#so not only will i be busy for like 3 hours

[eclipixels]

Afterglow

Character: Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira, Hyoma Chigiri, Rin Itoshi, Seishiro Nagi, Reo Mikage, Sae Itoshi, Michael Kaiser

Content: Blue Lock boys after pound town (tiktok trend)

A/N: A request from my one of my fav moots @captainshindo <3

Warnings: Mentions of sex

     Yoichi Isagi

     You’re sitting across from Isagi in a quiet corner of a late-night restaurant, the hum of low conversations and clinking cutlery filling the space around you. The air is thick with the scent of grilled meat and spices, but all you can focus on is him—slouched in his seat, eyelids heavy, hair still slightly damp from the sweat of what you’d done barely an hour ago.

     He looks exhausted.

     The kind of exhaustion that settles in your bones after giving everything—after pushing, pulling, and losing yourself completely in someone else. His navy-blue hoodie hangs loosely on his frame, collar stretched just enough to reveal the faintest trace of teeth marks near his collarbone, evidence of the way your lips had claimed him. He probably hasn’t noticed, too busy fighting the drowsiness that keeps dragging his head downward, only for him to snap back up again when his chin nearly meets his chest.

     “You look like you’re about to pass out,” you murmur, stirring your drink with a straw, amusement curling at your lips.

     He blinks at you, dazed, as if only now remembering where he is.

     “I’m fine,” he says, though the hoarseness in his voice betrays him. He shifts in his seat, one hand lazily rubbing at his face before reaching for the glass of water in front of him. His fingers fumble slightly, like even the effort of picking it up is too much.

     You bite back a grin. “You sure? You look like you had the life drained out of you.”

     At that, a slow, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I kinda did,” he admits, voice dipping into something softer, something just for you. He leans back, stretching his legs under the table until his foot nudges against yours. “Not that I’m complaining.”

     Your face heats up at his words, but you roll your eyes to cover it. “Eat something before you actually collapse.”

     He groans but picks up his fork, obedient for once. You watch as he takes a bite, chewing slowly, his gaze flickering to you in between. There’s a quiet intimacy in this shared space, the remnants of passion still lingering between you, woven into the way his shoulders relax and the way his foot stays pressed lightly against yours.

     Yeah, he’s tired. But he’s here, with you. And there’s something about that that makes your chest feel warm, like the afterglow hasn’t quite faded yet.

     The waiter approaches, setting down a plate of food in front of you both. Isagi lazily thanks him before turning his attention back to you. You notice the way his fingers grip the fork with a little more steadiness now, the small bites he takes as he refuels his drained body. The sight makes you bite back a smirk, he really had no energy left to spare after earlier.

     “You’re staring,” he says between bites, eyes flicking up to yours.

     “So?” you challenge, resting your chin on your hand.

     He swallows, setting his fork down just long enough to rub a hand over his face again. “So, it’s distracting.”

     You raise an eyebrow, stifling a laugh. “Distracting from what? Chewing?”

     “Yes,” he mutters, the confession dragging a laugh out of you.

     “Just admit I wore you out,” you tease, nudging his foot beneath the table.

     He exhales a breath that’s almost a laugh, shaking his head. “You already know you did, love.”

     The admission hangs in the air between you, making your stomach flip. He doesn’t shy away from it, doesn’t try to cover it up with some cocky remark. He’s just… honest. Open. Your heart does something stupid in your chest, and you quickly focus on your food to keep from letting it show too much.

     “God, what was I even thinking of letting you ride? You nearly killed me,” he sighed dramatically.

     “Oh, but you enjoyed it,” you teased, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

     He raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hm, well… I might just let you do it again.”

     “Oh?” you smirked, leaning in a little closer, intrigued by his sudden change of heart.

     “Yeah,” he nodded, “but only after my soul finds its way back into my body,” he joked, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

     You catch him stifling a yawn behind his hand, and before you can stop yourself, you let out a quiet chuckle. Then he lets out another yawn, barely covering it with his hand. “I think I’m gonna just pass out here. Wake me up when it’s sunset, yeah?”

     You snort, flicking a stray napkin at him. “Not happening. I’m not carrying your heavy ass home.”

     “You could try,” he mumbles sleepily, already slouching further into his seat.

     You shake your head, watching as his head starts to dip again. “Fine, but if you snore, I’m filming it.”

     Meguru Bachira

     The restaurant is dimly lit, buzzing with soft chatter and the occasional clatter of dishes. You sit across from Bachira, who is currently melting into the booth like a man who’s just ran a marathon. His cheek is squished against the cushioned backrest, golden eyes barely open as he stares at the menu, though judging by the way his pupils aren’t even tracking the words, you highly doubt he’s actually reading it.

     He lets out a long, dramatic sigh and slouches even further, which you thought was physically impossible until now. “M’too tired to read. You pick.” His voice is thick with exhaustion, slow and slurred like he’s seconds from passing out on the table.

     You scoff, flipping through the laminated pages. “You’re the one who insisted on coming here.”

     “Didn’t think you’d drain my stamina that much before we got here.” he mumbles, stretching his legs under the table until his foot nudges yours.

     You roll your eyes, pretending not to feel the warmth creeping up your neck. “Quit being dramatic, you’re acting like you just did a whole workout.”

     “I did,” he insists, lifting his head just enough to look at you before flopping back down. “A very, very intense one.”

     “You sound proud.”

     He grins, not even denying it. “Well, yeah.” Then, he waves his hand. “Give me your hand.”

     You arch an eyebrow, but give in, letting him lazily play with your fingers. His thumb brushes absentmindedly over your knuckles, his touch featherlight, but there’s a sort of intimacy to it that makes your stomach do an embarrassing little flip.

     “You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

     He pouts. “You love it.”

     You do. But you’re not about to give him that satisfaction out loud, so you just shake your head instead.

     The waiter comes by, eyeing Bachira with slight concern, probably wondering if they need to call emergency services for the half-conscious man draped over the table like he’s just fought for his life. Bachira somehow musters enough energy to order something simple, though you’re pretty sure he just pointed at a random item on the menu. The moment the waiter leaves, he groans and drops his forehead against the back of your hand, exhaling loudly.

     “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

     “Mmm,” he hums, muffled against your skin. “No promises.”

     You sigh, but your other hand moves on its own, fingers combing through his damp hair, still messy from earlier. He exhales again, this time with a content little sound that makes you freeze because oh no, that was cute.

     “You’re so spoiled,” you mutter.

     He cracks an eye open, smirking. “By you? Yeah.”

     You smack his forehead lightly, and he laughs, though it quickly turns into a yawn.

     It doesn’t take long before the food arrives, and you thank the waiter while Bachira blinks at his plate like he’s not sure what it is or how it got there. He picks up his fork, twirls it between his fingers, then—

     —immediately drops it with a clatter, staring at his own hand in betrayal.

     “Honey,” he says gravely. “I can’t hold things.”

     You stare at him. “What.”

     “My arms are dead. My fingers? Jelly.” He lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers dramatically. “Look at this. I have no grip strength left.”

     “Oh my god.” You stare in disbelief.

     “This is your fault.” He insists, and your mind wanders back to how he worked you with his hands for what felt like hours before you got here. You resist the urge to bury your face in your hands at the thought. You broke your man. All for an orgasm. They were great orgasms but still.

     “Do you want me to feed you?” You offer, feeling slightly guilty.

     He gasps. “Would you?”

     You were joking, but now that you see the way his eyes are lighting up, you realize you’ve made a mistake.

     Before you can retract your words, he’s already leaning forward, mouth slightly open, waiting.

     “…I regret everything.”

     “C’mon,” he sing-songs, grinning like an idiot. “Say ‘ahhh’ for me first so I don’t feel weird about it.”

     You grab a fry off your plate and shove it into his mouth to shut him up. He hums happily, chewing like a satisfied child.

     “This is amazing,” he sighs, slumping even further against the booth. “I should let you ruin my stamina more often.”

     You nearly choke on your own food at what he said. You grab a napkin and dramatically press it against your forehead like a distressed Victorian widow. “I can’t do this.”

     “Yes, you can.” He nudges your knee with his foot again. “You love taking care of me.”

     “Debatable.”

     “You’re still feeding me.”

     Ugh, he’s right.

     He grins triumphantly, but it’s quickly interrupted by another yawn. His eyes are drooping again, and you can already tell he’s not going to last much longer.

     “Meguru, if you fall asleep in your food, I will take pictures.”

     He waves a lazy hand. “That’s fine, just make sure you get my good angles.”

     You stare at him in disbelief before shaking your head, picking up another fry to pop into his mouth before he actually does pass out. Yeah. He’s definitely not making it through this meal awake. You place a chaste kiss on his cheek as he snores.

     And honestly? You don’t mind.

     Hyoma Chigiri

     You’re sitting across from Chigiri in a quiet corner of a late-night restaurant, the air rich with the scent of sizzling meat and freshly baked bread. The dim lighting casts a soft glow over the table, reflecting off his crimson hair, which is slightly disheveled—strands sticking to his damp skin, the aftermath of everything you’d put him through just an hour ago.

     He looks done.

     Not just tired—wrecked. Like he’s been through a battle and barely made it out alive. His normally graceful posture is completely gone; he’s slumped in his chair, arms sprawled across the table like he physically can’t hold himself up anymore. His long legs stretch out beneath the table, one foot lazily nudging yours as if he can’t even muster the energy for a proper kick.

     “You good over there?” you ask, taking a slow sip of your drink, watching him with thinly veiled amusement.

     He exhales, blinking at you like you’ve just pulled him out of a deep trance. “I think you ruined me,” he mutters, voice hoarse, thick with exhaustion.

     You smirk. “You’re acting like I made you run sprints for three hours straight.”

     Chigiri groans, dragging a hand down his face. “That would’ve been easier.”

     You chuckle, setting your glass down with a quiet clink. "Oh? Are you saying I’m worse than your training regimen?"

     Chigiri gives you a deadpan look, but there’s the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. "I’m saying I might need a recovery period before I can walk properly again."

     You hum in mock consideration, reaching for a fry from the basket between you. "There’s a reason why you stretch before doing stuff. Maybe you should’ve done that"

     His ears flush pink, and he exhales sharply, shaking his head. A smirk falls on his lips as he sends you a look. A look that got you two here in the first place.

     “Is that why you’re doing alright? Because I stretched you out so good?”

     Now it’s your turn to be flustered. “H-Hyoma!”

     Well, you can’t deny it. You stammer as he lazily steals one of your fries, though it takes considerable effort, his hand moving slower than usual. You watch as he chews, blinking like he’s on the verge of passing out right then and there.

     The restaurant hums around you, the low murmur of conversations blending with the occasional clatter of plates from the kitchen. Outside, the neon lights of the city flicker against the glass windows, casting a soft glow over Chigiri’s already exhausted face.

     He stares at his drink for a long moment before frowning. He groans again, tilting his head back against the seat. "I’m not sure I have it in me to get up."

     “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before bending me over.” You shrugged, a sly grin on your face as you sipped on your drip.

     "I hate you."

     "That’s not what you were saying earlier.” You tease, “Should I jog your memory again?”

     "Again?" he nearly shouted. "I don't think I can handle that for a while. Give me three to five business days."

     “Yeah right, I give it less than twenty-four hours before you’re begging me to let you do me.”

     His lips part like he wants to argue, but all he does is sigh, shoulders sinking further into his seat. He doesn't need to say it—you both know the truth. Instead, he rubs his thumb over your hand, lazy and affectionate, before stealing another fry.

     Rin Itoshi

     You sit across from Rin at the dimly lit restaurant. Your legs feel weak, a pleasant ache lingering in your thighs, but it's nothing compared to the exhaustion practically radiating off Rin.

     His teal eyes are half-lidded, and his usually sharp expression is softened by fatigue. He leans against his hand, fingers buried in his dark hair, as he stares at the menu like it’s some unsolvable puzzle. Every now and then, his gaze flickers toward you, as if blaming you for his current state.

     “What?” You blink at him stupidly.

     Rin exhales through his nose, not dignifying you with a response. Instead, he lets his head rest against the back of the booth, eyes closing for a moment. The rise and fall of his chest is steady, controlled, but you can tell that he’s drained. You did that. Hehe. Wait, oh my god, you did that to him. The thought makes warmth creep up your spine.

     “Maybe you should’ve paced yourself,” you tease, flipping through your own menu. “Not my fault you can’t handle a few rounds.”

     His eyes snap open, irritation flickering across his face, but there’s no real malice behind it. Just a grudging kind of admiration, hidden beneath layers of stubbornness. “Shut up,” he mutters, voice rough, as if he’s still recovering.

     You bite back a laugh. It’s rare to see him like this—unguarded, spent, completely at your mercy in a way that isn’t physical but still intoxicating.

     The waiter arrives, and Rin straightens, but there’s a sluggishness to his movements. You order for yourself, then glance at him expectantly. He sighs before muttering something about just getting whatever you’re having.

     “Too tired to decide?” you hum, resting your chin on your palm.

     Rin glares, but it lacks its usual bite. “Too tired to deal with you,” he corrects, rubbing a hand down his face.

     You grin, satisfied, and reach for your glass of water. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

     And from the way Rin looks at you, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, you know that’s exactly what it was.

     You glance over at him, your fingers tapping against your own glass. “So,” you start, breaking the quiet, “how was that game of yours today? You actually manage to score this time?”

     His eyes narrow slightly, but the smile on his lips is knowing. “Of course. Not that you’d understand the level of skill it requires.”

     You arch a brow, leaning forward a little. “Excuse me? I could totally play circles around you.”

     “Sure, you’d be great at running interference. ‘Oh no, I can’t block, I’m too cute, please don’t hurt me!’” he mocks you.

     Your eyes narrow, “You’re lucky I’m too tired to slap you.”

     Rin winces dramatically, then leans back with a smirk. “I don’t think you could handle me one-on-one. You’ve already proven you’re not great with stamina.”

     “Oh? You’re one to talk. Don’t make me remind you how well I can handle my stamina against yours.”

     Rin coughs, his face flushing slightly, but he recovers quickly. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

     “I’m insufferable? Is that why you were trench deep in me a few hours ago?” You smirk, taking another sip of your water.

     He scowls, but there’s a certain softness behind it. “That’s enough conversation, shut up. I’m exhausted.”

     “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before deciding to go for as long as you did.”

     Rin’s expression darkens with what could almost be called a glare, but it’s too tired to be truly threatening. “Don’t even start. Do you think you have more endurance than I do?”

     “Mhm, I would prove it to you again but,” You lean in a little closer, smirking. “I don’t think you can handle another round of me just yet.”

     “You talk a lot for someone who’s too tired to even sit up straight.”

     “Well, maybe I just enjoy teasing you.” You lean back.

     The waiter comes back, placing your food in front of you. You immediately dig in, savoring the taste. Rin follows suit, though he’s still slower than usual. You catch him glancing at your plate from the corner of your eye, a barely concealed hunger in his gaze.

     “Are you still hungry?”

     He looks up, and this time, his glare is sharper. “I’m not that weak.”

     You smile and slide your plate closer to him, just out of reach. “Sure you’re not.”

     Rin narrows his eyes at you, then at the plate. It’s clear he wants it, but his pride’s getting in the way. The tension is palpable as he debates internally, and you can’t help but laugh softly. “Just take it,” you say, amusement coloring your voice.

     He glances at you, his lips twitching into a grin. “Fine, I’ll take it, but only because I’m too tired to argue.”

     “Ah, see? You do know when to give in,” you say triumphantly, handing it over.

     “Don’t make me remind you how easily I can make you give in.” He threatens, but you hope it's a promise.

     Seishiro Nagi

     It’s a quiet evening at a small, intimate restaurant nestled between two towering buildings. The dim light casts a soft glow over the wooden tables and delicate plates of food. The quiet hum of conversations fills the air, but the two of you are wrapped in a peaceful bubble of exhaustion. You can still feel the lingering heat from earlier, the way his skin pressed against yours, the feeling of his hands tracing patterns along your body.

     Seishiro Nagi sits across from you, his disheveled hair falling into his eyes as he rubs at them lazily. His eyes flicker to you briefly, but they don’t seem to fully focus. There’s a soft, tired smile playing on his lips, the kind that lets you know he's content, but at the same time, it's clear he’s almost struggling to stay awake. You can’t help but chuckle softly at his state.

     "Hey, Seishiro..." you say, leaning across the table just enough to catch his attention. His eyelids flutter, and he blinks a couple of times, as if trying to summon the energy to keep them open.

     "Yeah?" His voice is hoarse, low, and barely audible. It’s clear that he’s fighting sleep, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

     “Are you okay?” You ask.

     “Mhm,” he replies, his voice raspy. "Just never had someone wear me out quite like you."

     Your heart skips a beat at his words. The casual tone in which he speaks holds a sincerity that’s hard to ignore. The two of you had just come from your apartment, tangled up in each other in ways that left you both breathless and sore, and now, here you are, in a cozy little restaurant, trying to gather yourselves.

     "Oh, um. You’re not falling asleep, are you?"

     He shakes his head slowly, but you can see the effort it takes to do even that. His eyelids slide shut for a brief moment, and you can practically hear the exhaustion in his sigh.

     "I'm fine," he mumbles. "Just... really sleepy..." His voice trails off as his head lulls slightly to the side, before he catches himself, blinking rapidly to stay alert. You watch him for a few seconds, amused, as he fights the pull of sleep.

     "You sure we should’ve come out to eat?" you ask. "I can’t help but feel like you’re about to face-plant into your food."

     "Maybe..." he murmurs, his eyes half-lidded. "But the food here’s good… 'sides, I want to be here with you."

     Your stomach fills with butterflies at that, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. Despite his exhaustion, he’s always thinking of you. He makes sure you’re okay, that you’re happy, even when his own energy is completely drained.

     “Okay, but next time, we’re definitely staying in,” you tease, leaning back in your chair. “You look like you could fall asleep any second.”

     He smiles lazily, not bothering to fight it. His head drops forward for a brief moment before he jerks back up. "Nah... I’m fine..." But even as he says it, you can hear the faint slurring in his words.

     You decide to let him off the hook. The waitress comes by with your food, and Nagi lifts his head slightly as she sets a steaming bowl of ramen in front of him. His eyes widen momentarily at the scent, but they immediately begin to droop again as he lets out another long yawn.

     "Ramen," he mutters to himself, poking the noodles half-heartedly with his chopsticks. “S'good, I’m sure. Just... I’m gonna... just eat a bit."

     You watch as he takes a few bites, each one slower than the last. His head sways a little as if he’s on the verge of tipping over, and you can’t help but feel a sense of endearment well up inside you. There’s something almost too cute about how he’s always so completely and unapologetically tired.

     "Seishiro," you say softly, reaching across the table to gently touch his arm. "C’mon, let’s just go home. You look like you need a nap more than food right now."

     He stirs a little at the mention of sleep, finally looking up at you with that same, sleepy smile. "No... I want to... eat it myself..." His voice barely rises above a whisper. But after a few more bites, his resolve crumbles.

     “Alright, alright," you say, moving your hand to cup his face. His cheek feels warm under your fingers, the soft skin giving way to the faintest stubble. "You should nap after though. You’ve earned it."

     You offer him a gentle smile, one that conveys everything you’re feeling. The tenderness, the affection, the adoration. He closes his eyes at that, his shoulders sinking further into the chair, his body going slack with exhaustion. A few seconds later, he’s practically dozing, his chopsticks still loosely clutched in his hand, hanging precariously near his bowl.

     It’s not long before you’re the one gently guiding his head to rest on your shoulder. He lets out a soft, content sigh, his body softening into you like a piece of clay, finally free from the constant pull of the world. You shift your arm around him, letting him lean into you as you pick at your food, savoring the flavors but most of your attention on the sleepy, warm figure next to you.

     "How do you always manage to make everything feel so peaceful?" you murmur to him, though he’s half-asleep and doesn’t respond. You don’t need him to. His quiet presence is enough.

     Reo Mikage

     The quiet hum of the restaurant surrounds you as you sit across from him, your heart still racing from the moments shared just hours ago. The dimly lit space feels cozy, and you can't help but grin at how relaxed Reo looks, his usual sharp demeanor softened by the weariness of the afternoon. Normally, he’s composed of confidence, like a guy who could tell you the meaning of life while simultaneously solving a Rubik's cube. But now? Now, he looks like someone who just tried to run a marathon, got distracted by an ice cream truck, and then took a nap halfway through.

     His posture is slouched, his shoulders are practically begging for a pillow, and his eyes are half-lidded with a satisfied haze that matches your own. There's no trace of his usual high-strung self. Instead, there’s a vulnerability in the way he lounges in his chair, as if the very concept of sitting upright is an effort.

     He runs a hand through his hair with slow deliberation. You smile, watching him. It's kind of adorable how tired he looks. You’ve always seen him as the guy who has everything under control, but right now? Right now, he’s more like a human noodle.

     The waiter places two glasses of water in front of you, his smile polite but with just a hint of curiosity, like they're trying to figure out if the two of you are on a first date or if something more... intimate... just went down. You can’t blame them. Reo looks like he might collapse into a puddle any second, and you’re still glowing like you’ve just won an Olympic medal in... well, let’s say “passionate hugging.”

     "Are you alright?" you ask softly, leaning forward just enough for him to hear you. His gaze flickers to meet yours, and a low chuckle rumbles from his chest.

     "Can’t believe you’re the one who’s asking me that," he murmurs, his voice rough in the way people sound when they’ve just done something that requires a lot of energy. "I’ve never been so tired in my life."

     You can’t help it. The laugh that escapes you is soft, affectionate, and a little too amused.

     "I don’t mind," you reply, your tone teasing. "I kind of like seeing you like this."

     He raises an eyebrow at that, lips curving into a slow smile, the glint in his eyes now a little more playful. He leans back in his chair like he’s got a question to ask, but it takes him an unusually long time to find the energy to do so.

     "I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried that you enjoy this version of me," he mutters, his hand dragging over his jaw like he’s thinking of adding a full-body stretch to the mix but ultimately decides against it.

     "You’re cute when you're tired," you say before your brain can catch up. The words slip out like they’re your new favorite outfit. Reo blinks at you for a moment, clearly processing the compliment like someone who’s just been told they’ve won the lottery. And honestly, with that tired smile spreading across his face, he kind of has.

     "Is that so?" His voice takes on a slightly deeper, amused tone, as he leans forward just enough that you can feel his presence press down on you. But not enough to touch. He’s definitely holding back, probably saving up that last bit of energy to make it through dinner without literally falling asleep mid-bite.

     "Yeah."

     "I’m not good at this," he suddenly says, his voice so quiet that it makes you lean in a little.

     You blink. "Not good at what?"

     "Being tired," he admits, his voice almost sheepish. "I’m always on the go, always thinking, always—" He stops, then laughs, like he’s just realized how absurd the whole thing sounds. "But right now, I don’t even have the energy to make a joke or flirt with you. I’m just... done."

     The confession hits you like a slap to the face. This is the Reo Mikage who can talk his way out of almost anything and charm the socks off anyone, yet here he is, admitting that he’s exhausted beyond cognition all because of you.

     You let out a laugh, not unkindly. "That’s actually kind of adorable, you know?"

     Reo sighs, his hand reaching up to rub his temples like he’s holding onto his last ounce of dignity. "I never thought I’d get to the point where I’m adorable when I’m barely functioning. This is new."

     "Okay, maybe next time we can take it slower." You reach across the table and place your hand over his. It’s a small gesture, but there’s something comforting about it. Reo’s gaze softens.

     "I’ll take you up on that," he murmurs, his voice laced with a new kind of tenderness. You were already thinking of next time? The thought made him ache between his legs.

     Reo is doing his best to keep his eyes open, but honestly, you can tell he’s fighting a losing battle. It’s like watching a cat try to stay awake, but eventually, it just gives in to the nap.

     "You’re going to pass out in a restaurant, Reo," you tease him softly, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips.

     "I trust you’ll make sure I don’t embarrass myself."

     You smile fondly. "No promises."

     Reo doesn’t respond. His eyes have long since fluttered shut, and his head starts to tilt back. For now, the world can wait.

     Sae Itoshi

     It was a quiet evening, the soft hum of chatter from other diners filling the air, but you barely noticed it. Your mind was still swimming from the rush of what had happened only hours ago, the lingering weight of the experience heavy between you and Sae.

     The two of you had just finished a rather intense bout of passion in the privacy of your bedroom, and while the fire had simmered down, it had left behind a raw, comfortable silence that felt as thick as the air around you now. You sat across from each other at a small table by the window, Sae's face relaxed into something unfamiliar, softer perhaps, but still radiating that effortless cool. Yet, there was an unmistakable tiredness in his demeanor now, a contrast to the usual energy that typically buzzed off him.

     Sae had always been the type to dominate any room, but now, with his legs stretched out beneath the table, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his glass, there was an undeniable exhaustion in his posture. His usual confidence seemed to have slipped away, replaced with a rare vulnerability. You studied him for a moment, his sharp features softened from the wear of the day, the slight crease between his brows as if he was deep in thought or maybe just too tired to think at all.

     You smirked slightly, leaning forward against the table, meeting his eyes. "You alright?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual. You knew him well enough to know when something wasn’t quite right. His body language wasn’t the usual effortless grace; it was more like someone who had just run a marathon, but at the same time, was reluctant to admit it.

     He turned his gaze towards you, blinking slowly as if your voice pulled him out of some trance. His eyes, usually sharp and intense, had softened into a haze of exhaustion, though there was still a playful glint in them.

     "Yeah," he muttered, his voice low and almost drawn out, "Just a little tired."

     "Oh? Is it from what we did earlier?" The teasing tone was unmistakable, but you couldn't help it. It had been wild. Sae had been insatiable earlier, his hands never still, his mouth hot against your skin, and his energy was something else entirely. He fucked you so deep and good into that matress you thought you we’re melting into it. But now, he was the one who seemed to need a rest.

     "Don't remind me," he groaned, leaning back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. His usual air of confidence had given way to something much more human, and that made him all the more fascinating. It was almost like he didn’t quite know how to handle it.

     The waiter arrived at the table, placing your drinks down with a soft clink of glass. Sae barely acknowledged the server, his eyes still closed, his fingers drumming lazily on the edge of his empty plate. You gave the waiter a polite smile before they left, focusing back on Sae.

     "You know, for someone who's so used to pushing limits," you said, leaning in just a little, "you sure look like you're ready to collapse."

     He opened one eye, "I could’ve kept going if I wanted to."

     You tilted your head, studying him as he let out a sigh, the way his broad shoulders sagged as if carrying an invisible weight. "You sure? You seem pretty out of it."

     "I don’t do ‘out of it’," he replied lazily, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. It was the kind of response you would have expected from him, but it lacked the bite it usually had.

     You leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, unable to hide your amusement. "Yeah, sure."

     "You think I'm lying?" He raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to yours with a hint of challenge, though the weariness behind it was impossible to ignore.

     You shrugged. "Yeah. You look like you’re about to pass out right on the spot.”

     "Yeah, well..." Sae trailed off, looking at you as if he were trying to decipher something. He reached out across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. "Guess you wore me out. But I can promise you, I could’ve kept going."

     "If you say so, Itoshi."

     "Don’t get too cocky now. You’re not the only one who can wear someone out. Should I remind you of what happened on your birthday?" There was still a playfulness there, but it wasn’t quite the same as before.

     “S-shut up…” You mutter curtly. Even remembering what happened on your birthday with Sae made your legs ache.

     But as you glanced up at him again, you noticed that his eyes were now closed. A little snore escaped his lips, and you couldn’t help but snicker. Sae Itoshi, the unstoppable force, the man who never showed weakness, he was human after all. He could get tired. He could let himself rest. Even if it was slumping over in his chair at some random restaurant.

     "Well, I guess I really did wear you out," you whispered, resisting the urge to laugh out loud.

     Sae’s eyes fluttered open just enough to send you a sleepy glare. "I’m awake, don’t get cocky," he muttered, but the sleepy tone betrayed him.

     “Yes, sir." You teased, taking a sip of your water as you analyzed his features. Oh, how much you adored him.

     Michael Kaiser

     You lean back in your chair, trying not to giggle too loudly as you glance over at Michael, who’s sitting across from you, looking like he’s about to pass out at any given moment. His hair is disheveled, his shirt slightly untucked, and he’s giving you the most exaggerated, tired expression.

     “Are you okay?” you ask, leaning across the table with a soft smile. You trace the rim of your water glass with your fingertips, watching him as he lazily looks up at you.

     He blinks a few times, as though the question takes him by surprise. Then, as if processing your words, he lets out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

     “Yeah… I’m good,” he says, his voice a little hoarse, though you’re not sure if it’s from the aftereffects of your time together or just exhaustion. His gaze drifts to the menu, but it’s clear that he’s not really seeing it.

