#so seeing that something so small yet with so much weight slipped into a sentence like that just. flicked something for me i guess

[meownotgood]

pillars. / viktor x gn!reader, fluff and angst, lots of angst actually, implied childhood friends, confession kisses, mentions of death, one singular czech pet name, kissing viktor's moles, takes place during s1 act 2, so technically no s2 spoilers but some things are implied. word count: 7.9k

read on ao3

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"You look exhausted," You hum, your voice thick with fatigue in unison, "Don't you think you should rest?" 

Viktor takes a breath deep and slow enough to hear, his hands briefly faltering as he twirls a small, bronze magnifying glass with his fingers, but he doesn't reply, nor does he turn away from his notes. 

The lab is cool, quiet — aside from the distant hum of various pressure valves and idle machinery. The Hexcore thrums. Runic engravings litter each complex, geometric surface. Viktor rests his balled-up hand on his face, bony knuckles pressing into his cheek. With his inkpen, he messily scrawls something into his notebook. Low, blue light illuminates the cluttered room and his workspace. Each side of the Hexcore pulses when you approach behind him, twirling to its own complex, ominous rhythm. Acknowledging you, somewhat. 

Viktor inhales sharply, and shakes his head frustratedly, crossing out what he'd just written with jittery, forceful motions. 

It wouldn't be the first time you've found him here, like this, mulling over some sort of invention or idea when most of the city is already asleep. Falling into a focused routine is merely second nature. And normally, you wouldn't protest. 

When you were much, much younger, staying awake as long as you could felt fun. Helping Viktor cram studying for exams in between finishing an invention the night before Progress Day became a yearly occurrence. In the weeks before finalizing blueprints for the Hexgates, you'd almost forgotten when either of you had last seen the sun. It's just that this routine has been far more absorbing, far more taxing — and the repercussions are painted clearly on Viktor's shadowed face. 

He looks drained. Worn. Like if he tried to stand, if he wasn't leaning against his desk and absorbed in his research, the weight of his own exhaustion might make him crumble and collapse. The ends of his hair stick out in messy, curled strands, from where he's anxiously twirled them around his fingers. 

You hate the dark bags that have made their home under his eyes. You feel a knot in your gut as you watch Viktor's hands; shaky, and imprecise. Flipping through the pages of his notebook to search for something. Tracing a sentence with the end of his inkpen, only for his gaze to flicker back to the start when the words failed to register. 

You sigh. Forcing a smile, even though he can't see it, you take another stumbling step forwards. Your arms wrap around his thin figure loosely, and your weight settles gently yet firmly against his hunched back, in something of a tender, evocative hug. 

Viktor shifts, his grip tightens on his pen when it almost slips. You nuzzle into the perfect, head-shaped space at the crook of his neck, breathing him in — flooding your senses with a coffee-warm richness, with the scent of ash and sweat and lingering sparks. 

His gaze softens like melted honey. As if the simple press of your body to his returned pieces to himself he'd thought he lost. Brows unpinching, your heat at his neck spreads across him in waves, contradicting the collected edge kept in his tone. 

"I'm not yet tired," Viktor lies, trying his hardest not to lean into your embrace. "I'd like to analyze this for a few moments longer. This page is," He shakes his head. "Incomplete. If I could find the key to what induces some form of response, then-" 

As if on queue, the Hexcore sparks with energy, twirling faster, glowing with luminous constellations. Viktor swiftly moves to jot something down, but as fast as the Hexcore reacted, it's just as quick to return to normalcy. 

He mutters something under his breath, slightly jostling you from his shoulders when he leans forwards in focus. 

"I swear," You're grumbling; you rest your chin on the hard edge of his shoulder, glancing between the Hexcore and his notes with passive interest. "You've always been like this." 

"Like what?" Viktor flips through his notebook once more. "Stubborn, I'm assuming?" 

"Stubborn, yes. Smart. Terribly ambitious." You reach up, until you're able to place a few taps onto his forehead with the end of your finger. Viktor barely seems to notice. He adds onto an almost-full page by messily writing in the margins. 

"I know how hard it is for you to stop those gears in that brain of yours. Once they're going, it's impossible to get them to stop." 

"Mm. And you know how important this pursuit is in particular, yes?" 

He reaches for a notched turn dial on the opposite side of his desk, connected to the Hexcore by a series of braided wires and support poles. Your gaze follows his hands — gripping carefully, with delicate, calloused fingers. There's a distinct pause. A moment of palpable tension, as you both instinctively hold your breath. 

Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice. 

The Hexcore gives off a few miniscule, pitiful sparks, like a God's first attempt at a lightning storm. And he expels a long, drowsy, disappointed sigh. 

"I do," You murmur, sympathetic. 

Viktor grinds his jaw, hard enough to feel it aching, but even through his fierce familiarity with self-induced destruction, even though he isn't deserving of this, he can't hope to hold onto the ragged bites of stress in his veins. Not when you're so warm, when the feeling you ignite in his chest with your voice alone is so terribly soft. He has missed this. 

"But I also know," You're continuing, "Every time you get close to a breakthrough, once you let yourself rest," Viktor's head nods sleepily, struggling not to fall, and you playfully tap your index finger to the end of his nose. 

"That's when you find it." 

Part of him wishes he could keep himself from listening. Of course, as strongly as he wants to be better and more efficient, because taking a break is like admitting defeat, and defeat is worse than accepting he might've reached the end of his line — he knows you're right. 

Placing the cap on his pen, he leaves it in the middle of his notebook, closes the pages to save his spot before hastily, reluctantly pushing it aside. 

You grin. You slowly shift up, and Viktor feels your arms sliding from his shoulders, your weight leaving his body. For a second, he thinks you might move, believes you'll leave and feels a sharp grind between his ribs at the thought. Instead, you place your palms on his rigid shoulders, and you squeeze. 

His lashes flutter, eyes partially rolling into his skull. His head grows dizzy, like he'd been spun. Frustration melts out of him as warmth and light take its place, shining from your touch like the kiss of stars and the rays of the sun. Bright and lovely; galaxies weaving themselves into his tired muscles. 

Relaxing, he can't help but lean back, dropping his head against your waiting chest. 

"I saw Jayce before I left this morning," You're murmuring. It's in one ear, and out the other at first. You lean in, speaking close to him this time, to make sure you've been heard. Your voice shudders through him, warm like candle wax. "Says he hasn't seen you sleep in days." 

"In one day," Viktor corrects, rather matter-of-fact for someone who's busy melting into you like his limbs are boneless. "Technically, about twenty- no, twenty two hours. More or less. Honestly… hardly worth the over-exaggeration." 

"Vik," You scoff playfully, breath fanning warmly on his skin. "You're doing it again." 

Your palms move. They drift from his shoulders to his arms, fingertips gently toying with his sleeves in a foolish attempt to touch his skin. He tilts his head all the way back, and cracks his weary eyes open to look at you. 

"And what is it I'm doing?" 

"Saying things that make me worry about you. And then expecting me not to." 

"I am not-" 

Right then, before he can speak, your hands return to his now-tensed shoulders; they combat the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat when they roll his muscles. His chest thrums with a soothing gentleness, rich and saccharine, difficult to swallow down. 

"You are worried about me?" Viktor questions, sighing slightly when your hands work out a particularly old, tightened knot. "I have not seen you in… who knows how many days. I have lost count." 

Your mouth forms a hard line. 

"I- I know," You're answering, hands drifting down smoothly, as if they're carried on waves. They find where his tie is neatly fastened around his collar, grasping the diamond and pulling to loosen it. "I've been trying not to get in your way. Everything is just- Jayce is a counselor now, and you're busy with a thousand different things. I'm not going to interrupt your work with my stupid-" 

"Our work." Viktor's tone is resolute. It holds you, grounds you against the raging winds in your mind that threaten to pull at your pieces. "Hextech was furthered by your contributions. Do not forget that." 

You swallow, but it does little to chase away the dryness in your throat. In a hasty, abrupt motion, your palm grasps Viktor's shoulder, this time twisting his chair to make him face you. He eyes you with surprise for a moment, his tired gaze tender and weak enough to light the shrapnel in your stomach. 

"Viktor." Your head tilts, affectionate. You reach up, and brush away the messy strands of hair that cover his pretty face and tickle his forehead. "This research, this dream of yours, it's-" 

"It is a necessary risk." 

Gaze wide, you freeze up. Viktor exhales sharply, glances away from you to focus on something in the distance instead — messy shelves of discarded machinery, inventions you once worked on together, etched with your signature and his — because the way you're looking at him has an ache prodding at his heart, sharp and thorned.  

"Finalizing this thesis would simply be the beginning," Viktor continues, passionate, gradually starting to talk with his hands. "Think of the lives we could save, of the good we could prosper from this sort of technology. Enough to improve the Undercity for the better, to provide rationale for the potential dangers. I understand you are worried- but this is our life's work we are talking about. If we were to determine the true limits of Hextech, it would make our efforts worth it, in spite of… even if…" 

He stops, trails off. Glances up, and decides he might've said too much. You understand. You have always understood where all of this is going. 

The lives he could change would be worth the price, even if he was to throw away his. 

Tattered threads tear from within you — unspoken, buried deep. You've become well acquainted with the taste of denial. Sharp on your tongue, thick in your throat to meld with the bile. It sits on your lips as words better left unspoken. Eats away at your skin and your flesh and your core, settles in your limbs and at the tips of your useless fingers. Reverberates, until the ringing in your ears begins to sound like him. 

Piltover feels so distant, with the idle noise of the lab filling the room. Miles away, even though you're right in its heart. Nothing has ever been fair. It cast you aside, it was never your home. He was. 

All you've received for ages now are fake sentiments, vague reassurances. Reminders of how terribly futile your ambitions have proven to be. Every sun has to set, every star will burn out — but fuck, you don't want him to burn. 

Your mind is dizzy. Each thought spins, tipped faster and faster. Light pounds from behind your eyelids, and your stomach churns, making you nauseous. The lines blur between Viktor's figure, the floor, and the dull aura of the Hexcore, beginning to overlap everything together. 

You aren't present, or perhaps you're wishing to be anywhere but here. Curled beneath the covers, hiding under your bed like you did when you were a child, running to the furthest, broken edge of the universe so you wouldn't have to imagine him slipping through your fingertips; Viktor draws you back, grasping your chin oh-so gently. He tilts you towards him, puts your focus on him to push the rest of the world into the background. 

"Though, I suppose there is no harm in stopping for the night," Viktor reasons, his tone a soft murmur, devastatingly gentle. "I have missed you. I believe I may have neglected to make myself clear." 

And for a brief reprieve, there isn't anything sweeter. Nothing this fatal. 

His arm braces behind him, elbow resting on the edge of the desk. You follow through when he gently keeps you in place, steady on his direction; you're a compass, and he's Polaris. Your gazes don't separate, magnetized together like a hex crystal to iron. 

For a moment, he forms a small pout, in a way that would have you grinning if the circumstances were different. His expression ripens, becomes soft. Almost guilty. A plea and an apology and some form of a confession, muddled into one dangerous, indecipherable nebula. 

"You sure?" You're muttering, trying to keep your tone upbeat, regardless. "Your project looks like it's itching to fly away." 

"Eh," Viktor shrugs, he allows his thumb to brush over your cheek. "I'm sure it can wait. It understands I have more important things to focus on." 

His touch makes you ache. Guides your sorrow to entwine with his, digs in deep to grasp at your chest with such devastating familiarity. 

It's an excruciating reminder of how much you have craved this. How badly it hurts, to feel Viktor's hand tremble as he touches you, slightly unsure, when you wish he wouldn't be. Exhaustion is wound so deeply into his system, you'd think he was born with it. He brushes his palm from your cheek to your jaw, caressing idly, in an absent, lazy motion. And it frustrates you, because you know you'll soon be lost, wishing you could feel his touch again. 

Every pound of your heart reminds you of everything — of the brushes of fingers, when passing tools and pens at the work table. Hands solidly grabbing one another to steady anxieties, to offer familiar reminders. Nights spent categorizing constellations, while in your eyes, Viktor's radiance burned brighter than any distant galaxy. 

Gentle touches pressed to weary limbs. Tightening machinery, releasing the gears on a brace. An arm offered to help him stand. Instinctually standing beside him, at the side that might need you. Fingertips exploring the notches of a spine, traveling rivers of veins, mapping out star-shaped clusters of freckles. 

Tired moments much like this, but instead of protests and strives against fate, there were lovely brushes of whispers. Twin dips in the same bed, murmurs of, I'm here, you can go back to sleep. Touches that wished for themselves to be something more, something lasting. Though they knew they'd evaporate by morning. 

It's far too late to still rely on daydreams. 

You let the haze die out, tracing the edges of his hard knuckles as an apology before you clumsily push his hand from your cheek. Standing up straight, the lab seeming more cold and quiet and empty than ever, you choose to put distance in between yourself, and your lost love. 

"Sorry. I shouldn't-" Breathe, you've got to remind yourself to breathe. Air catches in your lungs, sharp and dizzy, and you quickly shake your head. "Viktor, I-" 

Gods, Viktor shouldn't have to choose between you and his ambition. He shouldn't need to place his own body in the middle of making a difference, and saving himself. There's still so much you haven't done, haven't said. The life you both dreamed of and fought for is crumbling, he still has so much he was meant to accomplish, and yet — 

A hand grabs your wrist with surprising force, to keep you from taking another step back. 

Viktor's brows pinch. "Do not tell me you're thinking of leaving." 

Oh. Your gaze finally travels up from your feet, and he looks hurt; his voice barely manages to avoid cracking around the edges. His fingers dig into your wrist sharply, desperately. 

Viktor's jaw tightens, his firm grip causing veins to show in his wrist. Your shoulders slump, and you exhale. 

"I'll walk home with you. You shouldn't sleep here, it's bad for your-" 

"No, no you will not," Viktor interrupts, exasperation echoed through his tone, pain and worry laced through the lines of his palms to compel them to shake. "Tell me why you are refusing to stay. It's been weeks without change, why must you run off the moment I attempt to make time for you? I doubt you have any idea how much this torments me." 

Weeks of avoidance, days upon days where he'd watch you disappear too soon. Viktor would turn, he'd say something to the empty air because he expected you to be there, but you would be gone, absent from the lab or the hallways or the dorm you once shared. Bitter sentimentality, the hurt you forgot to take with you, is all that would linger in his bones. 

Just how far are you willing to run — in vain, until your legs might snap — to pretend you won't lose the only thing you have left, your friend, your partner, to imagine you might escape the certainty of his conclusion? 

Your gaze is flighty. It carries raindrops, flutters on soft wings, between him and the intricate, statuette angles of his face. Between the ground and the desk, and the glowing Hexcore. He has rarely seen you so unsettled. When your emotions run high, you hide them from him; unsuccessfully, he might add. Your wrist flexes beneath his palm as he feels your hand clench, and unclench. 

Little by little, you're tugging his heart from between his ribs. Tearing it apart like petals pulled, like the games you used to get lost in when you both were kids; you love him, you love him not —

"I can't stay. I wasn't- I shouldn't have tried to come back to the lab in the first place," You answer, dejected. His grip only tightens on your wrist when you pull. "Viktor, please." 

"Answer me. I need you to say something," Viktor grits out, voice getting louder, his shoulders tensed with frustration. "What is the cause of this- this fracture in between us?" 

Your arm drops. Your bottom lip quivers, and your breath gets caught in your lungs. The expression on your face is more sore than he's ever seen it, painful enough to kill, bordering on bursting into tears. 

And then, your voice quiets. "I don't want to watch you die." 

The Hexcore gives off a low, rumbling sound. The lab becomes quiet enough to hear the individual ticks of machinery gears. 

Viktor's grip loosens on your wrist, only slightly. He doesn't speak, he can't listen to his heart or his head when he's placed between the persistent thrumming of both. You aren't looking at him. Regret dawns on your face, then sadness, then something he can't recognize when you turn your head away. Fatigue curls into his system, and settles amongst everything else: the guilt, the anticipation. The raw, forceful tenderness. 

It's a reminder that you're right. 

The passing of each slow second seems to exist for just the two of you. Dragging on and on. Barely helping him to find any answers. If only there was more time. 

Words could never be enough, burying your emotions like lodging a knife way deep in your chest isn't working. Your partner was made to burn bright, to exist as an act of defiance itself. To dedicate his mind and his body and his bruised hands to progress, no matter the obstacles or limitations, the past grievances or untold emotions. 

So many moments were never adequately spent. Days and weeks across years taunted you, moments spent as friends and colleagues, despite half of you belonging to him. 

You just needed one push, one thrust into the light to stop you from holding back, because you knew you risked ruining everything. But if Viktor continues, if the Hexcore grows more and more dangerous, if the council continues to require more of him, and what you haven't spoken about becomes true — there won't be anything left to ruin.

And as he watches you collapse, firm on the outside but weak on the inside, turning back to him because you have to, not because you want to, Viktor finally understands. 

He knows this body is… wilting. 

Decaying; he can feel every ounce of newfound weakness in his limbs, knows he's a servant to his own existence as it waits for him to waste away. Many from the Undercity are much less fortunate. He is grateful you are stronger than him. 

More pressingly, he is acutely, abruptly aware of how little time he's spent with you — it runs as fierce in his chest as the hourglass-shaped reminders of the short span he has left. You used to be inseparable, you shared the same dreams. Your talks weren't limited to melancholy utterances of, Have you eaten yet? and, Is your leg okay? and, I never see you anymore, will this time be the last? 

How he's chosen to treat himself are small deaths, in a way. Promises to join you later that led to nothing, nights of exhaustion framed by mornings of fading in and out. He's followed his own guide to avoidance, the steps were simply laid out differently. He's grown sick of it, truly. And deep down, or perhaps on the surface, he is so, terribly exhausted. 

Swallowing thickly, you remain frozen in place, waiting for him to give up, for his hand to slip from your wrist. When it does, you continue to linger. Your heart pounds loud in your ears. Little glances at him greet you with his face downcast, his shoulders slumped. 

You sigh — and you decide this can't be it, or perhaps you're just not ready. You draw yourself dangerously close, to trail your knuckles down Viktor's sharp jaw as a weak apology. 

If there's one thing he isn't accustomed to, it's throwing logic to the wind. Viktor tries to think of this like his notes, attempts to categorize and interpret these emotions. He imagines there's diagrams and logs in his own swirly handwriting, outlines that would guide him to precisely what he needs to do. 

None of it works, of course. It's a terribly juvenile line of thinking. And he's rarely one to give into impulsivity, but you make it so difficult to think, to focus. 

His breathing is already quickening and sharpening, creating pockets of light in his weak lungs, even through the reminders of his own mortality's shadow. Nothing is more important than the feeling you cradle in his chest, bright and fate-defying. 

It would not be like him to accept this. To fade out with a hundred contributions unfinished, a thousand words unspoken. Confessions meant to fall from his voice like meteor showers, fears and regrets with no way to form on his tongue. The thought alone leaves him troubled, choked. His jaw tightens in frustration, only relaxing when the ghost of your fingertips guides him to. 

Low light frames you, the features of your face troubled; oh, he can hardly remember the last time he's seen your smile. But he remembers, knows it to be beautiful. The slight softening his gaze undergoes as it flickers across you is utterly familiar — you pointed it out, once. 

Your eyes overfill with warmth, they melt like amber. Your pupils widen like big, lovesick moons. His head can't help but spin; there's so much he never realized, when you did.

His hands like to absently search for something to fiddle with when he needs to think. His fingers have a habit of tapping against something methodically: his desk, the spine of his notebook, his own forehead. The mark above his mouth follows his lips, when they tip into a smile. He's doing it now, surely. Softening in your afterimage. Gaze warm, honeyed, hopeful. 

No, he isn't sure if his fate can be changed; he's treading close, but he isn't dying yet. The Hexcore is unresponsive to every stimulus he's attempted, but his research is far from complete. There are mountains of quandaries he isn't sure he can fix, pitfalls remaining just out of his control. All but one, all but this. This is something he could do, something he can change. 

You almost speak. Almost give some useless, parting words when his tired, gentle eyes drift back to yours, two ships on the same sea. He's inquisitive, hesitant, his brows creased together in thought and with conviction. The mere sight of him — hair a mess, skin pallid, ignites a thousand feelings and worries in your gut; a lighter tossed to a puddle of gasoline. 

It's something Viktor picks up on. 

You look pained. Unsure of yourself, from the way your eyes can't quite meet his own, from how your hand slips away from his cheek, as everything in you threatens to disappear. Weary, as you gaze at him like you've already lost him. 

