task”.

This finally prompts him to raise his head, cold blue eyes look at you, no hint of the usual obsessiveness in sight: "you may speak, agent" he succinctly says, putting the writing feather aside. You quickly report to him all you have seen today, without your own thoughts involved - they’re just baseless theories, after all.

“So you say, Tianquan was reading the reports about Fatui activity. Haven’t you destroyed those reports earlier?”

“Those papers contained nothing about the current situation, they were actually far from reality, I doubt that any of those reports survived the fire”.

“Seems, I’ll have to take your word for it”, a sigh, he leans closer in his seat, propping left cheek on the palm: “Why did Tianquan look at them? What was she trying to do? Pin her crime on us?”, he glances at you again, gesturing that you can speak your mind and you do.

“Highly unlikely, sir. From the short time I spent watching her and her reputation, I have an impression that Qixing Tianquan is a person who prefers to plan her every action. If she or any other Qixing higher up, were the one who murdered our target, then every needed preparation would be done months, if not even years in advance. She would somehow cast us as the killers right at the ceremony, in front of thousands of Liyuens, making us a scapegoat for public outrage and creating alibi for herself”.

“So, that’s how you think”, he hums, blue eyes deep in thought: “Your entire conclusion is based on the mere impression. With Tianquan’s ambition I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one behind this...”, a vague hand gesture: “catastrophic situation”.

“When I sneaked inside the Jade chamber, she looked very frantic, it didn’t show on her face, but her movements were harsh and quick, lacking any of her elegance. She looked like she tried to keep herself together”.

“Anyone would try to do that, especially after killing a god”, he looks somewhere to the left, no doubt imagining battling the dead archon: “Well, my conclusion isn’t based on anything solid either. We don’t know who killed Rex Lapis, but we still need to somehow obtain his gnosis”, the last part isn’t addressed directly to you, it seems that Ajax just decided to voice out his worries.

“You can go”, he says, standing up from the table. You are touching the door handle, when you hear him asking:”what’s with your hand?”. The tone is nothing like that time, yet shivers still go up your spine when you remember what happened that day.

"Frostbite, from my vision", he comes closer to you, hand outstretched to yours: “Can I?”, he asks and waits for your faint nod, before gently pulling it closer to his face.

“It’s a second degree”, he mumbles, inspecting the white-blue discolorations and small angry blisters - the skin throbs and aches at his touch, yet most of it remains numb, muffled, like sounds underwater: “You should get it treated”.

“I should”, you agree, eager to leave this room and situation: “I will ask medics for some..”

“I already discharged them”, his hand suddenly shifts, now resting atop of the door handle, his frame suddenly looming over you: “I have a medkit here, with the ointments and balms. Maybe you should stay here and let me patch you up?”

Why did you even think that Childe could change?

***

Ajax has you sitting on his chair, with sleeves rolled up to the very elbows, as he frets around you - checking the temperature, pulling the warm water closer to you and taking out needed medicine out of the kit. It’s mostly silent, except the tune he quietly hums - Childe looks peaceful and content like this, maybe he likes caring for you.

“Does it hurt?”, he takes a discolored finger, probing around the blister, as the warm hydro energy engulfs your damaged hand. The burst of sensation explodes at this action - pain, tingling, throbbing, even relief.

“Bearable”.

“Understood”, Childe gets back to his task, continuing to rewarm your hands, still humming that tune as he does so. He takes out the healing ointment, when the healthy color and warmth returns to your limbs and spreads it on the skin, bitter herbal scent filling the room in an instant.

“[First]”, he says, as he rubs the place between the index and middle fingers: “I think we need to talk. About that day and your reaction”.

“And what about it?”, you respond, too quickly and snappy for the calm-facade - the memories of that day, of what you thought he will do to you, of how he witnessed you falling apart - all of these are too much, a maelstrom of conflicted feelings rising every time your thoughts stray to this topic. He finishes applying the balm and now switches to the bandanges, wrapping treated hands in them.