     “Did our earlier activities tire you out?” you muse, tapping your chin.

     “How could it not? I had you on that bed for hours.” He shook his head in disbelief at how you expected him to not be exhausted. “Only reason you’re fine is because I let you be pillow princess.”

     “Hey, I didn’t tell you to be so rough though, that was done in your own self indulgence.” You narrowed your eyes at him. How dare he try to blame you?

     Michael looks up, clearly attempting to muster some strength for a comeback, but all he manages is a weak smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Y/n,” he mutters under his breath.

     “Are you saying you don’t have it in you for another around?” you ask with a teasing tilt of your head. He stares at you like he’s about to say something, but then his shoulders droop again as if the thought of moving is a monumental task.

     “Round two?” he repeats incredulously. “You’ve already broken me. What do you want from me, a medal?”

     You chuckle, leaning back in your seat as you give him a playful smirk. “Maybe,” you say before continuing “but, I think you deserve an award for stamina”

     Michael scrunches his nose, clearly starting to get embarrassed, but trying to hide it.

     “I don’t even know if I remember the last few minutes, Micha, you just kept going. Are you human?” You laugh, taking another sip of your water.

     "I came here to eat, not to get all worked up again," he grumbled.

     You flashed him a mischievous grin and winked. "Well, maybe you should've been clearer about what you wanted. I did offer you plenty to consume earlier."

     "Yeah, and you drained all the energy with it," he shot back, barely holding himself together. His breath came in shallow gasps. "Careful, darling. I can have you teary-eyed and screaming again. Don’t talk your way into something you won't be able to handle."

     The thought made you ache between your legs, a burning desire coursing through your body. You had to stop yourself from thinking about it too much, or else you might accidentally kill Kaiser by asking for another round. As much as you wanted it, you knew it would be too much for him in his state.

     "Really? You look like you're about to pass out," you said, raising an eyebrow as you studied his flushed face.

     "Might," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion, but there was still a faint glimmer of a smirk on his lips.

     "You know, this is all your fault, right?" you teased, your tone light, but there was a definite edge of playful accusation in your voice.

     "What did you say?" His eyes snapped open at your words, narrowing in your direction as if ready to challenge you.

     "You didn’t have to be so rough," you shrugged nonchalantly, though the memory of what had just transpired made your pulse quicken. "You did this to yourself."

     "As if you'd have accepted anything less from me," he scoffed, his voice hoarse but laced with pride. "Keeping you satisfied is the real workout. The things I do, the way I wreck myself just to make sure you’re pleased..." His words trailed off, and you could feel the smugness in his tone even as he struggled to stay awake.

     "Oh please," you teased, leaning closer, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jaw. "You think I don’t know how high you get from making me see stars every time you make me come undone?"

     A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, but he was already starting to drift. "Hm. I guess we both have our own reasons," he rasped, exhaustion overtaking him as his head lolled to one side, his eyes fluttering closed. You couldn’t help but laugh at how quickly he had given in, how the mighty had fallen. His pride might have been unshakable in the moment, but you had a way of bringing him to his knees. You snapped a quick picture, wanting to capture this rare sight of him defeated and completely fucked past exhaustion.

     "Guess we do," you said softly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you admired the man who had given you so much yet couldn’t resist teasing you back.

[atlabeth]

something about her

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you’re reminded why you’re really here while spencer does some unwanted self reflection.

a/n: things have been a little too fun and fluffy around these parts so i had to fix it. it’s easy to forget you’re still dealing w a stalker when you’re busy living in denial <3 enjoy the mess! this whole thing is in spencer's pov bc this all got soooo far away from me

title from the song by stephen sanchez

wc: 5.3k

warning(s): things start to ramp up! stalking, anxiety, lowkey panic attacks, angst, hurt/comfort, r almost has a panic attack, alcohol/mentions of alcoholism, the usual. but more bonding!!

Spencer can’t sleep. 

He’s tried every trick in the book. Counting sheep, counting to one hundred, counting to one hundred backwards, going through the alphabet, going through the alphabet backwards, methods with actual scientific research backing them—none of it works. He’s stared at the ceiling for most of the night. 

He feels like a hypocrite most of all, preaching the importance of adequate sleep when he’ll be lucky to get five hours. But it looks like you barely sleep as is. He probably should keep preaching to you. 

There’s a myriad of reasons to explain it. His hyperactive brain has been responsible for many restless nights. He’s still in unfamiliar territory, and he hasn’t gotten used to sleeping on this bed yet. Lest he forget, he’s your first and only line of protection here from your stalker. That’s enough to keep anyone awake, even FBI. 

But then there’s also… you in general. 

Spencer can’t say he tries not to think about you, because this past week it’s felt like the only thing he’s thought about. 

It’s practically impossible, even before you were shoved into this house together. You have a way of tunneling your way into a person’s mind and refusing to leave—especially his. 

Again, it’s easy enough to pass off. You’re the only ones here, and the time you’re not spending alone you’re spending with each other. Your only choice beyond isolation is to talk to Spencer, and it seems you’re slowly moving past preferring it over him. 

But he doesn’t think he can just pass this off.

He can’t get your smile out of his head. Your moments of levity are so few and far between that it makes them shine bright as the sun. Spencer has learned he loves how you look when you’re happy. He just wishes it wasn’t such a rarity.

Gideon’s lecture rings in his ears. He really had two jobs—keep you safe, and don’t fall for you. Hopefully he only fails the one. 

It’s not like he has to worry about it, though. You might not hate him as much anymore, but you still don’t really like him. As much as it bums him out, it’s for the best. It means that in a week or two, when the team has caught the unsub and all this is over, you can both go your separate ways and you’ll never have to see Spencer again. 

That bums him out even more, though. 

He lets out a long sigh. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. JJ, Elle, now you—Morgan would say he really knew how to pick ‘em. Girls who didn’t like him back. 

Just then his phone rings, jolting him out what could have been a convincing play for sleep if not for his thoughts, and he groans a little. Spencer fumbles around for it without lifting his head from the pillow, only turning slightly so he can flick it open and place it against his ear. 

“Gideon, why are you calling this early?” he mumbles. 

“I hope you’re treating her well.”

The gravelly voice through the speaker is a shock, and Spencer doesn’t really process it. His brain still hasn’t turned on. 

“Gideon?” he asks again. 

“I know you ran away. Trying to protect her like you have any right.” 

His blood goes cold as the words finally register. 

This is their unsub. This— this is your stalker. 

“What do you want?” he asks, unable to keep the sharp edge out of his words. 

“You’ve hurt her the same way he has,” the voice continues. “He’s ruined our lives and you don’t care.”

Spencer’s mind is simultaneously blank and running wild. He knows he should try to profile him or talk to him to get something out of him but— but all he feels is anger. 

“What do you want?” he repeats, louder this time. 

“Think about your priorities, Agent Reid. I’ll be watching.” 

The disconnected tone blares in his ear before he can say anything else, and Spencer stares down at his phone in confused annoyance. 

What kind of bullshit game is this guy trying to play with you? 

First he stalks you for a month—possibly months— then sends pictures of you to your door, then forces you into hiding and now he’s just mocking you like this? 

If Gideon is the goal, this bastard is doing a great job of dragging you along. 

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat all of a sudden. You. 

He grabs his gun off his bedside table then lunges to the door with all the athleticism of a newborn baby giraffe, nearly tripping in his haste to get out into the hallway. He slams your door open once he gets to your room, and the relief that floods through his body when you shoot up from your previously sleeping position is almost dangerous. 

“Spencer?” you grumble, still completely out of it as you rub your eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

You’re alive. You’re okay. You’re still here. 

He opens his mouth to respond, still kind of out of breath, when his phone rings again. Spencer takes it out and is already pressing it to his ear. 

“What the hell do you want from her?” he barks. The absolute nerve of your stalker to call back—

“Reid, it’s me.”

It’s Gideon’s voice that comes out of the speaker this time, and Spencer feels the wave of red hot rage boiling in his stomach crash against a wall of confusion. 

“I—” He swallows deeply, his eyes flicking over to your befuddled expression momentarily before he feels himself flush bright red and look away. “I’m so sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else.” 

“You got a call?”

His blood runs cold. “You mean you got one too?”

Gideon curses and he hears him move around. Pacing in his bedroom, if Spencer knew anything about him. “Tell me my daughter is safe.”

“She— she is,” he stammers. “I’m with her right now.”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on?” You’re sitting up now, much more aware than you were fifteen seconds ago. “Why do you have your gun— why are you talking to my dad?”

“Do a perimeter check,” Gideon demands. “If he’s there—”

“I know.” Spencer looks back at you and sighs. “You should talk to her.”

“I know,” Gideon echoes. “Let her stay on the line with me while you figure things out.”

He nods and takes the phone from his ear. “Gideon wants to talk with you.”

You’re standing up now, a dumbfounded expression on your face. “Hold on, you still haven’t answered me! What is going on?”

“I got a call from our guy,” he says. Your eyes widen and he can see your chest still. His heart clenches at the sight. “Gideon did too.”

“What?” you breathe. “Wh— what did he want?”

“To scare you.” Spencer holds up his gun. “Can you hide in the closet while I do a perimeter check?”

You scoff. Your demeanor is still shaken, but the fire is more prominent. He’s started to admire that about you. “Spencer, I am not hiding in the closet.”

“Then lock yourself in the bathroom again!” he exclaims. He doesn’t mean for the outburst, but he can’t help it. “Just— I can’t focus if I’m worried about you, and right now the only thing I can think of is how worried I am about you, so I need to know you’re safe while I do this.”

You stare at him, and Spencer stares right back, if a little frantic. He feels his chest rise and fall from the force, a stark contrast to your still body—similar to the panic he knows is in his eyes to the steely cool of yours. 

“I’m not letting you potentially face an insane stalker by yourself,” you finally say. 

Spencer huffs. “I am an FBI agent. I’ve faced worse things than insane stalkers.”

“We’ve been together this whole time,” you insist. “We— we can do this together too.” 

He looks at you again—he can tell you’re not going to move on this. Spencer eventually sighs and holds the phone back up to his ear. 

“I’m assuming you heard that?” 

“Let her go with you,” Gideon says. “It’s riskier for her to be on her own than outside with you. But stay on the line, and stay alert. Nothing can happen to her—do you understand?” 

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” he says. “I meant what I said.” 

“...Good.” 

Spencer holds the phone out to you again, and your lip curls. 

“I’m not—” 

“Come on,” he interrupts, gesturing with his head into the hallway. 

Your annoyance melts into acknowledgement when you realize he’s not blowing you off again, and you nod as you take the phone. Spencer wraps both hands around his gun as he starts moving, you matching his pace as you follow him. 

“Yeah, Dad,” he hears you say behind him. “I’m here.” 

This is what he meant by you needing to stay behind. He’s worried about you more than anything, yes, but he also can’t help but listen. Spencer has very keen ears, to everyone’s simultaneous disdain and appreciation on the team—it makes him a very good asset in the field, but also a very good asset when it comes time for office gossip. 

“No, nothing’s happened yet. Yes— yes, I’m okay, I promise. Spencer’s done an annoyingly good job of keeping me safe.” 

Once Spencer reaches the door, he peers through the peephole to make sure their unsub isn’t embarrassingly obvious. It’s clear, and he turns to face you and raises a hand, then places his finger on his lips. 

“Uh— I have to go dark for a sec,” you say. “We’re checking the perimeter. Don’t worry, I’ll scream if anyone tries to kill me. Be back soon.” 

You pull the phone away from your ear and nod at Spencer, and he holds his breath before he opens the door. 

The frigid air hits both of you at once, and he hears then sees your sharp exhale of breath. It’s been a while since either of you have been outside, but it’s good to know he hasn’t been missing superb weather. 

“Stay close and stay quiet,” Spencer whispers. “I’m your only line of defense out here.” 

He expects you to shoot back with some remark, but you merely nod in response. Spencer hopes he hides the shock he feels before he turns away and starts walking. 

Dawn isn’t for a few more hours—the only real light source is the moon high in the night sky. It doesn't exactly help his nerves to be doing all this in the dark, but part of him is almost thankful to be doing this. Spencer doesn’t know how to deal with you or any of the emotions you stir inside of him or the sleepless nights you cause because he can’t stop thinking of you—but he knows how to do his job, and he knows how to do it damn well. 

He just wishes it didn’t have to come with the unfortunate side effect of you being in immense danger. 

But Spencer does his best to push those thoughts to the back of his mind—right now, he has to have one focus. 

And he does. The two of you stick close to the side of the house, his eyes darting all over as he tries to dig out any details, any possible sign that the unsub was here. The ground is still a thin layer of mud from the storm last night, so it should be easy to find footprints. Spencer’s Converse aren’t doing a great job at keeping him upright—slipping in front of you is too embarrassing for him to even think about. 

All of a sudden, he stops, his arm shooting out in front of you. You don’t realize it for a second and you run into him, your hand wrapping around his arm on instinct to steady yourself. If he wasn’t so shocked at what he was looking at, he would have been bright red over it. 

“What the h—” 

“Footprints,” he whispers.  “Th— they’re almost gone, but—” 

“He was here?” you interrupt. Fear spikes in your voice and your grip tightens on his arm. 

“Last night, maybe.” Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, how he feels—he’s not going to make you feel worse. “The rain probably washed most of them away.” 

“Spencer—”

“I am surprised these are still here, though,” he continues. “The rainfall was really heavy. I wouldn’t expect them to stay in mud like this—” 

“Spencer, look where we are!” you exclaim, gesturing hard with your other hand. He realizes that you’ve let go of his arm by now, but he pushes it out of his head and looks. 

“The window to your room,” he says. The blinds are closed and the lock is in place—he’s made sure every night—but there are small enough gaps between the shutters. 

“He was watching us last night!” Your breathing is starting to come heavier and faster now. “We talked about all that shit and he was just here watching and we didn’t even fucking know!” 

You’re on the edge of hyperventilating. Spencer has got to get you down or else you’re going to have a full blown panic attack out here. 

“Hey, hey— look at me.” He says your name and that, if anything else, gets you to listen and meet his eyes. They’re filled with an unbridled fear he hasn’t seen in you until now. “Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of this. He’s not here.” 

“He was watching us—” 

“And we’ll figure out what to do next. But you have to stay calm. You can’t let him win.” 

You’re still harried, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your eyes dart all around. Spencer says your name softly, tucks his gun into its holster, then takes your hands in his, hoping that it gives you something to focus that isn’t the rest of this. 

“Just look at me,” he says softly. 

You suck in another shaky breath, but you’re not as frantic as before. You at least look him in the eye, and you don’t wrench your hands out of his grasp. Progress, if nothing else. 

“Breathe with me.” 

You nod—still panicked, but better. Spencer breathes in deep and you do the same, following as he counts up and down with his fingers. It takes a few rounds, but eventually, he’s gotten you off the edge. 

Spencer says your name again, just as soft as before. You’re still breathing slowly in and out. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Better,” you murmur. “I—” 

You’re interrupted by the phone you both forgot was in your hand, Gideon’s voice muddled as it comes from the receiver. You rip your hands out of Spencer’s as you come back into yourself, shaking your head and blinking a few times while you take a few steps away from him. 

“I’m here, Dad,” you say. “We— we’re okay. No, nothing happened.” 

Spencer blinks too. He looks down at his hands, then glances at you, then shakes his head. He walks back over to the footprint and crouches down, trying to keep his mind clear. He commits every detail he can to memory, doing his best to ignore the conversation with your dad in the background. 

Well, he tunes in a little. He can’t help it—he wants to make sure you’re okay. 

“We found a footprint outside my room,” you’re saying. “Spencer thinks it’s your guy. I have no idea. Yes, we are. You don’t have to be so pushy.” You sigh and he feels your gaze on him. “Spencer, we have to finish this up. Dad wants us back inside.” 

He clears his throat as he nods a few times. “Let me get a picture of this first.” 

You hand him the phone and Spencer snaps some photos from a few different angles, hoping forensics will be able to get anything out of it. He hears Gideon’s voice again and he holds it to his ear once more. 

“Gideon?” 

“Reid, get her back inside,” he says. “We can’t take any unnecessary risks.” 

“We haven’t finished securing the perimeter,” he says. 

“Then finish it and get back inside!” he exclaims. “You have proof that he was there—” 

“We don’t know it’s him,” Spencer interrupts. 

“We know there was somebody there!” Gideon shoots back. “I’m not risking her, and from what I’ve heard, you don’t want to either.” 

Spencer feels his cheeks warm as he looks back at you, and he pulls his gun back out of its holster. “Come on. We have to finish this up.” 

“That’s what I said,” you mutter, but you follow him without further protest. 

The rest of the check goes by quickly without any other distractions or surprises, and soon enough you’re back inside. While Spencer chats with Gideon, updating him in a calmer manner on everything with the phone call and the footprint, you’re ruffling through the cabinets. 

Eventually, he sees you pull out a bottle of clear liquid from the corner of his eye. He frowns and realizes that it’s vodka. 

“It’s 4:29 in the morning,” Spencer says, cutting off Gideon almost absentmindedly as you pop the bottle open. 

“And we found out that this place isn’t nearly as safe as anyone thought,” you respond sharply. “I think that warrants some drinking.” 

“That means that you should have a clear mind,” he says. “Alcohol impairs your brain’s communication pathways, as well as your judgment and coordination.” 

“I’ve gotten drunk before, genius,” you mutter as you search for a glass. You end up choosing a the mug you used for coffee the other morning then start pouring. “Enough to know it’s what I need right now.” 

“It can also cause mood swings,” Spencer says. “I think that’s the last thing you need right now.”

You roll your eyes, not even bothering to look back at him as you finish pouring a concerning amount of liquor into the mug. 

“What is going on over there?” Gideon asks. Spencer remembers he’s holding the phone and he puts it back to his ear. 

“I think your daughter is an alcoholic,” he comments. 

“I’m not an alcoholic,” you say sharply. “I just can’t focus on all this right now.” 

“It’s best if she gets some sleep,” Gideon says. “All of this is likely terrifying to her, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.” 

Spencer’s mind flashes back to your near panic attack—your wide eyes full of fear and harried breathing that only made you hyperventilate more when you realized you couldn’t control it. It’s too easy to think of you as some untouchable being from the way you interact with him, bothered by nothing and no one. 

The mask cracks on rare occasion. It makes you seem frighteningly real. 

“You’re right,” Spencer nods. You sip your drink without flinching. He doesn’t think he can even call it a drink if it’s just straight liquor. “We could all use some sleep.” 

“Just make sure she’s safe,” he says. “Make sure the whole place is secure. We’re not—” 

“Taking risks,” he finishes. “Believe me, I know.” 

Gideon is silent for a second, and Spencer takes the time to look at you. The bags under your eyes are even more prominent, and there’s a haunted glint in your eyes as you stare at the wall. You shiver ever so slightly, the outside chill still lingering on your skin. You’ve got pajama pants on but just a plain tee. You didn’t have time to put a sweatshirt on before he pulled you outside in the mania of it all. 

You really are beautiful—but you’re so damn tired. 

Spencer realizes that all he wants to do is give you some respite. 

“I’ll call you back later, then,” Gideon says. “To check in.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s throat bobs as he averts his eyes from you. “Get some rest too, Gideon.” 

The other end hangs up without a response. Spencer stares down at the phone for a few seconds then sighs before he tucks it back into his pocket. 

“What’d he want?” you ask. 

“I can’t believe you’re drinking vodka out of a coffee mug at four in the morning.”

You frown. “You don’t get to judge me.” 

“It’s not good for you.” 

“None of this is good for me,” you enunciate. “What did my dad want?”

“I’m serious,” Spencer continues. “Drinking on an empty stomach can lead to low blood sugar— drinking at this hour is going to completely disrupt your circadian rhythm.” 

“You know what else has disrupted my circadian rhythm?” you ask mockingly. “Being here. Having a stalker. Finding out that said stalker was also here, watching us. I think that’s a little worse for me than the alcohol.” 

Spencer stares at you, and as you’re prone to do, you stare back. Eventually, he shakes his head and looks away, deciding to quit while he’s ahead. 

“He wants you to get some sleep,” he says. “Wants us both to.” 

You scoff and shake your head, downing much more vodka than you should in one go. Again, you don’t flinch—for a schoolteacher, you handle your liquor very well. “Like I’d get to sleep after this.” 

“It’s important,” Spencer insists. “You’ve gotten— what? Three hours of sleep?” 

“Well, all this excitement has woken me up,” you say. 

“Well, I’m tired,” Spencer says. “So I guess I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

He starts to walk to his room, figuring that you need time to cool off, when—

“Wait.” 

Your voice is oddly strangled, and Spencer stops in his tracks. 

“I—” you stop and sigh, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

“Our rooms are close to each other,” he says. “I’ll be able to hear if you yell.” 

You rub your eyes as you let out another haggard sigh. “I can’t stand to be in that room, Spencer. Not knowing that— that he was right there.” 

Spencer can’t look away from you. Your eyes glint with tears you’re trying to hold back, but you’re laid bare in a way he knows you hate. 

You’re being pushed to your limits against your will, and it kills him that he can’t do anything to help you. Honestly, sometimes he feels useless being stuck here while the rest of the team is out there actively working to help you. All he can do is stand around here and annoy you. 

Except you want him there. For the first time since all of this has started, you want him there. 

It’s the only thing he can do for you right now. How can he refuse? 

“Okay,” he says softly, and he nods. “Okay. We can share my room tonight.” 

The tension in your shoulders fades ever so slightly, and you—thankfully—set the mug down. “Keep your gun close.” 

“I’m not sure you want me shooting when I’m sleep deprived,” Spencer says. 

Your lips twitch just so, and Spencer’s heart skips a beat. He can’t help it. 

He should have known he was in too deep the moment he stepped into this house with you. 

-

“Very cozy,” you say. 

“It’s the same as your room,” Spencer responds. 

You shrug. “It’s messy. Makes it feel like home.” 

He feels his face flush. “I haven’t really been focused on keeping things clean.” 

“Relax.” You sit down on the bed. “I’m not judging you.” 

“Good.” Spencer glances at you as he moves his bag off of your side of the bed. “Because that would be very rude after the generosity I’ve shown you.” 

You laugh and Spencer finds himself smiling at the sound of it. He’s glad he’s turned away, and he’s glad he manages to push it away by the time he’s turned back around. 

You’re wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants now, and it’s strange to see you look so… soft. Every part of you is so sharp, some of it jagged—sometimes you harden around him, sometimes you mellow. He’s a bit tired of the back and forth. 

Maybe that’s what makes him speak up. 

“I’m tired of us always being at odds.” 

Your eyebrows rise and you look at him. “Really?” 

Spencer nods, his will bolstered. “Really. We have a nice talk one night, and I feel like we’ve had a breakthrough, and then you go back to hating me the next morning. I’m— I’m sick of it.” 

He expects you to shoot back with some mocking comment like you always do, making fun of him for wanting more than what little you give him. But instead, you lay back against the pillows and shrug. 

“Okay.” 

He blinks. “Really?” 

“Really,” you nod. “I’m too tired to want to fight right now.” 

“You’re the one that always tries to fight me.” 

“Aren’t you fighting me right now?” 

Spencer shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

You chuckle. “Still fighting.” 

He stares at you. As usual, you stare back, but this time you can’t fully bite back your smile. For some reason, that gets Spencer to break. He smiles too, and he settles down on the bed next to you. There’s a pillow buffer between you, but it’s still a lot closer than he’s used to. 

Well, he did hold your hands earlier, but that’s because he was bringing you down from a panic attack. That doesn’t mean anything. 

“What a day,” he mutters. 

“And it hasn’t even started yet,” you muse. “I don’t know how you do this kind of shit every day.” 

“I’m not really the target of any of this,” he says. “I usually stay behind the scenes. I’m good with geographical profiles, not chasing down unsubs.” 

You look over at him. “You haven’t really talked about anything you do for the BAU.” 

Spencer shrugs. “I thought it would be a sore subject.” 

You pause. “You’re… probably right.” 

“I figured.” He chuckles, then glances over at you. “But you already know enough about me. You said you would talk about your job. Teaching, and your kids, and all that.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “You actually care?”

Spencer gives you a look. “I thought we were past that part in our friendship.”

“We’re not friends.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, but you go on anyway. “I’m a highschool teacher in Fairfax. You know Mount Vernon High?” 

Spencer nods. “I know the name of every high school in Virginia.” 

“Of course you do,” you huff. “But that’s besides the point. I did my student teacher hours there, and they offered me a full time position. I took it, so I guess I’ve been there since senior year.” You purse your lips. “It’s a little depressing when you look at it like that.” 

“Then don’t look at it like that,” he say. “You said you loved your job.” 

“I do!” You smile again, a bit lighter this time. “My teachers were a huge part of my life, especially in high school.” The lightness fades some, but he notices how you try to hide it. “If I could help even one kid the same way my teachers helped me, then I would have done something with my life.” 

“That’s very noble of you,” Spencer says. “I don’t think I ever would have guessed you were a teacher.” 

“Oh, please,” you say. “You’re a profiler. You’d figure it out.” 

“You wouldn’t know I work with the FBI at first glance.” 

“Well, I’m not a profiler. Besides,” you tip a shoulder, “I have the ulterior motive of wanting to introduce kids to the wonders of physics.” 

Spencer’s eyes light up. “You’re a physics teacher?” 

“I teach a load of science classes, but I carry the banner for AP physics.” You huff a laugh. “You’re probably the only one that doesn’t sound lame to.” 

“I love physics!” he exclaims. “I’ve got a PhD in engineering, remember?” 

You smile— no, you actually grin at him, and he can’t believe he finally broke through the barrier with science. 

“Trust me, I’d love to talk physics with you, boy genius, but—” you’re interrupted with a yawn, and Spencer resists the urge to do the same— “but I think I’m actually about to fall asleep.”  

Spencer shakes his head with a small laugh. He realizes that he’s relaxed while you’ve been talking, limbs looser and fully laying back against the pillows. 

“This was actually part of my master plan to get you to rest,” he says. “Talking science always works with the team.” 

He sees you smile out of his peripherals as you lay fully down, can feel every shift of your body against the mattress while you try to find a good position. 

“It wasn’t you,” you say. “It was the vodka.” 

 “Of course,” he agrees. 

Silence falls over the room as the two of you settle in. You take off your sweatshirt, a slight shiver running through you once you’re back in your tank top. Spencer removes his glasses, and he blinks a few times to adjust to the blurriness.

The bed is big enough for you to both have your own space,, and you’re both careful to keep your backs to each other. The silence is comfortable despite the previous animosity. Maybe all it really did take was for him to start talking science. 

Eventually, though—

“Thank you, Spencer.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. “I— I know you don’t like me. So it means a lot that you still do all this for me.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, taking your words in. The mingled sounds of your breathing are really the only things filling the room, and he can feel your weight against the mattress. It’s all oddly intimate. 

“You’re wrong.” He’s almost surprised at the sound of his own voice. “I do like you.” 

Your shock shows through the silence. Spencer takes his chance. 

“You’re going through something no one should ever have to experience, and you’re doing it with someone you think stole your life from you.” Spencer shifts ever so slightly. His hands feel inexplicably clammy. “It was unfair of me to take Gideon’s side so often.” 

“Still.” Your words are muffled as you speak half into the mattress. “We have more important things to worry about. It was unfair of me to spend so much time giving you shit. You— you didn’t even know I existed until a month ago.” 

“But now I do.” He pauses. “And I’m glad I do. So you can start looking forward instead of always looking back.” 

Again, silence. It lasts so long Spencer wonders if you’ve fallen asleep. Your breathing is thankfully steady (a side of him is always focused on your breathing just to make sure) and you don’t shift much, so he wouldn’t be surprised. You were exhausted—

“Spencer?” 

His eyes open. He didn’t even realize they had closed. You sound half-asleep, your voice nothing more than a whisper. He wishes more than anything he knew what was going through your mind right now. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

His heart stutters so blatantly he’s sure you can hear it. Spencer honestly doesn’t know what to say—his mouth is so dry he doesn’t know if he can say anything. 

Spencer thought you hated him. You thought Spencer hated you. 

It’s ironic. 

“Me too,” he eventually manages. 

But there’s no response. You must’ve already fallen asleep again, just conscious enough to say a few words. The rude awakening mixed with the fear and alcohol couldn’t have done you much good. 

Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat and closes his eyes again, trying not to focus on you. It’s practically impossible. 

He’s glad, at least, that you’re able to sleep. You deserve to rest more than anyone. 

Eventually, the sound of your breathing lulls Spencer to sleep. 

You were the one thing he didn’t have on his list.