You've forgotten how to read him, he realizes. Caught up on what you might lose, the both of you have forgotten what you could have. Viktor's heart feels like it might burst, with enough force to make the sun's implosion look weak, and you don't understand, he'd have to show you. 

He takes it as a sign. Grasps the last chance you've extended to him, and runs with it as fast as he can. 

His name dies on your mouth, before you have the chance to speak it. Echoes haunt your soul when his palm finds your cheek, solid, sure; Viktor pulls you in hard, threads of distance easily closed, and he presses his lips to yours with an intensity that feels vividly visceral. 

It won't fix what's already been done. This isn't a promise, falling short between being reassurance and becoming a goodbye. It isn't the way he would want to confess, if fate was kind enough to give him a choice. 

But Gods, logic and reason, worry and mortality are all melting into nothing. Fading and fizzing into the sky, budding and beginning anew in his lungs — because for so long, he has needed this, needed you. As fiercely as dead parchment longs to be burned. 

Your body immediately goes tense in surprise. Your arms awkwardly hover in place, until Viktor's head tilts, following the gentle aria, his palm brushing from your jaw to your cheek to hold you close — as though you're still prone to vanishing, if he were to let go. Like this is the beginning of too many firsts, and even more lasts. This kiss is worthy of savoring. 

So, you do. You let your eyes flutter closed. You shift forwards with a shaky step, practically stumbling into him. 

It's sweeter than you ever could have pictured. The subtle roughness to his chapped lips. The slight tickle of his breath, when you pull apart for long enough to hesitate, but not enough to gain the wisdom to stop. 

Soft kisses draw you further, closer. A hand holds his cheek, a palm braces to his shoulder. Careful to use little force, to avoid any accidental hurt. 

Viktor follows, leans back, has you bending closer as you get caught in his butterfly effect; blue light bathes you, and the Hexcore shifts, utterly radiant. There's a moment of separation, a brief second where your eyes barely get to flutter open. A pause that promises to be your last opportunity for regret. Greedy and urgent, brutally eager, Viktor drags you back in, keeping you caught in his penumbra. Coaxing you to cage him in — to kiss him like you mean it. 

The taste of you is vivid, perfect, intense, rich; you make charged electricity glitter down his spine when your fingers curl into the soft, chestnut tresses of his hair. Grasping, pulling, leaving it even messier than it already was before. 

Your lips part, your breath forms an intoxicating meld with his. And he is only foolishly, stupidly human. Made of flesh and bright dreams, etched with soft skin and fervent desires. Too weak, desperate, and caught in your echo to contemplate anything but the way his own name sounds — the V is a soft vibration, the completion of the consonants makes it sound like reverence — when it's breathed into his mouth. 

Hazily, he feels your palm press, shoving gently to his chest, pushing his back against the desk in a clumsy effort to bring yourself closer. His chair shifts slightly from the movement, rusted wheels grating the tile. Your palm finds its place between his lower back and the desk's firm edge, bracing some of his weight, and acting as a buffer, keeping him from pressing against it. 

Viktor melts underneath you, breathes a soft noise into your mouth that begs you not to stop — as if you could. As if you haven't wanted this in an unquantifiable amount of ways, across an infinitum of discarded daydreams. You're left to steal gasps in between, clinging onto quickened sighs that rival the struggle of keeping your head above water, as wild waves crash over your skull. 

Out of breath, he blindly fumbles to find your shoulder; pushes gently, silently asks you for a moment of reprieve. 

You draw back immediately. You're unable to stop yourself from shuddering when he softly breathes your name. Familiar accent curling around the syllables, giving them life and importance like your name was made for him to say. To whisper, to covet, to plead. 

"Lásko," Viktor coos, as his eyes grow heavy. Glinting, with a spark of zeal that tells you to stop holding back. 

You're well acquainted with the warm, softhearted nickname. You know it to be something Viktor taught you himself, between gentle explorations of the few things you didn't already know about one another, when your late-night curiosity and desire to learn led you to, Oh, and what name would you use for someone special? 

His jaw grits; his next words, murmured in his mother tongue, resemble a sharp, possessive swear. His head tilts with yours when you lean closer — but you shift, falling in to let your lips find his neck. 

The kisses you place there are hurried, desperate; like rays of light, as if you don't have time. Obediently, he stifles a whimper, and allows his head to fall back. It leaves plenty of room for your wandering hands to crinkle and press aside his shirt collar, and you place your lips on the firm, jutting curve of his collarbone. 

You find the twin moles on his neck tendon, blessing a kiss there, near desperate enough to bruise. You follow them like a treasure map, to kiss the perfectly-placed mole above his mouth. Your palms cup his face faintly. Then, you sweetly kiss the mark on his opposite cheek, your lips warm, laced with fervent sparks. 

Viktor shudders, he feels lighting race up his spine and split him open like a scythe. He's been avoiding his own declining reflection for weeks upon months now, but he doesn't need to remember much of himself to still know exactly where you're kissing, like the back of his hand. 

The ghost of your lips just above his mouth, and then to the apple of his cheek send a thick, syrup-sweet realization reeling through him. His moles. It reminds him of fingertips playfully tapping his face. Of soft comments and pretty compliments, portraits of his own image that he'd never forgotten because they were from you. 

When you hear the hitch in his breath, he swears he feels you smile against him. He's certain, once you shift back down to his neck, to repeat the process all over again. Placing messy kisses onto his soft skin, worshiping the intricacies he would've never thought were admirable. Memorizing each placement as though it's deliberate, like making a map of the night sky's constellations. And Viktor swallows, shakes, softens. 

Blindly, you search for where his hand has been kept at your side. You grasp it, and pursue the natural interlacing of fingers: yours fitting perfectly between the gaps of his. 

Trying not to shudder, failing when your breath fans against the right-angle corner of his jaw, he guides his free hand to trace the small of your back. His fingertips are gentle, hesitant. Careful brushes akin to a study, an exploration. 

With a dizzy mind and even more muddled thoughts, he doesn't expect when you support your weight by placing your knee on his stool, between his legs — when you lean in close and fast and hard, crashing your lips against his once more. One kiss isn't enough, so you kiss him again; you let yourself be pulled in on his current, and he forgoes breathing to drink you in instead. 

Your body arches into his touch, curves when his palm presses flat to your back, attempting to feel as much of you as possible. You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded would leave an imprint. You'd have something to remember what this meant, what his touch felt like. 

Seconds and minutes bleed into one another. You can barely tell where he begins, and you end. Two halves of the same anatomy, you can feel the thrum of his inherent light beneath your breastbone. 

The Hexcore watches. Pulses, hard enough to make pens begin to roll across the desk. To topple a precarious stack of diagrams, which sends a few papers fluttering to the ground, to make the steel marbles of a Newton's cradle clumsily clink together. 

Neither of you notice. The response Viktor's been searching for spikes just beyond his reach. You make him feel weightless, as though the fragility of his own vessel is more of an afterthought, until he could be ripped into fragments and you would be there to put him back together. Viktor's palm holds the back of your neck, his head tilts with yours, and you kiss. Falling into one another, only unfalling to breathe. Your atoms melt into his particles, blossoming a blur between your two shapes. Your heart pounds with his, to a rhythm so exact they could be mistaken for the same singular beat. 

Finally pulling away requires a mountain's worth of strength and effort. You only do so because you've got Viktor's back pressed hard against the desk, and he's practically about to fall off his chair. 

You both needed to breathe. It takes several moments for your head to stop spinning. You can barely focus on anything, but the bruising of your lips and the skip of your heartbeat. Stumbling back, sliding from his chair to offer him more room, you cup his jaw in both palms. Soft and blissfully tender, as though this is what they were made to hold. 

Viktor sighs hard, gasping heavily. His skin is slightly flushed, still warm to the touch. His gaze stays on you, basking in your afterglow. You're used to him flinching away. A slight hesitation always laces through his fingers when you try to grab his hand. His muscles tense on instinct whenever your arm wraps around him, braced to help support his weight. 

But this time, your palms hold his face, your thumbs brush his skin, and he melts into your touch, unburdened. Gaze fluttery, expression relaxed. Giving in at last, after countless ages of starvation. 

The low light of the lab, and the soft glow of the Hexcore's rune matrix — quiet, now — frame his face in outlines of shadow and hues of cerulean. Shades of blue meld with the honeycomb of his eyes, dulling the color. Clouds over a fading sun. 

He hears the slight shake in your breath first, before he feels a tiny droplet hit his cheek; and you're leaning forward, trying to hide. Eyes shut tight, as you rest your forehead against his. 

"Sorry, I-" Viktor murmurs, weak and faint. So quiet, you almost fail to hear. "I know this does not… fix things." 

Oh. He hasn't seen you cry since you were both kids. 

Viktor remembers clumsily trying to comfort you, making a crude somewhat-flower-pinwheel out of scrap metal as a gift, because he thought it wouldn't fix everything, but it might make things a little bit easier. For a time, anyway. 

Reality is often a cold, cruel overseer. Remembering how to breathe again brings sharp pain into his lungs, it returns an ache to his tired shoulders and his strained leg. His vision comes back into focus, his future returns to taunt him but this time, something is different. 

He feels a spark. A newfound wave of ambition. The radiant golden hour, before a bright, final breakthrough. 

"It's fine," You breathe, weak and fragile, with a meager shrug of your shoulders that says you are anything but. "I didn't expect it to." 

Viktor grasps your chin, gently shifting you back to give him space to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray droplet from your cheek. He tuts: a soft, teasing, tch sound. "Ah, but for a time, the world nearly felt miles away. Did it not?" 

His gaze is hopeful, almost nervous. Trying to gauge any slight shift in your reaction. Thankfully, his voice seems to swiftly bring you back to life. You laugh a bit, wiping the remainder of tears away with the back of your hand; there's the smile he's always admired. 

"Like we were melting into each other," You admit, a little shy, tenderly wistful. Your heart unfurls in your chest like a bright, pretty blossom. It's fitting for the both of you to recollect, to try and analyze the intricacies of every situation. "It was…" 

You're pausing, trying to find the right description, as you rest your arms around his shoulders in something of a half-hug. It was lovely? Captivating? Addicting? 

You shake your head. You're glancing away, because even remembering kissing him is enough to make your heart pound, enough to tempt you to pull him in again. Viktor tilts you back towards him, his finger lightly tapping your jaw. 

"Hm- Breathtaking?" He muses, "Better than you could have dreamed?" 

The brief lilt of confidence he embodies, words smooth as they're carried on his accent, pleasantly reminds you of when he was younger. Far too composed, and eager to prove himself. He follows it through, coaxing you forwards with a palm to your side. You're gentle; most of your weight, you support yourself, until Viktor pulls you down, patiently and decidedly guiding you to settle against his lap. 

"You know," You're cooing, head tilted, "That sounds an awful lot like a confession." 

You can see each subtle heave of Viktor's chest, expanding with every long breath he takes in. It's a tight fit. His stool is barely wide enough to accommodate himself, let alone you. His brace presses into the back of your leg just slightly: jutting metal, protruding bolts. The spread of his thighs leaves you with a small amount of space, but still forces your body to press awfully close to his. 

You're in the perfect position to witness every detail of his face. His tired eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his nose. His thick brows pinch slightly, forming a faux pout, and you reach up. You brush your thumb from his temple to his brow, relishing in the instant softening of his expression. 

"Perhaps it is one. Or, actually-" Viktor hums, inquisitive. "It contains the potential to be one, if I decided to elaborate." 

"Oh? Enlighten me." 

A pause. Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he ruminates, and your fingertips push fluffy strands of hair from his face to tuck behind his ears. 

"For so long, I… ached to be close to you." His tone is calm, temperate. It twists a shiver up your spine, cool and heaven-sent. His palm trails and caresses your face; a lesson in restraint, as he tries to stop himself from pulling you in once more. "It was a pipe dream. I assumed I was… too late." 

"I thought- I was sure you didn't-" Your shoulders grow tense and the bridge of your nose knots up, you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger and pull it away to admire the resounding curl. "Since when?" 

Viktor exhales. "We have been effectively inseparable since the day we met, I am certain you still remember when the Undercity kids would laugh and- and make jabs at my obvious crush. But, you are searching for something specific. In that case, there is one instance." 

This time, you don't have to ask him to elaborate. 

A palm tracing down the column of your neck, idle yet admiring, Viktor takes one more steady, deep breath. "It was the Progress Day after we had finalized the Hexgates. The council's afterparty was… stifling. I was fortunate to have convinced you to attend. You wore such gorgeous attire. Jayce commented, stated I was unable to take my eyes off of you. I denied it. In hindsight, it was more than obvious." 

The party was hardly your usual scene. Viktor was always the one who wound up convincing you to attend every Progress Day. 

He'd mention you should vouch for your contributions, try to mingle. You were fine with dressing up for an hour or two, but all of the drinking and fraternizing — you found the presentations about new technology to be interesting, but everything to happen afterwards was tiring, to put it bluntly. 

The occasion then was more special than most, though. There was a difference in the way Viktor asked you, sounding hopeful and stress-bound. It seemed important to him, and so it was doubly precious to you. 

"I joined you on the balcony, once I was able to shake the flocks of investors." Viktor continues, thinking, thumbing through all of the details, "You'd been saving a cocktail for me all night, if you remember. Something made with rum- apple cider, I believe." 

Viktor recalls overhearing several of your conversations. Your excitement to show off what you invented together was palpable. You made the room shine, he thinks. He watched you go on and on, when you thought he wasn't listening, assuming he was busy with his own consultations. Viktor zoned out of them, truly. Once the day's festivities are over, the rich folk of Piltover are more interested in finances than progress. 

Your words were so kind. Viktor is amazing, have you met him yet? Every sponsor and socialite would know your partner to be intelligent, inventive, incredible. He doesn't compare. It's funny, how Viktor saw the same qualities in you. 

For most of the night, you were separated; Viktor was busy with the swarm of fancy patrons, all of Piltover's finest hoping to get the latest gossip on what the partner to the Man of Progress would come up with next. Luckily, the both of you chose the same hideaway to try and escape the crowd. 

"I had been waiting for such a moment- to speak with you. You offered me your congratulations. Complimented me, on my performance of the short speech you helped me to memorize. And… so clearly, I remember you said, 'I'm so proud, Viktor. But I knew you could do this.'" 

I knew you could. No underestimations, never a doubt in his potential. You believed in him, even when no-one else did. When there weren't eager investors and a fawning council, just you and him, the suffocating smog of the Undercity, and his foolish dreams. Within the gaps in between, your praises sung as loud, unbidden, echoing strums. 

He supposes he's going to have to ask again for your faith, just one more time. 

Viktor's gaze stays focused down, for a moment. Contemplative, emotional. 

"I almost kissed you right then." He glances up to you, finally. "But-" He hums, then sighs, "There were benefactors still lingering just beyond the balcony, some of which already decided to inquire extensively about my personal life. I would have hated for our first kiss to incite such a scene." 

Viktor admires the tender kindling of gentleness on your face. Slightly pained, despite the hints of softness. It's his cue to find your cheek, to hold you close and oh-so softly like he did from the start; the cliff before the waterfall, his first step in to drown with you. 

Nothing will ever return to simplicity. But Viktor refuses to regret this, decides he should face it head on. Every building conflict, these budding emotions, the remnants of how your lips felt on his; tenderly unforgettable, a crucial step that he refuses to forget. 

You can feel the slight tremble to his fingers, the calluses on his palm — 

"Vik-" 

"I need to have your trust." 

Your eyes widen. 

"Viktor," You're starting again, "You already do- you always have. I don't want you to hesitate, you can-" 

"No, no, the Hexcore," Viktor corrects. He takes a quick glance between you, and the shifting runes of his project's surface. Glowing and fluctuating, a marvel even when it is dormant. "There is much I have not yet told the council. Nor Jayce, nor you." 

A newfound flicker of conviction blazes behind his sun-bound eyes. A brightened enthusiasm to solve any puzzle he's presented with, a key twisted into a door that he never thought would open. 

Your gaze is curious, attentive, then clearly conflicted, and he feels his jaw start to tighten. In spite, he continues, speaks with his entire chest, even though his hands tremor at the thought, and his voice is much too soft and broken and he hates the sound it makes when it's breaking — 

"You are the one thing I cannot lose." Viktor holds your face lovingly, captures you in a statue-like state of devotion, as he fights against the gnawing roughness at the back of his throat. "I believe I can solve this, but I need to know that to any end, you will follow. Please." 

It's something he's already sure of, against the faint threads of doubt in his mind. Of course you would, if he was the one to ask. The both of you are knit together as endlessly as the lines that connect the constellations, he just needs to hear you say it. 

You offer him a weakened smile, your touch brushing the curve of his face like fingertips would caress the arch of a flower's petal. "Do what you think is right. I trust you." 

Viktor softens. 

There's bittersweet catharsis in finally admitting the truth, along with an endless chasm threatening to swallow him whole — and for now, for the rest of the night, at least, he wants nothing more than to fall in with you. 

"My love," He murmurs; he draws you close, with the pull of the sea to the moon. He dares to press one more faint kiss to your cheek, despite knowing how infinitely difficult it will be to pull away. "My inspiration," A kiss to the opposite cheek, then. "My little spark." 

The lab remains quiet, dark, save for the low hum, and the glowing orbit of the Hexcore. Viktor leans his head against your chest, relaxes further once you begin gently toying with his hair. And finally, fully, he allows his heavy eyes to close. 

[ectoplasmer]

melv was pestering me about something last night, probably about how i needed to go to bed instead of finishing a paper, and somehow he ended up offhandedly referring to himself as “my” husband when trying to convince me to sleep, and legitimately i just. started crying dhdkdhd

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Part Two

Summary: Penelope hosts a brunch, Derek tells Spencer not to force you to talk to him. You make a new friend with a client, they convince you to go to the brunch.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, regret of past decisions, Penelope playing match maker

Word count: 8k

a/n: Spencer and you finally talk!!!

main masterlist prologue part one part three part four

You’ve been avoiding every time Derek invites you to go out with the BAU team since the embarrassing incident at the bar. Each time you decline, you can hear the disappointment in his voice, but the anxiety bubbling up in your chest whenever you think about seeing Spencer again is enough to keep you from saying yes. The embarrassment of that night still haunts you, and every time Derek mentions the team, you feel your heart squeeze with panic. 

To keep your mind off everything, you throw yourself into your work, accepting new clients and piling on extra projects. You stay late at the office, ensuring your schedule is so packed that you don’t have time to think about anything but deadlines, designs, and color schemes. It’s easier to focus on creating beautiful spaces for other people than it is to deal with the mess inside your own head. 

Meanwhile, Spencer is struggling. Ever since that night at the bar, the memory of you running out haunts him. He keeps replaying the look on Derek’s face, the way you bolted the second he walked in, and it twists his gut with guilt. But it’s not just that moment—he’s also haunted by the memory of how he left you all those years ago, how he slipped out of your bed without a word, too scared to stay and too ashamed to face you. The weight of those two moments presses down on him, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Spencer's work starts to suffer. During cases, he’s distracted, zoning out during briefings and losing his train of thought mid-sentence. Hotch notices first, his brows knitting with concern as he watches Spencer fumble through his notes during a meeting. JJ, too, picks up on the change, her subtle glances in his direction filled with quiet worry. They don’t push him—yet—but Spencer knows they’re watching, waiting for him to say something. But he doesn’t. He just keeps burying it, trying to push it all down.

Spencer also finds himself trying to be around Derek more often, finding excuses to stop by his desk or catch him after work. He never outright asks about you, but it’s clear that’s why he’s hovering. Whenever Derek casually mentions having seen you, Spencer’s eyes light up, a flicker of hope in the midst of his guilt. But Derek’s updates are always brief, never giving away too much. He knows you’re still hurting, and he’s not about to let Spencer think everything is fine when it’s not.

Spencer hovered near Derek's desk, tapping his fingers nervously on the edge as Derek typed away at his computer. The bullpen was quiet for once, just the low hum of conversation in the background. Spencer cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything right away, trying to come up with something that didn’t sound too obvious.

“Hey, uh, Derek,” Spencer started, his voice a little too casual. “You have any plans this weekend?”

Derek didn’t even look up, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly what this was about, but he played along. “Yeah, got a few things going on,” he replied, his fingers still tapping at the keys. “Why, you got something in mind, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around the room as if he wasn’t really sure what to say next. “No, I just... thought maybe we could grab a drink or something.” He paused for a beat. “Or, you know, if you’re hanging out with anyone else...?”