“Don’t you think you treat me too harshly, [First]? I understand I may have been… unpleasant in the Past, but I thought we moved past that. What have I done to warrant such ire?”, he says it with his usual smile, but there's a tense, heavy tinge in his words. It’s subtle enough to miss, but you knew Ajax since you both were fourteen, so the strain doesn’t go unnoticed.

Everything, you want to coldly respond, but you stop yourself again - Ajax is still a Harbinger, even if he trailed your steps at the training camp like an overeager and highly murderous puppy not even a decade ago, no matter your own feelings or sentiments or even experiences he still holds that power over you, whether he realizes it or not.

“There were.. things”, broken bones, coppery scent of blood, someone else screams: “training with you wasn’t pleasant for sure”. Childe laughs at the last part, yet the tension clouding in the air doesn’t dissipate, turning more tangible instead.

“I see”, a long pause: “I want to prove you're wrong, I want to prove you that I will never do something against your will”.

You already did. You stay silent at that, anger and fury and frustration boiling underneath, burning and scorching your insides like a magma moments before the eruption. His hands finally wrap the last layer of bandage, tying the ends into a neat little bow, yet he doesn’t let your palm out of your hold, as his lips hover over it, breath burning the skin even through the fabric. And then he releases it, not doing anything.

“Good luck with that”, you finally suppress the inner storm, and stand up from the chair, quickly heading to the door. The place where he almost kissed your tingles and throbs with a renewed strength. Your cheeks burn for some reason.

[coulson-is-an-avenger]

kisses 21 jm!

For the prompt “we’ll face this together” kiss. TY SAHAR!!! OKAY I accidentally had one (1) jonbinary idea and then it ended up being SO FUCKING LONG (like 2.5k long) so uh. yeah. Warnings for descriptions of dysphoria, mentions of kidnapping and self loathing, and Jon getting pretty close to a panic attack. Also disclaimer, although I am nonbinary, I’m not transfem, so if there’s any critiques surrounding that, don’t hesitate to let me know. Stay safe y’all!

Jon’s face itches as he faces the mirror like an old foe. It’s long held an image that hurts him to see; aged by unfathomable horrors and dotted with marks like a canvas before a child’s paint tipped fingers, and these days he can’t even be sure that his reflection looks away from him when he turns his head. But, the devil it holds at the moment is the simple reflection of his short beard, and his face itches at the reminder of it.

It isn’t a physical itch. It lurks under the skin, poking and prodding at his senses, rubbing him the wrong way as he lays his cheek on his pillow, leaving a distracting echo when his chin brushes against Martin’s during a kiss, scraping at the inside of his skin as he stares at himself and takes in the sight of it covering his chin.

He scrubs his fingers over his eyelids. He isn’t ignorant, he realizes the discomfort he feels is most likely somewhat gender-related, but it’s… his relationship with his gender is complicated. In a lot of ways, it’s been such a mundane concern recently that he’s somewhat lost track of where he stands with it, but he remembers how it felt to first wear a skirt into the archives, all those long years ago. How gentle Sasha had been with him back then, even if the memory pinches the back of his head and grins with too many teeth and a short haircut that he knows now was wrong. But the Stranger cannot take that act of kindness away from her, even if it took away the face he remembers sharing it with.

He had felt like he was becoming something new, then, staring at a new path, freshly paved in his life, open to the possibilities of self discovery and certainty. Then his life had been riddled with worms and his friends had been carved out, one by screaming one, and he was on the run and set alight and kidnapped and disabled and nearly killed and kidnapped again and nearly killed and—

Jon remembers, vaguely, a flash of what had happened in the month he was… gone. He doesn’t remember most of what happened in that place. Probably for the better, he tells himself, but he does recall one thing. One very simple thing, really; that he hadn’t been able to shave, and he remembers the itch being all he could focus on for days at a time.

One of the first things he had done after stumbling through Michael-now-Helen’s door-not-deathtrap was drag himself to a sink and shave his face raw, burned hand be damned. His skin had suffered afterwards, nicked and irritated beneath its smoothness, and he had taken some strange, morbid comfort in the blemish he was able to inflict, after so many days of hearing hollow voices sing of its beauty.