[sevikasbooyahh]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐖𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘

Pairing: Caitvi x Reader

Summary: Making your girlfriends crochet gifts for Valentine's Day <3

The strongest scent in the room derived from the book that Vi was reading. It smelt of vetiver, a smoky, earthy aroma that blessed your nose. “The Adventures of Harden,” she’d been reading it for a while—that huge chunky novel must’ve been filled with a butt ton of action.

Caitlyn was busy in a council meeting, she’d gone back to announce her departure despite her inner confliction. She needed a break from everything, to not have so much weight on her shoulders for once in her life. Vi was the one to have done most of the convincing, she’s good at it—not very surprising.

“What’s happening as of now?” You asked Vi as you looked at the block on text from behind her. She leaned her head back to look up at you, “Huh?”

You gestured to the book, “In here, what’s happening?” Suddenly, all the deep knowledge she’s memorized in this book was gone with a poof. She scratched the mop of pink hair atop of her head, “I—uh, don’t remember, sorry,” You feigned a disappointmented sigh, resting your head on her shoulder.

“Did you really wanna know?” Her tone was near concerned, as if afraid that you actually were disappointed. You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face, “I’m just jossin’.” She visibly looked relieved, exhaling a breath. “What, scared I was sad to not hear your nerdiness?” The teasing tone in your voice made her quietly groan but not retort.

A part of her was a bit suspicious, just in general, she knew Valentine’s Day was coming up—and that you had to be planning something. But what? It could be anything, you had many talents. She internally scolded herself as to not think about it too much, though she couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling up inside.

—★—

The floor creaked under weight of your feet as you walked through the hallway, headed towards your crochet room.

With how huge the Kiramman mansion was, many rooms went unused, simply labeled as guest or storage, this being one of them. When Caitlyn noticed that crochet was one of your prominent hobbies, she offered for you to use any room you’d like.

You specifically chose this one for it’s beauty.

Sunlight shined through the one large window on the left side of the room, lighting up the darkest parts of the room. The view outside of that very window, ships coming from different areas to land at their docks; the tall buildings constructed by genius minds.

Piltover’s beauty never failed to amaze you.

Your crochet equipment was neatly settled on the wooden oak table. As you sat on the black rolling chair, the kitten-like figures were what you decided to work on first. You could only think about your girlfriends—how you saw them, but in a more adorable form.

You looped the black yarn with the hooked needle, each small thread tightening together like bonded atoms. Throughout the past hour, you slowly worked your way up. Adding on a small strawberry hat to it, with specks of white as seeds and it’s green leaf top.

On to the next, not muchh different, other than colors. The white yarn was a stark contrast from the black—and instead of a strawberry hat, a blueberry one. The star-shaped pattern on the top to represent the calyx.

…

You carefully cut the loose string that hung next to the eye. Perfection. Crafted with your bare hands—to say you were only proud was an understatement.

—★—

You couldn’t hold the absolute joy you felt when you entered the living room with the box. Giving anything to the ones you loved was the best gift that you could ever receive; you were excited for their reactions too. You waited up to this moment to show something special—with meaning, non-verbally announcing your love for them. It’s not that you couldn’t say ‘I love you’ out loud (well, maybe), but you didn’t wanna just say it without showing it as well.

They’ve never received crocheted gifts before, it’s not that common of a hobby. That was even more of a reason for you to make it.

—★—

“What is this I see?” Caitlyn raised an eyebrow at the mysterious brown box. Vi peeked from beside her—similar to a cat; curious, eyes trained onto the box like it’d disappear in seconds. She made her way closer before you lightly pushed her back, “You will see what it is, be patient.” You shook your head in amusement at her eagerness.

The moment you pulled them out, Caitlyn’s eyes widened, along with Vi’s jaw nearly dropping to the floor.

Vi took the figure as if it were porcelain, as if her hands were so rough that it’d break it so easily. “No way,” she whispered, inspecting every detail.

Tears started to well up in her eyes as she stared down at the plush. “It’s…it’s—thank you,” her laugh was watery as she hugged you, brawny arms squeezing you tight.

Valentines Day was barely celebrated in Zaun, but she remembered when Powder would make her tiny gadgets or trinkets. To her, it was more than she could act for, even if those things were now destroyed, still laid in a pile of dust and debris.

Caitlyn was speechless, staring at hers in shock; the little baby blue streaks mixed into the white yarn, the navy blue hat matching her own hair.

This was…sweet.

Sweet as honey; straight from the source. The most wonderful project she’d ever seen—better than any architecture or design that’s been brought to her.

She couldn’t help but join in on the hug as well, her face burying itself deep into your neck. Where she felt safe.

They’d surely cherish this forever.

—★—

Bonus moment:

She closed her eyes and hugged the crocheted kitten, “I’m gonna name him Barry.” She announced to the both of you, feeling content. Caitlyn looked up from her own kitten, “As in ‘berry?’ Wow, creative.” She nodded, amused.

…

That night, as the moon was up and the stars were out—your loves were fast asleep. Caitlyn was curled in on herself, legs near her mid-section, arms rested underneath her head. Vi, however, had her arms wrapped around Caitlyn’s waist, cheek pressed against the soft of her back. Barry was squished in between.

A/N: The idea of crocheting is so cute to me but I don’t know how to😔

[thebigbadbatswife]

I Don't Know How It Gets Better Than This

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader Stay Like This Forever Masterlist

Warnings - 18+ ONLY, Explicit sexual content, Unprotected sex, Creampie, Multiple orgasms, Porn with feelings, Elements of Soft Dom!Bruce Wayne and praise kink, Established relationship, Older man/Younger woman, Age Gap, Tooth-rotting fluff, Humour, Valentine's Day

Summary - Bruce surprises you the best Valentine’s Day you’ve ever had.

A/N - A day late, but it's here! As promised! Also, as with all fics within this 'verse, this is a complete stand alone and doesn't require any thing else to be read to be enjoyed <3

Word Count - 4.7k

You frown as you get into the back of the car that’s waiting for you, just outside of the airport. Your eyes are glued to the bright screen of your phone as you fumble with the seatbelt. 

It’s been ten hours since your last text to Bruce and he hasn’t even read it yet. 

Is he upset with you? It’s your first Valentines as a couple and you haven’t been able to spend the day together because work has kept you away. It’s a couple hours from midnight now and you have only just got back to Gotham. 

Should you call him? Not replying to your text is very out of character of Bruce. Even when he’s been upset in the past, he’s always been upfront about it with you about it. For him to suddenly change… 

Something else is going on, so you decide that you are going to give him a call. The line doesn’t even ring. Instead you’re sent directly to his voicemail. 

Now you are starting to get worried about him.

“Everything alright, Miss…?” your driver, Tom, asks you. He’s been your driver for the longest time and he’s one of the few people that you know you can trust. 

“Bruce hasn’t replied to my text and his phone went straight to voicemail,” you reply.

“Shall I drive you to Wayne Manor instead?” 

You shake your head as you scroll through your contact list. “No, my apartment is fine. I’m going to call Alfred. He might know what’s going on.”

“Of course.” 

You bring your phone back up to your ear as the line rings. Unconsciously, your leg starts to bounce as you wait for an answer. After the third ring, someone picks up the phone.

“Hello?” Alfred’s voice comes over the phone.

“Alfred! Thank goodness, I’m so sorry. I know it’s really late. I just. Bruce, he isn’t answering my texts and his phone went straight to voicemail.”

“Master Bruce left the Manor a few hours ago. Oh my, it would seem that he’s left his phone here.”

You laugh softly, relief rushing through you. “Of course he has. Okay, that’s good to know. Get him to call me when you see him next?” 

“I will see that he does. Have a good night Miss…” 

“Goodnight Alfred.”

You set your phone into your lap and sigh. He’s not upset with you, like you had been panicking about. He just forgot about his phone. Though it isn’t like him to be so absentminded. You remember him mentioning being concerned about a killer by the name of Calendar Man, but Alfred hadn’t mentioned Bruce going out tonight in his cape and cowl. And you’re sure that he would have. 

What was he doing tonight?

As the car drives through the streets of Gotham, you find your gaze focusing on the rooftops. Ever since you figured out what it is that your boyfriend does at night, you find your focus often drawn above you. Wondering if you’ll catch a glimpse of him. 

The drive from the airport to your apartment isn’t super long, thankfully. Before you know it, you’re climbing out of the car, accepting your bag from Tom and thanking him and making your way up to your apartment.

When you open the door to your apartment the first thing that you notice is the rose petals on the floor. The next thing you notice is all of the candles, casting a golden glow over your home. 

The biggest smile that you’ve ever had makes its way onto your face as you take in the sight of what Bruce has done. It’s no wonder to you now why he forgot about his phone. He was busy setting all of this up for you. 

You shut the door behind you, making sure to lock and chain it, and set your bag down onto the floor, alongside your suitcase.

Following the rose petals, they lead you to the dining room. The table is set. There’s a single flower vase with a red rose sitting inside of it and two empty wine glasses, waiting to be filled. The bottle of wine that sits next to them looks like it might have some dust on it, but it’s hard to tell in the candlelight. 

In the centre of it all, standing there and waiting for you, is Bruce. Looking like the picture of perfection. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says as he approaches you. His hand comes to rest on your hip as he pulls you toward him, which you protest against.

“Don’t! I need a shower; I’m all gross from the plane,” you complain as you push against him.

He chuckles softly. “I don’t care. I want to kiss my girl.” 

You give in and let him pull you flush against his body. He kisses you in that soft and sweet way that always sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach as your heart skips. You grip his suit jacket as you kiss him back. Your tongue gently prods at his bottom lip, seeking more from him, which Bruce gladly gives you. 

You pull away first, your smile immediately returning.  “You didn’t have to do all this, baby,” you say softly.

“Of course I did. You deserve to have a nice Valentines,” he replies. 

His words shouldn’t hit like they do, but you can feel yourself getting choked up. You haven’t had a great track record when it comes to past relationships. Something that Bruce keeps doing his best to make up for. Hiding your face away from him, you halfheartedly shove against his chest again.

“Stop, you’re going to make me cry.”

Bruce’s arms wrap around you, hugging you tightly. “So long as they’re happy tears. That’s all I’m going to accept tonight.”

You laugh and you look up at him. Now he’s looking at you in that way that sends your heart haywire, warmth blooming in your chest. His thumb swipes away a tear that’s slowly making its way down your cheek.

“Dinner still needs a little bit longer, so why don’t you go and take that shower?”

“Okay.” 

He gives you one more kiss, drawing a soft noise from you before he finally lets you go. You pause when you reach the doorway and look back at him. There is one thing that has been nagging at you ever since you walked through the door and saw the petals.

“How’d you know that I would be back in time?” 

He shrugs. “Because I’m Batman.”

You shake your head and laugh. “That’s the answer you’re really going for?”

“It hasn’t failed me yet. Now, go, shower! Or dinner will be ready and cold before you get out.”

“Alright, alright! I’m going!” 

The hot water feels great as it cascades over your body. After the long day that you’ve had, it’s very much needed. A part of you almost expects Bruce to join you, but you’re not disappointed when he doesn’t. You’d prefer that he keeps his eyes on dinner and not burn your apartment down because he’s busy having sex with you.

Besides, you’re sure that there will be plenty of that after dinner. 

You switch the water off and wrap a towel around your body. When you enter your bedroom, you find a dress laid out on your bed, waiting for you. It’s in your favourite colour and there’s a matching set of heels, sitting in an opened shoe box. As well as that there’s a couple of velvet jewellery cases. 

He didn’t. 

You pick up the smaller case and open it. Inside are a pair of diamond and sapphire earrings. You’re already sure that, in the bigger case, is a matching necklace. 

Even though you’ve told him he doesn’t have to, Bruce does love to buy you gifts. Though, if this is what he’s buying you for Valentine’s Day, you can’t imagine what he might do for your birthday.

Once you’re dry and dressed, you look at yourself in the mirror. Your makeup doesn’t do your outfit justice. It’s simpler than what you would have normally done, but you don’t have the time right now. 

A delicious scent is wafting into your bedroom, from the kitchen, and it’s making your stomach growl. 

If Bruce notices your toned down makeup, he doesn’t say a thing as you re-enter the dining room. His eyes take in the sight of you as he swallows thickly. Honestly, you’re convinced you could walk in wearing a burlap sack and he would still look at you the exact same way.

He gets up from his seat and walks over to you again.

“Look at you. Absolutely beautiful,” he says.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to buy me all of this.”

“I know, but you deserve to be spoiled. And I will take every chance I get to do exactly that.” 

The moment is completely ruined by your stomach as it growls. Bruce chuckles and starts to lead you toward the table.

“Come on, I made your favourite.”

Once you’ve taken a seat, he pushes your chair in before taking his own seat. Your table isn’t huge like the one back at Wayne Manor. So you’re not miles from each other as he sits opposite of you. In fact, his knee presses against your own. 

The food looks amazing. The smell alone making your mouth watering as your stomach growls again. You tuck in immediately. Just as the first bite passes your lips, a moan leaves you. 

It tastes incredible. Of course, you expect nothing less from Bruce. He’s an excellent cook, when he has the time to dedicate to it. That being one of the things you learned early on, after the first night you had spent together.

The conversation between you two consists of Bruce asking about your day. Which you enthusiastically tell him about your new castmates and the script and how, for the first time in a long time, you’re actually excited about acting again. While you ask him about his biggest worry that he had mention, to which he tells you that Julian Day was caught earlier by the police. And both Arkham and Blackgate are quiet so there’s no worry about the Bat Signal pulling him away. 

He’s all yours.

When dinner’s finished, and you’ve got a couple of glasses of wine in your system, you decide to skip desert. Right now, all you want is Bruce.

From the dining room, you and Bruce move to the living room. Where he’s settled on the sofa with you straddling his lap as you make out. His tongue slides across your own, exploring every inch of your mouth. Meanwhile his hands remain high up on your waist, making no move to feel you up like you want him to.

It makes no sense to you considering that you can feel how hard he is. Even the smallest shift from you has him twitching in his pants. You decide to take things into your own hands.

From where your arms are wrapped around his neck, you slide a hand down his front, headed straight for his pants. Just before your finger tips come into contact with his belt, his hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Am I not moving fast enough for you, princess?” he asks. The nickname sends a shiver down your spine, your body remembering all the things he’s done with you, and to you, after using it. 

You shake your head. “Not even close, babe.”

“I don’t want to rush things. Besides, I love kissing you and I haven’t been able to do it enough these last few weeks.” 

His words are sweet, making your cheeks heat up and warmth bloom throughout your body that isn’t due to the alcohol in your veins or your growing arousal. You kiss his jawline, following it toward his ear.

“There are other parts of me you can kiss, you know,” you whisper. 

“All in good time, sweet girl.”

Bruce directs your face back toward him so that he can resume kissing you. The hand that had hold of your wrist is now on the back of your back, keeping you right where he wants you. Meanwhile, the hand that’s on your waist starts to move away.

His hand slides down your side, coming down to rest on your thigh. Which he squeezes gently. As his tongue reenters your mouth, Bruce’s fingers slide beneath your dress, trailing up the inside of your thigh. All of your focus is now on his hand. The feeling of his calloused finger tips against your soft, smooth skin sends goosebumps erupting across your skin. 

The closer he gets to where you want him most, the more you start to ache with need. Just before he reaches your panties, he starts to move away again, trailing his fingers back toward your knee.

You whine against his lips, frustration starting to build up inside of you. He was so close! So close to finally giving you what you wanted! Why’d he stop? Bruce simply smirks as he continues to run his fingers up and down your leg.

“You’re very needy tonight, princess,” he coos. “I’d better fix that, huh?”

“Please,” you whine.

Bruce shushes you softly. His fingers trail back up your legs, dragging them slowly along the inside of your leg. 

His touch remains featherlight, but your body still jolts when he finally pushes his fingers against your panties. Right where your clitoris is. Gently, he starts to rub you through the soaked fabric.

Even the lightest touch feels amazing, pleasure already thrumming through you. Your lips part as a breathy moan of his name leaves you.

“No wonder you’re so needy. You’re absolutely soaked, sweetheart.”

“It’s your fault,” you tell him. “You make me like this.”

He hums and nods in agreement. “I had better look after you then, hmmm?”

“Please.”

You expect him to either slide your panties to the side or rip them off of you completely, but he does neither. Instead he keeps touching you through them. The only thing he changes is that he starts to use his thumb instead of his fingers.

He kisses you again as he rubs circles against your clit, swallowing your moans. His free hand comes up from your waist and upwards to cup and grope your breasts through your dress. 

You roll your hips, chasing after your pleasure that’s building up way faster than you thought that it would. But it’s really no wonder with how well Bruce knows your body. Knowing exactly how to touch you, both the pressure and speed needed to get you to your climax.

“Fuck,” you gasp. There’s no doubt in your mind that, with how quickly you’re approaching your end, that it’s feeding his ego. 

“You going to be a good girl and come for me?” he asks. He applies some more pressure, his rubbing becoming more insistent. 

Your breath is now coming out in short puffs as you can feel the tension coiling inside of you more and more. You’re so close. So fucking close, if he just keeps touching you like that… 

Your fingers grip his suit jacket like it’s your lifeline as your body shakes. Bruce talks you through it. His words filled with encouragement and praise as your orgasm rocks through you. 

Just as it starts to become way too much for you, he pulls his hand away. Your forehead comes to rest against his shoulder, your body still shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. He rubs your leg. Pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck and cheek, as you come down. 

“Always such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” 

You make a soft noise of agreement as your eyes close for a moment. Enjoying the feeling of the random patterns being traced and his lips on your skin. 

As your breathing calms down, you turn your head and capture his lips with your own again. At the same time, your hand trails back down his body. Following the exact same path as earlier.

He doesn’t stop you this time. You press your hand against the tent in his pants. A low groan leaves Bruce as you touch him. The sound making your pussy clench around nothing, sending another wave of arousal through you. 

Fuck, you need him inside of you.

“I think we should move this to the bedroom,” you suggest, pulling away. 

His eyes are dark, that steely blue of his iris a thin line against his pupil. While there is a light blush across his cheeks, which stands out a fair bit against his pale skin. 

“Definitely.”

Once he’s made sure your grip on him is secure, he stands up, bringing you with him. As he carries you toward the bedroom, you press kisses to his jaw and neck. Even going as far as to gently bite and suck on his neck, leaving behind a few lovebites in your wake. 

They’re in a rather visible spot, unless he wears a turtleneck. He, honestly, might just end up covering it up with the same makeup he uses to cover up the worst of the bruises he earns each night as Batman. Deep down, you hope that he doesn’t. You want him to show them off. Remind everyone that he’s all yours. 

Though, with how the media continues talking about you both, they likely don’t need it.

When you get to the bedroom, he sets you down. His hand quickly locates the zipper for your dress and, very slowly, he starts to pull it down. The action surprises you. You had expected him to rip it from you like he’s done to every other dress that he’s previously bought you. Bruce chuckles. 

“I love the way this dress looks on you far too much to ruin it just yet,” he says.

“Oh, I see. So I only get to keep dresses based on how you feel about them?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Do you want me to ruin it?”

“No! I’m just in mourning over the other ones.”

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as they shine with amusement. He kisses the tip of your nose. “I will buy a replacement for each one I’ve ruined, okay? Now, come on.”

With your dress fully unzipped, he eases it off of your shoulders and lets it fall into a pile on the floor, around your feet. He helps you step out of it and pushes you back toward the bed.

“Lay down,” he instructs you. 

You dutifully follow his order, settling down onto the bed. As you get comfortable, Bruce strips himself of his suit jacket and shirt. You drag your eyes down his body. Appreciating how well toned his body is. The scars that litter his body add to his sexiness.

“Enjoying the view?” he teases you. 

“Only fair considering you keep ogling my boobs,” you reply. The entire time he’s been undressing his top half, his eyes have kept glancing over, landing on your chest more often than not. Not that you mind. You like it when he’s ogling your body. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t have some fun. 

“Well, I know your name now.”

His reply makes you shake your head as it prompts the memory of the night you first met him. Your dress had been completely scandalous that night, yet he had not looked at your chest once; claiming that doing so would be rude since he didn’t even know your name.

You cross your arms over your boobs, hiding them from his view, pretending to be annoyed with him. 

“That’s it. No more boobs for you.” 

Bruce chuckles as he shakes his head. He comes over to the bed and climbs onto the bed, draping his body over yours as he settles between your legs. He nuzzles his face against your neck. His kisses turn into light bites as he trails them down your skin. 

He nibbles at your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine and making it really hard to keep your act up. When he reaches where your arms are still crossed against your chest, he kisses along the length of one of your forearms before pulling away. 

Supporting himself with one hand, he uses the other to gently pry your arms apart. You don’t do anything to fight him on it, letting him open your arms and reveal your breasts to him again.

“There you are.”

He litters your chest with kisses and lovebites. Starting at the top of one and trailing his way to the underside. His bites turn into licks as he gets closer to your nipple. Bruce swirls his tongue around the hardened bud before finally taking it into his mouth and starts to suck. 

You arch your back into his touch, a short gasp, bordering on a moan, leaving you. Like the tentative boyfriend that he is, he doesn’t neglect your other breast, using his free hand to squeeze and play with it. He lavishes your chest in affection. Kissing, biting and licking his way to the other. Where he repeats his actions. 

“Bruce,” you moan softly as you run your fingers through his hair, messing it up. You shift your hips beneath him, grinding against his cock. Your actions draw a deep groan from him and he rocks his hips into yours. Letting you know that two can play at that game.

He only stops so that he can trail his kisses down your body, past your naval and toward your truly soaked panties. He presses a firm kiss to your clit through the fabric, making you sharply inhale. Bruce doesn’t stop there. Instead he kisses and bites the inside of both of your thighs.

You love the sight of him between your legs. Whether it’s him eating you out or kissing where your thighs are most sensitive. His hair messy and pupils blown wide. Even better if his chin and mouth is shiny with your slick. It’s one of the best sights in the world to you. You wouldn’t mind keeping him there forever.

Deft fingers undo the buckles of your heels before sliding them off of your feet and letting them fall to the floor with a thud. As soon as they’re gone, your panties quickly follow as Bruce rips the fabric, as if it’s paper, and gets rid of them. You don’t care. Anything is good as long as it gets him inside of you faster. The longer that he draws this out, the more desperate that you are starting to become.

The ache between your legs is becoming unbearable as your clitoris throbs, begging for more attention from him. You want, no, you need him inside of you. You need to feel him stretching you open as he fills you up, making you feel impossible full.

“Brucie?” you call softly. He looks up at you from where he’s been drinking in the sight of the mess that your arousal and earlier orgasm have made of you. 

“Yes, princess?” 

“I need to feel you inside of me. Please? Please, fuck me?” 

You don’t even need to beg him for it. The way that he’s looking at you and how hard his cock feels against you. He was likely about to make a move to finally start fucking you to begin with. You just begged before he could make that move. 

With a speed that would be impressive if he wasn’t Batman, Bruce removes the rest of his clothing. He drapes his body back over yours, lining himself up with your entrance. 

There was a time when you used to be nervous about his size; he’s the biggest you’ve ever had after all. Now though? Now you wrap a leg around his waist and pull him down for another kiss as he starts to slowly slide into you.

You’re so wet that he easily enters you, bottoming out immediately. He feels absolutely amazing. Stretching your pussy and filling you up exactly the way that you want him to. Your head falls backwards, onto the pillow, as you moan.

“That feels better, doesn’t it, princess?” he coos softly. He’s stilled, letting you adjust to his size, like he always does. 

“Yes,” you reply, along with a nod. It really does. It’s insane how good he makes you feel.

As soon as you give him the go ahead to move, he does. Slowly he pulls out of you, leaving only the tip inside, before pushing back in. Each time he makes sure he’s hitting that sweet spot deep inside of you, drawing more moans from you.

“That’s it, sweet girl. Let me hear you,” he murmurs. He’s back to nuzzling and kissing your neck and jaw.

You could stay here, in this moment, forever. Your  bodies tangled up together, joined as one. Bruce slowly fucking you as his fingers played with your clit. 

Tonight has been something like you might read in some romance novel or see in some movie. At the same time they all paled in comparison. The real thing always being better.

Bringing your hands to his shoulders and push lightly. If Bruce didn’t want to move, he wouldn’t, but he follows your lead. Flipping your positions so that you are now on top. 

A deep groan leaves him as you start to bounce on his cock, your hands flat against his chest to support yourself. His hands are on your thighs, stroking them with his thumbs as he watches you ride him.

“Look at you. You look absolutely amazing sweetheart.” His voice sounds strained as he speaks. Much like earlier, his eyes are trained on your boobs, which bounce with each roll of your hips, along with the jewels around your neck. “You always look so good riding my cock.”

You laugh softly, which quickly turns into a moan. You can feel yourself getting close again. Your pussy squeezing and fluttering around his cock while the coil inside of you grows tighter and tighter. Bruce is getting close as well. While before he was holding back his moans, wanting to hear you instead, he’s growing more vocal as he starts to thrust up into you.

His thumb returns to your clit, sending you tumbling over the edge. You cry his name as your pussy clamps down onto him. Bruce falls over that edge with you, the way your squeezing him making it impossible for him not to, and he comes deep inside of you.

Boneless and spent, it’s easy for him to get you to lay on his chest. Both of you panting hard and becoming the only sound that can now be heard in the bedroom.

The feeling of him running random patterns against your back and the steady beating of his heart in your ear, soothes you. Almost sending you straight to sleep. It is rather late at night and you were previously on a long flight. You’re tired.

Before you can, you pull away from Bruce, muttering that you need the bathroom when he goes to stop you.

While you're in there, you make sure to remove your makeup and the expensive jewels he bought you, settling them back into their cases.

When you’ve finished up and re-enter the bedroom you come back to Bruce waiting for you with a glass of water and a slice of the cheesecake that had originally been for desert.

Grateful, you accept the glass and take a sip, before settling onto his lap like he wants you to. Bruce offers you a bite of the cheesecake which, again, you accept, groaning at the rich taste of it.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks you, as if the answer isn’t the most obvious thing in the world.

“Tonight was perfect, Bruce. Thank you.”

“Anything for my girl,” he tells you. The kiss is soft and sweet; you smile into it. “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” 

There really aren’t enough words in the world for you to describe or tell him how much you love him. Something tells you that it’s the same for him as well.

The cheesecake slice is shared between the two of you. He continues to feed you each bite. Once the plate is empty, he sets it down the nightstand. Bruce moves you both down the bed, getting you settled against his chest and pulls the covers up over you both.

You snuggle against him, your focus returning to his heartbeat as you let your eyes close this time and fall fast asleep, in the arms of your lover.

You don’t know how life can get much better than this.

[narnian-neverlander]

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again [Machine Herald Viktor x GN!Reader]

Preview: “You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 10,7k

Warnings: slight body horror/modifications, suicidal thoughts, canon typical violence (injuries and blood, mentions of torture, mentions of character death, alluded murder)

This is part of a series of stand alone One-Shots that all feature the same reader, you can find the masterlist here :3

A/N: Does a broken rib from too much coughing count as the AO3 curse yet cause wow this took way longer than expected. Anyways, Epic x Arcane has been bouncing around my head since Season 2 came out, but this was inspired by this post from @le-fruit-de-la-passion cause I saw that and I’ve been internally screaming over it ever since 💁

Happy Valentine’s everybody 💞

Nothing had been the same since you woke up.

It’s to be expected, it had been almost two years after all.

Two years since the explosion. Two years since half the council had died. Two years since any attempt at peace between the two cities had been shattered. Two years that you had spent blissfully unaware of all of this; a coma keeping you trapped within the confines of a hospital bed and your own mind.

You’d expected pain after coming back to your senses; it was the last thing you remembered before the world had went dark. But you’d slept through most of your recovery. Through your wounds turning into scars. Through your muscles growing weak from disuse. Your hands were a different story, though. They didn’t so much hurt, only at times, as they were simply numb. Shattered bones and nerve damage had made them mostly useless and that was not something any amount of time would simply fix.

Not everything had completely changed, though, you’d found. You’d been awake for not more than an hour when Jayce had burst through the doors of your hospital room. And sure, he’d looked different: his hair longer, a beard, the white and gold that had always dominated his outfits replaced with black and silver, a brace on one of his legs and a cane at his side. But the relief in his hazel eyes when he’d found his friend conscious was familiar. The way his hug had felt. And how he’d completely avoided your gaze when you’d asked about your lover.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

He’d expected you to cry, scream, anything. But you hadn’t. You’d merely nodded, as numb as your broken hands, and had thanked him for coming to see you. Had told him to go back to his work, he must certainly be busy after all. And it had torn him apart, to see you, someone he’d always known as energetic and joyful, so tired, so apathetic. The very least for him to do had been to offer his help in any way he could, including finding a doctor that would fix your hands. He’d been more than reluctant to leave you, but you’d asked for some time alone to rest and he could hardly deny you that - it had still taken him a good ten minutes more to actually take his leave, with promises of a soon return and to simply send for him if you needed anything.