Derek chuckled softly, finally glancing up at Spencer with a knowing look. “Anyone else, huh?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You mean, like Y/N?”

Spencer’s face flushed immediately, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I mean... I wasn’t... just curious,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

Derek sighed, leaning forward on his desk and crossing his arms. “Look, man, she won’t just magically want to see you. You know that, right?”

Spencer’s face fell, the small flicker of hope that had sparked just moments ago snuffed out. He swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I just... I guess I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

After a long silence, Derek finally spoke up again. “Look, man,” he said, his voice a little gentler now. “You can’t keep hovering around me, hoping I’ll tell you she’s suddenly okay with everything. It’s gonna take time. And you’ve got to give her space.”

Spencer exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he whispered. 

Derek gave him a small nod, watching as Spencer turned to leave, his shoulders slumped under the weight of everything left unsaid. But just before Spencer walked away, Derek called after him.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his tone a little softer now. “For what it’s worth... I think she’ll come around. But you’ve gotta be patient. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”

Spencer looked back at Derek, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes again, but this time tempered with the understanding that it might take more time than he’d like. “Thanks, Derek,” he said quietly, before turning and walking back to his desk, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

At this point, the rest of the team is fully aware of why you keep declining their invitations and why Spencer’s been so off lately. Penelope, in particular, can’t stand seeing anyone so miserable. After hearing about your history with Spencer from Derek, she’s taken it upon herself to figure out how to fix this mess. Penelope’s always been a sucker for a happy ending, and she refuses to believe that this is how your story should end.

So, she starts plotting. She ropes Derek into her schemes, convincing him that if anyone can get you two to reconcile, it’s them. Derek, though hesitant at first, agrees. He knows you, and he knows Spencer, and as much as he wants to stay out of it, he also wants both of his friends to be happy. 

Penelope sat at her desk, typing furiously away, when Derek walked up, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching her with a raised brow.

"Alright, Penelope, spill it," Derek said, voice low with suspicion. "What are you up to?"

Penelope’s fingers paused on the keyboard as she slowly turned to face him, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said sweetly, though her eyes betrayed her scheming.

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, don’t play dumb with me. I know you too well. You’ve been up to something ever since that mess at the bar.”

She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m plotting just a little, but it's for the greater good.” She sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. “I mean, you want Y/N and Spencer to make up, don’t you?”

Derek hesitated, running a hand over his head. “Look, it’s not like I don’t want that, but... you’ve met Y/N. She’s not going to be happy if we force them together.”

Penelope waved her hand dismissively. “Pish posh! I’m not forcing anything. I’m simply creating a situation where fate can do its thing.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Picture this: we invite Y/N to one of my brunches, or maybe to your next team gathering, and oh! Surprise! Spencer’s there. They bump into each other, sparks fly, and—boom! Reconciliation.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You really think it’s that simple?”

Penelope's eyes widened in exaggerated innocence. “Of course not. But it’s better than both of them moping around like lovesick teenagers.”

Derek sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mama, I want them to figure it out, but Y/N’s... she’s been through a lot. I don’t want to push her too hard. If she finds out we’ve been scheming, she’s going to be pissed. You have no idea how stubborn she can be.”

Penelope leaned forward, placing her hands flat on her desk. “Which is exactly why we need to be subtle about this, my sexy, sculpted cupid. We’re not going to push them. We’re just going to nudge them in the right direction. And if it doesn’t work? Then we back off. But I refuse to sit by and watch Spencer be miserable, and know she’s miserable too, when we could help.”

Derek looked down at her, his jaw tightening as he considered it. “And what if Y/N doesn’t want to see him? She hasn’t exactly been jumping at the chance to hang out with the team since that night.”

Penelope shrugged, giving him a hopeful smile. “Then we let it be. But Derek, what if this is the closure they both need? Or better yet, another chance? We owe it to them to try.”

Derek groaned, knowing she wasn’t going to let it go. “Alright, fine. But if this backfires, Garcia, you’re taking the blame.”

Penelope grinned triumphantly, clapping her hands together. “Trust me, Hot Stuff, it won’t backfire. This is going to work.”

Derek shook his head, laughing under his breath as he turned to leave. “You better be right.”

Penelope’s voice followed him as he walked out. “Oh, I’m always right when it comes to matters of the heart, Derek Morgan. Just wait and see!” 

Derek muttered under his breath, “We’ll see about that.” But deep down, he couldn’t help but hope she was right.

Their plan starts simple—just trying to get you both in the same room again, even if it’s by accident. As the wheels of their plan start turning, both you and Spencer remain blissfully unaware of their scheming. You’re too busy drowning in work, and Spencer’s too tangled up in his own guilt to notice the subtle nudges Penelope and Derek are starting to orchestrate. 

—

The lunchtime crowd hummed quietly around you as you sat across from Derek at your favorite corner table. The restaurant had always been your go-to, a cozy, familiar space where you could relax and enjoy the food without worrying about the outside world. Today, though, you were feeling anything but relaxed. Derek was giving you that look—the one that said he was about to bring up something you’d been trying to avoid.

“So,” Derek began, cutting into his sandwich, his voice casual, but his eyes watching you carefully. “Penelope’s throwing one of her infamous brunches this weekend. Thought you might want to come.”

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. “I don’t know, Derek. I’ve been really busy with work, and—”

Derek held up a hand, interrupting you gently. “I know, I know. You’ve been taking on a lot of new projects lately.” He paused, his tone softening. “But you’ve been avoiding hanging out with the team since... well, you know.”

Your heart tensed a little, but you quickly pushed the feeling away, forcing a smile as you sipped your drink. “I’m just not ready to jump back into all that. It’s been nice keeping my head down and staying focused.”

Derek leaned forward, his eyes full of understanding but also a hint of concern. “I get it, sugar. I’m not saying you should force yourself into anything. But maybe... maybe it’s time to let yourself have a little fun again. No pressure, just brunch with some really cool people. Penelope’s dying to see you again, and so is the rest of the team.”

You hesitated, your fingers tapping lightly against the rim of your glass. The thought of seeing everyone again made your stomach twist. But what if Spencer was there? What if you had to see him? You weren’t sure if you could handle that yet.

“Is Spencer going to be there?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Derek paused, his fork hovering over his plate. He looked at you thoughtfully before answering, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to overwhelm you. “Honestly? Probably not.”

Your brows furrowed. “Probably?”

Derek shrugged, setting his fork down. “I haven’t heard anything about him coming, and knowing Spencer, he’s been pretty distracted lately. I doubt he’ll make it. But... even if he did, it wouldn’t be about him. It’d be about you. Hanging out with people who really want to get to know you better.”

You bit your lip, torn between wanting to stay in your bubble and knowing Derek was right. You’d been keeping yourself so busy with work that you hadn’t given yourself much time to just... exist outside of it. And as much as you hated to admit it, you really did like hanging out with Derek and Penelope and the rest of the team. 

But there was still that nagging worry—what if seeing them all again just brought back memories of Spencer? Of what happened at the bar, and everything that came before it?

Derek seemed to sense your hesitation, and he reached across the table, placing his hand on yours. “Hey, you’re not gonna be alone in this, alright? We’ve got your back. And if it gets weird or uncomfortable, we’ll bail. No questions asked.”

You met his gaze, seeing the sincerity there, the way he genuinely wanted to help you move past this. And honestly, maybe he was right. You couldn’t keep avoiding the world forever. Eventually, you’d have to face things—even the parts that hurt.

After a long moment, you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Alright,” you said, though your voice still held a trace of uncertainty. “I’ll think about it.”

Derek grinned, clearly pleased with your response, even if it wasn’t a solid yes just yet. “That’s all I’m asking, sweetheart. Just think about it.”

You smiled, though your mind was still turning over the idea. It wasn’t a decision you were ready to make just yet, but the fact that you were even considering it felt like a step in the right direction.

—

Derek found Spencer sitting at his desk, flipping through a stack of papers, though it was clear his mind was miles away. His usual hyper-focused energy was absent, replaced by an air of distracted tension that had been hanging over him for weeks now. Derek knew it wasn’t just the cases that had Spencer like this. It was you.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek said casually as he leaned against the side of Spencer’s desk, crossing his arms. Spencer looked up, startled out of his thoughts, blinking rapidly as if he hadn’t even noticed Derek approach.

“Oh, hey,” Spencer replied, a faint smile flickering on his lips. “What’s up?”

Derek didn’t waste any time. He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard by the rest of the team. “Listen, man, I wanted to give you a heads-up about something.”

Spencer sat up a little straighter, already sensing that this wasn’t just a casual conversation. “What is it?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, weighing his words carefully. “Y/N might be coming to Penelope’s brunch this weekend,” he said, watching Spencer’s reaction closely.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching as he processed the news. “She is?” His voice was quiet, a mixture of hope and nerves in his tone.

“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Derek continued, his tone more serious now. “You’ve gotta give her space, man. Let her come to you when she’s ready. She’s not gonna want you chasing after her or trying to force a conversation. If she shows up, it’s a big deal for her.”

Spencer gave Derek a sharp look. "I'm not a child, Morgan. I can handle this."

Derek nodded, lowering his hands. "Fair enough. I wouldn’t expect you to. Just... give her the space she needs, alright?"

Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Understood. I know I messed up, and I’ll give her space. But I’m not going to act like she doesn't exist. I care about her too much for that."

Derek gave him a small, encouraging smile. "That’s all I’m asking, man. Just be ready when the time’s right." With a final pat on Spencer’s shoulder, Derek straightened up. “See you at brunch, man. Just... take it easy.”

Spencer watched as Derek walked away, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his chest. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But for your sake, he was willing to wait.

—

On your most recent job, you quickly hit it off with Austin, the person you’re helping redesign their living space. They’re warm, funny, and easy to talk to, and the two of you click almost immediately. 

After finishing up the day’s discussion on design plans, Austin smiles and offers, “How about a cup of coffee before you head out? I make a mean brew.”

Grateful for the break and their company, you nod. “I’d love that.”

Austin heads to the kitchen, and you follow, feeling like you’ve made a new friend as much as a professional connection.

As you sit in the newly remodeled kitchen with Austin, the atmosphere feels warm and cozy. The soft glow of sunlight through the windows highlights the potted plants neatly arranged on the shelves, while the scent of fresh coffee fills the air. Austin hands you a mug, their smile easy and comforting as you settle into a chair.

You and Austin chat aimlessly for a while, exchanging stories and making easy, lighthearted conversation. The topics flow naturally—favorite movies, travel dreams, and funny stories from work. Eventually, the conversation shifts when Austin starts gushing about their partner, eyes lighting up as they tell you about the recent proposal and how they’re working to finish the house before their partner officially moves to Virginia.

“So, they proposed right there in the park,” Austin says with a dreamy grin. “I swear, I didn’t even see it coming. I was still thinking about what we were going to have for lunch, and then bam, ring in my face!”

You smile, warmed by their excitement. “That’s amazing. It sounds perfect.”

“It was,” Austin beams, looking star-eyed thinking about their fiance. Then, they turn to you with a curious glint in their eye. “Okay, so spill. Anyone tickling your fancy lately? I don’t see a ring.” They gesture to your bare hand with a teasing grin.

You laugh lightly, rubbing your ring finger absentmindedly as you sigh. “Yeah, maybe, well, no. There’s this... guy. But it’s complicated.”

Austin’s grin widens as they lean in, clearly intrigued. “Complicated, huh? Oh, now you have to tell me. What’s the tea?”

You take a breath, then dive into the story. You don't name names—you never know who’s going to know Spencer now—but you tell Austin about the guy from your past who broke your heart, the one who ghosted after everything. You explain how, years later, he's suddenly back in your life, and how seeing him has stirred up all those old feelings again, leaving you confused and unsure of what to do.

Austin listens intently, nodding as you talk. "That sounds rough," they say softly when you finish. "It’s totally valid to feel hurt, and it’s understandable if you don’t want to rush back into anything."

"Yeah, thank you—but... it’s been years. Shouldn’t I be over it by now?" you ask, feeling the familiar frustration rise in your chest. "I’ve been ignoring him, avoiding anything or anyone that might bring him back into my life, but now I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing."

Austin leans back, resting their mug on the table. "It’s not about how long it’s been; it’s about how it affected you. It’s okay to still feel hurt. But maybe... hearing him out could give you some closure. It doesn’t mean you have to forgive him or let him back into your life, but it might help you move forward."

You bite your lip, considering their words. "I don’t know if I can face him. What if he just makes things worse?"

Austin smiles, their expression soft but encouraging. "Only you know what you need. But remember, this isn’t about him. It’s about you. What do you need to feel at peace with all this? If hearing him out helps, then maybe it’s worth considering. If not, that’s okay too. Just make sure you’re doing what’s best for you, not what’s easiest."

Their words settle over you like a comforting blanket, making you feel understood. Austin seems to have a way of turning serious conversations into lighthearted moments, and you’re grateful for it.

"Plus," Austin adds with a grin, "if it goes badly, you can always stage a dramatic exit at the brunch. I’m talking about flipping tables and storming out—full soap opera style."

You laugh, the weight of the situation lifting just a bit. "You know, that might actually make it worth going."

"Exactly!" Austin beams. "But seriously, I think you should go. If nothing else, you'll get some great brunch food, and maybe—just maybe—you'll get the closure you're looking for. Worst case, you can leave and we’ll plan the perfect revenge."

Feeling more confident with their support, you finally nod. "Alright, I’ll go to the brunch."

Austin claps their hands together excitedly. "Good! And I’ll be here, ready to hear all the details afterward."

With that, the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon chatting and laughing, the heavy weight of indecision lightening with each joke and bit of encouragement. Austin’s easygoing nature and advice give you the nudge you need to face the upcoming brunch—and Spencer.

—

That night, as Spencer lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind began to wander, slipping into the memories of a time he hadn’t let himself revisit in years—college, the late nights in the library, the quiet moments spent with you. 

He could still remember the first time he saw you on campus, walking across the quad with your head down, focused on a book you were balancing in your arms. You hadn’t noticed him then, but he had noticed you—how could he not? The way you carried yourself, the quiet confidence in your demeanor. At first, he admired you from a distance, his heart catching whenever you passed by in a hallway or sat near him in the library. You had no idea, and he was too shy to ever approach you.

Then came the nights in the library, when fate—or maybe just a shared dedication to studying—brought you together. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above, the rustle of pages being turned, and the way your pens would scratch in unison over notebook paper as you both worked. He remembered how, over time, you grew comfortable with each other’s presence, exchanging little smiles, shared inside jokes, and eventually conversations that lasted longer than either of you planned.

There was one night, in particular, that stuck in his memory—a night when you two had stayed so late that the library lights started to dim, signaling closing time. The campus was quiet as you both walked out together, the cool air brushing against your faces. You had laughed about something, your eyes lighting up in the moonlight, and Spencer remembered how his heart had fluttered in that moment, wondering how someone could make him feel so at ease. He never thought he’d get to know you, let alone be someone you’d spend your nights with, even if just for studying.

And then came the night that changed everything. The night you had invited him over after finals, and things became more than just studying. He hadn’t expected it, didn’t even dare to imagine it, but when it happened, it felt... perfect. 

You had fallen asleep on his chest that night, your soft breaths a rhythm against his skin. He remembered lying there, tracing small patterns on your back, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his. It should have been the best night of his life—and in many ways, it was—but his mind, his insecurities, had taken over. He remembered thinking that you were too good for him, that someone like you wouldn’t want to stick around for someone like him. And that fear, that crushing fear of losing you, had driven him to leave.

Spencer swallowed hard as the guilt washed over him again. He had been so lovesick, so desperate to protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak he assumed would come. But in doing so, he had created a heartbreak that had lasted for years—for both of you.

Now, on the eve of seeing you again, the weight of it all pressed down on his chest like a heavy stone. The regret was unbearable, but so was the longing—the memory of your laughter, your smile, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. Spencer felt a deep ache in his chest, his heart pounding with the knowledge that he might never get the chance to tell you how much you had meant to him, how much you still did.

He had been infatuated with you all those years ago, and now, he realized, that feeling had never truly gone away.

Unable to sleep, Spencer tossed and turned, his mind refusing to quiet. Every memory, every regret, kept replaying on a loop. With a sigh of frustration, he finally threw the covers off and dragged himself out of bed, padding down the hall toward his office. 

He knew it was pointless, but something inside him—maybe it was curiosity, maybe guilt—compelled him to open his laptop. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before they moved almost automatically, typing your name into the search bar.

Within seconds, your business page appeared. Spencer hesitated before clicking, his heart racing, his palms suddenly clammy. It felt intrusive, like peeking into a part of your life he no longer had the right to know about, but he couldn’t stop himself.

As the page loaded, his eyes immediately went to the gallery of your work—beautiful, thoughtfully designed interiors that gave him a glance into you, your mind. He scrolled through the images slowly, taking in the details. The colors, the arrangements, the way you made spaces feel both warm and elegant. He had always known you were talented, but seeing the breadth of your work now, years later in a professional sense and not just sketches for class, filled him with a sense of pride. 

And then he saw it—your headshot, nestled at the top of the page alongside your name and title. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the picture. There you were, smiling, your eyes bright, your expression so familiar it made his heart ache.

Spencer leaned closer to the screen, his gaze fixating on the details of your face. He studied every line, every angle, as if trying to memorize you all over again. It had been so long since he’d seen you up close, but here, on this screen, you felt so near and yet so far. 

His fingers grazed the edge of the trackpad, hesitant, before he clicked on the image, enlarging it until it filled the screen. He stared, lost in the sight of you—how much you had grown, how much you had changed, but still so much the same. The emotions welled up inside him, a mixture of longing and regret, so intense he could hardly breathe.

He had left you, walked away when he was too afraid to face what he felt, and now, all these years later, here you were, thriving in a world he no longer shared with you. Spencer wondered if you had moved on, if you had someone else in your life now, someone who appreciated all the beauty and warmth you brought into the world.

But even more than that, he wondered if you would ever forgive him.

Spencer stared at your picture until the screen blurred, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness—he knew that much. But as he sat there, in the silence of his office, staring at the face he had missed for so long, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you would give him the chance to try.

—

You showed up to Penelope’s place early, just as promised, with Derek by your side. He immediately went to help her hang up string lights while you and Penelope stayed together, fussing over the final touches. The atmosphere was lively and fun, and you were glad you came today.

When you entered her kitchen, Penelope lit up. "Oh my God! Look at you! I am in love with your outfit!" she exclaimed, her hands clapping together in excitement. You grinned, feeling the compliment ease some of your nerves.

“You’re one to talk,” you gestured towards her own colorful ensemble, the vibrant red and playful green perfectly matching her quirky style. “You look like you stepped out of a fashion magazine—one that I desperately need a subscription to."

Penelope twirled dramatically, her beret perched at the perfect angle, making the charm bracelet on her wrist dangle and jingle. "Stop it, we’re just the most fashionable duo, aren’t we?" She winked at you before handing you a mimosa. "Okay, now drink up. We've got some brunch magic to make happen."

As you sipped the bubbly drink, you couldn’t help but feel the knot of anxiety loosen in your chest. You and Penelope moved around the kitchen, arranging pastries and fruit trays, talking about everything except the one thing you knew was still looming in the background—Spencer. But for now, with the lights twinkling outside, the mimosas in hand, and Penelope by your side, you allowed yourself to feel a small sense of peace.

As the morning drifted into late brunch hour, the doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of the first guests. You exchanged a quick, encouraging glance with Penelope before taking another sip of your mimosa, the fizz tickling your nose as you set the glass down.

“I’ll get it!” Penelope sang, already halfway to the door. You watched from the kitchen as she swung it open with her signature flair. “Elle! JJ! Look at you gorgeous queens!”

Elle was the first to step inside, her calm confidence radiating as she gave Penelope a warm hug. “You’re too much,” Elle smirked, though you could see the affection in her eyes as she gave Penelope a squeeze. 

JJ, all smiles, followed closely behind, her sunny personality lighting up the room the second she entered. “Garcia!” she exclaimed, leaning in for her own hug. “This place looks amazing, as usual.” She cast a quick glance around the room, taking in the string lights, the vibrant color scheme, and of course, the immaculate spread of food that had been lovingly arranged.

Penelope didn’t miss a beat. “Girls, you remember Y/N!” she called over, practically skipping as she gestured towards you. “She’s my stylish new partner-in-crime today.”

Elle and JJ turned toward you with warm, inviting smiles. JJ was the first to step forward, her kindness evident in her expression. “Y/N! Of course we remember. I’m glad you’re here!” She opened her arms for a quick, friendly hug, which you returned, grateful for her easygoing energy.