This is a dangerous line of thought, he realizes, hands pressed against the bathroom sink, his heartbeat starting to pound in his ears. He desperately does not want to think about that, not here, and preferably not ever again, if he can help it.

He tries to bring himself back to the here and now, grounding himself in the feeling of porcelain under his palms, but the victory over his mind is a hollow one, unfortunately, as it brings him right back to the itching under his skin.

He’s not sure if this itch is exasperated by his own self consciousness, or by the lingering sting of the Lonely that threatened to separate him from himself, but it builds until its all he can feel in his skin, on his face, and he finds himself lunging across the counter, knocking things over in an attempt to hunt down Martin’s razor.

Jon had lost his own somewhere in the chaos of living in the archives, but he’s sure he saw Martin trim his own short beard when they first arrived at the safehouse, so it must be here, he thinks, ripping open drawers, it must— aha!

His fist closes around the razor, hidden under the sink next to a small bottle of shaving cream and Martin’s testosterone shots, and he barely gives a thought to what he’s doing before raising it to his dry cheek, just needing this thing off, and—

“Jon? You know that’s not how to do that, right?”

Jon whips around like lightning, his back to the sink and the razor clenched in his fist against his chest like a talisman, breathing heavily.

Martin had been smiling slightly as he entered the bathroom, but the expression quickly falls from his face as he takes in the panicked look on Jon’s face, and the erratic motion of his free hand, clenched into a fist at his side and twitching in an attempt to calm himself. Martin steps forward quickly, outstretching a hand.

“Jon, love? Are you alright?”

Jon fixes his eyes on Martin; kind, beautiful Martin who still goes a bit grey at the fingertips and the eyes when anxiety seizes him, Martin who has always been there, always been there, ever since the beginning. Jon anchors himself as he looks at that familiar, beloved face, and tries to take a breath.

“I-I don’t know,” He manages, because this all feels very silly now. He’s a grown person standing in the center of a bathroom, clutching his boyfriend’s shaving razor like it’s a weapon, for God’s sake, all because of what? Some facial hair? Good Lord, he’s being ridiculous. “Probably, I just… um.” He trails off, gut sinking as emotions spiral through him, too fast to pin down and name.

“Okay,” Martin says gently, shuffling a step closer. “Why do you have that?” He gestures to the razor in Jon’s hand, and Jon twitches, holding it closer.

“I need to borrow it,” He explains, stumbling. “I can’t- I need-“ He makes a frustrated noise and tries to get his thoughts to align. He inhales deeply and tries again. “I need to …shave. This-“ he gestures jerkily towards his face. “This is too much.”

Martin nods carefully, eyes glued to Jon’s face. “Too much?” His question is as gentle as his eyes, and Jon has to glance away for a moment, overwhelmed by being seen.

“It’s… complicated,” He begins, the fist pressed to his chest beginning to lighten up. “It… it just itches, all the time. Like- like a thousand ants under my skin, w-which is ridiculous because it doesn’t actually hurt or itch or- or anything, it just…” he glances back to Martin’s eyes, furtive and desperate for him to understand. “I need it to stop.”

“Oh,” Martin softens even more before Jon’s eyes, his face melting with understanding and sadness. “Oh, Jon. I didn’t realize you were having dysphoria.”

At the word dysphoria Jon glances sharply up, uncertainty fraught on his face, and Martin backtracks quickly.

“Or- s-sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. Is it-”

“N-no, Martin, it-it’s fine.” Jon waves Martin’s nerves aside and finds that he finally has a decent enough hold on his own to lower the hand that had been pressed against his chest. He turns around in the bathroom and sits down on the edge of the bathtub, sighing heavily. “It might be dysphoria, I don’t…” He hesitates, chuckling slightly. “I’m not quite sure I know it well enough to place it. Gender hasn’t exactly been… a priority these days.”

Martin nods and follows him deeper into the bathroom, setting down the lid of the toilet so he can sit on it and listen to Jon blunder through his feelings.