You’d settled back into the bed, fully intent on going back to sleep and pretending you’d be able to wake up in a different world, but the sun had caught on something metallic on your bedside table, hidden behind flowers and cards. You’d reached for it with stiff, unsteady fingers, almost sending the small, scratched up, mechanical cat crashing to the ground; luckily it had just ended up bouncing off your leg and then settling in your lap.

You’d stared at the little robotic feline in astonishment for a long time, unblinking amber eyes staring right back, like it would tell you who had brought it here, when it should’ve been sitting on a shelf in your apartment. Like it would give you all the answers and solutions in the world. An answer to your pain. To the hopelessness creeping in. To the feeling of your heart slowly shattering.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

It had almost made you drop your precious possession all over again, breaths heavy and migraine pounding in the back of your skull. And your racing mind had very clearly told you that there’s no recollection of ever having heard him say anything like this, your aching heart replying that it had been an idle wish, nothing more.

This idle wish comes back to you know, lying bruised and bloody and dazed in a ditch somewhere in Zaun. The people you’d been sent to for help had turned out to be anything but the kind, generous researches they’d made themselves look like; only interested in their own profit, gained on the backs of the helpless and the beaten. And after months of more pain and suffering, once you’d no longer been of use, your body even more mutilated and damaged than before, you’d been discarded like the trash they viewed you as. Face in the dirt, body and mind exhausted and screaming for rest, just a small respite, you consider letting go. Consider closing your eyes and just letting eternal rest take you; you don’t have anything left, after all. No home to go back to. No loved ones waiting for you.

Your shattered psyche seems to welcome the idea more than anything; through blurry vision you swear you see your lost beloved right in front of you, like it’s just another lazy morning spent in bed together. A warm hand cupping your cheek, gentle amber eyes, voice still raspy and accent thick from sleep. Telling you to go back to sleep. That it’s okay to rest. You blink and he’s gone.

He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but… he’s gone.

I’m coming back for you. I’ll find a way to fix you, to fix us both, and then I’m coming back for you, I promise.

A cry for help, created from a desperate mind and a broken heart. A fantasy. Wishful thinking. Nothing more. No one would be coming for you. Nobody would know or care if you just laid down to die right here. But there’s still a part of you, tiny as it may be, that wants to live. That under no circumstances wants to die on the same streets you once crawled your way out of, while your tormentors get rich on your suffering and are left with no consequences. Your blood’s starting to boil, powering you like a steam engine, getting you up on your hands and knees, groaning and whimpering in pain as you hopelessly try to get your feet back under you.

Peace is for the dead, revenge is for the living.

It’s what forces you towards the city limits on wobbly, clumsy legs, one stumbling step at a time. If revenge would be your only reason to live, then so be it. You’d take it over simply giving up and being forgotten; your body left to rot in the dirt.

So you live off scraps and garbage. Get your quick bouts of rest on dark, dirty street corners. Collect herbs from the riverbed, as scarce as they may be, to fight off the infections you incurred. It’s not pretty or elegant and you can barely call it living, but you’re alive. And eventually you catch rumors, whispers, only spoken in the same shadows you’ve now spent months living in: rumors of a healer. Well, some call him that. Others revere him as a god. Others fear him as a monster, more machine than man. But they all agree on two things: that he’s the one to go to if you’re in desperate need of help and have nothing left to lose. And where to find him.

The gate to the house on Emberflit Alley is old and bent and rusted. Not locked, but your stiff, useless fingers have enough trouble opening it anyways. The front door is a different story entirely, encrusted with interlocking gears to keep you and anyone else out unless invited in. So you knock and you wait. And then you repeat that process. Until it becomes clear that either no one is home or that a disturbance isn’t currently wanted. You’re not about to give up so easily though, so you step off the porch and start making your way around the house in search of any windows to knock on instead or maybe even break if necessary. It’s dusk by now and the ever present fog that always seems to cling to this area of the Lanes isn’t making your job much easier; your foot inevitably catches on something, a loose brick or a protruding pipe maybe, and sends you stumbling, falling and while you manage to catch yourself against the brick wall, your flailing palm ends up going straight through a window.

Perfect. You hadn’t actually been serious about breaking and entering. Not entirely, anyways. Trying to assess the damage to your hand in the dimly lit alley, you’re distracted enough to not pick up on the sound of a door opening and you only notice the heavy footsteps when they stop right behind you.

“You’re persistent if nothing else, I will give you that.”

The voice is deep, warped, with a mechanical echo to it, but it’s the accent that sends an unwelcome and unexpected twinge to your heart. You turn around very slowly and carefully, prey about to get caught by something terrible, and gulp when you actually need to crane your head back and look up cause fuck, he’s tall. At least a head taller than you, with a broad frame, all heavy armor and pieces of metal, a sharp, three pronged claw pulsing with energy pointed right at you from over his shoulder and a mask with only two hollow, glowing, yellow eyes staring back at you. He’s an imposing, unforgiving presence and you’re starting to understand why people only come to him as a last resort. But you’d come this far and he’s right, you’re persistent, stubborn, if nothing else, for better or for worse.

“I was— No one was opening the door and I was just trying to— Are you the Herald?” It’s a redundant question, really. “It’s what they insist on calling me.” Okay, you’re having a conversation. Sorta. That’s progress. “They also say that you… help people?” He crosses his arms over his chest and cocks his head to the side and while you might not be able to see his eyes, you can feel them taking you in from head to toe. “To the best of my abilities. What would you need help with?” You falter for a second. “It’s uhm… a lot, really, but mostly my hands?” Most people have always reacted with disgust or pity and you don’t expect him to be much different, so the way you bring your hands in front of you for him to see is slow and hesitant. He leans forward for a better look and you fight the urge to back away and flee. It’s quiet, too quiet, the way he’s so intensely studying you and your injuries unnerving and the metal claw that looks like it could tear you in half opening and closing and rotating as if in thought is most definitely not helping your anxiety. Finally, he straightens up and turns around. “Follow me.” He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he check to see if you actually do follow him, merely strides back inside the house, leaving you scrambling to catch up.

The halls that he leads you through have dozens of motionless automatons leaning against the walls, the room you eventually arrive in is lined with shelves of glass jars containing organic and metal organs floating in green fluid and in the far corner a leather gurney with a mechanized drill laid upon it and stains you don’t want to think too hard about. Fortunately, he doesn’t lead you over to that, but instead to a workbench cluttered with machinery and tools and blueprints. He sits in the old, rusty chair and then drags out a little stool from under the table, gesturing for you to copy him while he reaches above his head and fiddles with what is revealed to be a bright, neon lamp when it finally flickers to life, blinding you for a moment and leaving spots in your vision. You do as your told and finally place your hands in his when he holds out his own, one gloved and from what you can tell human, the other solid metal.

There’s a certain gentle diligence with which he conducts his examination, something you most definitely didn’t expect, but it puts your frayed nerves at ease. It also triggers a memory from long ago, an accident in the lab, that had ended with you curled up against your boyfriend’s shoulder while Jayce had carefully picked glass shards from your palms. A slight shake of your head brings you back to the present; a different life, it no longer matters. It’s silent between you two, except for the occasional question from his side that you answer truthfully. Eventually, he sits back and switches off the lamp above you. “Your hands can not be salvaged; the damage is too severe and was left insufficiently treated for too long. If you want full use of them back, they will need to be replaced.” He says it like it’s the most logical, natural thing in the world and to him it must be, but to you? It leaves you stunned, mouth going dry. “So I’d lose them entirely…?”

“You already have,” he states matter of factly. “Now it’s just a matter of wether you’re insisting on clinging on to broken, useless flesh and bone for the sake of sentimentality or if you’d rather exceed your human limitations and be able to return to a normal life.” It takes everything you have not to laugh bitterly; new hands or not, you weren’t going back to your old, normal life anytime soon. But he’s right nonetheless. “And you can do that? Replace them? Make them work like before?” You can’t be certain, with the mask’s filter and all but it almost sounds like he scoffs in offense. He waves his own hand in front of your face and flexes his fingers for show; dark, solid metal, expertly welded and crafted together to create a perfectly functioning hand. “Naturally.”

There’s nothing for you to think about anymore. “Okay. Yeah, I… that sounds good. Except…” Maybe there is one thing to think about. “I can’t… pay you for it. B-but I can work it off! Or I could—“ he decisively cuts you off with, “I do not take payment for my work.” And your jaw actually drops, because there is no way anyone in this world would offer services like this for free. There always has to be an angle, something to be gained. “Right. So you just do this out of the goodness of your fucking heart? Do you even have one? A heart, I mean.” He stands to his full height and it hits you like a ton of bricks that you just followed a complete stranger into the confines of his home. A stranger twice your size that would have no trouble turning you into parts for his future experiments. A stranger that has a reputation on Zaun’s streets as an unhinged monster. And it seems like you might’ve hit a nerve.

But he merely reaches past you, for something behind you on the table and comes back with a pair of tweezers and gauze and then proceeds to remove the parts of his window that are still stuck in one of your palms. Right. Since you can’t really feel them, you’d forgotten all about them. “Of course not. And to answer your question, no, I got rid of my heart a long time ago; it was of no use to me any longer. I only ask that you stay here during your recovery so I can oversee the adjustment process. Document it to further my research. You will be paying me in information, knowledge, progress. That is worth more than any gold or jewels you could throw at me.” Your own heart is going a mile a minute after that scare, but you’re slowly coaxing your body to calm back down. If he truly wanted to harm you, he would’ve done so by now. “And you’re sure that’s enough?” A sigh, as if he’s forced to explain something overly simplistic to a child over and over again. “You can bring any scrap metal you may find on the streets to me, if that will make you feel better.” You snort in amusement. “Okay, sure, you got yourself a deal. Sooooo… now what?”

He pauses wrapping your hand for a moment and turns his unblinking gaze to you again. “Malnourished, sick or overly exhausted people make for greater risks, both during surgery and recovery.” You flinch because you damn well know that you check all of those boxes. And you’re sure he knows it, too. “Yeah, well it’s not like I can snap my fingers and magically be healthy again. If I could, I wouldn’t be here. Besides, do you know where you live? You can’t tell me that every Zaunite who comes in here is of picture perfect health?”

“No, I just thought you should be made aware. We can perform the procedure tomorrow, at least get some sleep before that; surely that’s not too difficult?” It almost sounds patronizing and you realize you’ve gained back, or rather are rediscovering a part of yourself you haven’t used in a long time in the few minutes you’ve been talking to him: the defiant smartass. “Of course I can do that, I’m not an imbecile. There’s a brothel owner who owes me a favor, I’m sure I can get her to cough up a bed for the night.” He’s doesn’t look up from putting the finishing touches on your bandages, but apparently he still feels the need to state, “And leave with more diseases than you came with?” Had he just called you diseased? “I’ll have you know I don’t have anything contagious, thank you very much. I don’t think. And it’s that or sleep out on the streets again, so…”

“Or you could just stay here.”

You barely manage a very intelligent ‘Huh?!’ in return.

“You will return here tomorrow anyways. And stay here for your recovery. One night will not make a difference.”

Your eyes flit over to the leather couch in the corner; it’s clearly old and worn, missing an armrest and has obvious tears in the leather. Truly, you shouldn’t be this comfortable around him so quickly, but it’s still the closest thing to an actual bed you’d had in months so you’d take it.

“If it’s okay with you.” you shrug and quickly walk over to the sofa, dropping the bag that contains whatever little belongings you have left to the floor and then promptly collapse on it in an exhausted heap of limbs. That seems to break some of his composed facade as you catch him physically startling in your peripheral while you’re busy shrugging out of one of your coats and turning it into a makeshift pillow. “There is a room upstairs, with a bed, entirely unused. You can sleep there.” But you’re drowsy already, the worn leather surprisingly soft and pliant against your battered body. “So you don’t sleep, I assume; noted. And don’t worry, I don’t snore, so I won’t interrupt your… your work. You won’t… even know… I’m…” You’re out cold before you’ve finished your sentence and it takes all of half a minute before you’re lightly snoring. Liar. But he knew that already.

A heavy sigh and then he’s up, grabbing the blanket and pillow from the bed upstairs; replacing the bunched up coat under your head and pausing before he covers your body with the thick, warm fabric. Your skin has lost color, you’re underweight, he most definitely caught you limping earlier and those are just the things he could tell from a first glance. Your hands would be an easy enough matter to fix, but the rest would take time and care. He covers you with the blanket and you immediately snuggle up into it until only your hair is barely poking out. So you still hate the cold, then. Just like you’re still defiant and mouthy. It’s ridiculous how much you haven’t changed in direct contrast to him; changed so vastly and completely, of course you wouldn’t recognize him.

Carefully dragging down the blanket and the backs of your several layers of clothing, he indeed finds a series of numbers and letters branded into the skin at the back of your neck, as expected. He recognizes their shoddy handiwork by now; you weren’t the first Zaunite to come through his door after they’d fallen victim to that group. But you’d most definitely be the last. He gathers some things from around the lab and finally grabs his staff from where it’s leaning against the wall, gem at the top crackling with energy; one last look at your curled up form and then he’s out of the door, leaving you resting in his lab.

You’re warm, comfortable. It’s quiet and you actually feel well rested. All of that is so utterly foreign to you, it frightens you back to consciousness, makes you startle awake and fall off whatever you’d been asleep on in the process. Blind panic as you untangle yourself from a blanket you don’t remember having and stagger back to your feet, wild eyes searching for the closest threat.

Dim lighting breaking through murky windows, shelves stocked organs, a bloody gurney in the far corner and a hunched over figure at a workbench, their back currently turned to you as a clawed contraption over their shoulder emits a thin, precise ray of light.

“I do not appreciate getting lied to.”

There’s a part of your mind screaming at you that you know this voice, this person, this place, but the terrified haze you’re in yields little room for rationality as he shuts off the laser and turns around to face you, features covered by a mask with nothing but a set of glowing yellow eyes.

“You do, in fact, snore.”

It’s like a switch gets flipped, the haze lifts as you realize that you’re safe and you collapse back into the couch in a relieved heap, breaths still frenzied and heart still trying to jump out of your chest. “Right. Sorry.” He doesn’t comment any further, simply gets back to whatever it is he was working on before, leaving you to recover by yourself. It takes a few minutes, but once you consider yourself sufficiently calmed, you sit back up on the couch cross legged, blanket draped over your shoulders, wanting to apologize and thank him properly, but looking at him gives you pause.

He seems… smaller somehow than the night before. You find your answer in a heap of metal scattered around his workbench: big, cumbersome pieces of armor. Armor that you remember seeing on him yesterday, that you’d just assumed to be irremovable parts of his body. What you most definitely do not recall are the dents, scratches and the dried blood all over the metal. Nervously flitting your gaze back to him, you see what he’s working on is actually himself; laser directed at a part of his chest that he seems to be welding shut. And you’re taken aback at how much skin there is - human skin. The entirety of his chest and his right arm are sleek steel, interlocking gears and mechanisms, flawlessly shifting into each other as he moves, thin glowing panels pulsing with energy from hidden engines. And there’s definitely more metal at his right hip, disappearing into the waistband of his pants, but other than that…

His left arm is mostly pale skin, scarred flesh at his shoulder connecting to the dark steel; a wired glove slipped over his slender fingers seemingly controling the movements of the claw over this shoulder. His stomach and waist are still incredibly human too, if nothing else because of the dark purple bruise forming against his skin. He’s nowhere near as much machine as you’d expected, not to mention he looks… hurt. Had he been in a fight? Gotten attacked?

You open your mouth to ask, but think better of it before any sound can come out. It really has nothing to do with you; what he does in his own time is none of your business. It still feels off, to infringe on his time and help and not even ask if he’s alright when clearly, something that you’re not privy to has happened. Never one to leave well enough alone, you grab your bag from the floor and start sorting through the collection of herbs you’ve managed to acquire over time. Once you’ve found the ones you’re looking for, you package them into the most clean rag you have in your possession and tie it shut; uncrossing your legs you walk over to him and place the haphazardly made package on the table, careful not to disturb him. The movement still gets his attention and even with the mask’s filter, confusion is clear as day in his voice as he asks, “What is that and what is it doing on my workbench?”

“It’s an herbal remedy, for uhm… bruises and the like?” you explain, vaguely gesturing at his waist. “You soak it in boiling water and then put it on the effected area; it helps with swelling and pain.” It’s silent for a few long seconds, then, “I see. Thank you.” Not even remotely close to anything you were readying yourself for as a response, but it makes something within your chest beam with pride. You don’t even realize you’re still staring until he points it out and is met with, “You’re just… not exactly what I expected.”

“A monster?”

The laugh you let out is so shockingly soft, it almost startles him. “You’ve got a reputation, sure, and you’re… intimidating at first glance, I’ll give you that, but… I’ve met plenty of monsters in my life and none of them were anything like you. In fact, all of them looked and acted remarkably, ordinarily human at first.” There’s no further elaboration from your side and your gaze is distant, mind somewhere far away from here. He almost calls your name, but it occurs to him in the nick of time that you never actually introduced yourself. You’ve been here for less than twenty four hours and already he’s slipping, making mistakes; he can’t have that, so he drives the conversation in a direction he has control over. “I am almost finished with my repairs, I can get the general anesthetic started so we can proceed with your surgery as quickly as possible.”

Wild, hot panic takes over your gaze and he fully expects you to bolt out the front door with how you flinch and take a step away from him. “I need be under for the surgery? Can’t you do like, local anesthesia on my arms?” He hesitates; he’s never known you to be afraid of medical procedures, so what’s the problem? “First off, I will not be replacing both of your hands at the same time. Too risky and you’ll be completely incapacitated; we’re going to start with only one today. And no, in theory, you do not have to be under full anesthesia, however, we are talking about a delicate and unusual kind of surgery; I can not promise that it will be painless while you’re still conscious.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind the pain, I just… I wanna have some agency in what gets done to my body from here on out.”

Ah. So that’s it. One glance at the dried blood still clinging to his armor on the floor and he feels the rage from last night raise it’s ugly head again. He shoves that right back down, cursing internally, before he answers you, voice level and betraying nothing. “All right. It will not be a pretty sight, though.” You shrug, as nonchalant as if he’d just told you about dinner plans. “I mean, I don’t have to watch directly. But I’m gonna admit, I am curious.”

The curiosity lasts for all of the first cut into your flesh, then you turn your head away and simply let him work in silence; wouldn’t want to distract the man currently flaying you open and re-wiring your nerve endings. Luckily, there’s only the occasional pinch and pull, but you stay pain free otherwise. Recovery after the procedure is a different story entirely though; painful and arduous and time consuming. And you’re more than a little surprised at how diligently the Herald takes care of you. Keeping a close eye on his newest test subject, that’s what you write it off as at first. But as the weeks go by there’s a certain familiar domesticity that sneaks into your routine and you find yourself talking with him more and more. Well, it’s mostly you talking, but he listens; you know because the day after you complained about the room you’d been staying in feeling too dark, you’d come back from an errand to find the windows cleaned, the curtains gone and some mismatched lamps placed around the room. It’s a sweet, quiet kind of constant reassurance and you can’t help the way your heart warms at it; so much like what you’d been used to from your lost love.

The day you pick up a glass of water all by yourself, without spilling anything and the glass noticeably cold against your fingers, you almost weep with joy and just barely hold yourself back from tackling him in a hug. Instead you busy yourself with touching as many things in his lab as you can get your one properly functioning hand on - which means you miss the way he so openly stares at you, obvious even with his mask hiding his features. He hasn’t seen you this happy and energized since you showed up on his doorstep. It makes some part in chest whir conspicuously and it almost feels like something is overheating, so he quickly turns away and grabs a random, discarded project from his workbench to fiddle with.

“Do you… ya know, eat?”

It’s a random question, even for you, but he answers nonetheless. He’s used to it by now.

“I no longer require it as a form of energy replenishment, no.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, that doesn’t answer my question, though. You don’t have to, but do you? Sometimes?”

“I fail to comprehend why we are having this conversation in the first place.” He doesn’t put down his tools, nor does he look at you.

Okay, fair point.

“Well, I uh… I used to be a chef, had my own restaurant and everything? And since one of my hands finally works again I figured I’d like to give cooking something a try? And if you have a favorite, I could make it for you? As thanks for… well, for giving me a hand?” It’s not one of your finer jokes, you will admit, so you’re not surprised he doesn’t laugh. Not that you’ve ever heard him laugh at anything, for that matter. He doesn’t react at all, except for, “I told you, I do not take payment for my work. Are we done with this fruitless conversation now?” It stings more than you’d like, to have him dismiss your tries at kindness like that, even though you know it’s not personal.

“Right, yeah, sorry. It’s just… cooking’s the only thing I’ve ever been good for and I like to be some sort of useful so… but you’re right, it’s stupid. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Because if I stopped being useful, then… maybe he wouldn’t want me anymore. Maybe he’d leave me behind for something better.

It was years ago, he shouldn’t remember you saying it as clearly as he does. Nor the way you’d looked then; all teary eyed and vulnerable, in front of him and only him. He shouldn’t remember and much less should he still care. He finds himself putting down his tools anyways.

“Sweetmilk.”

It doesn’t even register that he’s talking to you at first, considering you’re already halfway out the door to give him some peace and quiet. “P-pardon?”

“Sweetmilk.” he repeats. “It’s technically not food, but a weakness of mine and it’s still made on a stove. However, I am out of—“

“I got it! I’ll go get everything; I know how to make it!” The biggest grin on your face, you’re out of his lab in an instant and he hears the front door open and close not long after that.

There’s an actual skip in your step as you make your way down the street, there’s no other way to put it.

You are no fool. It’s in the way he hyperfocuses on his work. In the way his place is always a mess, right down to how his tools and notes clutter his desk. In the way what little sunlight manages to reach this part of the Lanes catches in his chestnut hair when it filters through the windows. In the little vocal mannerisms and gestures that you remember oh so well, that he apparently was unable to remove, no matter how much of a perfect machine he claims himself to be. It’s all right there, it had been from the start, this had just been the final push you’d needed. The final push to actually let yourself hope.

You are no fool. He knows this. He knows this and yet he let you have this. This tiny, obsolete, aggravating piece of information that has now turned him into the fool instead. He’s certain you’ve already figured it out, how could you not have? With the way you were immediately way too comfortable around him? With the way you sometimes talked about yourself, your past, just naturally assuming he’d be able to fill in the blanks, cause to him, they weren’t blanks at all? With the way it had been so easy to slip back into old, dangerously domestic habits with you? This had simply been the final nail in the coffin, yours or his, he isn’t sure; he is sure, however that you do not belong here in his oh so carefully crafted solitude.

Over two years. That’s how long it had taken him to put himself back together again. To rid himself of the parts the Hexcore had already infected, tainted, taken from his control. To replace his dying lungs. To make sure he didn’t fall apart again after every second step. To ensure he was no longer weak. And then he’d come for you, intending to save you, make you whole again, but you’d been gone. Disappeared from your hospital bed, from Piltover all together it had seemed. He’d crossed several lines in his search for you, even the ones he’d set for himself; namely never asking for help from his former best friend and partner again. In the end, the only thing he’d accomplished had been to widen the ever growing rift between them, no step closer to you. So he’d done the only thing he could still think of: rip his heart straight from his chest to maybe, hopefully, get rid of the agony right along with it; erase the joyful memories that held nothing but misery anymore. And it had worked; everything inside him dulled and numbed enough to simply drown himself in his work with no interferences. Until you’d stumbled back into his life. And things should be different, he shouldn’t care about you anymore outside of how you can further his research, but they’re not. The way the two of you still fit together so effortlessly is disgustingly, hauntingly familiar and he has to put a stop to it. He has chosen to live like this, in isolation and loneliness, he would not force it on you in the name of some long forgotten affection.

Perfect opportunity strikes some days later, while he’s in the process of replacing your second hand and you question him about his own augmentations. So he tells you about his weak leg and his collapsing lungs like you don’t already know. Watches the smile vanish from you lips and your face fall as he explains how he removed his connections to people from his past.

“So you… you don’t remember anyone who used to be a part of your life? Family, friends, lovers?”

“I remember them just fine, I simply got rid of any unnecessary emotional attachments associated with them. I remember my mother’s lullabies, I do not miss them any longer. I remember the discussions with my old partner, yet I no longer look at them fondly. I remember the lazy mornings spent with my lover, but I don’t yearn for them anymore.”

You visibly flinch at that last one and he merely warns you to stay still, like he doesn’t know what hearing all of this must do to you. It goes quiet between you two afterwards and any glance he steals at you confirms his theory, proves that his action had the desired reaction: the cogs are turning in your head and the longer they do, the more the despair and grief start to show on your face; realization that he is no longer the man you knew and that you no longer have a place by his side. It’s quick, simple work to finish your surgery and he decides to leave you be, give you time to let the new information he provided you with sink in and with some trivial errands used as a quick excuse, you’re left sitting alone on a rickety old stool in his lab.

And you stay seated for a long while, still and unmoving, blankly staring off into the distance as you hopelessly try to process what he just revealed to you. The love you hold for him hasn’t diminished in the slightest, no matter how much he might claim to have changed, but what’s it worth if you’re nothing but a stranger to him now? If the affections he’d had for you in return were lost to his quest of a perfect evolution?

You’re unsure what compels you to rise from your seat, to stroll across the room and absentmindedly trail your fingers across the books on one of his shelves. Maybe you’re simply trying to distract your mind from spiraling further down into the dark abyss of hoplessness it’s currently headed for. Maybe a part of you already knows that this is not meant to last and you’re trying to commit everything to memory through touch alone, now that he’s returned that sensation to you. The very last thing you expect is for one of the spines to catch your attention and for just a moment, you’re back in your old apartment, your old life. Hurriedly pulling the book from it’s spot you find that you are in fact correct, this used to belong to you. The corners of the dark blue cover are frayed and the golden lettering faded, but you recognize it anyways; you’d lent it to him years ago and he’d just never gotten around to giving it back. Which still doesn’t explain what it’s doing here, surely he doesn’t have any use for it anymore. You gingerly dust it off, careful not to over exert your new fingers, and crack it open only for a little slip of paper to immediately come fluttering out and land on the floor in front of you. Picking it up, you find only two words written in a handwriting you know all too well.

Lavender = devotion

The memories flood your mind wether you want them to or not; memories of your absolute mess of a first date. Of the meticulously crafted bouquet of flowers he’d gotten you, based on the book you’d lent him.

Putting the paper back with the page containing it’s corresponding flower, you quickly rifle through the rest of the book and find plenty more notes still left within the pages, all in his handwriting.

Iris = hope, trust

Alstroemeria = mutual support, fascination

Carnations = sincere love, respect, new beginnings

The last entry you come across doesn’t have a written note with it. Instead you find a picture: the two of you, slumped together on the sofa in the lab, all tangled limbs and sleepy intimacy, blissfully unaware of your friend sneaking this picture. It’s marking the pages for camellias and you don’t need a note or a proper look at the information in the book to know what they symbolize; not when you can clearly remember him telling you.

Eternal love. I’m yours for as long as you want. If you’ll have me.

The book slips from your fingers, landing open on the floor with a dull thump as you go right along with it, knees hitting the wood beneath you hard as you curl in on yourself and sob, photograph cradled close against your chest.

It’s the first time you’ve cried, some still coherent part of your mind realizes. Since waking up. Since being imprisoned and tortured. Since coming here. Since being forced to accept stroke after stroke of fate that had irreversibly changed your life entirely against your will or control. So you cry and you weep and you scream at the top of your lungs. For yourself and everything you’ve had to endure. For all you’ve lost. For the life you could’ve had.

You have to leave. You have to. Or you’d spend the the rest of your life desperately trying to rekindle a love that no longer exists. A final glance at the picture still held in your hands and you consider taking it; he wouldn’t miss it, he probably doesn’t even know it’s still here. But the people in that photograph are long gone and it would cause you nothing but more grief, so what’s the point? You drop it between the pages you’d found it in and shove the book back into its’ spot on the shelf before scrambling to your feet and beginning to gather your things strewn across his house. And you could’ve left then and there, things packed and mind made up. You probably should have. But it doesn’t feel quite right either, just disappearing without a trace. So you sit on the bed you’ve called your own for the past weeks and you wait. Until you hear him come home in the middle of the night and the urge to sprint downstairs, throw a quick goodbye and thank you over your shoulder and slam the door on this entire sad, miserable chapter of your life is there. But you don’t. You can’t. Because despite everything, you still want a proper goodbye - you didn’t get one last time, after all. Except you have no idea how you’d go about that, so you stay right where you are and rack your brain. Until dawn breaks and you’re no closer to a solution, so you drag your tired body off the bed and make your way downstairs; you’re just looking for more excuses to stay at this point.