Elle followed suit, her smile softer but no less welcoming. “Good to see you again,” she said, giving you a nod of approval as she took in your outfit. “You’re definitely keeping up with Penelope in the style department.”

You laughed lightly, feeling the tension start to ease as you hugged Elle too. “I had to step up my game, knowing she’d outshine all of us,” you joked, throwing a playful glance at Penelope, who was already bouncing back towards the food to check on the platters.

Derek, meanwhile, appeared from the other side of the room, finishing up with the string lights. He clapped his hands together, grinning as he walked over. “Ladies! Looks like we’re in for quite the brunch.”

JJ raised her glass in response, smiling. “Cheers to that. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a proper get-together.”

Elle nodded in agreement. “Let’s hope the food tastes as good as it smells. You and Penelope outdid yourselves this time.”

Penelope shot her a cheeky grin. “Oh, honey, just wait until you taste it. Y/N’s been helping too—she’s a natural!”

You felt a small flush creep into your cheeks at the compliment, but the easy laughter and casual conversation swirling around you made it hard to feel too self-conscious. It was starting to feel like maybe this day wouldn’t be as nerve-wracking as you’d feared.

Next to arrive, in a much more subdued manner, were Hotch and Haley. Hotch entered with his usual calm presence, while Haley smiled warmly, her arm linked with his. She radiated a gentle energy that put you at ease immediately. As they approached, Hotch offered a small nod of greeting, his serious demeanor softened just slightly by the casual setting.

“Penelope, this place looks amazing,” Haley said, her voice filled with admiration as she took in the setup. “It’s so cozy and beautiful.”

Penelope beamed, twirling slightly as she accepted the compliment. “Why, thank you! Y/N helped with all the setup. We’re a dynamic duo today,” she said, sending you a proud wink.

Haley turned her attention to you, her smile genuine as she extended her hand. “Y/N, it’s great to meet you. I’m Aaron’s wife, Haley. Penelope mentioned you have an eye for design, and I can definitely see it.”

You shook her hand, grateful for her easy manner. “Thank you, Haley. I’m glad you like it. It’s nice to meet you too.”

Hotch gave you a polite smile as well. “Good to see you, Y/N,” he said simply, his voice carrying its usual quiet authority but without the edge it often had in more formal settings.

“It’s good to see you too, Hotch,” you replied, matching his composed tone.

The group began to chat casually, the energy shifting to a more relaxed rhythm with Haley’s calm presence balancing Penelope’s excitable nature. You found yourself blending in more easily than you expected, the unease you felt earlier starting to fade away as the conversation flowed naturally.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that, so far, everything was going smoothly. The brunch was shaping up to be a success, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment without worrying about what—or who—might come next.

But then, just as you were starting to relax, there was a knock at the door. The sound sent a jolt of anxiety through you, your breath catching in your throat as the lighthearted atmosphere suddenly shifted. You choked on a breath, your fingers tightening around your glass. 

Derek, noticing the slight change in your expression, patted your shoulder reassuringly before heading to the door. He swung it open with his usual confident ease, his grin widening as he greeted the new arrivals.

“Gideon! Reid!” Derek’s voice was full of his usual warmth, but when your eyes caught sight of Spencer standing just behind Gideon, your pulse spiked.

Gideon stepped inside first, laughing as he shook Derek’s hand. “You know how much Spencer hates driving. He practically begged me to pick him up,” he joked, casting a sideways glance at Spencer, who was lingering just outside the doorway.

Spencer offered a small, awkward smile, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket as he gave Derek a polite nod. "Yeah, driving... not my favorite thing."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you saw Spencer—looking the same, yet different. His hair was longer, his expression a little more weathered. He seemed hesitant, as if unsure of his place in the room, but when his eyes quickly scanned the space and landed on you, they widened ever so slightly.

Derek caught the momentary tension between you and Spencer, his jaw tightening subtly. He turned to the rest of the group, his tone trying to smooth over the sudden shift in energy. “Alright, everybody, make room for these two. Brunch is waiting to be devoured.”

Penelope quickly stepped forward to greet Gideon and Spencer with an exuberant smile, acting oblivious to the quiet storm brewing between you and the man now standing only a few feet away.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe, and turned away, praying no one could see the turmoil swirling in your chest.

Gideon, ever the perceptive one, glanced around the room, his eyes briefly scanning each face before they settled on you. He tilted his head slightly, the hint of a curious smile playing on his lips. Without missing a beat, he broke away from the small group forming near the entrance and made his way over to you.

“Hello,” Gideon greeted you warmly, extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jason Gideon.”

You blinked, momentarily startled by the direct introduction, but quickly reached out to shake his hand. "Y/N," you replied with a polite smile, though your voice wavered slightly, the nerves still simmering beneath the surface. "It’s nice to meet you."

Gideon’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied you for a moment, seeming to pick up on the tension you were trying so hard to conceal. “Derek speaks highly of you,” he added kindly, his tone gentle, as if sensing that you needed a little bit of reassurance.

Your stomach twisted, but you nodded in response. “He’s a good friend,” you said, glancing in Derek’s direction for a split second before focusing back on Gideon. 

The conversation had inadvertently drawn Spencer's attention. From the corner of your eye, you could see him turn slightly, his gaze shifting from Gideon to you. His posture stiffened, and though he remained rooted to his spot near the door, his eyes were now locked on you, a flicker of recognition passing through them.

There it was—the moment you had been dreading. You didn’t have to look directly at him to feel the weight of his gaze on you. Spencer, standing just a few feet away, realizing that you were here.

Gideon seemed to notice too. He glanced over his shoulder toward Spencer before turning back to you, his expression a little softer now, as if understanding something unspoken.

“Well,” Gideon said after a brief pause, “it was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He gave you a final smile before turning to rejoin the others, leaving you standing there with your pulse racing and the unmistakable feeling of Spencer’s eyes still on you.

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. This was exactly what you had been trying to avoid, but now there was no escaping it. You made brief eye contact, nodding in acknowledgement as Spencer gave you one of his infamous tight lipped smiles. 

Spencer stood frozen in place, his breath catching in his throat the moment Gideon’s conversation with you drew his attention. The sight of you—standing there, laughing politely at something Gideon said—was like a punch to the gut. He had been preparing himself for this, trying to steel his nerves, but nothing could’ve braced him for the actual moment of seeing you again.

You looked incredible, more radiant than he remembered, and the sight of you stirred up everything he had been trying to push down. The memories flooded back—the long nights in the library, the gentle teasing, the way your hand had felt in his, and the soft sound of your laugh. You should say something, he told himself. But his feet remained firmly planted on the floor, rooted in the swirl of emotions tightening his chest. 

Spencer felt a wave of heat rush over him. You looked so good—better than he’d ever allowed himself to imagine in the countless nights he’d lain awake thinking of you. That plaid dress you wore, the way it cinched at your waist, how your hair framed your face perfectly—every detail made him dizzy. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he tried to focus, but all he could do was stare. 

God, what am I supposed to say? You hadn’t looked at him again since the brief glance. The thought gnawed at him. Does she hate me? Is she angry? Does she even care that I’m here?

His mind spiraled deeper, the insecurity choking him like a vice. Every possible scenario played out in his head: You turning around, glaring at him with the bitterness you were more than entitled to feel; you ignoring him completely, dismissing him as though he didn’t matter. Both options made him feel sick. 

I don’t deserve to talk to her, he thought miserably. 

But he wanted to. He wanted so badly to close the space between you, to say something, anything that might take back the years of silence and cowardice. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, his mind screaming at him to move, to walk over, to apologize, to finally make things right. But Spencer stayed where he was, staring at you like a man drowning, desperately reaching for the surface, for something to anchor him—but unable to find it.

You shifted slightly, turning in his direction for just a second. Your eyes flickered toward him once more. The briefest glance, and then you quickly looked away.

It was enough to make his heart drop.

She can’t even look at me.

Spencer clenched his jaw, the painful mix of regret and longing clawing at his insides. He could hear Derek’s words echoing in his head—give her space, let her come to you on her terms. But the problem was, he wasn’t sure he could wait anymore. How could he, when just seeing you from across the room was this overwhelming?

He stood there, drowning in his own thoughts, desperate to say something, to do something that would fix it all. But he couldn’t. Not yet. And it was tearing him apart.

As the brunch carried on, Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, even though he was seated far enough that any chance of a conversation seemed impossible. You were right there, at the opposite end of the table, laughing, talking, and enjoying yourself with everyone else. Each time you laughed, it felt like a tug on his heart, reminding him of what you two had shared all those years ago.

The way you joked with Derek so easily, the way your banter flowed naturally—Spencer couldn’t help but feel that pang of jealousy creep in. It was irrational, but he couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of his mind whispering that maybe, just maybe, you had moved on with Derek. He tried to shake the thought, knowing how close you and Derek were as friends, but the insecurity was there nonetheless, gnawing at him.

Maybe that’s why Derek doesn’t want me to push things, Spencer thought bitterly, feeling the weight of his suspicions grow. Maybe he wants her for himself.

Spencer’s hands tightened around his glass, the icy chill of his now cold tea doing nothing to cool the heat rising in his chest. He knew he was being ridiculous, but the thought wouldn’t leave him. It stuck in his mind, festering as he watched Derek’s casual affection toward you. It didn’t help that you smiled at Derek the way you used to smile at him. 

When you excused yourself to make more tea, Spencer’s mind was spinning too much to stay seated. He couldn’t let the jealousy take control, but it was too late; it had already wrapped around his thoughts, suffocating any sense of logic. Before he realized it, his legs had carried him from the table, following you into the kitchen.

The moment you walked into the cozy kitchen that you'd helped Penelope prepare, the warm smell of the tea leaves filled the air. The clink of teacups and the sound of water boiling were the only things breaking the quiet of the room. You didn’t notice Spencer following you at first, too caught up in refilling the teapot and enjoying the brief solitude from the table’s conversations.

Spencer hesitated at the entrance to the kitchen, watching you from behind as you moved gracefully between the counter and the kettle. His heart was pounding, the thoughts racing in his mind, torn between his guilt over the past and the irrational jealousy clouding his judgment.

Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but thick with everything he was holding back. “Y/N.”

You turned at the sound of his voice, surprised to see him standing there, clearly not expecting this moment. The tension between you two was palpable, hanging in the air like a weight neither of you was ready to address.

"Spencer," you acknowledged softly, your hands still on the teapot as you stared at him. The awkwardness was undeniable, but there was something else too—years of unspoken words, regrets, and emotions neither of you had faced.

Spencer swallowed hard, his throat tight as he stepped further into the kitchen. "I... I just wanted to—um, I need more tea," he said, fumbling for words, clearly not sure how to approach the conversation.

“Oh, okay,” you replied, surprised that was all he said but pleasantly relieved at the simplicity of it. "I can make you a cup if you want."

Your offer seemed to melt some of the tension in Spencer’s demeanor. His expression softened as he realized you were still the same kind person he’d fallen for all those years ago. “Thank you, that’s really kind of you.”

You nodded, reaching for the teapot. "Milk and sugar? Honey?"

He let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, all of it, please. I like it sweet."

“I know,” you mumbled, the words slipping out naturally. You’d seen Spencer drink his overly sugary coffee so many times back in college, his sweet tooth no secret to you.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, fidgeting with his hair as he tried to keep the conversation light. "Do you still drink coffee? Or is it all tea now?"

You shrugged, pouring the tea into his cup. “I do both. No need for all that caffeine today.” You laughed softly. “For work, though? That definitely requires coffee.”

Spencer smiled, feeling a little more at ease. "Yeah, I get that. My body’s probably made up of pure coffee by now," he joked, happy he’d chosen to stick with casual conversation rather than diving into the deep, painful history between you two again. 

Maybe Derek was right—maybe you would come to him when you were ready. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, his heart sank. Derek. He remembered the way you laughed with him, how easily you’d fallen into a rhythm with him at the table. 

The jealousy he’d managed to suppress earlier crept back in, though he did his best to push it down again. You were being kind, and he didn’t want to ruin this moment. But still, the thought lingered—was Derek the one holding you back from wanting to talk to him?

But you’d already turned around, catching the pensive look on Spencer’s face. "Everything alright?" you asked, a little concerned by the way his expression had shifted.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, looking up at you with a soft, almost hesitant smile. "So, uh, you and Derek, huh?"

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Spencer’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cup as he mumbled, “How long have you guys been... seeing each other?”

You burst out laughing, surprising him. "Me and Derek? No, no, no," you said, waving your hands dismissively as you continued to chuckle. "He’s my best friend. That’s all."

“Oh," he nodded, clearly unsure. "I just thought—”

But you cut him off before he could finish, handing him his tea with a small smile. “Tea’s ready. Here.” Your voice was soft but awkward as you backed out of the kitchen. “See you out there.”

With that, you made your way back to the brunch party, leaving Spencer standing in the kitchen, processing what had just happened. 

That was the end of your conversation for the day, but it was enough for him. Spencer’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. 

He could work with this.

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

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[aurossaga]

Doubts cloud my Judgement

Venti x gn!reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word count: ~ 1.5k

Warnings: Alcohol mention

Summary: Learning to be vulnerable is no small task, even if it's for the ones you love.

The winds whip to and fro in the night, the steady rustle of the leaves quietly dulling the city’s noise. It was almost as if the air itself was feeling agitated, restless, almost anxious, and knew no other way to handle it but to tug and pull at the branches of trees, to wear at the city walls.

You were surprised when you stepped out onto the tavern’s balcony yourself. The winds in the city were always gentle in the past... Though, that thought did not occupy your mind for very long. You only adjusted your clothing in place, bracing yourself against the moderate winds as you looked around yourself… You were sure you’d seen the life of the party back downstairs disappear though this door earlier, and his absence was feeding a growing unease within you. Of course, it wasn’t very surprising that he’d managed to slip through your grasp yet again, he seemed to have a talent for that.

You have known Venti for quite some time now. A chance meeting in the plaza quickly grew into a well-maintained friendship, and you had fallen for him hard somewhere along those months you’d spent drifting in and out of each other’s lives. You know so much about him, all the way from his preferences in drinks to mindless thoughts on meaningless matters that reveal themselves in casual conversations… And the more you learnt about him, the more sure you were that you didn’t know the bard at all.

Venti doesn’t strike anyone as the type of guy to keep anyone at a distance like that, and at first, you were willing to believe so too. But the better you got to know him, the more he withdrew. The better you got at finishing his sentences, the less he started them at all. He’d smile, nod, encourage you to talk instead, keeping his cards close to this chest and his heart tucked away for reasons you couldn’t comprehend. That ends tonight, you decided. Weeks of this unexplained distance was starting to bother you.

Your eyes traced the steady-looking vines climbing the walls of the tavern’s exterior. Your brows furrowed as the insanity of the idea crossed your mind. You didn’t exactly have any other means of ascending the building, and if you knew that bard even half as well as you think you do, he’s sure to be up there on the roof. Still, you could fall. And it would hurt.

…

Yeah, like that was actually going to stop you.

You braced yourself as you grabbed onto the vines with your hands, and slowly hosted yourself up just a few feet from the ground to test the waters. When you found that the vines held your weight remarkably well, you started pulling yourself up, grabbing hold and steadily climbing the building. With a huff you were able to pull yourself up onto the roof, the familiar sight of terracotta tiles filling your view… And sat in the middle of the slanted roof was Venti, with his back turned to you, uncharacteristically absentminded. The sound of your steps didn’t register until you’re right by his side, at which point he jumped slightly, the reaction so small you could see how anyone else might have missed it.

“O-oh, Hello, friend! In need of some fresh air too, I presume?”

There was something about his tone that felt so…unsure. Like even he wasn’t buying his own guise anymore. And yet, he tried foolishly to keep it up, knowing very well it wasn’t getting by either of you. Curious.

“...Yeah. Do you mind if I sit for a bit?”

You decided to entertain it for a moment in an attempt at disarming the suddenly tense atmosphere. Venti’s shoulders sank in resignation as he realized this night could end one of two ways… And he wasn’t quite sure which outcome he feared more. Letting you in or shutting you out for good.

“Not at all.”

You sat down next to him, giving him a bit of space just for comfort’s sake. Venti noted your distance with a curious hum, his gaze finally rising from the red roof tiles to look in your direction. He held your gaze for only a moment before he averted his eyes again, clearing his throat nervously. The winds tug at your clothes as gusts crash against you.

“...Venti-”

“I don’t-”

You both spoke at the same time, cutting each other off. In any other situation you would have had a laugh at that… But tonight, not as much as an amused snicker, even.

“How did things get so weird between us, Venti?”

Your unsteady voice was quiet, almost drowned out by the gales. You looked down at your trembling hands, unsure if it was the nerves or the cold that had gotten to you. You didn’t get much time to ponder it before the bard next to you let out a huff, scooted closer and placed his hand over your trembling ones.

“Everything’s fine, my friend. Everything’s alright.”

His tone wasn’t one bit convincing as he flashed you a smile you didn’t believe for a second.

“Please. Just… give me an actual answer.”

His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly as he tensed up. You could feel the way his breath hitched on the winds, the way they shifted directions for a moment. His lips pressed into a thin line as he considered his next words very carefully, trying and failing several times over to find a way out of this confrontation. But, there was none.

“You know me so well it scares me.”

You weren’t expecting that. A part of you had worried he had figured out your feelings, and was looking for a way out of the friendship. Another was growing concerned he simply got bored of you. You… Did not expect to learn just how frightened he was by your shared bond.

“...Wait, what do you-”

His grip on your hand fastened ever so slightly, and caused you to hesitate. Your eyes drifted up to his figure, hunched over himself as he looked anywhere but right at you. A brief flash of panic crossed his pensive expression as you untangled your hand from his, but was quickly pacified as you reached up and brushed a strand of his hair out of his eyes. Finally, he looked at you properly.

“Venti, my dear… Can I ask you a question?”

You pleaded with a disarming smile.

“Y-yeah, of course.”

Venti stammered, his usual effortless confidence completely discarded. It was as if he realized trying to salvage that image was like fighting a losing battle.

“... What is it you’re scared of showing me?”

He went silent after that, his eyes narrowed as his nose scrunched up into a thoughtful expression. He had been mulling over that question many times the past few weeks, but he never found a satisfactory answer. He had spent many nights awake trying to determine what it was about you that he had suddenly grown so fearful of, enough to outweigh the joy he felt in your company. And only now as he stared into your endlessly patient eyes did he realize what it was. Venti didn’t give you a verbal answer, no… He did something you weren’t quite expecting. He pinched his eyes shut with a sigh, and dropped his head onto your shoulder.

You had never seen him be this vulnerable before. His boisterous persona and endless charm often gave people a very different idea of who he was, and you had long ago figured out the man beneath the surface was much softer, much more delicate than he’d ever intended to show you. Still, this was a shot in the dark for him. You could tell how tense he was, his shoulders rigid, his expression strained, his hands fidgeting with the frilly hems of his sleeves… He was so painfully uncomfortable with this expression of vulnerability, and yet he was trying.

You didn’t waste another second before you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a firm, loving hug. You heard him gasp slightly as his eyes blew wide, but he didn’t fight it. You huffed in relief, your hands slowly rubbing comforting patterns into the tense muscles on his back. The familiar scent of fresh breeze and cecilias that always seem to cling to him filled your nostrils as you embraced him tightly. It took him a few seconds to even register what was happening, almost in disbelief at the course of this wordless conversation.

Slowly, with an uncertainty that was utterly unfamiliar to him, Venti embraced you back. His grip was weak at first, but then he suddenly squeezed you close as if you’d disappear if he let go. His shallow breaths trembled as he fought to keep his composure.

“You deserve to be cared about, Venti. Please… let me. Don’t push me away.”

Your own voice quivered as emotions started running high. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that had you at the brink of tears, but holding back the sobs only got harder and harder… Until you heard Venti sigh. And you felt tears on your shoulder. So you gave in trying to hold back too.

The winds around you calmed as the dawn broke on the horizon, the two of you desperately clinging onto each other all the while. Things would be different from now on, but Venti’s heart already felt light with relief after that night.

Hey everyone! It's been a minute since my last post... oops!

My point is though I love this guy to death and don't plan to stop writing for him altogether, I'm taking a bit of a Genshin break! I've been running out of inspiration for Venti fics and mostly just rotate him around in my head for hours on end haha

So! You can expect some stuff from other fandoms going forward. I'll make a pinned post about that once I've gotten everything sorted. There will be more Venti fics again in the future though, so don't be discouraged!