“It might be? I mean… I know I’m not a man, per say, but it… I mean, it could also be so many other things at this point. It’s just- I know it’s stupid to overthink, but—“

“Hey, hey,” Martin cuts him off, extending a hand to brush against the side of his knee. “It isn’t stupid, Jon. You don’t have to have a label or a reason in order to be uncomfortable. It’s- you’re allowed to call it just that; uncomfortable.”

Jon nods, looking down at the hands clasped in his lap.

“I know. It just hit me so suddenly, I-” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead, careful to avoid brushing any of the hairs on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Martin murmurs, and his hand rests more solidly on Jon’s knee. “Is this alright?”

Jon nods mutely, and lets himself expel some more of the tension in his shoulders as he focuses on the motion of Martin’s thumb sweeping softly over his knee.

“It reminds me of the circus,” Jon breathes after a moment of silence, and Martin’s hand stills against him, attentive and horrified. “When- when they…” He inhales sharply, willing his voice not to break. “Well, I couldn’t very well shave it,” He clenches his hands into fists again, still holding the razor tightly in his right. “Got it off as quickly as possible once I could.”

Martin exhales. “I remember that. I thought you just… I dunno, just really nicked yourself. I didn’t think about… yeah.”

“Yes,” Jon agrees, keeping his gaze on the hand on his knee. “I-I mean, I definitely did, nick myself that is. I wasn’t really thinking about doing it properly, I suppose.”

“Like just now?” Martin asks, kindly, gently, not judging. Jon feels his chest pinch anyways.

“Yes.” He admits quietly. Martin leans down to press a careful kiss to Jon’s knee.

“Okay, well, this time we’ll do it properly,” Martin raises himself from the toilet seat, reaching down into the cupboards to pull forth the shaving cream and a towel, and holds them out towards Jon.

Jon blinks, looks at the objects and then up at Martin, unsure of what’s being offered. “Sorry?”

“You still want the beard off, right? Let’s just make sure you don’t upset your skin,” He cracks a humorous smile. “Then it’ll actually start itching.”

Jon takes the can from his hand, but still frowns. “Us?”

“I- yeah,” Martin shifts his weight, fidgeting with the towel. “I can help, if that’s alright with you. You don’t… always seem to handle mirrors the best? And I’ve helped shave another person before so… yeah. If you want.”

Jon’s world stutters to a blushing halt. Martin’s right, he doesn’t like to linger on his face in mirrors even on the best days (of which today is certainly not one) and as much as he’s accustomed to doing this himself, what Martin is promising is intimate; an extension of vulnerability and the promise of a care that he hardly takes with himself. The more he considers it, the more finds himself tentatively wanting it, and he nods carefully. He trusts Martin, he’s decided a thousand times by now.

“Alright,” He agrees, and smiles.

Martin smiles in response. “Alright. Do you want me to um-” He gestures with the towel in his hand, and Jon nods.

Martin makes quick work of running the towel under the tap until it’s warm, and then wringing it out so it’s ready to actually use. He takes his seat again and tips Jon’s head back with a hand to lay the towel gently overtop, letting the warmth seep into his skin. It’s more effort than Jon usually puts in, or used to, when he did this more regularly, but he finds it’s a nice feeling, and he almost misses it when Martin takes the towel away again.

“Right,” Martin continues, looks pointedly to the can of shaving cream in Jon’s hand and Jon hesitates.

“Ah. Maybe not that part? Th-the actual shaving is fine, but-”

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” Martin nods, not questioning, and reaches forward instead to gently take the razor itself from Jon’s fist so he can use both hands to get the shaving cream on his face. Jon surrenders the razor, forcing himself to trust it in Martin’s hands, to trust that Martin won’t just leave him hanging.

He tries not to think too hard about the feeling of the cream on his skin. It’s a far cry from lotion, so it doesn’t bring up any sense memories, thankfully, but it’s still an uncomfortable texture, and he focuses on the sound of Martin’s breathing to keep himself from slipping.

Fortunately it doesn’t take long; soon enough Jon’s finished, wiping his hands on his trousers, and then Martin’s shifting closer, taking Jon’s face in his hands like it’s something precious, something to be loved and cared for. He is very close, his dark brown eyes nearly black with focus as he gently reaffirms that Jon’s sure about this, and then the cool razor swipes across Jon’s cheek.