Of course you find him at his workbench, where else, most of his heavier armor discarded and Hexclaw dimantled in front of him as he diligently solders wires to metal. Pausing in the doorway, you wait for him to acknowledge your presence, giving yourself some more time to think, but when several minutes pass and he doesn’t even look up you clear your throat, receiving a quick ‘Morning.’ in return and nothing else. No point beating around the bush, is there?

“When do you think I’ll be able to leave?”

Too busy fiddling with a loose thread at the hem of your shirt to distract yourself, you don’t notice the way he almost flinches, everything he’s doing coming to a halt. It’s quiet for only a moment before he says, “You are not a prisoner here. You may leave whenever you wish to.”

Not the answer you want, not the answer you long for, but an answer nonetheless

“I… now would be good for me, I think.”

“Very well.”

And that’s the end of it. The room is blanketed in silence once again, except for the scrapes and shuffles of his tools as he goes back to work. No grand, emotional request for you stay and why would he? You’re a stranger, an experiment and there’ll be others like you; others to further his research and learn from. He doesn’t need you anymore. He hasn’t for a very long time, you realize. Oh how you wish you could feel the same. You go to grab your bag from the hallway in apathetic, almost mechanical movements, nothing but muscle memory driving you at this point and you expect to walk out the front door without another word exchanged between the two of you, but surprisingly enough, he calls out to you again.

“Where will you go?”

Stopping in your tracks, you come to lean against the door frame, gaze falling anywhere but him. You’re not sure what he’s even asking for, it won’t have any impact on his life after all, but you answer honestly anyways. “As far away from this city as I can get, probably. There’s no one— there’s… nothing left for me here anymore.” A pause as the faces of your tormentors flash before your inner eye. “Not before making the bastards who used me pay for it, though.” He unscrews a panel at the base of the Hexclaw while posing another question. “And if that costs you your life?” You shrug even though he can’t see. “Just as well. I’m not sure I’ve got the will to build something new for myself anyways…”

Silence falls again and you interpret it as the natural end of the conversation and your cue to leave. Except there’s one last thing you need to get off your chest - quite literally, in fact. Slipping off the chain around your neck, ring still safely attached to it as always, you approach him and place it on the surface of his workbench. To your utter surprise, he actually interrupts his work and picks it up with careful fingers; his face might be hidden from you by his mask, but he radiates confusion so you explain before he has a chance to ask. “When I first came here, you told me I could pay you in scrap metal if it made me feel any better about encroaching on your space and time. You can melt this down, throw it out, I don’t care; I’ve carried it around with me long enough and it was always meant to be yours.” You truly don’t have the strength to wait for his reaction, or probable lack thereof; this means nothing to him now, you mean nothing, and that thought makes you hurry towards the exit, tears burning in your eyes.

Despite better judgment, you pause in the doorway, fingers tight around the strap of your bag and swallow around the growing lump in your throat. “Thank you…” It’s barely above a whisper and it’s not enough. You were the one who wanted a proper goodbye this time, weren’t you? So you turn to fully face him, met with the same blank, hollow eyed stare you’ve grown oh so used to and you smile, genuine and grief stricken. “Thank you for everything, Viktor.”

Part of you wonders when he last heard his own name. If he even still remembers it.

And then you’re gone, leaving him alone in his quiet lab, with only his research to keep him company, just as it should be.

The front door is as far your shaky legs get you, bag slipping from your shoulder as you slump against it, forehead pressed to the cool, worn wood as you press a hand against your mouth in a desperate attempt to to stifle the sobs. The man you’re leaving behind is the love of your life no matter what, you’ve known that for ages; there was a before him, but there was never supposed to be an after. And yet now you have to figure out exactly what that after is going to look like, because he’s gone and at the same time he’s still here and that, oh that aches something awful. It’s unfair and it’s cruel and it makes you want to claw your own chest open to strangle your heart with your bare hands just to make the pain stop. It makes you envy him for the first time, no heart left in his chest to ail him. And it makes you despise him, because how dare he leave you alone with the burden of this love you were supposed to share?

The heavy footfalls behind you should jumpstart you into action, make you wrench the door open and get out or at the very least compose yourself, but you can’t. You find that you simply don’t care anymore either. Let him see what he’s done to you, what he’s turned you into, even if he wouldn’t shed a single tear over it. A mechanical hand comes to rest next to your head, his presence right at your back, so close and so very much like the first night you came to this place and yet everything’s so incredibly different now.

“What? Did you forget some kind of last diagnostics test on the new hand or something?” The tears are obvious in your tone. “No. But you should know that the people you plan on taking revenge on are already dead. I made sure of it.” Breath catching in your throat, the memory of your first morning in this house comes back to you: the bruises, the blood on his armor, the way everything about him had screamed violence and death that day. “You… Why?” It makes no sense whatsoever and it’s making your head spin and he’s not answering, until, “That’s hardly a concern for you now. I simply thought it consequential for you to be made aware of the fact that if you wish to depart from this city you may do so. There is nothing—“ It’s the first time you’ve heard him falter and fumble in all your time here and when he speaks again there’s an edge to his voice that you can’t quite place, accompanied by the hand against the door clenching into a fist. “There is no one keeping you here anymore.”

The clock in the corner counts down the seconds, loud and echoing in comparison to the quiet that has befallen you both. A quiet you decide to break, tentative and scared.

“Isn’t there? My tormentors might be gone, but what of the man I love? Could he still find it in him to love me if I stayed?”

“I don’t believe that still matters, does it? You’ll leave either way.”

And something inside of you snaps.

You brace your forearms against the door and shove backwards, catching him so off guard he stumbles back a step or two, creating just enough distance for you to rear back your hand and punch him square in the jaw. His mask gets knocked clean off his face, loudly clattering to the floor; your freshly operated hand sparks and creaks ominously, fingers now bent at odd angles while searing pain shoots up your entire arm, but you don’t care. It’s nothing compared to the white, hot fury that’s boiling you alive from the inside out.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you?!”

He doesn’t even deem it necessary to look at you; completely frozen to the spot, head turned away from you and hair covering his eyes from your view. He will have to listen to you either way, wether he wants to or not. Wether he still cares or not.

“You’re the one who decided he’d rather forget every moment, every laugh, every touch we shared like they all meant nothing! You’re the one who tore out his heart without a second thought and threw it away even though it was mine! And all the while you’re leaving me with the burden of it all! I’m the only person alive who still holds our time together dear to their heart now! Do you have any idea how heavy memories can be? How maddening?! And these—“ you bring your hands up between the two of you, all sleek, perfect metal, the spitting image of him. “You gave me these for all the world to see and left me with yet another reminder of you! Like I needed more of those to know that I am still and always will be irrevocably yours! And now you tell me that it wouldn’t matter if there’s any part of you, however small, that still thinks of yourself as mine?! Fuck you, Viktor!”

You slump back against the door for support, chest heaving and unharmed hand coming up to cover your face; a desperate and all but pointless attempt to hide the tears and stifle the sobs.

He’s a scientist, an engineer. Solving problems, fixing things, improving lives; it’s what he does. What he thrives in. Yet he doesn’t know how to fix this. So he zeroes in on the one thing he can fix.

“Let me see your hand.”

But you don’t let him. Curl in on yourself and angle your body and injured hand away from him; it makes you seem so much smaller. So vulnerable. So defeated. Good. Maybe if he can drive you away even further then…

“You are… a distraction. A hindrance to my work that I can not tolerate. You do not belong here and it would be better for the both of us if you left and never returned.”

With the mask gone, the mechanical edge to his voice is missing as well, but every word still stings like the cut of a blade.

“So turn around and let me go. You’ll never have to see me again, I promise.”

He knows all too well how seriously you take that; every promise, no matter how small or menial, a solemn oath, never to be broken. He can not let you make this one; every part of himself rebels against the very thought of letting you walk out that damn door, even if it would be the logical thing to do. Drive you further away, he’s not capable of that any longer, who is he trying to fool? Himself, most likely.

Stepping closer he gauges your reaction and when you don’t recoil from him any further, he rests his hands on either side of you and drops his forehead against the old, worn wood above your shoulder.

“I can’t.”

It’s spat through grit teeth, like it physically pains him to admit it. But it’s the most emotion you’ve heard in his voice during all the time you’ve been here.

“I removed every function that wasn’t vital; every memory that was redundant to my work. Affection, jealousy, admiration, anger, joy, sorrow; any emotion that would’ve proven an aberration sooner rather than later. I clawed and prodded and scraped at my own insides until nothing remained and yet you refused to let go.”

Your sobs have reduced to sniffles, your body still beneath him; except for the hand you’ve dropped from your face that he now feels running up his back, titanium fingers gliding over the metal ridges that make up his spine until they settle at the nape of his neck.

“Your face, your laugh, your favorite color, the way you’d look cooking breakfast in the mornings, the way your body would feel against mine; every detail, no matter how minute stayed. Etched into the fissures of my brain, burned into the steel I used to rebuild myself, regardless of how many times I replaced it. Carved into my being, my very soul; I could not remove you any more than I could remove the engine beating as my heart. And I can not go back to how things were before you came here. Before you found me again.”

“Why not? You seemed perfectly happy in your solitude with your work.” Your voice is small, but genuine. And you almost squeak in shock, wind knocked out of you, when his arms come around your middle to hold you tight, almost too tight, flush against him as he buries his face into crook of your neck.

“Because you are in every fraction of skin, in every blood vein that still remains within me. In every bolt, every wire, every piece of metal I welded to myself. I do not… function properly unless I know of your whereabouts. Unless I know you’re safe and cared for. And it was maddening, to surpress it, to ignore it all these years; a clear error constantly rearing its’ ugly head, telling me that I will never get any further in my research, my work, my vision, unless it’s resolved. Constantly running on loop in the back of my head, reminding me that I am incomplete. I need you, you are an essential part of me, right down to my very atoms and it makes me, all of me, no matter what else I might become, yours.”

There’s fresh tears streaming down your face, because he sounds so tired. So desperate. So upset. So painfully human. You find yourself doing the same thing you’ve always done when you’ve had him in your arms, worried and anxious about something; gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp and lean your head against his carefully. “Viktor, if you want me to stay, all you have to do is ask. You know that; if you want something all you ever had to do was ask it of me. But I need you to ask me, all right? I need to hear you say it.” He doesn’t answer right away, only draws patterns into the small of your back in thought; a habit of his you remember all too well. This close, you can feel the heat coming off him, generated from the several engines powering him and a barely there hum and whirr of machinery against your chest; a sound that comes in regular intervals, akin to a heartbeat. When he does speak, his voice is weary. Conflicted. Unsure. Scared.

“I am not the man you fell in love with, my heart. Not gentle, nor kind. There is no coming back from the lines I’ve crossed and I don’t— I can not love you the same way I used to. The way you’d deserve. And yet… I want to be selfish.” He pauses for a bitter, ridiculing bark of laughter and shifts in your hold and it’s only then that you realize the skin at the slope of your neck and your collarbone is wet. Shame threatens to choke you when it occurs to you that up until now you didn’t think he still could cry. “I shouldn’t want for anything. Machines do not want or desire or long for things. But… they need all their components to operate as they’re supposed to; to perform at their full potential.” He’s rationalizing it, you know and you’ll be fucking damned if you interrupt him. “And I need you to stay. Here, with me. Then maybe in time you’ll be able to love me as I am now.”

Your chuckle is weak; you’re exhausted physically and emotionally. “What a silly thing to say. That’s assuming I ever stopped loving you in the first place.” It should be impossible, for his embrace to become any tighter, but it does and it’s almost starting to hurt - good, because the pain makes it real.

It’s in the way he buries his face against you further, a noise oh so very similar to a sob escaping him, and how your gaze catches on his mask left discarded on the ground that it finally dawns on you: he’s hiding. From you or from himself, you’re not certain, but you’re not having it any longer. “My love, let me see you.” He doesn’t move; if anything he freezes up. “Please?” You try again and are met with the same result, except for, “You will not like what you find.” Irritation flares up in your chest, manifesting itself in a harsh tug on his hair and, “That’s for me to decide.” It takes him a few very long, agonizing seconds, but eventually, he sighs in defeat and pulls back enough for you to be able to get your first proper look at his face after all these years.

No wonder you managed to break your hand, his jaw and cheeks are all solid, dark, smooth metal, connecting to the column of his throat. Your fingers are moving before you can stop yourself, trailing along his cheek bones where hard steel meets soft, scarred flesh. Still as pale as always, almost deathly so, faint blue veins under his skin now in plain view and the contrast to the two moles you adore all the more prominent. The ever present dark circles under his eyes have evolved into lasting bruises. And oh his eyes. The same beautiful gold you remember, except now they’re rimmed with a thin ring of bright pink, courtesy of the Shimmer you’ve seen in his lab no doubt, bright against the deep, dark, purple-ish black that now makes up his sclera. But dissimilar from your memory as they may be, the look in them is one you recognize: careful, poised for rejection, but the remaining tears betray him. It’s strange, how he can look so utterly different yet so hauntingly the same.

He had imagined this moment plenty of times, but never in his wildest dreams could he have come up with this. Yes, there’s several emotions at once crossing your face when you finally see him, yet none of them negative. It’s genuine, innocent curiosity at first, reflected in the careful fingers that reach out to touch him. And before he has time to fully register your touch against his skin, your expression shifts and it’s nothing but pure, unadulterated admiration and affection. “Still so beautiful. Still all mine.”

Just like that, all the tumult and chaos and noise in the back of his head that hadn’t once stopped in the last few years finally seems to silence and he can actually fucking think in peace again for the first time - and the first thing he thinks to do, the most logical thing to do, really, is to curse under his breath before crashing his lips to yours. It’s needy and filthy and all tongues and teeth, your back making abrupt contact with the door again as he shoves you against it, hands coming up from your waist to cup your face. The gesture is tender and sweet and entirely contrasting to the way he’s kissing you; to what he claims to have become. It’s more than welcome nonetheless, giving you a sense of security you didn’t realize you needed as your intact hand moves away from his hair to cover his. It just so happens to be the one that’s still mostly flesh and blood, warm against your skin, except for a thin, cold sliver of metal you feel that you can’t place at first. You don’t remember seeing any augmentations that would feel like this on his hand before. Curious despite the adoring, addictive haze that’s starting to cloud your mind, fingertips try to make out more detail and you find it in tiny little ridges in the metal sitting specifically on his ringfinger that feel suspiciously like letters. Letters that spell out one word: Unconditional.

Your ring. He’s wearing your ring.

It makes you kiss him harder, wanting him so much closer even though it’s hardly possible. You could stay like this for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t ever need for anything else. How unfortunate it is then that one of you both still needs air to fill their lungs to live. How unfortunate that that someone is you; personally you gladly would’ve suffocated against his lips, but he seems to have other plans as he pulls back to let you take some much needed deep breaths, chest heaving while he settles for leaving chaste pecks against the skin of your face.

“Still all yours,” he confirms and you mirror the smile you can hear in his voice. “Now and always.”

[utilitycaster]

You know, the thing about the FCG Coin of Delving One-shot (or for that matter one about the Chetney Eggs) is that it struck me how compared to the plot-relevant post-campaign one-shots for C1 and C2, it feels like a premise from which you could, ostensibly, have Bells Hells on your screen in a physical sense for a few hours but it's weirdly empty in terms of reflecting them in a meaningful way with any growth, and this too feels like a casualty of all the things this campaign skipped past or rapidly smoothed over in the finale to make a happy ending.

The coin was important to FCG initially because it was one of the only things they had from Dancer, who at the time they believed to have died, along with all their other companions. So that element disappeared once he found out she was alive, and especially the complicated circumstances and his own responsibility of what he'd once believed to be her death. It's unsurprising they never really revisited it.

Now, there's a way retrieving the coin could have been meaningful as a one-shot, and that's if the party had taken any time to grieve FCG either during the campaign or even in the finale beyond the brief moment with FRIDA. A single scene with Dancer, in which they told her what had happened, could have set this up with considerable weight - if they'd mentioned the coin incident at a memorial, for example, and she'd said she'd like the coin back now for herself because now it's all she really has of FCG, that could have been a deeply poignant moment and laid the groundwork for something with the same mix of shenanigans and grief as The Search for Grog/Bob. As is, the mere premise feels like a bit of, if you pardon the pun, a cash grab.

Opal's restoration without any real work done feels similar: this is a moment that could have been an excellent two-shot a la Uk'otoa, but it's solved now, so there's no point. And so on. One of the things I specifically loved about Campaign 2 that wasn't as true of Campaign 1 (for reasons that are not the fault of C1's narrative, to be clear) is that there were a huge number of remaining opportunities out there purely based in the work the characters had done during the campaign. For Campaign 3, the only character who really has any unexplored business he seems to care about is Chetney; even Ludinus feels like a plot thread that will, if ever addressed, fall to the Mighty Nein. By ignoring these consequences, they've also cut off a number of avenues for future stories with Bells Hells and the Crown Keepers that inherit the weight and meaning of a full campaign. The main options are mostly insubstantial fluff.

[kmt123whatsthetea]

Official Business

Fred Weasley x reader

Requested by: @mytrinityphelps

Request: “Office sex with coworker Fred Weasley (and him wearing glasses)”

A/N: Thank you for the request! I'm sorry it's taken so long to actually start and upload. But it never slipped my mind. This might just be my longest fic yet, so I hope it's actually enjoyable. I’m not gonna lie, I kinda forgot about the glasses request and I’m so sorry. I reread the request and went “mentioning glasses once might not cover it”. I’m sorry

T/W: Unprotected sex, Office banter, Blowjob, Nearly caught, Belly bulge,

What could you say about working as an Auror?

It was a decent job with decent pay, the hours were your casual 9 to 5 with weekends off.

Oh, and there was your coworker Fred. He wasn't the most serious guy, having left his job at a joke shop for better pay to keep his business up and running.

He was tolerable, unlike some of the other stuffy old workers who were seemingly glued to their desks. He was a little older than you with a ginger mop of hair and glasses that framed his deep brown eyes. He was friendly, always offering to bring you a morning tea and coffee personally instead of relying on the house elves. He even bought you a small owl ornament for your desk to commemorate your first year anniversary of working there.

Maybe you liked the flirty banter more. How during lunch breaks he’d comment about how you looked better than any dessert ever could, and that he looked forward to your smile more than any monthly wage slip. He really knew how to make your day brighter.

When he noticed the blush that spread across your cheeks in response to his teasing, he took a step up. Some of your favorite comments of his all shared a similar trait. They made you want to jump his bones. It was impossible not to when he spoke the stuff of wet dreams in that soft teasing tone.

“Your lipstick looks pretty, I wonder how it would look trailing down my chest”

“Looks like you’ve had a heavy workload today. Here I’d hoped you could take heavy loads, baby”

“You look tired, you’d sleep a lot better in my bed”

Oh, he was really trying to rile you up. And it was working like a charm.

Working overtime wasn’t rare in this line of work. Desk jobs always had their fair share of paperwork pile ups. Most workers left it till the next day or took it home to complete when possible. You only had a bit of work left and decided to stay to avoid the unnecessary task of homework.

One thing that caught you off guard was that Fred hadn’t said goodnight to you like he usually did before leaving. He did it every night. Was he angry at you? Had you said the wrong thing?

The thought stung a little, but you could always ask him about it the next morning.

Half an hour into your work was enough for a tea break. It wasn't procrastination if it counted as hydrating. Heading along the familiar hallway was second nature for you, but stopping dead was new. In the vast rows of desks, was a familiar ginger mop of hair. Was Fred Weasley staying late?

You made your way downstairs, an idea in mind.

Fred hated staying late. He hated this job. He had only taken it for some extra income towards the joke shop. He took the 9 to 5 job due to Georgie and Angelina expecting their first. At least if he was running the shop, he could be more lenient with trips to St Mungos. He still had a whole 3 hours worth of work to get through just to catch up. How people did this full time, he didn't know.

The approach of heels made him keep his head down, thinking it was some higher up reader to scold him for not taking the job seriously. But when a mug of coffee was placed before him, his head soon whipped up. There you were, like an angel in his time of need. You somehow looked perfect, like you weren't working overtime from an 8 hour shift. Instead of reaching for the mug handle, he reached for your hand in a tender grip.

“You’re a lifesaver, you know.

Your thumb trailed over his knuckles softly, a soft yet teasing smile on your face.

“I guess you owe me then”

That brought a smile to his face, giving your hand a tug causing you to fall onto his lap. You laughed softly, your hands finding his shoulders. This was his usual flirting to the max. But what was the harm in a bit of teasing?

“Give it your best shot, Weasley”

Knowing Fred in the capacity that you did, you should have known that he wouldn't take it as harmless teasing. He took it as a challenge.

His other hand found your cheek, pulling you closer to press his lips to yours in a kiss that seemed almost desperate. He let go of your wrist in favour of holding your waist to keep you steady on his lap. His lips pressed harder against yours, like a kiss along could merge your bodies. He wanted to be closer to you. He seemed confused when you got off of his lap, trying to hold onto you tighter, but his confusion turned into shock when you lowered yourself between his spread legs. He couldn't help his excitement as he practically ripped his belt off.

“You’re really gonna suck my dick? Sweetheart, you’re something else. Most girls would complain about ruining their lipstick, but you love being a dirty little office slut, don't you?”

He groaned when you pressed a kiss to his bulge in response before your hand took over, palming him teasingly. Your fingers tugged his zipper and fumbled with his button before his boxers came into view, and they were pulled down even quicker. Fred reached into his boxers, pulling his cock out. It stood tall before your face, his shaft veiny and girthy. The curtains definitely matched the drapes when it came to his pubes.

“Are you always this hard, Fred, or does a bit of kissing turn you on?”

He chuckled, his hand cupping your jaw to pull you closer.

“I'm always hard for you, I just don't show it as blatantly as you do. I knew how wet you got for me. I wonder if you ever played with yourself in the bathrooms thinking of me…or did you just finger yourself under your desk while I told you how pretty you looked every morning?”

That blush that filled your cheeks when he spoke, that's what he loved most about you. How that small tint of pink made you irresistible. How naturally it did.

His thumb caressed your blushing cheek, it was the result of him after all. Little did he know, it was all for him. You’d give all of yourself to him.

Your tongue gave his tip a gentle prod, reveling in his hiss at the touch. He sounded beautiful with every response, but those you drew from him were your favourite. Your lips wrapped around his tip, suckling softly. Fred stifled his moans, bringing his tie to his mouth and biting it to keep himself quiet from any other late workers. You looked up at him through your lashes, the sight making you wetter. Fred was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, his face nearly as red as his hair and his tie tucked between his lips while his cock throbbed for attention. He was like fine art.

Your lips returned to his cock, your cheeks hollowed as you tried to take him in your throat. His eyes bugged out when he felt your mouth take him deeper. But it was all cut short at the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. Fred pulled the tie from his mouth and nudged you gently, his voice merely a hushed whisper.

“Sweetie, stop. Someone, fuck…someones coming”

His hands ushered towards the underside of his desk making sure you were tucked in before pulling his chair up and trapping you between his legs. The footsteps stopped by his desk, one of your colleagues commenting on how he was here late, making some joke about his allergy for work slowly being cured. Fred could only nod along, his mind still in panic mode from nearly being caught getting sucked off by a coworker. You, on the other hand, took delight in how the tables had turned. It was your turn to tease him.

You leaned your face closer to his cock, sliding your tongue along his shaft and tracing his veins. You could hear his groan which he quickly covered up with a coughing fit. You could hear the coworker checking on him and patting his back, but you didn't give him a reprieve. Your lips circled his tip, suckling gently. Your coworker ran off, something about getting some water for Fred. He pulled his chair back and helped you out from under the desk.

“Sweetheart, we don’t have time”

He pulls his shirt over his erection and drags you by the hand, along the hallway and to the small utility cupboard that housed quills and inks. He pushed you in first and followed you inside, muttering a few enchantments under his breath. He had to make sure no one would hear you two and most importantly, that no one would try and open the door.

His hands wrapped around your waist like a python, pulling you into him. You pulled your pencil skirt up, hooking your leg over his hip. You dropped your voice to a sultry whisper.

“Then you better not waste anymore time, Fred”

His hand slithered between your bodies, pulling up your pencil skirt and tugging your panties aside. He practically growled at how wet you were, his fingers soaked from that brief touch. He couldn't wait any longer. He lined his tip with your entrance and pulled your hips, sliding you down his cock. You let out a relieved moan, grateful for Fred’s enchantment. His cock was buried so snug inside of you, every clench around his thickness felt like he could break you.

You risked a glance down and the sight of his cock causing your belly to bulge made you whimper. Just the sight alone caused that band to tighten. Your hands gripped his shoulders, pressing needy kisses to his lips. Fred pulled his hips back and thrust back into you, wanting to be as deep inside of you as he could. He wondered what it would be like to cum inside of you, painting you deep inside, but he didn't want to push his luck. There was plenty of time, and there was no way he’d have that much fun in an office storeroom. If it took, that would be a terrible place to conceive.

He licked along your bottom lip, his pace never slowing.

“I'm close, sweetie. Cum on my cock, make a mess”

His hand moved back between you both, desperate fingers circling your clit in tight, quick circles. He could feel your grip on his shoulders tighten, your eyes rolling back in bliss as you clamped down on his cock. A pornographic moan ripped itself from your throat as your juices coated his shaft. You were so warm and tight, that he contemplated just throwing all care out the window but instead he groaned and pulled out, his hand wrapping around his dick and pumping fervently.

His cum painted your bunched up skirt, leaving a sticky stain on the grey fabric. You didn’t call him out on it in your blissed out state, only noticing when you slowly came down. Even then, it was just a skirt. It was worth it.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll buy you a new skirt if I have to. Maybe some pretty lingerie as well”

His signature smirk returned as he whispered in your ear.

“But then again, I’d prefer you naked”

[vettelsvee]

A SAINT VALENTINE'S BREAK UP? | Sebastian Vettel

Red Bull Sebastian Vettel x Race engineer girlfriend!Reader

SUMMARY: Seb is acting very, very romantic with you, but all you can think about, somehow, is that he's going to break up with you to go back with his ex girlfriend

WORD COUNT: 7221

WARNINGS: None of it! Just Seb being a cutie and lots of fluff. Also... many Taylor Swift mentions as reader is a certified swiftie ☺️

VEE'S NOTES: Happy Valentine’s to you all! This is one of my favorite shots I've ever written! Hope you like this one as much as I do and, in case you do, please comment your thoughts and reblog, it’s pretty appreciated! Thank you so much for reading <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

You slowly open your eyes and, still lying down, begin to stretch, moving from side to side. You reach out your hand toward the side of the bed where you expect your boyfriend to be, but all you feel is the cold of the morning seeping into your skin.

You sit up, fully open your eyes, and realize your boyfriend isn't there. Not there, nor anywhere in the room, not even in the bathroom, despite its door being open.

A loud noise coming from downstairs and the smell of coffee set off the alarms. You decide to put on your slippers, throw on your robe, and go downstairs slowly, trying not to make noise and disturb Seb in whatever he might be doing.

You enter the kitchen and see Seb with his back turned, holding the handle of a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. Next to him, on the counter, is a plate with a couple of waffles, a bottle of ketchup, and a couple of jars with coffee and juice.

You knew Sebastian Vettel was romantic, but you also knew he liked to sleep like a log, so this could only mean that either you were dreaming, or the RedBull golden boy wanted something from you.

That he wanted to do something nice for his girlfriend was the last thing on your mind.

You decide to approach him and hug him from behind, not even flinching at your unexpected contact. Without stopping to pay attention to the scrambled eggs, almost ready, the German turns around and gives you a short kiss on the lips.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Did you sleep well?" he asks.

You just nod with a murmur.

"If you let me, I can finish preparing breakfast," he asks, trying to push you away. "I've been awake for an hour and a half to make everything perfect, so please, don't make me ruin it now."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Vettel."

You sit on one of the stools at the kitchen island and let yourself fall onto it, not without noticing the bouquet of flowers in the center. Orchids and roses make up most of it, although you also spot a few daffodils. You realize that what holds them all together is a cord with a small label with something written on it. Tempted, you’re about to open it, but you end up not doing it, convinced that it would be some gift for Sebastian that’s none of your business.

"Do you like it?"

Sebastian puts a plate in front of you, which, for what he usually does, is a masterpiece. A waffle covered with fruit on top, and beside it, scrambled eggs and some small containers with ketchup, whipped cream, white chocolate, and dark chocolate.