Thank you for reading as always! :3

[wilsons-journey]

July Tinapple

Engineer • Iron Legion • She / Her • 18 years old.

Future Commander in an alternative AU in which my other Charr don't exist. An AU that is closer to the original Story, yet with a small twist: She is the daughter of Tybalt Leftpaw.

She is also my go to replay the whole Story of GW2 again. Its ages since I last did it.

So you might see her grow in her role as Commander.

More about her under the cut: (Beware of long text / brabble)

July is a temperamental Charr with a short fuse. She lives in the shadow of her sire - getting reminded of his disgrace all her life. That's why she got the name Tinapple in her warband - just to mock her. But also as a reminder of where their roots lie. For July its a fuel to prove everyone she is better than her Sire. That she will never be a disgrace and serve the legion well. She works hard - extremely hard.

Even more when her Warband nearly got wiped during the Ascalonian Ghost attack. Only Maverick remained - her best friend, but also mate for a short time. Their relationship won't last long - it just didn't work out - a recurring theme in her life. But they stay best friends - even later on. Maverick is a person she loves to return to, when she want's to forget the weight of the world. He will never be a friend to talk to about heavy topics, but at least someone who knows how to distract her.

"Looks like failure runs in the family" - a sentence that makes July blood boil. She gets to hear that often after loosing a huge chunk of her warband. It slowly fades, after she proves herself over and over again. Granting her soon the title of Centurion. Her constant need to prove herself lets her slip into something, she actually never wanted to sign on. And she will be too proud, to admit that this title might be to much for her. She will become the Commander - a huge and important figure in the history of Tyria.

And it starts with joining one of the three big orders. But instead of joining Vigil, the order she actually wanted to join. She ends up in the Order of Whispers, where she gets reunited with her Sire. All because of an sarcastic joke and false pride, to admit she wanted to join another Order.

At first she is not happy to see her Sire. He despises him for all the trouble he caused her, for just being related to him. But she will warm up to him. Even starting to see him as a father.

Only to have him ripped from her later on. She will grow so unbelievable angry at this. Hatred against her Sire,... her father will once again boil up. Only to cover how hurt she is, loosing him. July always had problems to express her true feelings. She hides these behind a loud and rude mouth. She will rather yell at you, then admit she is hurt. Its easier. It always was.

She will channel all the hatred for the fight against the Elder-Dragons. She wants them dead - each of them. This might change when she finds an egg - forming a huge crack in all this hatred has accumulated all these years.

Some loose bits: (that might change with replaying the story)

Trahearne, he will play a huge part in her development. He can't ease her pain and the hatred she feels for the world. But he will become someone she looks up to. Someone she feels first sees her worth. Who is truly proud of her. Who believes in her. Despise all her flaws. (Imagine the heartbreak during HoT)

She has terrible anger issues. Something she has to work on for many years.

She is an emotional mess. And she does her best to hide this ugly side. Just as the anger that boils in her.

She is incredible talented in her craft as Engineer. She will take huge part in crafting weapons against Dragons and their minions. They will be effective and absolutely deadly.

Later she will definitely pick up on Jade-Tech

Yet during all the years as Commander, she constantly doubts her abilities. She fears she is not strong enough - especially when Rytlock comes back as Revenant. He is so much more powerful than her. All she can do is craft stuff. Maybe hit hard with her Hammer,... but thats it. Without her Gadgets she is nothing. This gnaws on her a lot.

At one point she might ask Rytlock to take over as Commander - maybe after HoT. Of course he will refuse.

She is friend with Kairo Windshear (Belongs to @brightwingedbat) We still have to figure out a lot. But so far it looks like their relationship is messy. They hooked up for a while, but like with Mav, - it didn't worked out.

She will pickup the love / fixation for apples from her dad.

July desperately seeks for a meaningful something / relationship. Something to hold onto - something that won't leave her and maybe see her. Not the angry mess - but also the person behind all this. Just,... a constant in her life. An anchor, to make her feel safe.

At this point of her journey I'm not sure if she will find it or how this will look like. Will she find a soulmate - as a everlasting friendship or love? Will she make peace with her role as Commander and start to thrive in this role? Will the sudden motherhood for Aurene bring her that? Or with own Cubs?

Who knows. At this point her pages are still blank. Its on her to fill these.

(While writing this,... Gw2 Story has so many moments where they give the Commander something and then its taken away. Even in a way Aurene. Man,... you can fit so much trauma in the Commander. July,... I'm sure you will do your best, but I already see a lot of suffering for you ahead. Good thing she is stubborn,...)

---

And bonus, some screens of her and Tybalt, shortly after their first meeting.

He tries hist best.

[callsignmarz]

MDNI | 18+ | König x Reader

TW- mentions of heavy sexual content, knife play, blood, BDSM and explicit language.

“Prisoner of War.”

“Believe me, Schatz. I’m about to ruin you.” His voice sinks into a low purr, your skin shivers with cupidity as if ice was dripping from your shoulders and down to the base of your spine.

Meticulously, König then reaches into his pants to fish out his cock, the tip flushed with a red hue, visibly aching and ready to engulf itself inside of you. Wrapping a fist around the weight of his length, he teasingly tapped on your ass a few times. Each slap adding onto the debarred torment. Your bottom lip feels raw from the amount of times you’ve been gnawing at it as tantalizing desires fester between your legs but, you refuse to allow it to stop the next set of words from rolling off your tongue.

“Do it then, pussy.”

By the time a shit-eating grin plasters itself on your face, his knife ventures back with the point of the blade poking into your jugular. You take a small gulp. Letting your throat naturally close, feeling your pulse thumping hard against the sharp edge as excitement bubbles to the surface. A conflicting storm of urges and emotions cloud König’s mind, darkening his eyes to a charcoal grey. There was always something about you made him want to risk it all.

Was it your unpredictability? The quick witted comebacks?

Whatever it was, it certainly had him wrapped around your fingertips.

You flutter your eyelids with delight as the head of his cock slips and slides between your wet folds and against your swollen clit, blending your fluids together.

König bites down on his lip, stifling back an audible groan as he studied how your body responded to his touch. The walls of the room temporarily fade to black when his dick disappears deep inside of you, stretching you out deliciously. Your face scrunches at the burn and an animalistic moan erupts from your throat. Naturally, your hands jerk back to allow yourself to adjust to his size, however, were quickly reminded about the metal chains, holding you down in position.

“Let’s see how much shit-talking you do now, Y/N.”

“Fuck you.” You managed to rasp in between moans.

Behind the mask his mouth hooks, “Get ready then.”

Gritting your teeth, pleasure infuses with pain as König pulls his hips back about half way before snapping back. Your walls constrict around him while he set a deliberating pace.

Since day one, you were a constantly in the back of his head. Haunting him. Now, he wanted to haunt you the same way you have for years. He wanted to punish you. To claim you. The table creaks while you held onto your chains for dear life, drowning in the endless waves of your arousal.

“Oh God, König! I’m about—” You go to say but he quickly chimes in, finishing your sentence for you.

“To cum? I don’t think so. At least not yet anyway. But, don’t worry, I’ll let you know when you can.”

Your legs shake uncontrollably when you feel König pull out and away, leaving you a whimpering mess.

“No, please. Come back, I was so close. Please, let me come. Please!”

Your begging was heavenly. But, as much as he wanted to give you what you wanted. König restrained himself, relishing on the way you were slowly losing control. He took in the vulnerable state you were in while he fiddled with his knife.

“armes Ding. (Poor thing.)” He pouted, leisurely stroking himself with his free hand, “You know, Y/N. I could easily go all night. Fucking that greedy pussy of yours, denying you of any release.”

You shake your head weakly in response, eager to welcome him back inside at any moment and his mouth twists into a conniving smirk,

“Aht aht. You need to use your words. Or do I have to force them out of you?”

While you catch your breath, you turn back to peer shyly at König through your lashes and underneath his unforgivable gaze. Pride lodges itself in your throat and you struggle to swallow it down. You were never the one to submit, especially in bed.

“Claim me as yours, König.”

“Say it again, Leibling. I didn't hear you.”

“You fucking heard me.”

König took a long pause, letting go of himself as he stalked his way around you, taking his time in between steps. You feel his demanding presence shift the air around the room and the sound of König suck at his teeth, contemplating his next move.

Technically, you did say for König to claim you.

What you didn’t say was how.

Once again, König positioned himself behind you, firmly grasping the knife in his hand. Your eyes widened, letting out a piercing cry when you felt a sharp, burning sensation on your ass cheek. The chains rattle erratically as you wiggled, attempting to break away from him.

“Hold still!” His voice boomed off of the walls and you do your best to follow his command, “Good girl.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you sink your teeth into your bicep, distracting your senses as he continues to carve into your skin. Blood bubbles and trickles down your leg matching with the brimming pain and anger.

When König finishes, he observes his new work of artwith a sense of fulfillment. Satisfied with how it looks, König then gives you a sharp smack on the ass as if he was giving it a stamp of approval.

“What the fuck was that for!?” You spat with new found hatred. As you turn to look at the damage, you could feel your heart hit the pit of your stomach.

“What? I only did what you asked of me. I simply claimed you as mine.” He chorkles, setting the knife down to the side, amused that his name is now engraved in your skin.

“Now and forever.”

Your chest heaves with the gates of hell burning on the other side of your irises. König’s words were just as permanent as the new hand made label. Right as you go to throw another fit, König swiftly flips you on your back, twisting the chains tighter into your wrists. One by one, your boots and your pants were stripped off, granting himself full access to you. Out of spite, you cross your legs as tight as you could, denying him to wedge himself in between your legs.Cocking a brow, König scoffs at you feeble attempt.

“You really think that’s going to stop me?”

Giving you no room to protest, he grabs your ankles, pinning them on either side of your head, completely folding you and leaving you wide open. König could feel you thrash yourself, but ultimately, he held all the power, whether you liked it or not.

“So feisty, Y/N.” He teased, his tone dripping with desire.

A mewl escapes from your lips at the feel of the fabric of his sniper hood, lightly brushing along your clit before being completely covered. Steadily, his head lowers while maintaining eye contact, you hold your breath as you felt the heat of his breath ghost over, driving you closer to the brink of insanity with a pathetic amount of ecstasy.

Concealed behind the curtain of his hood, you felt his tongue flatten, tasting you from the back to front, seeking out your sensitive bud. Once he found your sweet spot, König didn’t hesitate to get to work, avidly humming as he sucked and slurped on your clit. Your back arches while you lose your sense of reality from the sensation of it all, compelling your muscles to tremor beneath his captive hold. Each lap, each swirl, pushed you closer and closer to your insatiable orgasm.

The faces you made were absolute perfection. He could watch you all day. But, that doesn’t mean you deserve to be rewarded.

You had to earn it.

Just as you were about to reach your climax, König, once again, pulls away and you throw your head back in frustration.

“König, please! Just let me come already.” You cry.

His grip loosens around your ankles, the pads of his fingers creep along your skin leaving a trail of heat in their wake. Underneath the hood, König licks his lips, savoring on the essence that was left on his chin.

“I think you’ve become a very addicting problem, Y/N. How about we make a deal? If I let you out of those cuffs, I’ll let you come as many times as you want while riding me. What do you say?”

You meet König’s gaze, hesitating to give an answer right away. There was no way he was being serious. You refused to believe it, and yet, here you are, tempted with an opportunity to escape your imprisonment. Adrenaline kickstarts and courses through your veins. Taking a small swallow, you give your answer.

“Deal.”

His hand comes up, ripping open a velcro seal on his vest and with only two fingers, he pulls the keys out. With freedom dangling at his fingertips, all you had to do was keep yourself in control. Your lips press together, hiding the excitement back as an audible click of the cuffs releases you, the metal no longer digging into your bone.

It takes you a minute or two for the pins and needles to stop when you retract your arms back down to your sides. Then, the unexpected sound of a metal chair scraping against the floor makes you jump to your feet. When you spin around, König had taken the chair from the other side of the room and placed it a few feet away from you. He moves around and comfortably takes a seat, his posture relaxed though he was still hard. Lazily, he tilts his head to the side, pleased to see how well you were behaving.

With a click of his tongue, he tears your attention away from his cock, although, he didn’t really mind it.

“Get on all fours and crawl to me.”

You understood the assignment. So, taking your time, you drop to your knees and assumed the position, your eyes never leaving his as you started to crawl to him.

“That’s it, Leibling. Nice and easy.”

A low pitched hum vibrates his chest when his left hand found his shaft and stroked himself, matching with your slow tempo.

When you reach his boots, your hands slither up aiming for his abdomen. But, before you decide sit on his lap, you make a last minute decision and stick your tongue out, licking from the base to the tip, sampling on the taste of his pre-cum. König’s head tips back, fighting to keep the beast within him contained when your lips gently kiss the veins that decorated his length, allowing a second in between. A heavy sigh unleashes and races down your spine with electricity as König’s hips rise and fall with a natural flow, searching for solace of any form.

Rewardingly, you open your mouth and König promptly invades. You look up at him, keeping a steady trend and you take this opportunity to start plotting. Your mind begins to wander as you start to change your pace and out of nowhere, a rough hand comes down to back of your head, fingers ensnared at your roots, yanking you off of his cock. Instantly, you freeze when you receive a warning glare from König.

“Don’t even try it, Frau. (Woman.)”

Forcing out a scoff, you play dumb, “Oh, stop being paranoid. I wasn’t even doing anything.” You cooed.

Carefully, you swing a leg over his and climb into his lap. König anticipates you movements and shifts his hips accordingly so you’re able hover over his dick, teasing the tip of his dick between your heat. A small moan slips past your lips, easing your weight down onto him. Colorful words and phrases, spill from König’s mouth. Letting go of your hair, his hands slide to the small of your back, you feel his fingers grazing at the hem of your shirt and creep their way underneath.

“I don’t want to hold back anymore.” You tell him breathlessly, slowly rocking your hips in a controlled rhythm, his cock swelling with each deliberate bounce.

A new wave of pleasure threatens to consume you entirely when you feel König groping and fondling your tits. Unable to resist the familiar turmoil, you secure yourself by throwing your arms around his neck. Feeling your walls contracting around him, König instinctively took control, thrusting into you at an deplorable pace.

“I can feel you, Schatz. You’re almost there.” König’s huffs, his voice low and gravelly as he continues, “Just remember, no matter how much you run and hide, your body, your being, it all belongs to me.”

His words push you further into a chaotic frenzy. Your moans fill the room as you bounce with fervor and urgency while his hips buck to meet with your movements. Eventually, you were tossed over the edge, finally reaching the pinnacle of your orgasm and it wasn’t too long before König chases after his own, spurting his hot seed deep inside of you. The both of you sat there, relishing on the feeling of the after shocks of your insatiable orgasm.

“Such a good girl. I love the way your pussy clings to me, begging for more.”

It wasn’t like he was wrong. If you were being honest with yourself, the sex was far from good. Damn near maddening and very much addicting.

Breathing heavily, you climb off his lap and walk over to dress yourself. König remains seated, his eyes following your every move but doesn’t get up to place you back in his custody.

Once you were fully dressed, you turned to face him, fully expecting him to get in the way of your escape. But, instead, he just sat there, almost in defeat.

“You’re not going to stop me?” You questioned, genuinely curious and he simply shook his head, adding onto your confusion.

“Why not?”

“I’ve grown to like the little games we play.”

Silence falls and you count down the seconds you have with this slim window of opportunity. Taking his answer for what it is, you rush towards the door before stopping dead in your tracks to turn back as if you could leave without one. Taken back by surprise, you lift up his hood enough to expose his rosy lips and capture them with yours.

The kiss was quick and you give him these last words,

“Find me in Montreal.”

[animasola86]

Peace and Comfort

Notes: This is a continuation of Scars, but can be read individually.

Pairing: Aesop Sharp x f!reader (with a face scar)

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 4.5k // [READ ON AO3]

Synopsis: A much-needed massage turns into something much more sensual.

WARNINGS: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Size difference. Age gap. Established student/teacher relationship. Edging. Fingering. Oral sex (m!receiving). Vaginal sex.

Peace and Comfort

Your mewls rang in his ears, those needy little whimpers, so distracting he'd been reading the same sentence for the fifth time now. Licking his lips, he lowered the book and watched your small body undulating against his leg, your thighs tight around it, your arousal staining the fabric of his trousers as you kept rubbing your centre against his knee while your small hands worked their magic into the sore muscles of his thigh.

Leaning against the headboard of his bed, he inhaled deeply, his eyes roaming your naked form, taking in the concentrated look on your beautiful face, how your lips were parted and trembling, the way your small breasts were squished between your arms as you leaned onto them to massage his leg.

You were so focused, teetering on the edge for what felt like hours now, that you barely noticed when he extended his hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. When he cupped your cheek, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip, you finally looked up, your eyes glazed over and your vision blurred, but you still managed to smile at him.

He smiled back, in his own gruff way, as he slid his fingers into your hair and hooked them around your head, gently but firmly pulling you closer. Your rear lifted off his knee, your weight pushing into his thigh as you arched your neck until you were able to bring your face close to his. His dark eyes bored into yours, causing goosebumps to ripple over your skin.

Your hands closed around his upper thigh as you balanced yourself on it, the pressure coaxing a deep grunt to slip from his throat. You watched him closely, despite your haze attentive and careful, you wanted to help ease his pain, not cause him more. He admired your aptitude, his heart swelling at your efforts to please him. When he pulled you closer, his nose nuzzled yours before you felt his hot breath on your tingling lips.

He saw you licking them, and the motion was enough for him to close the distance and claim your pretty mouth for a heated kiss. His hold on your hair tightened when you shifted on his stiff leg, but the dull throbbing didn't stop him from closing his lips around yours hungrily.

You moaned softly into his mouth as his tongue invaded yours, quickly met by your own as he deepened the kiss with a sensual groan that made you shiver deeply. His bearded chin rubbed against the soft skin of yours, the sound even more enticing to you, enough to make your strained thighs tremble.

Eventually, he eased his grip on your head and leaned back, almost as breathless as you. You gave him another quick peck and a coy smile before you resumed your position on his leg, fingers digging into his sore muscles while his knee pressed against your warm sex. Looking at him, you started grinding on him again, the fabric of his trousers chafing your sensitive skin, but you kept going, whimpering softly.

He clenched his jaw, seeing you like that was blissful torture. If he'd been younger, he'd have you pinned under him in no time as he straddled you, before he'd plough his throbbing cock into your tight cunt. But he wasn't, he could barely move most days, yet he was grateful you indulged him like this, very grateful, so grateful his erection strained against his tight clothes.

And it wasn't as if he couldn't do anything (although he felt quite comfortable in his sitting position while you took care of him), and he wanted to reward you, so he extended his hand again and slipped it between your strained arms and right under you. You lifted your hips slightly as you watched him with a soft gasp falling from your lips.

His large hand cupped your entire mound, fingers reaching far to the cleft between your bum cheeks, palm pressed against your wet folds, and his thumb rubbed that sweet little bud with expert precision, making you keen loudly. He watched your eyes roll back as you melted into his touch, your whole weight resting on his hand as he kept caressing your heated centre.

But you grew impatient and started gyrating against his fingers, desperate for release, and he indulged you by bending his long fingers before pushing two of them against your waiting entrance. They sank into you easily, your wetness creating a deep squelching sound that made you hiss through your teeth as you dug your fingers into his thigh.

He knew some sounds embarrassed you, and he saw the blush creeping over your skin as you averted your eyes, but he kept going, moving his fingers in and out, small little thrusts that made your wet cunt sing. He felt your warmth coating his digits, and he worked them deeper, knuckle after knuckle, as deep as he could reach. You squirmed on his hand, more mewls escaping you while your walls tightened around him, and when he curled his fingers inside you, he pressed against that sweet spot with fervour, and you cried out on command, throwing your head back as you convulsed on top of his leg.

More wetness seeped onto his palm, and he kept moving his fingers in and out, curling and stretching them, even spreading them as your muscles contracted violently. Your moans were loud, and they got even louder when he moved his thumb in tantalizing circles over your clit until you were a whimpering mess, limbs twitching, body convulsing, chest heaving, small breasts bouncing as you rode out your orgasms. Plural. Because he kept going, holding you in that heightened state until his fingers started cramping.

Eventually, you collapsed against his thigh, face buried in his hip as your body spasmed, rear raised, thighs strained and twitching, your pussy fluttering around his digits. He pulled them out slowly, dragging your wetness over your skin, softly rubbing your folds. His middle finger teased your puckered hole, but only to wake you from your climax induced rigour.