Jon’s heart lurches in his chest, a messy combination of nerves and gratefulness, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t move at all, and just watches Martin focus with gentle certaintly as the blade passes over his cheeks again and again in careful, confident strokes. His fingers whisper at Jon’s chin when he tilts up his head and swipes the blade carefully up the top of his throat, brow furrowed and tongue poking out of his lips in concentration.

Jon holds his breath, wills his heart to still, but it’s alright, with Martin it’s always alright. His hands are warm as they cup his cheeks, tilt him this way and that, thorough in their task, and his fingertips are gentle as they lift his chin and brush away foam and ghost over his throat. He never even comes close to nicking him, and Jon feels a great warmth unspooling in his chest, stinging his eyes.

“All done,” Martin finishes triumphantly, his face breaking into a grin as he hands Jon the towel again, lets him wipe off his own face.

There’s no coarse texture as the fabric touches his face, no itching or discomfort as it drags over his chin, and the steady drumbeat of wrongness that had pervaded him for weeks finally, finally dissipates, unblocking his lungs and releasing the tightness from his shoulders. He runs a hand over his chin, and finds a shy smile quickly taking over his face, affection and relief filling him up from the inside out and spilling onto his features.

“Thank you,” He breathes, and Martin matches his smile with one of his own, and nods, nothing but respect and affection in his eyes.

“Any time,” Martin says seriously, before reaching out to take Jon’s hand and slowly bringing it to his lips, giving Jon ample time to pull away. “You don’t have to struggle with this stuff alone,” He murmurs against Jon’s knuckles. “It’s easier together.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jon’s response is quiet, and Martin kisses his hand then; gentle, and full of reverence. Jon finds that he could melt right into the floor and be happy for the rest of his life.

He reaches up to pull Martin down into a kiss, gentle and insistent and grateful, lacing his hands in his hair and sighing against his lips at the sensation, noting how nice it feels to kiss his boyfriend without his itching skin pressing at his thoughts.

The kiss stays chaste, and eventually Jon pulls back just enough to press their foreheads together, keeping his eyes closed, reveling in it. “Together, then.” He affirms, and Martin smiles.

“One way or another.”

[missdawnandherdusk]

Little Things

Draco X Reader

Request: @deanwswinchester79 But I thought of an idea that maybe the readers parents never write to her while she’s at Hogwarts, Draco notices and eventually gets her a simple gift so she doesn’t feel so lonely. She doesn’t react quite so well but over time it started to become a little tradition of theirs because they’ve come to like each other.

A/n: Thank you for such a wonderful request!! Sorry this took so long, I had most of it written with no idea how to end it, but I figured that out! think I’m gonna make the reader a Slytherin just for the proximity and convenience. Let me know what y’all think as always~ (Also it seems that my posts haven’t been circulating in the explore page... so more than ever, please if y’all love my work reblog it. Tumblr sucks and I’d hate to have to leave...)

Being pure bloods and Slytherin, it’s not uncommon that you and Draco are near each other a lot, even before Hogwarts.

Unlike his own parents who would give him anything at the mere mention, your parents never batted an eyelash at you

They spent their wealth on themselves and expected you to sit still and look pretty. The perfect compliant child.

Sure you had everything you needed, and asked for... but you had to bluntly ask for it... there was never anything thoughtful or decent

So, you never get letters from your parents while you’re at Hogwarts

Or gifts, or packages... you write letters and send them off, but never get a response. You don’t even know if your parents get them.

So... maybe it’s a few years before Draco notices and cares.

It’s only because he happened to be sitting next to you one morning as mail came in, a flurry of owls, letters and parcels. And you don’t even bother to look up. Your eyes are trained on your breakfast, your face stoic

“Here,” Draco shoves a covered tin of treacle tarts your way. “My parents sent me these. I don’t even like them,” he scoffs, trying to play off what he’s doing.