You’re mesmerized, not knowing what to say to him. It’s the breakfast your mother used to make you on weekends and on some special occasions, like your birthday. You’d even swear that the containers with the sauces on them are exactly the same. Your gaze is fixed on the plate, unable to look away. It’s quite strange that Seb knows about this because, beyond your sister and your late father, no one else has any idea about this tradition.

"Y/N, love, are you listening?" he insists, pulling you out of your trance.

"What?" you ask, completely distracted.

"The bouquet of flowers," Seb replies, pointing to the vase. "Although I also accept feedback on the breakfast."

"Let me taste it. You know you're not the chef of our wonderful couple."

Sebastian nods, takes a seat in front of you, and patiently waits for your final verdict. You take your time to slowly taste everything, even though you want to devour it eagerly. You make all sorts of combinations: chocolate with whipped cream and waffle, ketchup with scrambled eggs, and you even dare to mix chocolate and cream with eggs just to cough, give yourself nausea, and provoke laughter from your boyfriend.

You drink some coffee to get rid of the bad taste that had lingered in your mouth while you can't stop thinking about how on earth he could know your mother’s exact recipe.

"So, what's the verdict? Pass?"

You lift your head to look at him and smile. Not just approved: it’s such a masterpiece.

"Definitely, sunshine. I mean, not just the breakfast, don't get me wrong," you hasten to add. "All of this is wonderful," you point to the breakfast and to him, "but..."

But you’re starting to have the strange feeling like there's something behind all of this.

"But what, sweetheart?"

That he’s doing this because he wants you two to break up.

"Nothing," you rush to reply, dismissing the fleeting thought that just crossed your mind.

You know Seb isn’t pleased with your answer, but it seems to be enough for him.

You continue having breakfast, and soon he joins you with a protein shake and an apple. You can’t help but feel bad eating such a feast in front of him.

"And what do you think about the bouquet?" he asks.

"It's very beautiful," you reply, covering your mouth so he won’t see it full. "Whoever gave it to you has very good taste."

"Are you saying I have good taste?"

"What? Did you buy them?" you ask again.

"Of course. Who do you think would give me flowers?"

"I don't know," you say honestly. "Any of the girls who chase you around the paddock, for example."

"Y/N: the bouquet is for you," he announces nervously.

You remain, once again today, in shock. Seb has left you speechless on many occasions, but today is simply too much.

You look at the bouquet, look at him, and look back at the bouquet. His index finger points at the note. If you had noticed earlier, just as you're doing now, you could have seen, even if only vaguely, that it was his handwriting.

"Read the note, love."

Following his advice, you delicately take the card in your hands, trying not to break it and carefully untie the cord. When you open it, you can see that, in addition to something written in German, our mother tongue, it’s accompanied by his signature, a poorly drawn heart and, of course, one of the happy faces he almost always uses:

You told me I wouldn't have many firsts with you, but look: today is the first time I’ll give you flowers. I assure you there will be many more, my dearest paddock girl (although now I prefer calling you my beautiful girlfriend and, of course, my dearest race engineer).

Your eyes fill with tears. Without thinking, you turn around the kitchen island, run toward Seb, who is still sitting, and throw yourself at him to kiss him. You feel his arms wrap around your waist and his hands running down your back to your neck, pulling you closer without breaking your union.

You part, breathless, a few seconds later, when it feels like you're running out of air. Your foreheads stay together, and your gazes can’t be torn away from each other. A playful smile forms on Sebastian’s lips, and you know what he’s thinking.

"Don't get so affectionate, Y/N. We have a lot to do today."

You pull away from him and cross your arms. He hadn’t mentioned anything about that last night, not even when he convinced you to come spend a few days with him, knowing perfectly well that you couldn't just leave your job at the café during winter breaks like that.

"Well, you'll have to tell me what then."

He puts his hands in his back pocket and pulls out a piece of paper that he doesn’t hesitate to offer you.

"I made a list because I didn’t want to forget anything, you know I’m a mess," he explains as you quickly glance over what it says.

Try to find some album Lara wants, but the limited edition version.

It makes sense. Seb’s sister is as obsessed with One Direction as you are with Taylor Swift.

Buy a notebook (mom told me it’s good so I don’t forget things).

You don’t continue reading because the rest seems to be a shopping list that isn't very important. You leave it on the table, trying not to get it dirty with breakfast leftovers, and pick up the dishes, ready to wash them.

Seb quickly comes over to you, taking the items from your hands and depositing them all in the sink. Without saying anything else, he moves closer and gives you a quick peck on the lips, followed by a loving slap on your butt.

"No, today you're not going to do anything, so you better go upstairs and check if there's anything on the bed."

Following his advice, filled with intrigue, you hurry upstairs to the bedroom, looking for whatever Seb wanted you to see. It's quite easy to find, as the fluorescent pink color of the post-it note stands out against the snow-white sheets. "Look at the white box in the closet," it reads, accompanied by one of his smiley doodles.

You contain yourself from opening the box in the closet. Carefully, you place it on the bed and open it slowly, just in case there’s something unexpected. And indeed, there is: to your surprise, you find the dress you've been wanting for so long.

You take it in your hands, stretching it over you as much as you can, letting the softness of the fabric envelop your fingers. It's even more beautiful than you saw in that shop window, and you can’t fathom how Seb managed to get it because when you went to inquire about it, you were told it was sold out.

You notice something deliberately hidden under the tulle that wraps the dress. Carefully, you place the garment on the bed and discover the black and green lingerie set with floral details that you fell in love with the time you and Britta went to Victoria's Secret out of curiosity.

It's obvious what Seb wants from you, for the two of you to do.

"Seb! Was all of this your idea!?"

You wait for an answer that never comes. You shout again, louder this time, but silence is the only thing that answers you.

Deciding not to wait any longer for an answer that you know won’t come, you quickly dress in your new outfit, also changing your underwear and shoes to match.

When you get downstairs, Seb is already waiting by the door leading to the garage with his car keys in his hand.

"It looks much better on you than I thought," he says, lost in thought. "You look like a real-life Cinderella version, but a thousand times prettier."

You don't know how to respond because, even after two months of dating, you still haven’t gotten used to Seb constantly complimenting you.

You smile shyly and lower your head. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and leads you to his car.

"Did you like... that?"

"What do you mean by that, love?"

He knows exactly what he means, just like you, but you want to play along with him, just as he’s playing with you, filled with so much mystery.

"You know..." he begins, hesitating. "What, if I'm not mistaken, you're wearing underneath the dress."

"Oh, the bra and panties!" you exclaim as you get into the passenger seat and fasten your seatbelt. "They're perfect, Seb."

You remain silent for the first few minutes of the journey, with only the local radio station playing in the background.

"Y/N," he calls you again, shifting his gaze toward you. You hate it when he does that. "Did you really like the lingerie set, or was it too risky? I don't want our first Saint..."

He quickly stops himself, and you wonder why.

"Seb, seriously, I loved it," you assure him, trying to stay calm and make him feel the same. "Britta, more than having good taste, has a good memory," you add.

"Who says Britta helped me?"

"It's too much of a coincidence that last month, when we went into Victoria's Secret out of curiosity, I complained about how expensive this set was," you explain, pulling a strip of your bra out of the neckline of your dress to show him, "and how much I'd love to have it. And today, you show up with the dress I'd been saving up for more than I'd have liked.”

Seb smiles sideways. It’s obvious he’s the one behind all of this.

"Maybe I should talk to my PR about more mundane things than press conferences and stupid rumors," he confirms.

"If you want, only if you want... I can show it to you later."

Thankfully, the traffic light turns red. His face quickly turns toward you, but he looks back at the road when you gently guide him with your hand. When the light turns green again, he continues driving.

His cheeks are flushed, a shade of red you rarely see. You won’t deny that you like seeing him like that.

"Easy, babe. We've waited three years to be together. I think we can wait a little longer to do exactly you know what."

A few minutes later, you park in one of the farthest parking spots from the mall. As usual, Seb gets out first to open the door for you, which you thank him for, even though you're dying of nerves.

"Well, what do we have to do?"

You start walking next to him, quickening your pace and taking his hand. But you let go almost immediately, and he gives you a look of pity. Only a few trusted people know about your relationship, and for now, you don’t plan on making it public.

His look pierces you like a dagger, and it only intensifies the thought that you’re living your last moments together.

"I thought we'd go to the music store first," he says, avoiding the tension. "Then I want to go to a stationery store that’s opened, and I know you’d... well, it has a lot of office supplies that you’d like," he adds. "And I also want to buy some things for our house in case we have special guests."

You don’t want to ask more questions, not wanting any unwanted answers. You assume that Hanna is one of those unexpected guests, but you can't face hearing him say it just yet.

The first stop, as Seb said, is the music store. As you enter, a combination of violins and pianos instantly relaxes you. A section of vinyl records catches Seb’s attention, especially because most of them are from his favorite band, The Beatles.

"You have no idea how long I've been looking for this," he begins, holding one in his hands and inspecting it. "But today we didn’t come for this."

He puts it down and heads to a more youthful section. You stop to look at the price of the vinyl version of Abbey Road and decide to take a picture to remember which one it is, in case you can find it cheaper, because the few savings you have were spent just coming to see him.

"Di, look! Do you like it?"

You spot him a few feet away, holding a stack of records. You approach him to see what titles he’s picked. The Speak Now album by Taylor Swift catches your eye, and you let out a muffled scream of excitement.

"Do you like any?"

You know he noticed your reaction, but you act as if nothing happened. You continue browsing through the stack of records, but none of them interest you, aside from the ones by Taylor Swift and Rihanna.

"Actually, no, sunshine," you lie.

Seb raises an eyebrow, knowing full well that your behavior contradicts your answer. He repeats the question, and you deny it again.

"Seb, really, I didn't like any of them," you insist.

"If you say so... then let’s go. I didn’t find the CD my sister wanted, so everything’s done here."

"But isn’t this the one you were looking for?"

You discreetly pointed out the limited edition of One Direction’s Up All Night behind him, the one you had noticed as soon as you arrived. You could feel him starting to get uncomfortable. A nervous smile tugged at his lips as he bit his lower one and played with his hair.

He was nervous, and now you were feeling even more anxious watching him like that. You swore that if it weren’t for the fact that you were in public, you'd have panicked.

You tried to laugh it off to calm yourself, but stopped as soon as he took your arm and quickly led you to the store's exit.

"Hey, calm down," you said once you were outside. "What's going on with you? Now you're in such a hurry?"

"Well," he glanced at his watch and you mimicked his action. It was twelve fifteen. Almost lunchtime, and you'd only barely tackled the first goal on the list. "I just remembered that my sister already had it."

"And why did we come then?"

He didn’t answer. His gaze dropped to the ground and he fidgeted with his feet. Another clear sign that he was lying.

"Seb, you know if you have something to tell me..."

"Stay here for a second. I'll be right back."

Before you could react, he disappeared back into the store. Curiosity bubbled up inside you, and you peeked through the shop window several times, hiding each time he seemed to catch a glimpse of you. A few minutes later, he came out with a paper bag in his hands. You rushed toward him to see what was inside, but as soon as you peeked, he switched hands.

"I'm not telling you anything for now," he said mysteriously. "You’ll see when the time is right."

"Come on, Seb..."

The pout you gave him, hoping for even a hint, did nothing, both at that moment and in the following hours.

As you went through the stores Seb wanted to visit, you realized he had established some kind of routine. You’d enter together, wherever it was, under the excuse of buying something on Sebastian's list. Once inside, he'd just glance around quickly, ask if you liked or needed anything, and then you'd leave. Each time you said no, he'd go back in, asking you to wait outside, and return with a bag.

It was clear he was plotting something, and you had a feeling it wasn’t anything good. You couldn’t stop analyzing every detail, trying to uncover the truth. Even when you went to one of your favorite restaurants to eat, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Seb devoured his food, savoring something other than vegetables and grilled chicken. Meanwhile, you picked at the plate of carbonara in front of you, consumed with thoughts of how all of this felt like the imminent end of your short love story.

Was Seb buying things for Hanna and hiding it from you?

"Y/N, what's wrong? You've been so quiet," he asked, concern filling his eyes. You forced a smile to hide the pain, but the truth was, you just wanted to cry.

"No, it’s okay. I’m just thinking about today," you said briefly, still staring at your food.

"You’re acting strangely, love. Are you sure you're okay?"

His insistence made you want to spill everything, but your judgment urged caution to avoid risking your relationship even more.

He set down his fork and reached across the table to hold your hands. He didn’t care about who might see, but you felt a flutter of anxiety. Surprisingly, that simple gesture calmed you a little.

"Yes, really," you insisted, meeting his eyes. "I'm just trying not to get nervous about whatever you seem to be planning for you-know-who."

Your smile was forced, and so was his. You knew neither of you was convinced, but it didn’t matter. His expression said it all. He avoided your gaze, and his lips seemed to turn downward.

"What do you think about going to the movies after we eat? I know there’s a movie you’d like to see."

"I don’t know, Seb. Are you asking because you actually want to go, or because you're trying to distract me from whatever you’re hiding?"

Your tone was sharper than you wanted. You watched his face, and the shift in his expression told you that you had upset him.

You felt worse, wondering if all this fuss was just an excuse for him to take you shopping for gifts for his new girlfriend—who, ironically, was his ex-girlfriend—and that he’d break up with you as soon as he could.

"Love, really, I just want to have a good time with you," he assured, though you could tell it was difficult for him.

"And why all this? Why so much insistence that I come with you yesterday, to spend a few days together? What are you hiding?" you asked, your voice heavy with pain.

"I'm not hiding anything, darling. I’m serious," he sighed, struggling to find the right words. "I just want today to be special for us. Why else would I bring you to a place you love to eat? And the movies? I know how much you love cinema. Just like I know you love Taylor..."

"What's with Taylor?" you asked, your curiosity piqued. "Swift, I assume," you added.

"What movie did you want to see?" he countered.

In the end, he picked the movie since you didn’t feel like sitting through an hour and a half of screen time. A Few Best Men was his choice, though it wasn’t one he would usually watch. He did it for you, just like he paid for the tickets almost before you could protest.

Once in the theater, he led you to the section with a wide selection of snacks and urged you to choose whatever you wanted.

"It’s enough that you paid for everything today," you shyly said. "Lunch, the tickets, whatever you bought in the stores..."

For Hanna, not for you, you thought, trying to push that suspicion away quickly.

But Sebastian, being stubborn, wouldn’t let you pay.

"Come on, Y/N. Choosing snacks is part of the movie experience," he said, as if you went to the movies every day. "Seriously, love. Pick whatever you want."

"I’m not hungry."

He didn’t say anything else. Instead, he made his way to the snack counter, choosing things for you.

"So, for my wonderful girlfriend let's grab some popcorn," he began. “And I’ll also get her a bag of licorice and another of M&Ms to mix with the popcorn..."

"And what about you, Vettel?" you asked, trying not to laugh at how well he knew you.

"The usual: sweet popcorn and nachos with cheese."

Seb took the whole selection to the counter to pay. You tried convincing him to let you do it, but, once again, he wouldn’t hear of it. He even insisted on carrying everything to the theater. Some popcorn spilled, and you made a mess with the soda, earning you a scolding.

The ads were already showing when you finally got inside. It was dark, save for the flicker of the screen. You had to be careful not to trip as you made your way to your seats in one of the higher corners.

Seb sat next to you. What you thought would turn into a secretive kiss session turned into him whispering that he was going to the bathroom.

"I won’t be long, I promise," he said.

"Sure, go ahead," you replied.

Since you saw him get up and disappear from the room, you couldn’t concentrate on anything other than his departure, especially when you noticed that minutes were passing by and he hadn’t returned. During the first fifteen minutes, you tried your best to focus on the movie, but it was impossible no matter how much you tried to get interested. About half an hour later, you were already thinking about infidelity, unexpected encounters, and even, why not, that he had left you hanging.

Forty-five minutes after he left, Sebastian returned, giving you a kiss on the lips that you didn’t respond to with the same passion as usual.

"How's the movie, darling?" he asked as if nothing had happened.

You took a deep breath before answering him. You didn’t want to mess things up, even though, perhaps, he deserved it.

"Fine."

"Are you enjoying it? Did I choose well?"

"Yes."

Seb seemed to notice your curt responses, but it’s not like you wanted to hide them. He approached you, wrapping his arms around you, but you escaped. The last thing you wanted in those moments was to have him close.

"Is something wrong, Y/N? You've been acting strange all day, love."

"Nothing's wrong, Seb. I'm just a little tired," you lied again, avoiding looking directly at him. Was it you who was acting strange?

"I was thinking of going out to dinner," he said a bit... sad? "But if you want, we can go back home. Today, I'm completely at your disposal."

"I see," you commented ironically.

The blonde man gently took your hand.

"I was thinking of taking you to a newly opened Spanish restaurant," he whispered. "Would you like that?"

"I would love it," you declared. He had caught you there. Wherever there was Spanish food, everything else could go away. "But you know as well as I do that we shouldn't frequent public places if you want this," you pointed to both of you with your finger, referring to your relationship, "to stay between us and our closest family."

"We had lunch at a restaurant today and nobody saw us," he reproached, raising his voice a bit more than he should. Some people turned to look at you, and you tried to hide.

"Yes, and what time was it, three-thirty in the afternoon? Who the hell eats at that hour, Seb?"

His silence confirmed your point.

"Well," he continued, not letting you enjoy the movie, "then I'm afraid I'll have to change a part of my surprise. You're lucky I'm a Formula 1 driver and fast thinking is my thing," he said, trying to make you laugh and achieving just the opposite.

"Don't we already have a problem?"

"What problem are you talking about, Y/N?"

That his tone had gone from relaxed to completely curt, and above all. That he called you by your full name was a bad sign, a very bad one indeed.

"Sorry," he spoke immediately, realizing that he hadn’t answered you and that he certainly hadn’t spoken in the best way. "It’s just that I’m getting nervous. I'm sorry," he repeated, making you feel a little guilty. "Everything I had planned is just one mess after another, and..."

"It's okay, Seb. Let's go to have dinner," you ended up giving in, ignoring what you had just heard and even though hunger was the last thing on your mind at that moment.

Seb kept talking to you about a thousand different topics for the remaining time of the movie, and did the same on the way back to the car and throughout the journey to that restaurant called La Casa. As much as you felt bad because your boyfriend seemed to have lost his spirits, your mind kept playing tricks on you, and it was nearly impossible to stop thinking that the bad news was going to come at any moment.

Now, as you waited for Seb to come out with the order, and hopefully with the food already in his hands, your stomach was a bundle of uncontrollable nerves.

"I ordered a little bit of everything," you had seen him coming from afar, but you turned in your seat when he opened the trunk. "I know Spanish food is your favorite because you grew up with it for most of your life," he explained as he placed the bags in the back of the car. You were about to interrupt him, but he asked you to be quiet. "I also ordered some Asian food, which they also had, I don't know why, and I know you love that too."

"But don’t you remember anything you ordered?" you inquired with curiosity now that your hunger seemed to have returned.

"Just some croquetas and tortilla de patatas. I don’t understand Spanish, my dear," he replied as he got behind the wheel and resumed driving down the road. "When we get to the lookout, you'll have to explain everything to me in detail."

As you continued driving towards the place, unease grew in you at the same time. A desire to vomit integrated into your throat, accompanied by cravings that you didn’t try to hide. With each turn Seb took, you swore that the little you had eaten that day, which was already more than digested, was going to be thrown up when you least expected it.

Sebastian Vettel, the guy you had been in love with since, possibly, the day he stayed overnight in your hotel room the night before his first victory, was going to break up with you, the girl he considered the love of his life, and for whom he left his ex-girlfriend.

Surreal, right?

The driver parked the car, got out quickly, and didn’t hesitate to open the trunk. He took out a much larger number of bags than you would swear to remember. Then, he unfolded a blanket and placed it on the ground, putting a couple more on top, you guessed it, so you wouldn’t get cold. He also placed some cushions from his house and a paper tableware with children's drawings next to what you would swear was the food he had just bought.

Your surprise came when he took out a box much larger than the one this morning. As if it weren’t enough that it was closed, it was wrapped in Cars-themed wrapping paper, and to top it off, it had a big red bow on it.

"What's all this about?"

Your still boyfriend, with the box in his hand, gave you a bittersweet look, as if you were speaking to him in a language he didn’t understand.

"Sebastian, I'm telling you seriously," you got even more serious. You saw him start to laugh, and you got even angrier with him. "Don’t laugh, you asshole!"

"What are you talking about, love?" he asked innocently while you hit him with slaps on the arm.

"About today. All day long," you reluctantly replied, which was the last thing you wanted given his expression, quite a poem. "First, I don't know how, but you get up much earlier than me and make me the exact same breakfast my mom used to make for me," you began to enumerate, trying to control your anger. "Then, you give me a list that we didn't end up using because you did whatever you wanted. And let's not forget that you left me alone in the movie theater to, of course, go anywhere but to the bathroom," you added angrily.

Seb was unable to process an appropriate response, and that's when you realized everything. You tried to control your tears, just as you had done all day long, but you couldn't do it anymore. As soon as your tears began to fall down your face, you saw the pilot leaving the box he was holding on the ground, and coming closer to you to hug you. At first, you resisted, but you gave in when, once again, his arms became your refuge.

"The day I asked you out I told you we were going to have many first times, do you remember?" he said softly. You nodded, remembering how nervous you were all that day. "Don't you want us to celebrate our first Valentine's Day together in a special way?"

Valentine's Day.

Today was February 14th.

It couldn’t be true.

You quickly moved away from Seb and looked around. Now everything made sense.

Everything he had been preparing was for you... or at least, that's what you believed.

"What do you mean Valentine's Day?" you blurted out, unable to hide your surprise.

"Well, Valentine's Day today, Y/N. You know… the day when couples, or almost couples, or I don't know, do things for each other, and..."

"So you don't want to break up with me?"

You let it out so quickly, without letting him finish speaking and without thinking. You burst into tears once again. Now you felt much stupider than before, but above all, you felt bad because you had earned the title of the worst girlfriend in the world. Seb had done all this for you, and all you had done was pay him back by speaking badly to him, thinking he was cheating on you, and of course, not buying him the vinyl he wanted.

"Break up with you?" You knew that right now he probably wanted to tell you anything but nice things. That he had hugged you again, and, above all, that his voice conveyed calm said a lot about him. "Y/N, where do you get those ideas from?"

"It's just that..." You inhaled and exhaled before looking up at him. You couldn't speak badly to him again, especially not for something that had been the result of your insecurity. "Everything today made me think you wanted to end it. The breakfast, leaving me stranded at the cinema... I thought you were getting ready to tell me you were getting back with Hanna," you finished saying.

Seb, after hearing that, held you even tighter against his chest.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry if I made you feel that way," he apologized. "All of this was to do something special for our first Valentine's together, not to ruin it. I know I messed up, and you have no idea how much I regret losing control over certain things because it's the last thing you deserved."

He seemed quite repentant, and that made you feel even worse.

"Do you want to see what's in here?" he said, pointing to the box still on the ground. "I've prepared it for you," he whispered shyly. "I just hope you like it; if not, you can tell me without any problem."

"I haven't bought you anything," was all you could reply.

"It's okay, love. I prepared all this for you because I wanted to, and also because you deserve it, not because I wanted anything in return."

You tried not to overthink anymore. You sat on the ground, on the blanket and beside the box. With your hands slightly trembling, you started to slowly tear the wrapping paper. Seb sat next to you, too close, giving you an unexpected kiss on the cheek and not bothering to move an inch away from you.

The first thing you saw was a pile of confetti, which you didn't hesitate to push aside, revealing a wide variety of all kinds of sweets, especially your favorites, along with small details of stationary supplies that you remembered seeing in that stationery store and that had caught your attention.

In the center were two small gifts wrapped as well as possible, each with an envelope attached with your name, written perfectly in light blue capital letters.

"This is too much, Seb," you honestly exclaimed, turning to him. "Now I understand why you've been asking me if I liked certain things and then you would return to the stores just to come out with a bag that you wouldn't let me see..."

"I know it's been very wrong on my part, but I think the little scare I gave you was worth it. Just look at the beautiful and happy face you have right now," he revealed, laughing, squeezing your cheeks.

And here you were, thinking he was going to break up with you...

Definitely, you didn't deserve Sebastian Vettel.

"First, you have to read the note from the envelope carefully," the German explained carefully, "and then try to guess what it could be."

"And after all that, can I open it?" you innocently asked, although the answer was more than obvious.

"Of course. Here, try this one first."

He took the rectangular gift and handed it to you. Before reading anything, you started to make assumptions about what it could be, but you were so overwhelmed that you decided to finish your task within a few seconds.

With eagerness, you carefully opened the envelope so as not to tear it because you were going to keep it until the end of time to remember this day, and, with a bit of optimism, to be able to show it to your children someday if you were still together.

"Can you read it out loud for me, princess? I don't remember what it says."

You said that, fortunately or unfortunately, you had finished the first gift I gave you. I hope this second part is as good, or even better, than the first one," you read aloud and clearly. "P.S.: I hope from now on you write more, and better, about me."

You looked up and saw Seb smiling.

"Do you know what it could be?" he wanted to know.

Of course you did.

"Y/N's diary, part two."

He didn't say anything else although his half-smile had formed almost automatically, saying it all. With a slight nod of his head, he gave you the go-ahead to open it, and so you did. As soon as you got rid of the wrapping paper you saw a notebook that you would now use as a diary, and which, like the previous one, had a plain color and a photo of you both after the victory of his first world championship, your first photo, in Polaroid format.

"Seb... I don't know what to say..."

"Don't say anything yet because there's another one here."

He handed you the second gift. This one had the form of a square and, by feeling it, you realized it didn't have just one envelope, but two. This second one, on the back, was much larger. Before you could take a look, Seb removed it and hid it behind his back, as if he were a little kid not wanting anyone to take away a candy from him.

"First the small one, which is the one you'll like the least," he clarified in a childish tone.

"Okay, okay..."

Just as you did with the previous one, you carefully tore open the envelope, opened it, and read the note out loud:

I see sparks fly whenever you smile. Get me with those eyes, baby, as the lights go down.

It couldn't be true.

You were so excited that you didn't even make guesses about what it could be. You tore the paper, now eagerly and with so much force that you saw an album falling to the ground.

As soon as you read Speak now on the cover, and saw a blonde girl wearing a purple dress, you let out a muffled scream.

“Taylor Swift's albums, Seb?! Seriously?!”

Taylor Swift and Fearless were also in the small package, and now the excitement was overwhelming. You screamed like you hadn't in a long time. You stood up, and seeing Seb doing the same, you threw yourself into his arms and kissed him like you had never kissed him before, like he truly deserved to be kissed.

"If you're like this over three albums, how are you going to react when you see this?"

Without saying anything else, he handed you the larger envelope.

You hesitated whether to take it or not because his face was totally expressionless, although his eyes hinted that he was eager for you to know what was inside.

Tickets for the Speak Now World Tour. Impossible.

"Seb, tickets have been sold out for quite a while now..." you stuttered, unable to look him in the eyes because you didn't want him to see you cry over this. "You know I've been looking everywhere for months and haven't found anything..."

"Well, but you're lucky to have found a boyfriend who’s a Formula 1 driver and has certain privileges," he said, forcing you to hug him. "I think you already know how we're going to celebrate the fourth anniversary of the day we met."

"You still remember?"

You pulled your head from his chest to look at him. His eyes were shiny, probably like yours were. The moment you saw him nod was when you couldn't contain your tears, and he couldn't control his either.

"How could I forget the day I met you, Y/N? It was March 13th, I'll never forget it," you were surprised he remembered, but what could you expect from this guy? "You met me in 2008, and in 2012 I promise you'll meet Taylor as surely as my name is Sebastian. Since we have to go to Australia for the first Grand Prix of the year it's no problem if we leave a few days earlier."

"You must be kidding," was all you could say in a voice so low that only you heard it.

You remained standing even as you saw him sit down and start to open the bag containing the takeout food he had ordered.

"Love, I don't know what you'd prefer first, so I'll put a bit of everything on the plate for you, and if you don't want more, I'll eat it myself or we can save it for tomorrow, okay?"

You sat down beside him, perhaps too close for you both to be able to dine quietly and comfortably, but in those moments, you think neither of you cared in the slightest.

"I'm really sorry I didn't get you anything sunshine," you said as you picked up a glass of gazpacho. "Honestly, I completely forgot, and I won't lie to you: I've never celebrated Valentine's Day, so..."

"Don't worry about that, babe. Don't you dare to think about gifts or anything," he interrupted, leaving his plate of food on the blanket and wrapping his arms around you, taking your chin and forcing you to look at him. "From now on, we're going to celebrate everything," he stole a kiss from you and then pulled away. "But I don't want you to give me anything, alright? The best gift not only for Valentine's Day, but for life, is you, and nothing and no one in the world will surpass you, okay?"