A squeak escaped you as he pressed the pad of his finger against the tight ring of muscles, and you rose up, sinking your nails into his sore thigh as you looked at him darkly. He gave you a deep chuckle and withdrew his hand, dragging it over your mound up your stomach towards your breasts. He could envelop them with one hand, but he chose to extend his other hand as well, gently cupping your soft mounds, rough palms rubbing over sensitive nipples. They hardened immediately, and you mewled again.

Your breaths were still ragged, so that your chest moved against his touch in a fast rhythm, the pert little buds scraping over his calloused skin before he moved his fingers over them, squeezing them between them, rolling them between his fingertips. Your noises filled the room and his mind, fuelling the desire that was burning deep within him. While he kneaded your breasts, you kneaded his thigh, pressing your thumbs deep into the sore tissue, warming the muscles, easing the pain.

A deep sigh escaped him as he rolled his neck, relaxing under your ministrations. You watched him intently, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His hands lowered slowly, his forearms burning, and you mewled at the loss of his touch but noticed the strain on his weathered face. He rested his fingers on your waist, curling them around your curves, rough fingertips digging into your soft skin. You continued your massage, moving up and down his thigh with deliberate force, and when you reached his inner thigh you diverted your attention to something else.

Climbing off his leg, leaving behind wet fabric and burning muscles, you settled between his legs on your knees, your hands gently pushing up his untucked shirt before he felt your hands gliding over his hard stomach and up to his chest. You slid your body over his like a snake would, rolling your shoulders, extending your arms, raising your rear. Your fingers moved under his shirt until they came out at his collar, teasing at his neck, before you moved back in the same undulating motion, scraping your fingernails over his skin on the way down.

There you started fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt. But he shook his head and tilted it towards the chair next to his bed. You turned to it, holding his gaze before you looked at what he wanted to show you. His wand lay on a pile of books stacked on another pile of folded clothes. A sly smirk crept onto your full lips, and you quickly grabbed it, and with a concentrated look on your pretty face, you focused your magic and moved his wand in the pattern he'd shown you, and he felt a soft breeze, and then his clothes were gone, re-materializing inside his open wardrobe.

You leaned back with a happy smile, cradling his wand between your small fingers. “Good girl,” he said in his gruff voice and gave you a nod of approval, and you beamed at him, your cheeks flushed and your eyes twinkling.

Returning his wand to the chair, you quickly focused on his now exposed body. It had taken him a long while to be able to show himself to you fully, knowing the sight wouldn't work in his favour. But it had been different with you, you weren't repulsed by the scars and deformations of his skin, you didn't pity him, you were happy he would trust you enough to let you see him this vulnerable, as happy as he was when you had first allowed him to touch your own scar.

His hand moved up to tuck your hair back behind your ear before his thumb followed the ragged lines on your cheek up to your eyebrow. He felt you shiver under his touch, your breath quickening as you bit your lip nervously. It was a shame you felt so insecure with these lines on your face when you had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. You were beautiful, inside and out, and he never grew tired of telling you so.

It only occurred to him then that he had been quite the hypocrite, telling you you shouldn't let your scar define who you were, when he, himself, hadn't felt comfortable showing you the state of his own body. So he had decided to be open to you, because you had shown him that you could be trusted, that you wouldn't judge him. And he hadn't been wrong. When you had first seen him completely naked, you had mapped his body with your small hands, tender fingers running over scars and burns, rough edges and soft flesh, and then you had even offered to try out these massages you had read about that would ease sore muscles.

He hadn't been hopeful that your touch would suddenly heal him, but it had felt good for the moment, and he was grateful for every minute he didn't have to spend in crippling pain. And every minute spent with you was utter bliss, and he had grown so fond of you, he needed you with him whenever your or his busy schedule allowed it. He had coaxed you with the offer of helping you prepare for your NEWTs, but in reality you hadn't needed that incentive, you enjoyed being with him, helping him ease his pain, showing him how much you truly cared about him, despite all his scars and battle wounds and gruff demeanour.

You were a blessing he had not expected, and the thought of eventually letting you go when you would graduate pained him more than his blasted leg. But he forced himself not to think about that yet, forced himself to enjoy the moment while it lasted. It was all he could do anyway.

A sudden grunt escaped him when your hands closed around his hard member, dragging him out of his dark thoughts and back into the here and now, where you looked up at him from between his legs, a soft smile on your lips that lit up your entire face. His lips curled into a strained smirk, and seeing his dark expression, your own happy demeanour faltered. He hated himself for pulling you down like that sometimes, but you often assured him that he shouldn't worry so much.

As you did now as you moved your hands up his torso, grabbed his shoulders and pulled your body up until your chest pressed against his, warm skin against warm skin, your hard nipples rubbing over his coarse chest hair. Your hands found his hard face, and you cupped it gently, bringing your own closer until you were able to plant soft kisses on his cheek, humming as your lips dragged over his stubbled jaw.

He held you close, large hands on your back, pressing you to him while you felt his cock twitch against your stomach. You rubbed your cheek against his, the scraping sound of his beard against your soft skin causing goosebumps to ripple over your body. A quiet moan escaped you as you closed your eyes, leaning against him, savouring his warmth and the hardness of his body melting into yours.

His heart swelled whenever you just lay with him like this, pressed against each other, tightly embracing the other, a peaceful comfort in a world that wasn't peaceful. He never took a moment like this for granted, for he knew he didn't deserve a single second of it, he didn't deserve a beautiful girl like you, and he always wondered why you had looked at him so hopefully when you had met for the first time, why you had kept close to him, why you wanted to help him in the first place.

Why he had let you help him.

That must have been the biggest change for him. He did everything to not appear weak, despite the crippled state of his body, and he never showed weakness, not even to you, but you saw through him right away, and without communicating it, without dissecting the problem, you had just offered your assistance in the most nonchalant way possible. Not to judge him, belittle him, pity him, just to be there for him, because he had made you feel comfortable in your own skin by showing you how to wear a scar with pride and not shame.

You were still a long way away from accepting the deformation of your face fully, but you'd learned to live with it, and he had helped you understand that there was no use fighting it. And once that message had sunk into your mind, you had told him the same thing. When your fingers would trace over the various lines on his body, you would tell him how strong he was, how brave, how inspiring. And as your lips would move along those wretched scars, leaving a trail of warmth and wetness on his skin, he learned to believe what you told him.

Exhaling loudly, he held you in his strong arms, closing his eyes, trying to focus on the moment. You felt so tiny in his embrace, so fragile. Your voice was a soft breeze against his cheek as you whispered: “Are you comfortable?”

He grunted his affirmation, a deep rumble in his chest as he shifted against the pillows in his back. You pressed your lips to his for a moment, relishing in his warm touch, before you slipped from his embrace and moved down again, planting gentle kisses along his chest and on his abdomen, until you were settled between his legs again, your hands gliding along his body until they carefully picked up his heavy erection resting against his lower stomach.

He felt your small fingers closing around his girth, barely fitting around it, before you moved your hands up and down his shaft slowly, pushing his tight skin over his hardened core. Leaning back, he crossed his arms behind his head and relaxed into your expert touches. He taught you well, he could never get over how quickly you had adjusted to him, not just how to please him, how to touch him without causing more pain, but how to accommodate him despite your small frame.

You were using your entire body as you took care of his arousal, your hands squeezing and rubbing and stroking, your chest hovering over him as you worked him, the warmth of your skin adding to the sensations you created, and then you leaned down and moved your tongue along his heated flesh, circling his tip, licking along its soft edges before closing your lips around them to gently suck on it.

Deep groans slipped from his parted lips, and you looked up at him curiously, big eyes meeting his hooded gaze. You blushed under the intensity he threw at you, the hunger and desire that burned within the darkness of his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you lowered your head and parted your lips wide, trying your best to fit his tip into your small mouth. Your jaw strained but you endured, gently hollowing your cheeks to suck him in deeper. Bobbing your head a few times to coat his tip with your saliva as you pressed your tongue against it, you then leaned back and licked along his slit, tasting those drops you always seemed to enjoy so much.

He watched you through half-closed eyes, his breaths growing quicker under your ministrations. You moved your tongue along his shaft now, your hands sliding down to squeeze his base and fondle his balls, while you licked up and down the sensitive underside of his cock, feeling those bulging veins pulsing against your touch. He shivered slightly when you hummed into his skin, licking and nibbling and kissing his hot flesh with a passion he was always astounded by.

You never hesitated to touch him, to taste him, to move your hands, your tongue, your lips over his exposed skin. And he never knew how to show his appreciation for these selfless acts. All he could do was touch you back, rub his calloused fingers over your soft skin, feel every bump and hollow of your body, hoping you'd enjoy it as much as he did, and when you mewled under the pressure of his hands, he knew he was doing something right. Every sound that came out of your perfect little mouth was like a song to him, noises only he could hear, that lulled the throbbing pain inside him, that warmed his dark heart.

And when you eventually took his length deeper into your mouth, he moaned softly at the sound of the wet slurping that came from you as you bobbed your head up and down, swirling your tongue around him, sucking on him, guiding him towards your throat. You weren't always able to do that, not without gagging violently, but you were a quick learner and practice made perfect, and you were very eager to master whatever he taught you. Both inside and outside his classroom.

He felt you breathing roughly through your nose as you lowered your head further and his tip scraped against the back of your throat, pushing deeper. A shudder rushed through your tiny body, your hands tightening around his base and balls as you forced yourself not to gag, and he saw tears streaming past your lashes, but you held him there, right at the entrance to your throat until you relaxed your muscles, took a deep breath through your nose, and then descended onto him until your nose was buried in his curly hair, his balls pressed against your chin and his cock was lodged deep inside your throat.

The tight fit coaxed deep grunts out of him as he forced himself to remain still and not start jerking his hips against your face. Your tears dropped down your chin onto his hot skin, and with a deep gasp of air you leaned back and released him with a wet pop, strands of saliva connecting your lips with his stiff member. Your breaths were erratic, but it didn't stop you from diving down on him again, taking him just as deep and holding him there until he groaned and threw his head back.

You released him again, panting as you continued to stroke his wet shaft with your small hands, eager to bring him over the edge. To his own surprise, he grabbed your wrist and stopped you, and you looked up out of bloodshot eyes, your lips glistening. He motioned you to scoot back and you did, your limbs shaking from the exertion and lack of air, and he sat up more before he shifted his large body to stretch fully on the bed.

You quickly understood and crawled into his arms as he lay on his side and pulled you closer, engulfing your small frame wholly as he kissed the top of your head. Your hands found his chest as you rubbed it softly, your chin tilted up to meet his gaze. He leaned down to kiss you gently, tasting himself on your lips and inside your mouth. You were leaning into the tender but deep kiss, probably content with just lying like this with him, but then he parted from you and rolled you onto your other side until your back was pressed against his chest.

He felt you trembling when he moved one hand down your front and between your legs, and you were still wet, wet enough to create that sweet squelching sound when he sank a finger into your quivering cunt. You whimpered softly, squirming against his touch. Pushing his finger in and out slowly, he nudged your leg with his elbow and made you lift it up, before he pulled his finger out and grabbed your thigh with his large hand, holding the leg up as he positioned himself behind you, his throbbing erection slapping eagerly against your wet folds.

You inhaled sharply, your hands moving down to lather his cock with your wetness before you helped guide it to your entrance, and with a soft jerk of his hips he slipped into you, your walls clenching around him, and after a few tantalizing thrusts he managed to fit his entire length into your tight sheath, his tip firmly planted right against your cervix. He felt you tensing up against him as you adjusted to his deep intrusion, filled to the brim.

He moved his free hand under your body and down to caress your soft stomach, and he could feel his girth bulging your belly from within. Holding you pressed against his pelvis for a long moment, he kissed your shoulder until you turned your head to him and met his lips. His tongue tangled with yours in a lazy rhythm, and he felt as if he could fall asleep like this, seated deep within your tight body, lulled to sleep by your soft kisses, but he wanted to finish this for you, to give you the reward you deserved for always being there for him.

He felt his sore leg aching slightly, but the muscles were warm and soothed from your deep massage and it helped in angling it slightly as he shifted behind you. Holding your leg, he started to gently move his hips back, slipping from your warmth, your walls clinging to him needily, before he plunged back in at the same pace, slow and gentle, and he repeated that rhythm for as long as he could, or until you started moaning into his mouth, which didn't take too long.

Pressing his forehead against yours, his dark eyes looking right into your soul, he picked up the pace slightly, and you met the movement of his hips with a steady motion of your own, your combined efforts quickly creating a wet warmth within you that seeped past your connection, adding to the soft mewls you made and the deep grunts he issued, and soon the slapping of skin against skin and the wet squelching was all he heard as he pounded into you faster and harder, always deep enough to hit your cervix which made you flinch and squeak softly as your hands held onto anything they could find, his hand on your stomach, the sheets around you, your own leg as it swayed with every inwards thrust.

Your head moved away as you pressed your chin to your chest, curling in on yourself as your body started convulsing against him, and he held you close, secure, tightly in his embrace, his lips pressed to your back, his own breaths ragged and raw as your moans filled his ears like a song he could keep listening to forever. You cried out softly when you came, your walls clamping down on him hard, your body rocking against his, your wetness coating his cock as it continued to plunge in and out fast, again and again, until he felt his balls tightening as they kept slamming against your cushioned rear.

With a loud rumble from deep within his chest, he wrapped both arms around your small body and pulled you towards him as he gave you that final deep thrust that made you cry out loudly as he bruised your cervix before he coated it with his hot seed, calming the ache and painting your insides with his warmth. You whimpered and spasmed against him for a moment before you went limp in his tight embrace, your breaths loud and raw, your heart beating hard in your chest.

He stilled inside you, holding you to his chest, your limbs twitching and boneless as you slowly relaxed against him, a soft exhale falling from your trembling lips. Leaning his rough cheek against your soft shoulder, he closed his eyes, savouring the burn of his muscles and the warmth that radiated from your tiny form. When he moved his hips back eventually, he slipped effortlessly from your wet depths, coaxing a disappointed mewl out of you. He chuckled and indulged you, pressing his softened member back between your folds, pushing his seed back into you before it seeped out of your clenching hole.

The squelching sound made you shudder against his chest, but then you moaned contently when he slipped back in fully, stretching your walls despite his spent state. He noticed you clenching around him deliberately because you knew he'd become hard again if you did, but he grabbed your body and held it close to him, spooning you, his larger frame enveloping yours so much you could barely move, but he knew you didn't want to.

While your hands rested on top his bigger ones, you relaxed in his embrace, calmed by his strong arms around you, your eyes closed, your face serene, your hair deliciously dishevelled. He pressed his lips to the back of your head and breathed in your scent. Soon he closed his eyes as well, not even bothering to cover your bodies as the cold air of the room settled on your sweat slick skins. He had you to warm him, and you had him, and it was all either of you needed.

Peace and comfort.

NEXT PART: A DEMONSTRATION OF POWER AND SUPPORT

End notes: Even though nobody asked for this (because you probably all follow me for Sebastian content), I feel very inspired to write even more little adventures of Daddy Sharp and his little teacher's pet. He's grown on me, his fate (and how he handles it) is just too intriguing not to write about.

Thanks for joining me on this little detour!

[ MORE SHARP SMUT ] [ MASTERLIST ] [ AO3 ]

[mikhailwrites]

To touch you gently / Ghost x Soap

Kinktober #13 - Playing with Hair (from the SFW prompt list)

“Hair hurt… gotta wash it,” Ghost explains in short, clipped sentences. “Right,” Johnny nods, but even as he does, Ghost can already tell there’s something on his mind. He doesn’t even have to ask; that’s another nice thing about Johnny - he’s upfront. “Can I… would you let me do it?” Simon is way too tired to put up a fight about something so menial, so he simply shrugs. Soap’s beaming smile makes him feel better, too.

The door closes with a familiar klick. Ghost locks them before he sits on the bed. He simply sits there in quiet and dark and breathes. It’s moments like these that he truly feels like a machine, just after he returns from a deployment. Especially if it was a solo mission like this one.

No Gaz to pat him on the back and drag him into the nearest pub. No Soap to nudge him playfully, telling a stupid joke as they return their gear and make him a cuppa in the rec room afterwards. No Price to ask him if he’s alright and doesn’t need anything.

Simon takes off his gloves and then unstraps his vest. Its weight is familiar, and he misses it a bit. It grounds him. There’s a knock on the door, too soft, too considerate.

Ghost stands up to unlock the door, already knowing who’s on the other side.

“Hey, LT., heard you’re back,” Soap smiles. There’s something about him that seems almost… happy. Like he’s happy, he sees Ghost. He raises his arms, and Ghost notices a plain white cup in it. “Thought you’d like your cuppa.”

Simon steps aside, letting the Sergeant in. “Word gets around fast.”

“Actually, I had bribed a lass from the flight control to let me know when your bird touches down,” Soap admits, rubbing at his neck sheepishly.

Ghost pauses, giving his Sergeant a long look. “And why would you do that?”

Soap shrugs and smiles as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “Just wanted to give you a warm welcome… you look tense, though. Do you want to be alone?”

“No,” they’re both surprised by the speed and resolution of Simon’s reply.

Soap lets it slide, like every time Ghost slips in front of him, which, honestly, happens rather often these days. Ghost has noticed, yet Johnny never presses him for more. It’s actually kind of nice. Comfortable, even. “Alright, then I’ll stay for a bit.”

Ghost sits back on the bed as Soap joins him, close but not close enough for them to touch. Simon takes the mask off, groaning as it musses his matted, greasy hair. He hates it when this happens when his hair roots hurt in that special, annoying way. Soap gives him a curious look.

“Hair hurt… gotta wash it,” Ghost explains in short, clipped sentences.

“Right,” Johnny nods, but even as he does, Ghost can already tell there’s something on his mind. He doesn’t even have to ask; that’s another nice thing about Johnny - he’s upfront. “Can I… would you let me do it?”

Simon is way too tired to put up a fight about something so menial, so he simply shrugs. Soap’s beaming smile makes him feel better, too.

Simon is sitting in the shower stall in his small private bathroom. He’s mostly naked, safe for a pair of black briefs, with his back to Johnny, who, too, is just in his underwear. The procedure took longer because the moment Soap saw Ghost’s standard “3in1” shower gel, the man looked like a kicked puppy, ordering Ghost to stay put as he retreated to get his own stuff.

And here they are. Soap takes the showerhead and points it away until there’s warm water. Only then does he direct the stream to Simon’s hair. “Damn, no wonder it hurt,” he hears Soap mutter behind his back. Johnny makes sure that most of the dirt is washed out before he gently cards his fingers through the dirty-blonde strands, untangling them as much as he’s able to.

Next up is the shampoo. Ghost sighs as Soap massages it into his scalp. Johnny chuckles, noting the exact points that have Simon taking deeper breaths, where he tenses up, shivers slightly, or where he relaxes into his touch. He uses this new knowledge expertly. Soon, Simon unravels under his Sergeant’s hands. As he closes his eyes, Soap stops, but before Simon says anything, he’s quick to assure him. “We’re not done yet, don’t worry.”

Soap washes the shampoo out of Ghost’s hair meticulously, but once he’s done, there’s more product being applied. “Again?” Ghost asks, surprised.

“That’s a conditioner. You really should use it,” Soap lectures him, even though they both know it’s useless. Ghost doesn’t care as long as he can have Johnny’s deft fingers on him for a little longer. “Good?” Soap asks, and Ghost can hear the smile in the question.

“Yeah,” Ghost admits. Johnny takes the showerhead again and rinses the conditioner with great care. After that, he even dries Ghost’s hair. Simon is relaxed enough for the fatigue to catch on. By the time he thanks Johnny and the man assures him that he’s very much welcome and bids him a good night, Ghost is half asleep already.

It’s only after Soap leaves that he realises the lingering smell of him. It takes him a moment to connect the dots. Johnny used his own shampoo. Ghost smells like Johnny now. He feels the corners of his scarred lips lift in an easy smile, and it’s the last thing he’s aware of before he drifts off.

[jaemified]

last - xu minghao

"i dont want our first time to be our last."

pairing ; xu minghao x fem!reader

genre ; suggestive (haaahahhahaa), est relationship, hao and reader are graduates (kinda)

warnings ; implied mature themes, first time together but not first time overall

wordcount ; 0.7k

synopsis ; youre going to the states for college, minghaos pursuing his dream in korea. and hes gonna miss you, badly.

note - hao is so bf in this pic help

read below the cut !