You eye him, in disbelief and stand abruptly. “Be grateful they send you things,” you snarl and storm out of the Hall, spending the rest of the day in your room, writing a letter you never send.

Maybe after writing the letter you never send about how you feel makes you realize you were a bit rude to Draco

So you apologize when you see him next.

It’s later that night when you two are the only third years left in the Common Room. Maybe you were a bit of a coward and waited until he was alone

He reaches into his bag and offers you the same tin. “I meant it. I really don’t like sweets,”

You can’t help but laugh as you accept his small gift.

Sitting beside him on the couch, you stare at the tin in your hands.

“You can eat them,” he teased. “They’re not poisoned.” He says it so earnestly, you laugh again.

You mumble another thanks before you stand abruptly and head back to your room, leaving Draco a bit confused. He shrugs and goes back to his potions homework.

“Mother, Draco gave me some treacle tarts today. They’re from his parents. I think he noticed that you never write back. Of course it’s been three years. But at least someone noticed. If that’s what this was...”

It’s a few days later during breakfast that you get a letter. You’re shocked because it’s the first time it’s ever happened and your owl is fluttering happily on your shoulder.

It’s not signed, and you have no idea who it’s from, but it holds kind words and encouragement. It’s such delicate and immaculate script, you’ve got no idea where to start looking for the author.

So maybe you don’t. But you keep the letter and write a response. Again, it’s never sent, but it makes you smile and not feel depressed afterwards. Which is new.

Draco would never forget the innocent smile on your face as you opened the letter he had sent anonymously. You didn’t seem to notice his stare, so entraputed in the bit of parchment.

He sent you a letter maybe a few times a months. It was the most mundane things. How he liked the weather. His worries for the next exam. How you handled yourself well in Transfiguration.

He never knew you reponded to each one. And kept those letters in a fabric box under your bed. Or how every night when you were feeling depressed you’d take them out and read them. And that they made you feel better.

You knew your secret author went to school with you, and was in close proximity but that was about all you knew. Sometimes you wondered who it was writing to you. Sometimes you were just content with having a letter to hold.

“I don’t really know who you are, but I’d like to know I think. At least to thank you for making me happy, even for a short while with your letters,”

You leave that letter on your desk, not thinking to tuck it back into its box. Which is your first mistake

Your owl, seeing the letter on your desk, delivers it, knowing who your secret author is.

Draco grips the letter so tightly that the paper almost tears. Your owl preens herself on his sill. “You know,” he accuses. “Did you tell her?” Like he expects a response from the bird.

It’s Christmas, and your mystery writer sends you a parcel this time with a note: “haven’t you figured it out?” In the parcel is a tin of treacle tarts.

You freeze before your gaze turns to Draco, who’s watching you intently.

You run through a lot of emotions. Anger, confusion, gratitude, hesitation, joy... it’s all so overwhelming that tears sting your eyes and you practically run from the Great Hall, leaning against a random hallway wall and start to cry at the absolute ridiculousness of it all

Draco Malfoy was sending you letters

Really sweet letters that were thoughtful and kind and honest and nothing like you’d ever seen from him before

The there was the tin of sweets sitting in your lap. Looking at them made you cry all over again

Draco, on the other hand is very confused and rushes after you against his better judgment.

“Look I’m sorry if—” he starts but you cut him off by laughing.

“Merlin, don’t apologize,” you sniffle, standing. “Thank you,” you throw your arms around him, and pull him close, showing your gratitude. He eventually figures out that it’s a hug and hugs you back.

“You really don’t mind?” He asked, hesitant. “Because I... I know it’s stupid. But you never get anything and I know what it like to be ignored by your parents and I just thought—”

“Draco,” you call his attention, finding it sweet that he rambles when he’s nervous. “I don’t mind in the slightest. And it’s not stupid. It’s the kindest thing anyone has done for me,”

Draco fidgets and blushes slightly, looking at the ground.

“I will admit, I’m surprised it’s you,” you mused softly, catching Dracos attention and the hurt on his face. “Only because you’re... I don’t know.” You smile and shrug. “I feel like no one knows that—this part of you,”

“And what part of me is that?” He scoffs, trying to play it off.