"Okay, sunshine."

"Y/N," he called you a few seconds later as he started eating. "You're the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

You smiled and ate, trying not to choke, enjoying Seb's effort to sing Mine as best as possible while also trying to keep the piece of tortilla in his hands from breaking.

You felt happy, and you were afraid it would be snatched away from you at any moment. You allowed yourself the luxury of not thinking about it, and as your voices joined together in unison in the chorus of the song, you couldn't help but think that on days like today, your boyfriend, your partner, the only person who had trusted you to rise in Formula 1, the blond German who had hurt you only to fix it afterwards, the one you risked considering the love of your life, was the one who made everything worthwhile.

[ninedown]

guys as much as some people may love fuckboy satoru gojo i don't think he can be a fuckboy deadass, the guy gets 3 hours of sleep to accommodate his schedule- he's way too busy. the only person he'd fuck around with is geto (and sukuna, but tbh they really only bonded right before gojo DIED so.) and plus, didn't gege say he wouldn't be there for women or something like that???? he can barely be there for his students do you think he can be there for RANDOM people (no). he may run his tongue along a thousand people but it would just be flirting, no touching. he has his infinity on when need be, and it would just be too dangerous to have a random person in his personal space. so, as much as you can yap abt fuckboy gojo, i'll yap abt my no.1 eternal yearner gojo

[sevcasejay1chicago]

So it begins- Severide x reader x Casey, best friend! Jay

Summary: When you collapse on a call and pass out, your boys make sure to take care of you.

Warnings: Minor cursing, vomiting, sickness, possible bad medical care

Authors note: I’ve had this one stored away for a while. It’s honestly pretty long. Just thought I should give this account and you guys some love. ❤️

🚔🚔🚔🚔

Before becoming a firefighter on truck 81, you were an army ranger. You worked side by side with Jay Halstead, who is still your best friend. You followed him home to Chicago when you got word that your mom died, which was your only loving relative, but Jay wasn’t going to let you be alone with a family who didn’t really care. He knew what that was like, except he had Will and none of your siblings really cared for you.

Now, several years later, you are dating Matt Casey and Kelly Severide. Jay approved of your decision, especially with how well they take care of you, but also because they trust Jay with you and don’t stand in the way of your friendship. Jay was like the big brother you always wanted and needed. Matt and Kelly enjoyed his company and the way he always had your back, which happened on and off the clock.

This morning, you had woken up and rolled out of an empty bed. Matt was up making phone calls to his employees with his construction business and Kelly was just getting back from a run, making breakfast in the kitchen. You knew you were sick as soon as you were conscious. Sore throat, stuffy nose, pounding headache, dizziness, chest tightness and nausea all hit you as soon as you woke up, but you weren’t about to let your boys go on shift without you. So, to avoid their worried fussing and refusal for you to go to work with them, you jumped in the shower and took some meds that would hopefully help.

When you came into the kitchen, Kelly was just coming around the corner to grab you and ended up engulfing you in his arms when he almost plowed you down. “Shit sweetheart.” Kelly breathed, pulling you in to stop you from potentially falling, “You okay?” He asked, kissing you on the forehead. “Your warm.”

“Just got out of the shower.” You said, brushing him off with a pat on the chest. You went around him, beelining for the coffee pot to keep up appearances. You made yourself a to-go cup and made a quick breakfast sandwich from what Kelly cooked before kissing him on the cheek and yelling good bye to Matt, saying you had a meeting with the other Molly’s partners before shift.

Once you got outside, you dumped the coffee and sandwich in the trash can on the corner before getting in your car and turning it over. You drove to the station and went inside, sneaking past first watch as you headed straight for Kelly and Matt’s office. You shut the curtains from the bunk room and adjacent office, but left the blinds on the window cracked. You opened a book and got under the covers, placing it in a way that wouldn’t look suspicious incase the boys found you before morning briefing, set an alarm, and took a cat nap.

——————————-

You woke up before the boys came into the office. The sound of slamming lockers and talking startled you awake as first watch switched with your crew. You got up, drank some water from one of Matt’s bottles that he keeps in stock under his bed, turned off your alarm and went out to face your crew.

———————————-

So far, you have been able to hide how awful you’ve been feeling. You managed a cup of coffee with your company, a snack while playing games with Squad, and running a few calls within the first 5 hours of shift. Now, you were utterly exhausted.

Just when you were on your way to rest in Matt and Kelly’s office again, the bells went off, “Squad 3, truck 81, ambo 61, Warehouse at 1911 Broyhill rd. Partial building collapse, trapped police personnel. Emergency plan 1.”

Sighing, you run through the bunks and onto the apparatus floor. You jumped into your gear and hopped into the truck behind Stella. You zoned out on the ride to the scene. You knew Jay wouldn’t be inside, or at least you hoped so, but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry. You were so exhausted.

Arriving on scene, you were immediately sent in with Matt, Herrmann, and Mouch on the second floor to assist squad in search and rescue. You tried to keep your breathing slower as you ran up the stairs behind your boyfriends and team members.

Once upstairs, you came face to face with the collapsed floor. None of you could go any further, so you all began clearing rubble to search for survivors. After sending three people down, Boden called you all out of the building in fear of a full collapse. You made it out the door, with only Matt and Kelly behind you, before falling to your knees a few yards away.

“Y/N!” Matt and Kelly yelled, quickly taking a side and dragging you further before the building collapsed right behind you.

Matt and Kelly ripped your gear off, removing your helmet, mask, oxygen tank and turn out coat. Suddenly, Jay appeared over your face, having been a few feet away when you collapsed.

“Y/L/N, can you hear me?” Jay asked, putting your head in his lap and tilting your face up. “What the hell happened?” He yelled, looking between Matt and Kelly as they checked you for injuries.

“I don’t know.” Kelly grunted, “She was fine.”

Matt was silent, but frantic as he looked you over.

Jay looked down as your eyes fluttered open. “Hey you.” Jay soothed. “Your okay. We gotcha.” He wiped the soot from your face and suddenly felt the heat. “Uh, guys?”

“Yeah.” Both Kelly and Matt answered, still checking you over.

“She’s burning up.” Jay mumbled. “Hey! Get me a couple water bottles and a towel or something.” Jay yelled at anyone who would listen that was surrounding you, your team and Jay’s team concerned about you.

“Help me get her out of her gear.” Kelly said to Matt, who helped lift you and slide you out of your turnout pants.

“Jay?” You finally murmured, reaching up to touch his face to make sure he was real.

Jay smiled gently down at you, taking your hand in his and placing it across your chest. “Yeah. Just relax. Your okay.”

Stella came sprinting back with Kevin next to her. Stella had a medical bag and Kev had the water and towel. Matt took the supplies from Kev and got to work on wetting the towel while Kelly went through the go bag, pulling out a thermometer.

Kelly sighed, shaking his head at the reading he got. “103.5.” Kelly murmured, showing the device to Matt.

“Shit.” Matt replied, looking up and meeting Jay’s eyes. Jay stayed calm though, not wanting to scare you as you still kept your eyes locked with his face, but he wasn’t sure if you were even aware of what was happening.

“Give me the towel and a water bottle.” Jay murmured, reaching for the items. “Hey sweetheart, I’m gonna put this on your head and pour some more water on it. It might run into your eyes.” Jay said, leaning over you a bit more. “Can you close your eyes for me?”

You closed your eyes, but began wiggling in discomfort. “Matt? Kelly?” You whispered, blindly reaching for your lovers.

Each of the boys took your hands as Jay worked, laying the towel over your forehead and pouring more water onto it.

“Jay? Want one of us to do that? Water will just run off our turnouts.” Matt said, finally realizing this once he knew you just passed out from overworking with a fever.

“Nah. I got her.” Jay answered, looking down at you. “If you let go, she might freak out. Made that mistake once when we were in the desert.” Jay shook his head, like he was trying to shake memories away.

Hailey came up then, having ushered everyone else away. “Does she need an ambo?” Hailey asked, crouching down next to Jay.

“Nah. She just needs to cool down and rest I think.” Kelly answered, rubbing your arm and watching your breathing pattern. Matt sat on your other side, monitoring your pulse and nodded his head in agreement with Kelly.

“We can take her back to 51. Let her sleep in our office.” Matt said, kissing the back of your hand.

“Or I could take her back to my apartment and stay with her until you guys get off shift. I’ll even have Will drop by and check her out.” Jay suggested, looking between your two boyfriends.

“I could drop them off. We can spare him until you guys get off shift tomorrow morning.” Hailey said, placing a hand on Jay’s back. “I’ll even be home later to help out and be an extra set of eyes.”

Matt and Kelly looked at each other and had a silent conversation with their eyes. “Alright.” Matt said.

“If you guys need anything, call us and we will have 61 dispatched with us behind it.” Kelly said. “You okay with that baby?” Kelly asked you, leaning over and caressing your cheek.

“Mhmm” you responded. “M tired.”

Matt laughed, caressing the other side of your face. You were cooler now, but still running hot. “Think you can get up and let us help you to Jay’s truck?” Matt asked, not wanting to move you until you were ready.

“Yeah.” You breathed out.

Jay took the towel off of your head and wiped off the left over water. Matt and Kelly gently pulled you into a sitting position and waited as you swayed.

“You good?” Kelly asked, kneeling back down next to you as Jay did the same, supporting your back with his leg.

“Dizzy. Gimme a sec.” You mumbled, burying your face into Kelly’s shoulder.

Matt stood by, prepared to pick you up and take you to one of the ambos. He was getting worried, seeing you in this state was not usual and it scared him.

“Carry me?” You asked Kelly, latching onto his turnout coat.

“Sure baby.” Kelly murmured, picking you up with ease and tucking you into his chest.

Jay led the way to his truck, which Hailey already had running with the AC on. Matt followed close behind with your gear in his hands. Jay slid into the back seat, taking you from Kelly as Matt placed your stuff in the passenger side next to Hailey.

“Take care of her.” Matt called. “I love you sweetheart.”

“Call if you need anything. We love you baby.” Kelly echoed, rubbing your exposed calf as you curled up against Jay’s lap.

“Love you both. Stay safe.” You called, waving at them.

“Always.” Matt and Kelly replied before shutting the doors and standing back as Upton pulled off the scene.

—————————-

“Alright you.” Jay said, replacing the cloth on your neck. “What’s going on?” Jay asked, leaning back and making eye contact with Hailey in the rear view.

“Head, stomach, throat, everything.” You whispered, laying on your left side, facing away from Jay.

Jay sighed, rubbing your arm and not saying anything else. He was thinking of everything Will would do for you and what he had at his house. As if reading his mind, Hailey called Will and told him what happened as she drove, making sure they didn’t need to divert to med.

————————————-

Once Upton pulled in, Jay picked you up and carried you in. Hailey left, saying she was going to drop your stuff off at 51 before reporting back to the district. Jay kissed his girlfriend, thanking her for you both, after she opened the door and helped Jay get you inside.

You sighed and buried your face into Jay’s chest, hiding your face as you wrapped your arms around your tummy and tried not to groan. Jay looked down and stopped short in the hall in between the bedroom and bathroom.

“Hey. You alright?” He whispered, not wanting to hurt your head.

You shook your head no and Jay knew the problem. He knew you hated puking. Out of all the years you and Jay had been friends, you had only puked around him twice, and both times were your living nightmare. Jay quietly diverted into the bathroom, setting you down on the floor next to the toilet. He sat with you, lifting the lid and helped you adjust onto your knees.

“Your alright.” Jay sighed, rubbing your sides as you sat hunched over the bowl, head resting on your arms. “Want me to call Matt or Kelly?” He asked, knowing that they had a better handle on these kinds of situations recently, but this was more for your comfort. He could handle this just fine.

“No.” You whispered, reaching back to hold onto one of his legs. “Stay.”

“I’m not goin anywhere.” Jay mumbled, pulling your hair further away from your face and off of your neck. “If it’s gonna happen, let it happen. I’m right here.” Jay soothed, rubbing your back with his free hand.

You rocked slightly in your kneeled position. It was like Jay knew you were fighting it and the feeling was getting overwhelming. You lifted your hands to tie your hair back more securely to give Jay his other hand back. “Can you just….” Your thoughts died on a heave and you stopped to get your stomach back under control. Jay waited quietly. “Text them?” You breathed, holding your forehead up with one of your hands and holding Jay’s leg with the other.

“Alright.” Jay said, pulling out his phone to start a group chat with Matt, Kelly, and Will.

Jay: Hey guys. Y/N’s not doing so hot. Fever is not as bad as before, but she’s close to puking. She’s freaking out a bit, but doesn’t want me to call. Just said to shoot you a text. I added Will to keep everyone informed at once.

Jay sighed as you dry heaved again, breathing rapidly and groaning when another heaved ripped through you. Jay just rubbed your back and shushed you while reading the wave of text he was receiving.

Kelly: Chief has offered for us to leave. I can’t focus knowing she’s so sick and I’m not there.

Matt: I know she is in good hands with you, Jay, but I agree with Kelly.

Will: I’m on shift, but sounds like the flu. Keep me on the chat and in the loop. Let me know if you need anything.

Matt: Kelly and I are on the way. Should be there in 10.

Jay sighed and rubbed your back again. He was fine with taking care of you, but he wanted you to be as comfortable as possible. “Hey sweetie. The boys are on there way.” Jay whispered. “Want me to get you some clothes?” Jay thought as he waited for you to reply. He was gonna need to send them with a blanket and bucket at the very least.

“Please don’t.” You choked out, throat tight as you held back a gag. “Don’t go.” You had tears pouring down your face and your whole body was trembling.

“Okay. Okay. Just relax.” Jay urged, rubbing your sides again. “I’m here. I’m right here.” He kissed your back, feeling bad for not being able to help. He knew that Matt and Kelly had your keys, which had a key to his place, so he wasn’t going to have to leave for the door when they got there.

You gagged again, this time bringing up a little bit of coffee. You hummed, rocking back into Jay and leaning your face into your upper arm.

“There we go. Let me get you some water, okay?” Jay asked, not liking this. You were pale and barely had enough energy to hold yourself up. He wasn’t sure how much longer you could keep yourself up and he needed to get you some water sooner rather than later.

You couldn’t answer. More of the coffee from this morning made its way up and you couldn’t hold this one back. You sobbed loudly when you finished spitting out the rancid liquid and Jay practically ran back to the bathroom.

“Breathe. It’s okay. Your okay.” Jay rushed out, dropping back next to you and placing the water bottle on the edge of his bathtub. Jay scrabbled to flush as you turned and buried your face into his shirt.

“I-I wa-ant K-Kelly an M-Matt.” You sobbed out, clutching onto Jay like a child. You were so tired and in so much pain. You knew Jay wouldn’t judge you for wanting your boyfriends or being extra clingy.

“We’re here.” Kelly said, panting as he tried to catch his breath in the doorway.

“Perfect timing.” Jay muttered, passing you off to Kelly and placing a kiss on your head as he went to go talk to Matt.

“Kel.” You whimpered, burying your face into his chest.

“Shhh. It’s alright hunny.” Kelly whispered, kissing your head and wrapping you in his arms. “You all done?”

You shook your head and spun back around, finally letting go now that Kelly was here. Matt and Jay heard the commotion and went sprinting into the bathroom. Kelly was up on his knees behind you, one hand on your chest and the other rubbing your back. Matt moved to sit on the edge of Jay’s bathtub, brushing some fly aways back and holding your upper arm. Jay stood in the door way, eventually sliding down to wait it out with you all. He didn’t want to leave your side, but you needed and wanted your boyfriends.

“Your alright hunny. It’s okay. We gotcha.” Matt said, continuing to hold back your fly aways.

“I-hugk” you tried to talk, but you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Shhhh. Don’t talk. It’s okay.” Kelly said, thumping your back when you choked up.

“Just get it out. Your doing so good baby.” Matt praised, watching your face.

You were pale. It was like all the blood had left your face and you were shaking under their hands. Not to mention the fact that you had started swaying again, looking like you were about to pass out.

“Jay.” Matt called, catching Jay’s attention from whatever he was doing on his phone.

“Yeah.” Jay replied.

“Has she had anything to drink?” Matt called, “also, can I get another wet rag for her?”

“She didn’t get a chance.” Jay said, standing and heading to the sink. “I was just telling Will about that. He thinks she might be dehydrated from the fever and now the puking.” Jay summarized as he handed the wash cloth to Matt. “He said she can have sprite if she won’t take water. I’ll be back. I have some stashed for her in the kitchen.”

Jay took off down the hall as Matt placed the wash cloth on your neck. The cold from the rag made you shake even more, but Kelly made sure to hold you firmly against his side.

“Matt.” Kelly said, drawing his partner’s attention. “This isn’t good.” He whispered, shaking his head and letting Matt see the fear in his eyes.

Matt nodded in reply, leaning forward to catch your forehead in the palm of his hand. “Sweetheart. Hey baby. You gotta breathe.” Matt urged. “You gotta slow down. Your alright. Take a breath.”

At this point, the measly amount of food and coffee was already up and all you were doing was dry heaving and bringing up small amounts of stomach acid. You nodded and slumped back a little, leaning more into Matt’s hand and into Kelly’s hold.

“Here.” Jay said, coming into the bathroom with the sprite in hand. “I got some of the carbonation out. Will said it might make her feel worse if it’s fully carbonated, but I know she won’t drink it flat.” He had it in a glass with a straw. Matt and Kelly have never been more grateful for the Halstead brothers than they were right now.

“Thanks Jay.” Matt said, giving the man a small smile and taking the drink. “Sweetheart. Take a sip of this water, rinse and spit. Then you can have some sprite.” Matt bargained, trying not to sound authoritative, but wanting nothing more than you to get some fluids.

Kelly pulled you further back into his chest, looking at Matt with a little hope when you let Matt pour some water in your mouth to rinse and spit. You were able to take a few sips of sprite before you pushed the glass away, turning to bury your face into Kelly’s chest.

“I got her my army sweatshirt and some sweats for the ride home.” Jay piped up, figuring he should tell the boys while all was quiet. “Also found my extra mop bucket just incase.”

“Thanks Jay.” Matt nodded and smiled at the man. “For everything. I know this wasn’t ideal or the way you planned to spend your day.”

“Hey.” Jay whispered, eyebrows furrowed together as he looked at you and then back at Matt, shaking his head. “I’d do anything for her. She’s like my little sister. It’s not a problem at all.” Jay paused for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. “In fact, I would have been more than happy to keep an eye on her, but she wanted you guys. It makes me happy that she trusts you both when she is at her most vulnerable.”

Kelly smiled into your hair and kissed your head. “It’s something we have been figuring out goes both ways.” Kelly said, slightly turning to Jay. Suddenly, Kelly realized you went limp in his arms and looked down. You were snuggled up to his chest, clutching his shirt and Matt’s hand. All the boys sighed at how fast you were out, given that you don’t normally fall asleep fast or at any given moment, but your breathing was calm and you looked peaceful so they tried to take the win.

“You guys can stay for a while if you want. I don’t have clothes that’ll fit you guys, but I do have some that’ll work for her. She’s more than welcome to crash in my bed and I’ll just change the sheets later.” Jay offered, not really ready to leave your side, much less put you in a moving vehicle at the moment.

“We don’t wanna impose man.” Kelly said, glancing at Jay and then at Matt.

Matt stayed silent and contemplated his options. “Kel. Let’s check her temp and see where we’re at. If it’s high, I might take you up on that Jay. We are closer to Med here.” Matt still didn’t like how pale you were, even if you were sleeping peacefully for the moment.

Jay grabbed the med kit Will left for him and found the forehead thermometer. The boys waited on bated breath as Jay took your temp. “Woah.” Jay whispered, turning the reading from Matt to Kelly. 102.8

“Better than earlier but I still don’t like it.” Matt murmured, reaching out to flip the wash rag on your neck.

“Can you turn down your bed? Possibly have a light cover?” Kelly asked, looking down at you and checking your pulse.

“Yeah. I got a top sheet. I know she won’t sleep without covers.” Jay said. “Hails is the same way and gets hot at night.” Jay smirked and shook his head, turning to leave the room.

“I’ll take her Kel.” Matt murmured. “You got less downtime than me. Maybe you should nap with her while Jay and I go get some supplies.” Matt said, lifting you from Kelly’s arms and walking to Jay’s room with Kelly close behind.

“Are you sure? I’m good to go babe.” Kelly said, rubbing Matt’s back as they stood and waited for Jay to finish pulling back the covers.

“I’m sure.” Matt said, kissing your forehead. “I’ll change her out while you go grab your go bag and change.” Matt suggested, then looked to Jay. “Do you have any fans? If not, that’s okay.”

“I do actually. In the office. Give me a sec.” Jay said, jogging out of the door and closing it behind him.

Kelly left just before Jay, so Matt set about pulling you out of your clothes and into Jay’s. He wasn’t a fan of putting you in sweats, but he figured Jay ran it past Will and it would be okay. Sweat it out and all.

Kelly slipped in right as Matt was getting you comfortable. Once Kelly saw that you were decent, he opened the door for Jay, who had a tower fan in his hand.

“Here yah go.” Jay said, going and plugging it in on his side of the bed, where you were sleeping, before turning it on its highest setting. “You guys stay as long as you need.”

Matt and Kelly nodded their thanks as Jay stepped out, closing the door behind him. Kelly was already changed and slid in next to you. You immediately curled into his side and Kelly smiled lovingly down at you.

“I’m gonna go talk to Jay and go get some supplies. You gonna be okay with her for a while?” Matt asked Kelly. He wasn’t doubting his lover, but he was so worried and he knew that you had wanted both of them.

“Yeah.” Kelly breathed, looking down at you. “I got her. Just hurry back. I know her PTSD can get bad when she’s this sick.” Kelly mumbled, rubbing your back and kissing your forehead. He knew Matt’s question didn’t have some sort of hidden agenda. He was just as worried.

“We will be as quick as possible.” Matt said, leaning down and kissing Kelly full on before placing a kiss to your forehead. “Love you both. Call if you need us.” Matt said, shooting Kelly a wink before heading out the door.

Kelly sighed and snuggled into you. You were trembling again, but your face was mostly peaceful. Kelly reached back and grabbed the thermometer, checking your temp. 102.5. Slowly lowering. Maybe that’s why you were shaking, but he couldn’t be sure. All medical logic told him that shaking would heat you up, but your fever was going down. Out of instinct, Kelly shushed you and kissed your forehead. He rubbed your arms and consoled you as best he could while watching your body language. Sure enough, you relaxed again and stopped shaking. Kelly sighed and held you tighter. So it begins.

🚔🚔🚔🚔

Tag list:

@treehouse-mouse

@shadowmeadowsworld

@sorry-i-spaced

@zephyrmonkey

@allisonargent144

@amie134

@lane-rodgers-barnes

@pensfan5871

@dumb-fawkin-bitch

@marvel-and-chicago-fan

@daggersquadphantom

@100yroldteenagers

@senjoritanana

@celtic-shadow-wolf

@starset21

@mrspeacem1nusone

@wh0reforsmutstuff

@geekgirl1996

@emilyprentisswife

@one-chicago-writer

@jessewesmitchellfan

[strangerthingsfanworkrecs]

Would love to nominate an artist: hearsegrrl Rachel is one of the friendliest artists I know. She is so supportive of other artists and writers, and although she's extremely busy irl, she still makes time for fandom and always drops the most iconic works. She's incredibly humble, and deserves all the love and recognition in the world.

This week, we're highlighting @hearsegrrl as an artist! All recs this week will be her art.

see the original here She answered some questions about her work under the cut

Why Stranger Things?

Honestly I had never seen it before season 4, but when it dropped I started getting a bunch of Eddie edits on my TikTok and was like “WOAH, I gotta know more about that guy right now.” I binged the whole season over a couple days, fell in love with his character, remade a Tumblr account for the first time since my early teens, and started drawing him pretty much immediately.

What's your favorite ship (platonic or romantic) to create for?

I love how much people love Steddie. I love a two himbos in love dynamic and I love their interactions in the show, even if they were brief they obviously stuck with people.

What's your typical drawing process like?

Oh jeez. Long. Once I have an idea I’m pretty eager to start on it asap, I collect a lot of references for what I’m thinking googling model poses, random band member candids, or taking weird self timer pics of myself posing in my kitchen and then cut and paste and collage them into something close enough to what I want and then kind of draw a “skeleton” over all of that just to save a couple hours, but that process still usually takes me about 2-3 hours to get it perfect. The piece I’m working on right now has a lot of little pieces in it and that part of the process took ten hours alone. Then I have a line drawing that I block base colors into, lock all of those, and then kind of fully render out each part at a time- skin, hair, shirt, pants, accessories, whatever else. I spend a good 75% of that process going “AHHHHH I DON’T KNOW IF THIS IS WORKING,” and then somehow it all comes together in the end. Sometimes depending on the piece, I’ve liked finding random stock images to kind of overlay in the background, it makes him feel so much more real and lifelike to me. Lately, the fully rendered stuff I’ve been posting takes anywhere from 12-20 hours of drawing. I tattoo full time 11-7 or later 5 days a week on top of drawing for appointments outside of work and usually only have time to draw for a couple hours at a time, or a little on the weekends so I try to be as efficient as possible.

Do you have a favorite tool for drawing?

I used to do a lot of painting for work and pastel pencil drawings for fun but I switched over to an iPad Pro a few years ago and it’s so much easier to be able to just draw on the couch and not drag out a bunch of materials and make a mess. I use Procreate for work and for fandom art.

Do you have any tips for drawing clothes?

Using references or making your own references to take pictures of! They’re a relief to get to because they don’t need to be perfect, unlike a face that is very anxiety inducing so don’t overthink it.

What has been your favorite project so far?

I really, really love the one I’m working on right now, I don’t know if I’ll post it (and if you’re reading this after Valentine’s Day you may have already seen it) because it’s a gift but it’s been the most fun and silly and therapeutic. But I love any “Eddie with an occupation” or AU moment, doing the baseball AU drawings for @brock-eddie was so much fun and I love how they turned out.

What has been your hardest project so far?

The Christmas Steddie one was kind of a pain in the ass because it took so long and had so many more little parts than just drawing one character, but I was happy with how it turned out. There’s a couple WIPs in my iPad that I would love to finish but they just weren’t turning out how I wanted them, I want to revisit them but I might have to scrap them and start over. Everyone is so nice I’m sure I could post them now and people would be stoked but things have to be perfect or I lay in bed at night and regret posting them for literally weeks.

Have you ever had a creative block?

Not really for coming up with ideas, but finding the energy to sit down and draw after working all day is hard sometimes. I have a weird thing where I don't want to draw for a little bit, I have to be in the headspace to work for at least 2-3 hours at a time or I just won't do it.

Is there a big source of inspiration for you? Books? Art? Games?

UGH, BEIN IN LOVE. Being a weird alt girl in Indiana. Eddie is so my type and for the first time I had a huge crush on a character that I felt like I could be his type too. I’m a tattooer going to metal shows in my free time in 🤠Waynedale, Indiana🤠, it is so easy to picture him living in my town and going the same places I do and through art I can make him real. There are so many talented writers on here who have brought him to life and I love and am inspired to draw by the fics that really flesh out the fact that he’s so earnest and has all these deeper feelings but he’s still a ding dong twentyish year old boy doing ding dong twentyish year old boy things. @jo-harrington's store manager verse, @wheels-of-despair's Evil Woman fics, and @courtingchaos's writings all fill me with DEEP, ACHING YEARNING for a boy like him, and no matter how sucky and unimpressive dudes in real life are, they make him so nice and funny, and I can dress him up however I want and draw him from the viewer’s perspective and there is something so therapeutic and comforting about that. I’ve been through a lot of dumb and mildly traumatizing stuff the last couple of years and reading fanfic again and drawing fanart has brought me so much peace and happiness in all of it.

What's your favorite way to get comments or interactions on your art?

I’m always really excited to finish a piece and get to post it here ASAP just to see everyone’s reactions. I’m so proud of the work that gets put into them but I’m never going to post them on a more public forum like my Instagram, I do them for myself and for the little group of people here I know it’ll bring joy to and it’s really fun to share that joy with everyone. When I’m sad, I go through the tags in the reblogs because people are so funny and sweet about them.

Is there an upcoming project you're particularly excited about?

Nothing specific right now, I’m about to get really busy with real work so I may have to slow down a little. I get a lot of ideas around the holidays/seasons changing because I love the more themed drawings, so after Valentine’s Day hopefully I’ll have some cute spring ideas to work on! I always like getting requests to see what people are wanting to see. I can’t always get to them because of work but sometimes they spark ideas for bigger projects.

Is there anything we forgot to ask?

I don’t think so! Love you all so much, for real. Time to write and draw more Eddie stomping out fascist weirdos. The world really sucks right now but everyone contributing to this fandom is creating a positive space and helping us get away from it all, I am so grateful for all of the talented people here for making life more bearable right now.