"i got accepted into pledis, and ive decided, that i want to take the chance ive been given." minghao told y/n, letting her down easy.

'huh', she thought. it finally made sense to her now, why hed been slightly more distant then normal, and why now, with 2 months left of summer before her freshmen year of college, that he decided so abruptly that they needed to meet up.

"so thats it? youre going to korea, and im going to california? im glad youre doing what makes you happy but, why couldnt you have told me sooner? theres not much time left and we both know long distance relationships never work, i mean most movies end with the main characters being across the state, but across the world? 9066km is way to far-"

minghao cuts her off with a soft kiss, his hand moving up to her shoulder, grip growing tighter with every passing second.

the loving kiss which was meant to shut his talkative girlfriend up began to rise into something a little more.

"you worry a lot, you know?" he playfully scoffed while he leaned back, resting his forehead against hers as he moves the same hand which once rested on her shoulder, up to the back of her head.

"im just, really, really gonna miss you.." y/n whispers, before pulling him again once more by the collar of his dress shirt.

minghao lowly whimpers as y/n slightly nips at his lower lip with her teeth, then goes in for another kiss with minghao licking her own bottom lip, asking for her to let him in during the process.

pulling away, he pushes y/n down onto the bed, adding pressure onto her lower stomach with his own body weight before he goes to hover over her.

she reaches up to run her fingers through his hair, tilting her head to give minghao more access to her neck as he leans down, licking and sucking to find that one spot where she knows splotches of red would be left for her to remember him by for days.

y/n sighed as she listened to the wet sounds of minghao kissing on her neck, biting back a whimper as he reached the one spot on her neck he loved marking the most.

moving one arm down, he leaned onto his right arm while pressing his lower body into the girl below him, slightly grinding his bulge into her clothed heat through it all.

"youre so good to me, hao." she mutters into his ear, leaving a small peck on the side of his head.

he just mumbled something incoherent in response.

with his free hand, he swiftly unbuttoned the top portion of y/ns blouse, slipping his hand under her little black bralette he would always praise her in as he would watch her get dressed.

before he could do anything else, y/n quickly held minghaos wrist. as soon as he felt her hold around him, he pulled his hand back and sat up. "whats wrong? did i hurt you? he questioned with a genuine but concerned tone, using a soft voice that always managed to have y/ns head spinning.

"not at all, its just, youre leaving, and im scared."

"dont be scared, my love. im here for you, you can tell me anything. do you not want to? its fine if you dont, we can stop-" "hao, im okay. its just.." she interrupts him, then pauses.

"just?"

"i dont want our first time to be our last."

"i understand. just know i still love you."

"i love you too. but, i want to. it just feels like we are already saying goodbye even though we havent left yet."

"we arent saying goodbye. just see you later. even so, its not for another 2 months."

"but what if you meet someone better then me? what if she treats you better then i ever can? what if-" minghao stops her mid sentence with yet another kiss on the lips, but shorter then the first.

"theres no one better then you. ill visit you when i can. and when i do, we can do anything you want. fast, or slow." "ew." "you cant say ew just as im about to fuck you."

"youre right."

"you dont have to, y/n. you can back out now, its not to late."

"no, im ready." she gives him a reassuring smile.

"then, let me take care of you tonight. ill go soft on you."

[gtgbabie0]

Hi! just wanted to say that i absolutely love your writing and wanted to know if you could do a Tommy Miller x reader, where Tommy has had too much to drink and Joel takes him home to you but Tommy cannot stop talking about how much he loves you and how pretty you are as you take care of him. Like just super fluffy. Thanks so much if you decide to do this! :D

Drunken love sick fool

{Tommy has had one too many, luckily for him he has you}

This is too cute!! Hope you enjoy lovely 💕

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“Don’t let him overdo it, please for love of god Joel.” Is what you had told Joel before the pair of them left for a ‘well-deserved drink or two’ you don’t mind really, in fact, you’re glad they get along so well, but goodness are they bad influences to each other, and before they know it they’ve both drank their own body weight in whiskey.

Joel only chuckled at you, saying something about how he ‘can’t promise anything’ which in turn made you sigh, knowing that tonight you might have to nurse a very drunk Tommy.

“Honey! I’ve missed you!” you hear him before you see him, shouting your name with a thick southern accent that seemed ten times stronger than usual.

You can’t help but smile when you hear Joel trying to shush him, scolding him about how he’s ‘gonna wake up the whole street with his yapping’ as you grab the front door keys from the small bowl.

You wish you could be mad at him, mad at both of them but you completely melt when Tommy’s eyes meet your own, so full of love and joy as he smiles brightly at you and you feel your frustration crumble away.

“Sorry, he just-” Joel tries his hardest to come up with a good excuse as to why he’s returned your boyfriend back home to you as drunk as a skunk, but yet all that comes out is a guilty chuckle as he scratches the back of his neck with a smile.

“It’s alright Joel, but you owe me” You tell him as Tommy wraps his arms around you, nuzzling his nose against your neck as he mumbles something about how you smell like heaven.

He bites back his laughter as you try to keep his brother on both feet, “Well good luck to you, he’s been er- asking for ya” and you can tell by the teasing look that flashes through his eyes that there’s something you're not getting, and you dread to think what exactly he’s said.

You bid him your last goodbyes with Tommy still practically hanging off you before closing the door with a heavy sigh knowing you were in for a long night.

“Mm, honey- I’ve missed you” he whispers against your shoulder, hands soothing against your lower back as they slip underneath your shirt, splaying against your bare skin.

The feeling makes your skin tingle as you pull back slightly, brushing his hair behind his ear, “Missed you too baby” you whisper, breaking out into a fit of giggles as he peppers sloppy kisses all over your face.

“God, you’re so pretty, do y’know that? My lovely girl” he gasps looking at you with soft eyes as he studies your face. His hands come to rest against your hips, squeezing them softly as he continues to admire you.

“Come on let’s go get you some water” you tell him, dragging him to the kitchen. You help him to take a seat at the table before pouring him a glass of cold water.

Although he doesn’t stay seated for long at all, immediately standing back up to lean behind you, his strong arms warped around your midsection.

“Tommy I-” You can’t finish your sentence as peppers more kisses along your shoulder, his rough hands going back underneath your shirt as they rest against your belly.

“I love you” he whispers, voice laced with exhaustion as he goes on, “So, so, so much” he presses kisses between the words.

“I love you too Tommy” you giggle as you try to pry yourself away from him as he lets out a huff of dismay. He doesn't have any of it, taking no interest in your offer of some ice-cold water. No, he's adamant that the only thing he needs is you to cure his drunkness.

Time ticks by and it nears twelve am when you finally get him to drink some water as you go and get him a change of clothes and by some miracle, you’ve finally got him into bed, even if his shirt is inside out.

You sigh as you finally lay down pulling the sheets over the pair of you. Tommy's arms wrap around you as he inches himself closer to you, his head nuzzling against your shoulder as he rambles on and on about how ‘lucky he is to have such a beautiful girlfriend’ as his hands soothe against your stomach and you cant wait to tease him about it in the morning.

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[reborrowing]

a mouse in the basement part 5 /6? (probably 7)

this is a project to prompt me to make sentences for a conlang. here are 2200 words exclusively in English.

First | prev | ao3

Kíkítok masterpost | AMITB Translations

Someone slips up and David takes the opportunity to make an escape attempt before he runs out of time. word count: ~2200 taglist: @whumpsday (comment/dm if you'd like to be added please) contents: captivity, injury, restraints, manhandling, fear, gun, alcohol, alcohol abuse, assault/violence, threat of death, suicide discussion (no actual suicide occurs/occured), drug mention, eye trauma (definitely non-graphic). I think that’s it. Confrontation Time :)

Time passed slower when David was alone. Kiwi had offered him a brief break where things happened and time had meaning. He knew that the room darkened for a while as the sun set and he had lost track of how many times it happened. As he waited for something to happen again, he fell in and out of sleep at what felt like random intervals to dream of escape and better times. He knew he had fallen asleep several times since Kiwi left, but the kidnapper had yet to bring him breakfast to signal the next morning.

Silent light filtered through the narrow window and David woke up suffocating on an afterimage of his mother beside an empty grave.

How much time had to pass before they assumed he was dead? Before they gave up?

He stood up and paced to get away from the thought. The chain laughed along behind him, reminding him that it was inevitable unless he found a way to do something and get out.

He could imagine all sorts of very cool scenarios in which he overpowered the masked man that held him here, but he was a little too practical to believe in any of them. He was a head shorter than his captor and his fighting experience ranged from getting his nose broken on the playground and being mediocre at Mortal Kombat. He didn’t see either of those holding up too well, even if his unbound hands gave him the advantage of surprise.

The door rattled open and David quickly smoothed the duct tape back over his mouth and held his hands behind his back. A weight settled in his chest as he realized he would have to overpower the stranger now or go back to those chains. He couldn’t work himself free, that had been Kiwi’s doing. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know how to fight. He couldn’t.

Several bits of metal clattered down the stairs, either spilled change or dropped keys. Most lost their momentum halfway through, but a couple bounced off the sides and clinked onto the cement floor below.

His captor thumped down the stairs and David stiffened and pretended he hadn’t noticed anything strange, instead watching the other man descend. It was a pointless bluff. The man stopped about midway down the stairs to bend down and pick up his scattered belongings. His eyes flashed at David and he retreated, closing the door with a sudden slam. 

David stared, not sure if he could believe it. His captor hadn’t spent any time on mind games so far, but…

He waited a little longer, just to be sure the man wasn’t coming back, and crept towards where he heard the uncollected keys fall. He found three, all small and silver, all with mismatched teeth. He could reach two of them.

He couldn’t be that lucky. 

His captor wouldn’t have left that key behind.

David forced the first key into the padlock around his ankle and, unsurprisingly, it didn’t fit.

Obviously.

But he couldn’t not try the other one.

His heart skipped when the lock clicked open. He was glad for the duct tape back over his mouth because it kept him silent as he pulled the padlock open and the chain fell to the ground. He rubbed his chafing ankle. He felt like he was breathing helium, he was so light. 

He was almost free.

He was still here in the dark, but he didn’t have to be. There was still the kidnapper lurking upstairs, standing between David getting back to his life. But David would be an idiot not to try to get away.

He stood. It took every ounce of willpower not to break into a run. He took a long, slow breath and carefully snuck up the stairs. He waited for several long seconds (at least) at the door, listening for signs of someone on the other side and hearing no one. He tried the door and it opened with a small creak.

Sun filtered through the curtains on a beautiful white back door. David covered his mouth to smother the victorious relief and continued his slow creep forward. Something fell to the floor in the room to his right and David pressed himself against the counter as his heart jumped into his throat. He pulled a knife off the countertop and held it with a white-knuckle grip. He doubted he would be quick enough to use it if it came to that.

David recognized the kidnapper’s voice as he muttered to himself. He was somewhere just on the other side of the wall. The voice didn’t seem to be getting any closer. David held his breath.

There was a loud thud, like someone punching a wall. David moved faster until the kidnapper raised his voice.

“What is wrong with you? Is that all you know how to say?”

David froze.

Kiwi?

He couldn’t leave her with this guy. 

Well… he could. The door was right there. And, apology or not, she had already left him behind. A part of David still wasn’t even sure that she was real and not just some strange coping mechanism.

“What were you doing down there? What are you?” the kidnapper demanded.

David skulked back towards the doorway to peek into the next room, just barely leaning past the wall. The living room was nearly as sparse as the kitchen. Everything was centered around an old couch, angled in such a way that the occupant wasn’t faced towards the kitchen, but would be able to see it out of the corner of his eye if he thought to look. In front of the couch was a coffee table, bare except for a quarter-full bottle of whiskey and a small bundle of duct tape.

The man there was unmasked, a large but otherwise generic white man in his early 30’s. It was obviously the brute that had been feeding David in the basement. He slammed a hand down beside the duct tape and it shivered with the same broken squeal Kiwi had made when David had grabbed her.

David’s stomach flipped. He stepped forward and spoke up to demand the stranger let Kiwi go. He did it without thinking, without even bothering to catch what words he was using. His brain didn’t catch up with his mouth until the man’s barely-focused eyes landed on him, making him flinch back towards the kitchen.

“No, no, get back here,” the man said, picking up a pistol. “Sit down. You’re not going anywhere.”

The gun’s safety clicked as the man waved it towards a spot on the carpet on the other side of the table. David opened his mouth to argue, to fight back, and his resistance died when the unsteady barrel found its mark across the room.

“Man, shit. I knew I shoulda counted, I was just…shit. How the hell did you train this thing to steal keys for you? I snapped its leg and it still won’t even sit still for me,” he said.

David’s face twisted in revulsion. His gaze remained fixed on the gun, not even willing to blink, but he could hear Kiwi crying on the table in front of him, apologizing over and over again. He soured over with guilt.

“No, not important,” the man slurred.” Clock’s ticking. I’m supposed to-to—fuck this. You ever had to clean up a mess a client or someone makes? Probably, right? You work hospitality or whatever you call it. Hotels. Customer service is always a bitch.”

The dark barrel wavered in the man’s unsteady hand and retreated towards the edge of the table. It was still ready to fire as he reached over to pour himself another glass. David wondered just how full that bottle had been when the man sat down. He watched intently, trying to gauge how impaired the man was—if he was slow enough that David could grab the gun.

That would still leave him in the same predicament as before. He’d never held a gun. The man might be drunk and slow, but he was big and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to having his weapon stolen. David had survived this long on cooperation, right? He did like the idea of this guy not having a gun, though.

“One of your coworkers has a real rich aunt, you know? Something Kim? They’re close enough to bet she’d give up a good ransom for him, too. Good enough to find someone like me to make him disappear. So I do my job just fine, nice and clean, but she ignores us once my partner gets in touch. Dumb bitch, right? Blocks us once he starts sending pictures even. Except it turns out the client’s a fucking idiot. Pointed me at you.

“Partner says he dealt with the client, sorted out our payout, but I’m still stuck with you. And every day you’re messing, there’s a chance someone finds a clue that points them in the right direction. To me, you know? I’m pretty good, I’m clean, I look normal. I’ve got a day job, all that. But you being here’s…it’s bad. So I need you gone, but I don’t…I never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it. So,” the man threw back the rest of his drink with a grimace. “Liquid courage. It’s not helping like it’s supposed to.”

The stranger pouted at him, waiting for pity. It was hard to feel sorry for him, what with Kiwi crying and broken on the table, the gun beside her, not to mention days David had spent in the basement or the task at hand. David took a deep breath and put on a sympathetic face anyway, as if he were dealing with an angry guest and not a killer. 

“You could let me go. I don’t know where we are. I couldn’t say anything about you except you’re six-foot-something and have brown eyes. You could just dump me off by a bar or something somewhere and I wouldn’t be your problem anymore, y—”

“Nuh. If I thought I could trust you, I wouldn’t have chained you up. That’s not gonna work for me. Partner’s sending someone to collect you tonight, dead or alive. And the connections my guy knows, you’re gonna want to be dead.”

David swallowed.

The other man tilted his head thoughtfully. He slid his glass back onto the table. Kiwi squeaked as it came to a stop just shy of her hip. She was so helpless there, pinned with just a few pieces of tape.

“But maybe you’d be willing to do it yourself?” the man said

David looked down at the table. The man shook his head and laughed, pulling the gun away. David was left to stare at Kiwi. What little of her could be seen beyond the duct tape looked terrible, shaking and soaked with sweat and tears. David squirmed. The man only found her because she was trying to help him.

“I’m not giving you a gun, I’m only so stupid. But you could send you back downstairs, give you a knife.  I might have some oxy laying around somewhere too, if you’re afraid of pain. Rat friend stays with me.”

Heat rose in David’s chest and he had to work to keep the snarl off his face. Why keep her? What did she have to do with anything? Just more bad luck?

“I—Maybe I could try a drink first? Liquid courage, like you said?” David said, voice shaking.

The stranger sagged with relief and laughed. He set the gun back down—now on the couch, well out of David’s reach—and went to refill the glass. Acid rose up his throat as he took the drink and thought about his next move.

He wished he hadn’t dropped the knife in the kitchen.

The stranger raised the bottle for a toast. David nodded grimly and waited for the other man to tilt his head back, then threw the only weapon he had left.

He lunged for Kiwi before he knew if the glass landed or not. He hissed his own apologies as he tore the tape off the table with her still caught within it. She squealed and buried her face in his forefinger as he jerked away from the table.

Shattered glass fell to the floor as the stranger stood. David lingered for only a quick half-second to take in what he’d done. He felt sick. The left half of the man’s face was covered with blood. He pawed at his eye with one hand and groped for the pistol with the other. David pressed Kiwi to his chest and ran.

Half-blind and full-drunk, the stranger missed shot after shot, even at point-blank range. 

As David threw himself into the kitchen, a bullet finally landed, just kissing his right arm. He stumbled but kept moving as the stranger staggered after him. David thought his heart stopped at least twice while he fumbled with the lock on the back door and the stranger’s silhouette appeared in the corner of his eye. 

Another round of shots rang out as David fell through the door and into a bright, early spring afternoon. 

Across the street, a gray-haired woman had been unloading a trunk full of groceries. She heard the gunshots and had frozen with several bags hanging off one arm until the sight of a bloodied, filthy man emerged from her neighbor’s yard. She shouted as she made sense of the scene and rushed David from the sunlight into the safety of her home.

[knowltonsrangers]

affability

TURN!Robert Townsend x reader

minor angst, in which Robert is wounded and the reader could not find him.

His hand finds yours, calloused palm sliding evenly against your soft skin, and though more of a subconscious tactic, it squeezes yours tightly, as if terrified to see you go. A breathless sigh fumbles from your lips, unsure of what to say, but you know he's staring expectingly down at you, waiting for your lecture or words of discountenance. Yet, you can hardly bring yourself to meet his eyes, let alone dip into a tangent of how much he just scared you.

"I wasn't planning on leaving," A chill runs the length of your spine as you settle next to him on the bed, eyes trained on the floor. "At least not yet."

Startling you slightly, he stands, his own hand tugging free from yours as he crosses the wooden floor to the window. Though candles bathe the room in a soft orange glow, the look on his face remains hidden as he leans against the window pane, arms crossed.

"If you want me to scream and yell at you, I won't," It’s here you begin, and ultimately Robert guffaws, but it has an undertone of desperation and miserableness. "I didn't think you would, just by the look you gave me when you entered," He says.

It's the first sentence he's really spoken, at least since you arrived, words exchanged first by worried once-overs and a gentle hug that he all but enveloped you into.

"I was worried-" Your tongue darts between your teeth, harshly biting down to keep the onslaught of tears at bay. If Robert had noticed your moment to gather yourself, he spoke nothing of it.

"Worried that something had happened when I could not find you, it’s unlike you to not show up for work. Or not be where you’re supposed to.”

You watch his eyebrows raise in the reflection of the window, nonetheless softened by your fretting. “At least, during the daytime,”

"Clearly, I was unqualified to show up in such a state." He uses the arm not holding himself up against the wall to gesture the length of his body. Your gaze bounces around to the many wounds that litter his pale skin, many easier to see now that he has shed his coat and remained in his trousers and white cotton blouse.

"I wouldn't have expected you to go to work like that." Your throat clears. "But I would have expected you to realize I would wonder where you were," You hesitantly shake your head, registering that what you've said was nothing but a mess of words.

However, the brunette turns, clearly piecing together what you mumbled, with ease.

"You're right," Robert muses. "Sorry. Part of me didn't want you to see me like this."

"All beaten to hell and looking like a kicked dog?" You tread dangerous waters, but are delighted to find that satisfied smirk of his brimming on a busted lip.

"Oh, y/n, how you wound me while I am already on the ground," Pushing off the wall, he makes his way back over to his bed, hand now resting on the wooden footboard.

"It's deserved, Robbie. I can say that with upmost confidence.” Sniffling, your palms splay flat against the blanket, leaning most of your weight onto the bed as you tilt back to look up at him.

“And who dressed those wounds?”

“Myself. I haven’t left my room today, in case you haven’t noticed, y/n.” The usual snark slips into his tone, a small bout of agitation in his brow, yet, his eyes remain soft and content.

“May I ask who—“ Any hope at all is instantly ripped from your chest, his reply firm and curt.

“No, you may not.”

You toss your head back and forth twice, mulling over the choice you had. You could either press onwards, or disregard the notion altogether and help him re-bandage his injuries.

“Is it because—“ It’s unable to be helped, so it seems.

“y/n, what did I just say?”