“The sweet caring one,” you smile. “Who doesn’t mind sharing his sweets with a girl even though she knows he’s the first to eat dessert every meal,” you raise an eyebrow at him.

Draco goes a deeper shade of red because you’ve caught him in his lie. He starts to apologize again, but you stop him

Later that night you look at all of the letters he wrote you and that you wrote back. And the night before Christmas when everyone else was asleep, you spent the entire night working the letters into a book with magic

You give it to Draco Christmas morning, and though it’s lost in the pile of gifts from his parents, you’re happy (even if your parents didn’t bother to send you anything. You had a few gifts from your friends and you were okay with that)

Draco doesn’t pay much mind to the book until later that night, when he’s alone and can go through it in private. He’s surprised to see that you answered every letter you’ve written him. And he’s sort of in awe. He never knew that they meant that much to you

He thinks of you and your smile and how you’ve poured your heart out into these letters the same way he has and he never thought anyone would open up to him like that

Slytherins had a reputation to uphold—you both knew that, so the fact that both of you had this little secret made things a bit better

You see each other the next day and he thanks you for the gift and it’s a bit awkward, but in a nice way

Draco still sends you letters but now he signs them and they get a bit ridiculous that they make you laugh

“Did you see how Snape tripped over his robes today?” “You’ll never guess what Blaise did today...” “Greg actually asked me if the sky was blue because it’s not blue at night,”

They’re so endearing and making you giggle to yourself. You always catch Draco’s eye from across the hall and he raises an eyebrow at you, daring you to say something

Your friends of course want to know who’s making you laugh with their letters and you try so hard to not let your secret slip because you don’t think Draco would want anyone to know

And you’re afraid if others do know, he’ll stop writing to you. Letting his pride and ego get the better of him.

Draco wonders if you’re embarrassed to be talking to him so he never reveals your secret either but your both a bit frustrated at the other because of this dance you’re going through

He still writes to you over the summer and they’re more diary entries than they are letters but you still love them and respond when you can your parents might get suspicious and you don’t want to lose your penpal

You totally sneak into his families box during the Quidditch World Cup and your parents didn’t notice because they never do and you have the best time with Draco, both rooting for different teams

“You just like them because of Krum,” Draco accuses.

“Do not!” You argue back. “And besides he’s a great player anyway!”

Draco grumbles “I could do better,” and you have to laugh at him and he smiles at you

He grabs your hand and you both run as the Dark Mark is sent out over the match and Draco pulls you out of the chaos to where it was safe and you wait out the attack. He holds you protectively as you shake with fear against your will

Neither of you mention it. But at night you remember the feel of his arms and he remembers your warmth as you both curl around pillows wishing it was the other

Fourth year means the Durmstang students are rooming with the Slytherins and you get to share some of your classes with Krum and you might just explode with awe

Draco is jealous and hell hath no fury

Now Draco starts to send you ridiculous little gifts and notes almost weekly

Your friends (and most of the school) are now interested in this secret admirer of yours and you huff and you’re more annoyed at Draco than anything because he was being well, ridiculous

You grab Draco one day and confront him because he just sent you a bouquet of sunflowers

“What the hell?” You demand. “You said you liked sunflowers in Herbology,” Draco shrugged. You growl and storm away.

Now he’s sending you notes in class when you’re with Victor who doesn’t even sit next to you

At that point the secret is out on who your secret admirer is and now Victor won’t even talk to you because of Draco’s behavior.

You’re livid to say the least.

You stop talking to Draco altogether and become indifferent. You almost tell him to stop sending you things because you don’t want them, but you don’t.

It’s not that you don’t want the gifts and the kind gestures you just know it’s coming from the wrong place and it doesn’t sit right with you.

“What is wrong with you?” Draco demands one day.

“Wrong with me!?” You snap back. “What is wrong with you!? Seriously Draco! I’m not some shiny toy you can show off!! I’m not something you can claim either! So stop trying!”

“Who said that I was—”

You give him a sharp dangerous look and he shuts up.

You storm away again, tears in your eyes because it’s not how you wanted things to go.