[softestqueeen]

if your prompt requests are still open, could you do prompt 17 with gn!reader x könig? maybe sprinkle in some friends to lovers if you feel like it as well🙏

prompt: "Don't be silly, I want to stay up with you." a/n: this is very out of character for könig, but oh yeah. i hope you still like it! enjoy <3 warnings: fluff, a lil bit of comofrt, brief mention of nightmares, love confession, kissing pairing: roommate!könig x gn!reader I 1,110 words special prompts I special masterlist

It wasn't often that you and your roommate König got to spend time together. Unfortunately, with him being on deployment most of the time and you woking a busy job, there weren't many opportunities for the two of you to spend time with each other.

Still, you and him both loved the movie nights you spent cuddled up on the couch or occasionally on Königs bed. In these rare cases he was very glad that he wore a mask, because you - his best friend - on his bed next to him, all cuddled up and comfortable made his heart beat faster and a blush creap up his neck.

The soldier had been harboring feelings for you ever since you first met about 2 years ago, when you applied to be his roommate. He immediately told you that you could move in and that his home was now also yours. Everytime he saw you, he couldn't belive his eyes, your face so perfectly balanced, you body so well shaped and your height - you were just so perfect in every way.

But he knew, a man like him, who had casued so much pain in the past would never deserve someone as pure as you. Still, he enduldged here and there with your movie nights.

You were currently sitting on Königs bed while he was getting snacks, ready to enjoy your next film pick. Tonight it was your turn after König got to pick last time, though it doesn't really matter. He always chose movies he thought you could like and didn't really think about himself during those moments.

Once he returned from the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of sweets, he slipped under the blanket next to you, wearing only a pair of sweats, a long sleeved shirt and of course his mask. Though you had seen him without, he prefered to keep it on and you respected that.

Now under the blanket he could feel your body heat next to him and for the next two hours he couldn't concentrate on anything but you, as usual. Everytime you laughed you felt his eyes on him and when the surprisingly sad ending made you cry, König offered you his beefy shoulder which you gladly excepted.

But, all good things eventually must come to an end, so you bid him a good night and slipped out of his bed, leaving only traces of your perfume behind.

This meant only one thing for König - a restless night of yearning was ahead of him. He desperately needed you close to him, his body practically calling for you but he wouldn't dare to confess his feelings. He'd rather be only your friend forever than be a stranger to you.

Surprisingly, he slipped into a light sleep very fast, though his mind wasn't as kind to him. At first his dream seemed more or less normal, there was you and him in a grocery store. The dream took a quick turn though and once his dream turned into a nightmare he jolted upright, a scream tearing from his throat before he could stop himself.

His breathing heavily and prayed to whoever was out there that he didn't wake you up. The fast and sudden footsteps that he could now hear in your shared flat though told him something else.

You didn't even knock before tearing open his door, you eyes quickly searching for an intruder. Once you saw König breathing heavily it dawned on you what happened and you let out a breath.

Slowly, you krept towards his bed and put one of your hands on his shoulder. He flinched slightly beofre relaxing into your touch.

"Did you have a nightmare?" though the answer was obvious you still wanted to be sure. König only answered with a short nod, before moving aside so you could slip underneath the blanket next to him.

You didn't hesitate to accept his quiet invitation. It wasn't often that you really noticed that he was having a nightmare, usually he wouldn't dare talk about it. But sometimes you did catch wind of it and never hesitated to comfort him.

This meant you also had a little routine for cases like this. You leaned back against the headboard, slightly propped up, allowing Königh to put his head in the crook of your neck and slightly cover your torso with his. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and drew mindless shapes on them.

You didn't ask about what the dream contained, he never told you.

"You don't always have to comfort me and stay up with me, you know. I appreciate it, but you can go back to your room and get some sleep," König interrupted the silence that had formed around you. It pained you to hear the slight insecurity and uncertainty in his voice.

"Don't be silly, I want to stay up with you. I wouldn't be able to sleep anyways if I knew that you would be here all alone with your worries," you reassured him.

The warmth in his words made his heart ache and in that moment he knew he had to tell you how he felt. He didn't care if it could potentially end your friendship, but he realised he had to take the chance.

"I have to tell you something, I haven't been completely honest with you," his words made your breath slightly hitch and your hand on his shoulder stilled, "I have to confess, I am in love with you and have been since we first met. Every time you show me so much kindness that I dodn't deserve it pains me to know that you are not mine. If you don't feel the same, that's fine, but I thought you should know." His head was now angled more towards you, his shiny eyes making contact with his. Moments like these were also the only instances where you saw him without his mask and his beauty made your heart roar.

"Hey, don't say that. You deserve so much love, you know. And it's silly that you don't think I feel the same about you, because I do. I love you too, so much. I'm surprised you haven't realised yet."

König couldn't belive what he was hearing. Once he had been staring at you for some time, he realised he should probably say something. Or rather, do something.

He propped himself up on one of his arms, so he wa face to face with you. He leaned forward and lightly placed his lips on top of yours, and oncce you kissed him back, he knew he would never let you go again.

the requests for this event are closing today, so be quick if you still want to request something! here are the prompts!

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open! (now also for the x files)

taglist: @silvermagnolias@milywatermelon@bigbananaa @mmmmokdok

[orangez3st]

Neither Right or Wrong

Entry to @clonexocweek - 02.15.25: What If... | Event Masterlist

What If Lesiil was a Jedi General over the Coruscant Guard?

Tags & Warnings: jedi au, forbidden relationship, implied sexual acts (no explicit descriptions at all, it's kinda going vaguely in the background), declarations of love, a few star wars swear words Pairing: Fox x Det. Lesiil Thrace (OFC Crime Investigator) Word Count: 3.8k A/N: SHE has gathered a micro fanbase 🥹🥹 This is me falling in love with my own OC again, her brain is humongous I swear and she's so pretty. Jedi!Lesiil is still a smart badass with her very own Space Sherlock Holmes core, now with newly added features: hardcore parkour lady. You 🫵🏼 accept it. Enjoy this one, thanks for all the love! 💞

“ANAKIN SKYWALKER YOU PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!”

Boisterous laughter echoes through the hall they're running along… or more like Anakin is running along. Lesiil is thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his arm securely around her waist as she pounds his back with her fists, tirelessly in the beginning, but now she has resorted to only shout at him.

“It’s just you're so small!”

“I am 5’7, that number is absolutely not small! You're bigger!” She gives a light yelp and another slap to his back when he jostles her, wind blowing past her coiled ponytail and blood rushing to the top of her head. “And taller!”

Eventually exhaustion catches up to the man, her childhood friend during their padawanship in the Temple. Their age difference? Not so far. Merely 3 years. He'd been assigned to Obi-Wan Kenobi – whose questionable knighthood had been accelerated, after Qui-Gon Jinn tragically died in Naboo – while she'd had just been apprenticing under Master Windu for two years. Upon being approached by her for the first time at Master Jinn's funeral, little Ani found a new safe place to confide all his internal turmoil in, and since then their friendship had flourished.

Anakin puts her down, sweat and the biggest stupid smile gracing his face after such a sport. He picked her up when she was heading to a meeting chamber where her former master and the Grand Master of the Order have been waiting for her, requesting her presence.

Lesiil gives him a last playful swat across his bicep.

“That was quite a run, Anakin,” Obi-Wan muses out of nowhere, appearing from one of the rooms with a held back grin. “If only you could do that in such exact speed in our last mission.”

“Hey I still ran faster than you–” he points at the other man “–Obi-Wan.”

As the men trades playful banter among themselves, Lesiil calls upon the Force to restore her strength and calm her breathing, and perhaps snake out a tendril to friendly, teasingly, poke Anakin in the back of his mind. Their bond is still active, between good friends, even though they're oftentimes separated in the war. He's in the front lines cutting through droids with spectacularly out-of-the-box strategies, while she remains planetside on Coruscant, stationed in Coruscant Guard Headquarters ensuring planetwide security.

“Alright, men, listen up,” the Marshal Commander began, the other 64 commanders of the corps were standing in attention in the assembly hall and watching on with anticipation. “With the Jedi Council’s advice to the Supreme Chancellor’s office over the wellbeing and security of this entire planet, they have assigned us one of their own to help in our efforts. Starting today, our corps, and all of us, are now under the command of High Jedi General Lesiil Thrace.”

Among others.

Chasing criminals. Routine patrols. Capturing enemy of the state. Countless hours spent in the command room, briefing and debriefing, dismantling and reassembling and altering strategies. Senatorial security. Prison duty. Even secretly busying herself in her small kitchen of her barrack quarters in the building, offering a huge batch of her home Alderaani dishes for the on-call troopers who passed by, in time for latemeal.

She'd never want to be a neglecting General, after all. And Marshal Commander Fox has been helpful to keep her up to the clones’ upbringing… her men’s upbringing.

She refused a seat in the council. It was a reluctant offer, after all. Aside that she is too young a High Jedi General of her own admission, the other Master's are far wiser.

Lesiil lets the remains of her fond chuckles fade away, and promptly cuts into their banter. “If you two are finished, I have a meeting to attend to. I will catch you both at dinner tonight?”

Anakin visibly pouts. Ah, still a child at heart, this man. “Can't do, Les. We're deployed in four hours.”

She smiles emphatically. “Later times then, Ani.”

“How is Coruscant treating you, Lesiil?” Obi-Wan chimes in, a kind smile upon his bearded face, albeit teasingly, “Not casting a boredom on you yet, I hope?”

“I am undoubtedly less experienced than you individually. Other than being a veteran after the Battle of Geonosis, which left me scarred over so many comrades lost, I have no experience in war whatsoever. My past apprenticeship merely carried me to places where humanitarian efforts were needed.”

She clutched the hilt of her lightsaber, clipped to her sash.

“Although, I daresay my sharpest weapon is not my lightsaber, but my sharp mind.” The Force sent her a wave of calmness, passing the positive whispers of these… men, towards her. Confidently, she continued, “I might be young, but the safety of Coruscant and its people is significant to me, too. It is my greatest honor to be assigned here to serve with you all – men of valor.”

“Certainly not,” Lesiil answers, “It's actually been a blast. I believe I've seen so much action as you have–”

“But less terrifying,” Anakin interrupts, his cybernetic arm coming up to rub his chin. “In a sense of war. Right?”

Lesiil nods in confirmation. “That would be it!”

With a wave of goodbye, Lesiil restarts her trek back to the designated meeting chamber.

“Go ahead. Push the button. You're welcome to do so while it's in your grasp. And within my watch, of course.”

After a mission that involved a wild chase to recapture a loose criminal, Lesiil had proven herself to be useful. Like… flipping and jumping across rooftops in the lower levels, for example, before letting the Guards subduing the poor sod.

Marshal Commander Fox’s apathetic helmeted gaze was hesitant for a second. Then, for unknown reasons, the man unlatched his bucket from his shoulders. Dark curls fall out, sweeping across his forehead and kissing his eyelids. His face was young, but soft stress lines that spoke experience were present too.

Then he lit the saber. Green plasma blade emitted from the hilt, which was wrapped in strips of red leather, thrumming with power in his hand.

“It's heavy,” the Marshal remarked, and Lesiil noticed his voice was lighter and softer than his peers, and not because of being used to hearing it through the helmet's vocoder.

“Not for us Force-users,” she smiles, stepping back to watch him swing the blade experimentally. “The Force grants it lighter for us to wield.”

He lifted a dark eyebrow at her. The scarred one, on the right. “Thus the acrobatics?” he asked, referencing the most recent stunt she'd pulled.

Lesiil chuckled. “It does help us in many things." She watched on fondly. “A lightsaber to a Jedi is their life. As is mine. My lightsaber is my life.”

So… I'm holding her life in my hand?

It was unintentional. The Marshal's wonder was loud. And Lesiil, stronger with the Force, couldn't help but hear it. It was an innocent thought – almost childlike, but it stirred something within her.

Trust.

“Master Yoda,” Lesiil greets as soon as she steps into the chamber, “Master Windu.”

Both masters look up from their served cups of tea. Late afternoon light casts a golden glow through the window and onto the modest pieces of furniture. Mace Windu offers a fond smile, “Good afternoon, Lesiil.” He is, after all, Lesiil's former master.

“In, you come, Master Thrace.” Yoda gestures to a seat to his left hand, just across Windu. “Sit here, you will.”

Lesiil strides in, basking in the safety of the bubble the Force seems to provide and the peace that radiates from both men. “Thank you for inviting me here, Masters.” But she supposes this is better than the headquarters. Even on-call, the men can seem to be… rowdy, at times. Not that she prohibits them to act like it. She encourages them, even. To just be themselves.

“The Temple will always be your home,” Windu says.

The… headquarters. It's also my home.

“Why is the Jedi sworn to celibacy?”

“Not exactly celibacy, Commander Thorn,” Lesiil explained, “Just romantic attachments. We're not allowed to marry. Our core values encouraged us to be selfless individuals. That, and so our focus to maintain balance would not split.”

Downtime among the Guard's command clique was rare. When it struck, they colonized one common room to themselves. Lesiil was invited, oddly. And now everyone was either sprawled on the couch or playing the console in the holoscreen.

“Backtrack, sir,” Commander Stone glanced in disbelief. “You can't marry?”

“Such practice is prohibited, yes,” Lesiil hummed in thought, “Except in special cases. To save their species, for example.”

“Regulations stated us clones aren't allowed formal relationships, too,” Commander Thire joined in.

Looking around the gathered commanders, a fond and empathetic smile tugged on Lesiil's lips. “I suppose we're alike in so many ways, then.”

“You… think so, General?”

She turned from her spot in the battered armchair – her favorite spot – and found the Marshal Commander casually leaned back against the couch's arm, next to Sergeant Hound who occupied one of the consoles. Sans helmet, his raven black locks fell over his forehead. Now laden with streaks of white no thanks to the stress of ever demanding duties, it somehow made him even… easier on the eye.

“Why not? We are all chosen to be here to do what we do.”

The Marshal's warm amber eyes softened at her, as if sympathetically. Or was that just a brief illusion? “We have duty,” said his softer voice – again, less gravelly than his brothers’.

The phrase somehow dampened the smoldering embers inside her. Either for now, or for good, she felt challenged to see where this went in the future.

“That is correct, Marshal.”

“We'd like to talk about reassignments.”

It surprises her enough that her grip on her cup nearly slips. The Force senses her subtle distress, and Lesiil can feel it perching on her shoulders to provide comfort as much as it can.

“Reassignments, Master?”

“The Council deliberates of your potential, your hard skills,” Windu nods mindfully, “It could be beneficial for the men in the front lines.”

Front lines.

The last time she went to the front lines was when she lost her twin brother Railuu in Geonosis.

She isn't sure to go back. It never comes to mind. To hear firing blasters, trudging through various terrains and weather, being stuck in a war room concocting a strategy through and through and at least three backup plans. When the word came she was assigned to the Guards, she'd accepted without a second thought.

Fear drove her here to stay, but familiar comfort welcomes her like home. To be planetside. Home. Coruscant is home, where she can place her feet steadily on.

A moment too long, the Force caresses her cheek to calm her storms.

Lesiil clears her throat. “May I hear further about this proposition?"

Windu carries on, “As you know, each unit of the Army is assigned with elite troopers of the Special Operations Brigade; Republic Commandos, ARC Troopers. Their tasks are significant for pre-campaign efforts, particularly reconnaissance and intelligence gathering.” Briefly, he trades glances with Yoda. “We were thinking… you are suitable for this position.”

Positioned high up in the chain of command leading an entire corps, Lesiil is granted her own modified plastid armor, like the ones Obi-Wan and Anakin adorned. She leaves it unpainted, save for the left shoulder bell where one of the men had meticulously done the Guard's insignia.

Matched with the Marshal Commander.

It's where she belongs now. With the men of the Guard.

So even hearing the offer feels like a betrayal to the men.

“To… lead the elite Brigade?”

“Exactly like you said, it is not,” Master Yoda says, “But transferred where you are needed, you would be.”

“You were an exceptional padawan of mine with a truly brilliant mind,” Windu continues, his generally neutral phrases now sounding so far away, and this time it sounds more like persuasion. Sure, she was his treasured padawan, but still. “It's complex, yet structured at the same time.”

“Sir, I am once again asking you to never cartwheel through buildings again.”

Lesiil threw a smile from her cot in the medwing – her arm was in a sling, one foot lifted with one of its own, and one hell of a headache. And medicines. “Thank you for all the concern, Thorn.”

The amber-haired man scowled. Playfully, Lesiil noted. “That wasn't sarcasm, though, right? That better be a promise.” He clears his throat. “Erhm. Sir.”

“I promise not to cartwheel through buildings again.”

Thorn sighed. “But you still wanna do the other tricks, aren't you.”

“Who else is it gonna be? Your Marshal Commander?”

“I would be doing what, exactly?” the devil strode in. Upon seeing the very person uttered it, he faltered in his steps. Thorn snickered behind his hand, his shoulders vibrating. Fox glared at his brother under the helmet before turning to his General, almost in attention. “Sorry, sir.”

Lesiil frowned at him, storm grey eyes darting past his apathetic visor. “I just think you're not, Marshal,” she settled with a smirk before regarding his sudden presence, “Is there a matter of importance?”

Thorn suddenly felt uncomfortable and donned his helmet. “See ya in a bit, General. Heal fast. With the Force. Or… whatever.”

Lesiil's sweet airy laughter chimed throughout the medwing. The sound drove Thorn's flush on his cheeks three shades deeper, and a fresh lighter shade emerged on Fox's under his helmet.

“Ugh, stang.” Thorn facepalmed (or visorpalmed, whatever). “Sorry, Fox. I'll just… see myself out.”

“In control, you are. And strong with the Force, you are, as well,” Yoda joins in, the raspiness of his aged cadence tinged with wisdom, though masking their, simply, hope for her to accept. “Either in the intelligence division or the elite Brigade, be suitable, your sharp and analytical thinking skills could.”

Lesiil coughed. “Oh, Force…”

Fox hurried to her bedside. “You didn't need to laugh that hard, sir.” He poured a glass of water, placed it down momentarily to help his General propped up against the pillow properly. “You're still healing.”

“Yes,” Lesiil smiled meekly, glancing at him in gratitude as he helped her drink. His gloved fingers were light under her jaw to tip her head slightly backward as he held the glass. “Thank you, Marshal. And forgive me.”

“At both, you don't need to.”

Yes, but still. “Now.” Lesiil settled back into her pillows. “Is there something that needs me?”

Fox stilled for a moment. “Nothing else.” However, the subtlest swivel of his head told Lesiil otherwise. “Just wanted to check on your current wellbeing, General.”

“Forgive me for being too frank, but… Is there an option where I can choose to refuse?”

Both masters tense in their seats and share another inquisitive glance. Lesiil only registers it as utter shock. “What would be the reason?” her former master demands firmly.

“Take off your helmet, Marshal.”

Fox tensed, his heart skipping a beat. He knew what his General was. Part of the genealogy that made her whole was of a Lorrdian blood. And she had been encouraged by the Jedi of the Order to train reading nonverbal cues by the ways of the Lorrdian during her padawanship, deeming it would be useful for herself in the future.

Seemed like it was, just now.

“Yes, sir.”

Firmly, he reached up and took his bucket off. One of his hands instantly flew up to comb his grown curls back in order to at least look presentable.

“Now say that again.”

He blinked. He felt his face shift. He felt how his breathing changed and how the faster rhythm of his heart accommodated his nervousness. All were displayed for his General to study. To observe. To find the meaning of.

His General, whom he fell for, in all the wrong ways. So many wrong ways.

“I just want to see you.”

Lesiil lets out a breath, following the guidance of the Force that's still perching over her shoulders like a homemade knitted scarf to tap into her confidence. “There are so many lives on Coruscant that, if lost to the war, would be forever in our guilt,” she says.

“General.”

Lesiil cracked her eyes open, the warm cocoon of all the life energy around her dissipating at Fox's presence by the table. No, she wasn't falling asleep in the mess hall. Everyone who held her fondness knew she loved to meditate wherever she wanted. Mess hall was her favorite. She simply found joy in tuning the voices out and reuniting with the Force to challenge her own focus.

Her Marshal Commander was ready to escort her out. “Do you have a moment?”

Lesiil studied him.

There was a long silence between the two as they waited for each other.

“Would it be just the two of us, Marshal?”

“Yes,” he answered a little too quickly, “...sir.”

Smiling to mask how her heartbeat was picking up, Lesiil swept her lightsaber hilt off the table surface and patted her reddish brown tunic down. “Lead the way, Marshal,” she said, easily falling into step by his side. When the hallway was nearly empty, she leaned in just an inch and lowered her voice, “And when it's just the two of us, you may call me Lesiil.”

Instead of a pair of warm amber brown eyes, the Marshal’s visors stared back at her, his steps faltering just a little.

“Then it's Fox for you, Lesiil.”

“The Guards have been flourishing under my command. I learned from the men at first, then the men learned from me in return, as I've always given them countless advice and precautions in order to eventually perfect our protocols – all by the insight of a Jedi.”

Yoda hums in acknowledgment, his head nodding once, slow.

“I prefer to continue my duty here,” Lesiil declares firmly, “Stationed in the Coruscant Guard.”

His lips molded against hers like flower petals mashed together. Fox tasted like caf, his only source of spirit during the day, and he tasted pleasant on her tongue. His gloved hands ran up her sides and curled into the back of her reddish brown tunic. Lesiil matched his passionate pace with her own, fingers tangled up in his rich and dark locks. It was surprisingly soft to her palms.

Fox pulled away, breathing into her swollen, parted lips. He had forgotten to switch off the low power of the lighting system in his office, but he could still see the mesmerizing storm brewing inside the greyness of her eyes clearly. There was no conflict he could see – only reciprocated passion.

With a low sound emitting from her throat, Lesiil fell into him once more, eager to feel the moistness of his lips, eager to draw gravelly sounds out of him. Her vambraces clicked against his shoulder bells as her arms wound around his neck, pulling him in for a deeper encounter that involved a daring sleight of tongue.

Fox accepted the challenge.

“Good men, the Guards are,” commends Yoda. Then his eyebrows raise in question. “How fares Marshal Commander Fox, do I wish to know.”

“I'd like to apologize, sir.”

Lesiil stood in the doorway of her barrack quarters, her eyebrows twitched into a frown. And, she could feel her lips tingling all of a sudden, cheeks flushing slightly remembering their last encounter.

Fox's helmeted gaze was firm on her. “It won't happen again.”

Using the Force to sense if there was anybody around was totally wrong, but she did it anyway before pulling the Marshal Commander in.

“I personally think we lack the talk, Fox.”

“Talk, sir?”

“It’s Lesiil,” she insisted, “I… I cannot go back from what we did yesterday. There is only the way forward for me.”

“He is well,” she smiles briefly, touched by the small check-in gesture, “A headstrong, resilient man. Tireless and extremely dedicated to overall security, and the safety of us all.”

Fox pulled away first, his shoulders heaving from running out of breath. “Do we still need that talk?” he asked, his lips still softly gliding across hers.

“There have been these… unspoken things…” She pecked those warm lips once, her breath fanning across his skin sent the hair on the back of his neck bristling. “...that are also unspeakable in the halls of the Jedi Temple.”

“Enlighten me then, Jedi.”

“There can't be romantic attachments. I've said this before.”

“And?” He raised an eyebrow, the glint in his eyes spoke of a challenge. “Isn't it speakable enough as a reminder to be enforced onto you Jedi people?”

“Yes,” Lesiil nearly chuckled, “But that is the problem.”

“And you?”

She blinks. “Pardon, Master?”

Mace Windu briefly raises a single eyebrow. “Do you two work well?”

“We always do, Master Windu,” she replies without missing a beat, reminiscing the times where she and the command clique spent hours upon strategy and cups of caf. “Coordination is of utmost importance in a group, after all. Along with seamless communication.”

“Have you… done this before?”

“...Let's just say it has been a while.”

He smirked, a huff of laughter escaping his lips. “I thought you said no romantic attachments.”

“This could mean so many ways,” Lesiil said, “Romantic is only one of them.”

“Is this… romantic to you?”

She looked into him, grey eyes shining like stars, and she glowed even brighter as her lips pulled into a grin. “I would rather follow your way of thinking. Or let you guess mine.”

“I rely on the men of the Guard, and I trust my life in them. We have a connection to each other in order to maintain a healthy, neutral relationship. In return, they trust their own lives in me.”

Heavy breaths. Low sounds that were high-pitched at the same time. Hands held tight. Lips sealed and molded against one another, bodies and their movements already drowning in the haze of passion that engulfed both of them like a safe blanket.

“To lead such a significant unit, trust is important, as we all know and believe,” Lesiil says affirmingly, drawing a deep breath. “Thus why Marshal Commander Fox and I are such good friends.”

“Am I allowed to do this all night, mesh'la? When we all should've retired to our quarters… but there'll be only you and me. On this bed. Just like this. In this bland as kark bedroom of yours ‘cause you can't have any mortal possession and all that bantha shit.”

“Do not let possessiveness hinder you, Lesiil. Maintaining a good friendship with your men is commendable – encouraged, in fact, to ensure effective outcomes,” Windu warns, his tone low, “But be mindful of your selflessness, too.”

“S’gonna be so wrong of me…” he grunted against her bare skin, his body moving against hers, “to say that I've fallen in love with you, Lesiil.”

Lesiil tilts her chin up. “There is no passion,” she recites, “There is serenity.”

“No, Fox…”

“It surely will not hinder me, Masters.”

“...I love you too.”

Taglist (Form): @yoursrosie @hellfiresky @msmeredithrose @filamentlights @heidnspeak @lucyysthings

A/N: Yes this came up fresh in the same day I posted this. Because y'all love her so much 🥹

[herearedragons]

✨Let's talk about OCs!✨ How would you describe your OC's personality/aesthetic? What's your favourite thing about them? Tell us a fun fact(s) about your OC or their creation!❤️ Send this to at least 3 people to spread some OC appreciation!❤️

HI HELLO I JUST did a Dragon Age Blorbos appreciation post so now I get to talk about my Watchers also, HECK YES.

I talk about their angsty lore a lot so for a change of pace, going to share my favorite silly things about them

Selene Moonborn:

goes ham for good paper and ink. she used to be a scribe in her acolyte of Ondra years and she doesn't really get to do calligraphy or illustrations anymore (she picks it back up as a little hobby in the timeskip between POE1 and POE2, she doesn't have THAT much time for it though), but she'll still buy the really good stuff if she sees it in the wild. the absolute best thing you can buy for her is a bottle of that shimmery blue ink her temple used, which is nefariously hard to track down, but it's her absolute favorite

incredibly bad at flirting. she's a literal telepath and she still can't do it. her charm works only on Edér and only when she's not doing it on purpose, in every other situation she'll just stand there like 🧍🏻

perpetual :/ face. woman who is too busy holding back The Voices to emote

her cipher brainwaves will sometimes cause wild animals to follow her around for a while (ranger Selene foreshadowing)

Mae Briarheart:

as a Goldpact Knight she is an Efficient and Practical Professional. she is also a show-off. if there's an opportunity to do a sick trick while in combat she WILL take it. also has a flair for the dramatic/intense in general, which she tries to curb but she doesn't always succeed

always has a book in her pack because you never know when you need to kill some time, and they're always the Eoran equivalent of like. Jane Austen. convoluted romances with Social Dynamics are her favorite genre of fiction even though actually being in this kind of situation would drive her up the wall

after POE1 she and Hiravias keep rescheduling their duel where he's supposed to kill her for trespassing on his people's sacred sites and she's supposed to kill him for (checks notes) "being annoying". he keeps showing up like an hour late and going "aw, rats, I missed it" and Mae goes "guess we'll have to reschedule" and then they just hang out. world's normalest friendship

Lorenzo Ciro:

he's shy, but if you give him the space to express himself he WILL. between the events of POE1 and Deadfire he discovers that actually he likes bright clothes and loud singing and maybe the whole death omen branding is not ALL there is to him

in a weird relationship with his summoned phantoms because many of them are people he killed, but also he definitely did conjure a phantom just to have someone to talk to once or twice

kisses Aloth at the end of POE1 and then they don't talk about it for five years (well they do, but basically it boils down to Aloth feeling that he's not ready to be in a relationship and that he needs to take care of other things first, so they wait)

[bookwyrminspiration]

of course I have a required attendance event that completely decimates my free time the first day of nano 🙃

[shroomerr]

**minor spoilers for @mantequillamcwhoremick's fic, Chaos Plan, chapter 16!!

“And tell me if somehow Some of it remained How long would you wait for me?”

Wanted to draw my favorite scene from this fic <3333