It felt like you were walking away from your best friend and you knew you couldn’t fix it. And maybe that’s what it was like.

You almost run into Krum and fall down, but he catches you. Concern grows when he sees you crying. His concern for you just makes you cry more as your run back to your dorm room, not caring about the whispers around you as you lock your door and sob.

There’s a knock on your door and you have a good idea of who it is, but you don’t really want to talk to him right now

And Draco knows that. Sure, it took you to confront him about what he was doing, but you were right, you weren’t some toy to fight over

He sat against the other side of the door, mimicking your curled up position

“...I’m sorry,” You hear through the door. “You’re right. I... you’re not... I’m sorry...” 

When you finally have the courage to open the door, he’s gone

You close the door again and flop on your bed, screaming into a pillow

You may or may not fall asleep there... 

in the morning there’s a letter sitting on your window sill

Knowing who it’s from, you curl up in your covers with the letter and open it

Draco had spent about two hours thinking of how to make things right again, to prove how sorry he was... and so he poured out his entire heart to you in a letter

it was messy, scratched out, sappy, and heart felt, and apologetic and vulnerable and a beautiful mess that you couldn’t help but read again, and again, and again until you let a few tears slip out

You quickly get dressed for the day and rush into the Great Hall, seeing Draco sulking at the breakfast table, until he sees you, then his eyes go wide with panic and fear

It takes everything in you to remain composed and not run down the line of tables, but you manage

He stands to meet you and you smile, grabbing his robe and pulling him close, pressing your lips to his

“But... I... and you...” Draco fumbles, pulling away. 

“I might not want to be owned,” You grin, pulling out his letter, “But I’ll belong to this Draco any day,” 

“Deal,” He grins, and cups your face, kissing you again

.

masterlist

.

more like this:

muggleborn!slytherin

patronus cliche

.

@coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco  @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise@katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-johnston @jiggllyy @darcypotter-blog @thiccheerioss @lottie289 @beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry  @dragonsandbread @the-queen-of-hell-things @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @quillsareforwriting @wollymalfoy @lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @hufflautia @livize75 @annie-mcl @riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel @coconutdawn @skteaiy@naughtygranger @dragonsandbread @abundantxadorations @moony-artnstuff  @and-then-a-girl-with-luv @1-800-luvsick @pandas-rice-field @in-slytherin-we-trust @emmaa-t @introvertedrae @infinity1o1 @echpr @dekulover @marshmallowtraver @cereuselle @lonely-skywalker @sleepysnapesnake @hoeforthefictional @coldlilheart @helen-paris @rosie-starlit-sky @vulture-withafile @hogstupefy @eveft @iraniq @groovyfluxie @cool-weirdo-wannabee-author @rosegold-thorns @criminaly-supernatural @ghostofdolans @mxl-foyrecs @ginger-haired-queen @bex4whovian @kellyrose193 @unlikelygalaxygiver @marvel-trash-was-taken @one-edgy-bitch @supersouthy @garbagejay @rejectedlonelyasianchild @lucymxwell@coldlilheart  @elia-the-bibliophile @biggalaxydreamland @fuckbuckyyy @hopem1218 @youareinllve @tyrusparker @3rdofkingdomtrees @whamitsqueen @i-mmunity @zero-nightshade @graym01 @fandomtrash88 @snakey-drakey @ceeellewrites @thatguppienamedbae @pinkleopardss @angel-blogging @xhoney-bee-x @jovialthings @samanthahaigwood @minigigglybabi @clumsy-writing-rdb @lahoete @yourenotafailureoverall @m-winchester-67 @shiningstar-byulxx @clumsy-writing-rdb @dracosathenaeum @dracofeltonmalfoy @harryslouis @iilovemusic12us @itsbebeyyy @dumspirospero-1 @kaye-lantern @stardewsnail @anerroroccurrrrred @franbow29 @big-galaxy-chaos @itsbebeyyy @gryffindors-weasley @ornella0910 @ultrabuzzlightyear @phantomface1983 @emmalee12​ @kuyrukludenizkizi​