Robert sighs, joining you once more on his bed, one leg tucked beneath him so he faced you.

“It’s just in my nature to worry. I’m worried.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about. I made a mistake, and it won’t happen again.” He argues, right hand coming to the blanket, just shy of yours.

“You said that the last time.”

“That was different.” You blink. “How so?”

“You really are disregarding my wishes to not speak about this,” He stalls, and you relax, shoulders sinking in relief, not realizing how stiff you were.

“I’m not interrogating you about the how, I’m asking how it’s different than all the other times,” Robert shrugs, fingers sliding closer to yours against the blanket.

“It’s different because it was my fault. All the other times it was not.”

There it is. You smile, teeth sinking into your bottom lip to swallow the smirk that fights its way to the surface.

“You are not laughing.” When you don’t reply, turning your head away from him, he suddenly becomes exasperated.

“Are you?” Your own voice betrays you, a slight warble in your words.

“N-no…”

“It’s not funny, I don’t understand how it being my fault is so hilarious,” He sounds tired, finally fed up with your nonsense for the evening.

“Because you’re so adamant that the other times it was not possible for it to be your fault. It’s not funny, you’re right. I’m sorry for laughing,”

“I am not saying I am always right,” He insists, fingertips brushing your knuckles.

“But usually, I am.” He adds, and your nose wrinkles, mildly indifferent to his gaze.

“Come here.” Robert slides closer to you, taking your hand in his as he does so, finding the empty spot next to your side easily.

“I’ll re-dress at least this one, I can’t stand the way you’ve done it so haphazardly.” His eyebrow raises.

“You cannot stand it? I’m the one who had to do it one-handed,”

You reach over to his beside table, grabbing the gauze he’d left there. Still at his side, you pull your hand from his hold and begin unwinding the knot he had tied.

“Such a child, stop moping.” He rolls his eyes.

There’s a welcomed silence that enters his room, his eyes trained on your fingers as they expertly peel away the now marred gauze, and wipe away any dirt or dried blood that had gathered there.

“I am sorry.” It comes quietly, nearly a whisper, and you have to move your eyes up to even see that his lips moved.

“I know you are. It’s alright.” You say, carefully wrapping his forearm, then tying the end in a small knot. “You know me, Robbie. I worry, and especially when you are doing things you shouldn’t be.”

“y/n.” You realize that your eyes are still on his arm, and you blink, eyes moving back to his, pulling away gently.

“Yes?” It’s meek, but it’s said.

“Stop worrying. I will always find my way back to you, no matter what.” His words are effortlessly sincere, and you sigh, hand settling in the crook of his uninjured arm.

“I know, I know. Can’t blame me, can you? I’ve been running around all day, looking for you, and you were in the first place I should have checked.”

“Well, that’s on you,” Robert snuffs, to which you gasp. “Rivington said—“

“I don’t care what he said, you should have known the only place I hide is here.” The candles flicker, almost loudly, enough to encourage him to try and get some rest soon.

“When you smile with a busted lip like that—“

“Enough, y/n, seriously. I’ve had it up to here with you.” He gestures above his head, but as irritated as he may sound, he only pulls closer to your side.

“Yeah, like I’ve heard that before.” You pause, before pressing onwards. “Get some rest, Robert. I’ll have to be on my way, so for the sake of my poor heart, please, just sleep.”

He nods twice before squeezing your hand, silently letting you know all was well.

“Come by tomorrow? I’m off of work as well. I’ll return Thursday,” It’s hushed, and there’s a twinkle in his eye.

“Of course. I’ll be over in the morning with something to better treat that arm.” You stand off his bed, feet dragging across the floor as he’s hot on your heels, reaching just past you to open the door.

“Can I at least walk you—“

“No. Thank you, but I’ll be just fine. Rivington will see me out.” You offer one last look before heading out the door, minding the narrow stairs.

Robert sighs, closing the door once you’re out of his sight and moving towards the window, hopeful to at least make sure you make it to the end of the street.

The candles are all extinguished, except for one, the same that sits squarely on his desk as rough hands run along parchment and folded letters.

For what it’s worth, it seems to have been an advantageous endeavor.

[umbralrabbit]

Giggle Grove

Here we are! First ever post and it’s a collab/appreciaton post for an artist I absolutely admire. Seriously, please look at @xsunnysoftx their art is ADORABLE. They also made an adorable picture for the story here: https://www.tumblr.com/xsunnysoftx/718443947272355840/click-for-a-clearer-image-this-was-made-for-my?source=share 

Teacup finds himself in a place in Wonderland he hasn’t visited before! What wonders will he find? And how badly is he going to get tickled? Warning: This is a tickle fic, if the summary did not tip you off. Lots of flustery words and the lee is younger than most. Please be advised.

Teacup was feeling slightly mischievous today, or was it adventurous? Anything to explain his sudden wandering off out of the view of his caregivers.

Teacup didn’t venture far for something to catch his curious eyes, a strange flower that he hasn’t seen much of in wonderland. It was oddly colorful, and smelled absolutely wonderful! He just couldn’t help himself to wander more into the forest to see if he could find any more of these miraculous plants.

He wanders through the forest path, lured in by more beautiful and strange plants. Wandering more and more in until he found a little grove with a particularly big flower in the middle. The name was too big for him to remember quite yet, but it had a big, soft place to sit along with its red petals. 

“What a big flower! I bet it smells lovely…but I bet I could…” He wanders right over to the flower, and sits right on it. The stem was thick and perfectly capable of supporting the 5 year old’s weight. He wags his tail, very satisfied in the fact that he could sit on it. As he sat, he heard a small “twinkle” noise nearby. His ears perked, unsure where the noise was coming from…

“H-Hello? Is someone there?” He calls out, not getting much of a response. 

The sound of light giggles surprise him, as colorful dust starts to fly to and fro above him, zipping in and out of his line of sight until they form into a most wondrous thing! 

A girl, no bigger than his hand started to form from the dust and shine the most brilliant gold. An elegant dress and small little crown formed around her body, her beautiful wings forming last and fluttering as soon as they took shape. She was a fairy!

More fairies started to form around the boy, all with different hair styles, colors and different wing patterns that all but told what kind of fairy they were. The gold one fluttered close to his face, greeting him with a sweet smile and a proper curtsy.

“Welcome, new friend! To Giggle Grove, the happiest place in Wonderland! I am the leader of the fairies. As you can see by my crown~.” She says with a happy giggle. 

Teacup was absolutely mesmerized by the colors and unique forms of each of the fairies. Just when he thinks he’s seen it all, Wonderland continues to surprise and enchant him! “W-Wow! A real fairy! It’s nice to meet you! My name is Teacup!”

“Oh we know~. You’re always around the Hatter and March Hare! We’ve always wanted to meet you! We think you can make this forest look even lovelier!”

The puppy boy tilted his head, tail wagging curiously behind him as he pondered her sentence. “I can? What do you mean?” He asks, curious to how he can help. 

“It’s simple, my dear! This forest grows and stays healthy by one simple thing. Laughs!”

“Laughs?” Teacup blinked, he had to repeat it to himself to believe it. “I-It grows with laughs?” He asks, ears perking up a bit at the notion.

“Yes! Laughter! Lots of it! It’s how these wonderful little plants grow. Think of it as fertilizer! And you, my darling little puppy, could you maybe help us out~?” The gold fairy asks, innocently pleading with him.

“Sure! I love a good giggle~!” Teacup said gleefully, and before he knew it, he felt vines gently wrap around his wrists and pull them up towards his head, a vine around his waist held him to the flower, so he wouldn’t easily slip away.

“Oh that is wonderful to hear~! Let’s start…here!” She points to his belly, her assistant fairies start to pull up his shirt, exposing his taut belly and sides. Already, the little one starts to crack a smile as he can feel the phantom touches of fingers kneading his belly.

Being so small, they couldn’t possibly get enough giggles out of him to make their flowers grow…so they have a different method. They raise their hands, a soft glow emitting from them as two sets of much bigger hands in proportion to Teacup appear at each side, one fairy controlling each.

They descend on his taut belly, digging their fingers into the soft flesh and drilling away, teasing and testing him for the best reactions.

“Heeeh-HEE! Gehehehe!” He snorts, legs starting to curl and kick with his escalating giggles. He was writhing and struggling in his bonds as the fairies continued to tease and torment their adorable captive, legs kicking in the air as the fingers started to zero in on what really made him laugh.

The rhythmic “Squeeze, squeeze, squeeeeeze” of his sides kept him giggling, an occasional squeal too for the long squeezes of his belly. It was by far the best way to make him laugh. Mirthful giggles were guaranteed if they sunk their fingers in and drilled them around, constant squirms were frequent and an adorable reward for doing so. 

“Mahahahahahai Tuhuhuhhuhumeee~! It tihihickles so much!” He giggles, in his kicks, his shoes started to fling off, leaving only his cute baby blue and white striped socks. Whether it was intentional, or they were already eased off with a bit of magic….will be forever unknown~.

The trees started to grow a few leaves back, the grass transitioning into a more healthy green, the grove was receiving his giggles well! Of course, it wasn’t enough just to tickle someone so adorable, they just HAD to dote on him.

“Mhm~....you love your tummy scritches don’t you? Look at those kicking legs!” One fairy teased in his left ear. 

“Awww, does the puppy like it when I wiggle my fingers like this?” Another fairy whispered in his ear, adding to her tease with a very precise tickle to his belly side.

The teases combined with the playful tickling made Teacup turn red like nothing else, it was simultaneously embarrassing and very fun at the same time. Even if he turned his head one way or the other, he’d be greeted with a soft, gentle voice ready to tease him again. 

Ready to tell him how good of a boy he was, how cute he was, how ticklish he was! He let himself laugh, unable to stop the barrage of teasing as it broke down the wall he had to at least hold out on laughing like a silly boy. The cycle of being teased and tickled was more than the boy could take! 

As he giggled, the fairies were gleeful that his laughter made even the flower he laid on healthier than before. If they could get him to laugh harder, they would have quite the healthy garden!

“GYEHEHEHEHE~! MAHAHAHI TUHUHUHUMMY! TOOMUCHTUHUHUHUMMY TICKLES!” He cackles, his kicks getting more frantic as he reaches his limit. As quick as they began, the hands lifted away to give Teacup a well deserved break.

The fairies let him get some air back in his lungs, and let his arms come down...the vines then wrapped around his upper arms, restraining them again, but in a more comfortable position. He sees a teal fairy hover over with a small little bowl. 

“Would you like some water?” She asks sweetly. Teacup nodded softly, taking a few sips of refreshing water that were sorely needed. 

“Oh the plants you’re sprouting are absolutely beautiful~! You've got a good laugh, little one~.” The gold fairy sounded absolutely pleased, it was simply marvelous to see the garden grow so well. 

“Hehe….I-I’m happy you’re happy! B-But um…why am I still tied up?” Teacup asks, a little frazzled still from the last session. 

“We just need a little bit more~. After your break, we’ll happily let you go if you can handle one more session.” The gold fairy explained, Teacup all but blushed as he realized he was going to get tickled again. 

“O-Oh gee…um…Just be gentle?” He asks softly, feeling the hands grip his left ankle and lift it up.

“Mhmhm~....let’s begin.” The gold fairy clapped her hands, sending the other fairies to work. The vines around his waist and arms tighten slightly, not too tight but not too loose to let him get away. The first fairy grabbed the toe of his baby blue and white striped sock, keeping her grip as she floated upwards, making it stretch and slowly pull away from his little foot.

“Don't be nervous sweetie~. We're just going to make you giggle yourself silly like before!" The fairy holding his sock teased.

“O-Oh no. Oh please-!” His toes shyly curled, but it did nothing to interrupt the slow pull. The fabric rubbed against his ankles and slowly made its way to the heel. 

“P-Please not the…! N-not my-” He stammers, hiding his face behind his floppy ears as the cheeks start to redden and the giggles start to come out, the mere idea of tickles makes the poor pup giggle! Even as he scrunches his little foot, the sock still stretches out, the feeling of soft fabric gliding slowly past his ankle.

"Ah ah ah, little one~. We want you to see!" The gold fairy gently holds up one of his ears, making him watch as his sock stretches away. 

"First comes the heel...." The fabric teases past the heel of his foot. 

"Then comes the arch...." The gentle breeze kisses his arch, the sensation alone making him even MORE giddy. 

"And then out pops your toes!"

The sock finally comes off, revealing a cute little foot who's already trying to pull away from the devious looking rainbow feather that gets ever closer.... "We haven't even started tickling you yet, and already you're a fountain of giggles! Oh we're going to have so much fun!"

His little toes still remain curled as the feather closes in, the first fronds of the multicolored feather making contact with his heel and making its ascent up to his toes. Each second the feather teases his soft skin is another hissing giggle that leaves him. 

The gold fairy giggles, watching him try to resist the ticklish feather. “They’re so adorable when they try to hold it in~.” She coos, watching the adorable pup sloooowly break down as the seconds tick by. 

“E-eeep! N-Not the…not the feeEEET~!”

Meanwhile...

“Little Maaaate!”

“Sippycup! Where are you?” Two concerned voices call out, wandering the strange forests in search of their little “Alice”. 

“Oh goodness...where could our little sippycup be? I hope he dinnae wander far!” Mary is trying her best not to panic, searching high and low in the colorful forest for even the smallest speck of yellow.

Halister on the other hand was much more frantic in his search, sniffing and zipping from point to point as he tried to locate the lost child as quickly as he could. He was arguably much more stressed. “I feel the same! Such a strange forest, innit? A-All the more quickly we get the little mate and OUT of here!” The march hare replies, almost anxiously thumping the ground as he’s desperate to see the smallest sight of yellow.

Mary had noticed how “hyper” Halister was….much more than normal. Ever since they wandered into this colorful forest, he’s been acting like he’s wanted to leave as soon as humanly possible. She dismissed it as worry, but she couldn’t help but notice how…particular his routes were, like he was avoiding something.

The two colorful caretakers slowly started to sink into despair, of inescapable worry before a very similar melody broke them out of their spiral. “Ay...do ye hear that?” Mary piped up, putting a hand to her ears as to listen closer.

Halister perked up one ear to listen for the sound himself, “I do! And it sounds like…”

“It really sounds like…” 

The cadence, the tone, it was all familiar to them…laughter? A joyous high pitched laughter that they so loved to hear from the many children they’ve looked after. But this one was special, this one was particularly sweet and joyful...Better yet, it was the unmistakable sound of… “TEACUP!” They both exclaimed. 

The two rushed towards the source of the sound, careful not to tread on the strange flowers that…seem to get more vibrant the closer they got to the sound. As they get through the last few bushes, they happen upon a large and beautiful grove… with their lost little friend right in the middle!

Teacup was giggling and squealing away from a feather gently brushing on his sole, his foot wiggled to and fro to try and “escape” the feather, but all it did was make the fairy holding it become that much more playful and motivated to keep him giggling. As Teacup’s mirthful laughter continued, flowers around him started to bloom into the most brilliant colors and shapes, seemingly encouraged to do so by the child’s adorable laughter. He was in no danger, but he was a bit tied up…and the fairies seem to be teasing off his other sock to target the other bare foot underneath.

“Ohohoho nooo~! Nahahaht the other one! Eeehehehehe!” He squealed, trying to curl his toes to keep it on. 

Halister and Mary breathed a sigh of relief and shared a giggle as Mary called out to Teacup. “We told you not to go too far, Sippycup!” 

“Gehehehehe~! I-I’m sohohorehehehe- HYA-HAHAHA~!” He yelps, feeling the feather weave between his wiggling toes. He still wiggles them, knowing it makes it tickle more even as the feather saws between them. “MAHAHAHAHAA~! Thehehehehey’re gettin’ my tohohohoes~!” 

“I bet they are~.” Mary giggles, enjoying the sound of his squealing giggles. Halister meanwhile…

Halister is anxious. Extremely anxious, almost thumping every so often from how much he wants to leave. “W-Well, there’s our little mate! Why don’t you go get him and we can jog on out of here~?” 

“...Halister? Is der somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me?”

“W-Well it’s-” The hare is quickly interrupted.

"As I hover and twinkle, is that the March Hare~?" The gold fairy hovers over, making the hare stiffen up on hearing them.

"Are dey friends of yours, Hal?" Mary questions, turning to see an expression that completely betrays the answer she was going to get.

"O-Oh I- I know quite a few people in wonderland you see! I get around sometimes!" He very nervously replies, thumping the ground beneath him as that jolly fairy gets ever closer.

“Oh, more than just friends~! You gave us such beautiful flowers for the grove! Did you step on one of your favorite flowers on the way here~?” The gold fairy smirked, leaning in a little closer to the blushing bunny. “You know the one…the one that got your big lucky paw and tickled you silly till we found you~?”

“I-I don’t recall! Not a tick!” 

“Awww, not even when we took our special feathers and tickled those big, bunny ears?” A green fairy coos.

“And you’re sure you don’t remember the flower that tickled your tummy with its many vines~? Especially the one that got your belly button?” An orange fairy teased.

“I- You- I haven’t the slightest-” He stammers, all but getting surrounded by some of the fairies. 

“And you’re absolutely sure you don’t remember when just about every fairy came to tickle those big paws of yours~? Now every fairy here is veeeery lucky!” The gold fairy added.

“M-Mary dear, please help-” Halister quietly pleads, legs twitching like he’s about to sprint the complete opposite direction.

The whole time, the hatter covered her mouth with her hand, hiding her giggling as she watched Halister get flustered by the grove fairies. So he has been here before! And apparently got quite the working over! 

“I’ll help innae moment, A’ll get our little Teacup before we head off~.”

Mary wandered away with a cheeky smile and a wave, leaving poor Halister to be accosted by the devious fairies. “M-Mary! Oh- P-Please hurry!”

Mary sees the epitome of cuteness squirming and writhing away in the center of the flower pile. The little pup’s tail was wagging so much it kept thumping against the flower, a cute little rhythmic noise that told everyone just how happy he was at the moment. He could barely look as the feather continued to tease away at his vulnerable foot, and his newly free foot was experiencing a different kind of tickle teasing.

Held at the ankle by a magic hand, two fairies play with his wiggly toes and skitter their small fingers up and down his arches, they even hold the toes still to get to that baby soft skin under and between said toes. The small yet precise tickles really make him howl laughing, a new font of mirth being worked out of him to make the plants grow to their fullest potential. His little arms wave and hands clutch at nothing as the tickles make his feet tingle like nothing before, truly these fairies were professional ticklers!

“Auu-HEHEHEHEHE~! MA! PAHAHA~! They're sohohohohoho ticklish!” He cries out, an expression of pure glee on his blushing face. He was loving every moment of it, every gentle tickle or devious tease at his delicate feet. 

Mary just smiles, seeing Teacup smile was contagious. It was even more sweet when they slowed down, transitioning from tickles to kisses around his little feet. Marking them with different colors of the rainbow. Some at his toes, some around his heels, and even more at the balls of his feet or arches!

Teacup snorts, a high pitched squeal leaving them as the kisses tickled just as much as the feathers and fingers did! “Auu-hahahahaha~! EEEE! Not tihihihckle kisses!”

“Make sure you hold his toes when you get his arches, it tickles reaaaal bad~.” “MAHAHAHAAA!” Teacup protests, embarrassed by Mary’s comment. The escalating laughter was proof enough they took her advice and were greatly exploiting it. 

“NOHOHOT THEEERE~! Eee-hee! It reheheheheheally tickles! Mahahhaha! Pahahaha! H-Hehehelp!”

  Knowing he was reaching his limit, the hatter quietly signed to the fairies that he’s had enough, and just as quickly they stopped. The hands released his ankles, and the vines around his belly and arms unraveled, allowing him to slide down and right into Mary’s arms. All that tickling had him tuckered out.

“Mmmh…Ma?” Teacup said softly, cuddling up more to Mary.

“Hi Sippycup~. Aww, look at ye~. You’re pure done in, aren’t ye?” She softly coos, cradling him in her arms as he yawns.

“M’not that tired yet…” He protests, despite barely able to keep his eyes open. He smiles and giggles ever so softly, the magic of the fairy kisses tickling his feet.

“Here are his socks, my lady.” A proper purple fairy gives Teacup’s socks to Mary.

“Thank ye, my dear.” She smiles, taking them and Teacup back to Halister. “Alright, you scaredy-bunny~, we can go now!” 

“Oh thank heavens…” Halister was hiding behind a tree, much to the giggling fairies delight. He chuckles on seeing the tuckered out Teacup.

“Do come again~. We’d love to have Teacup over sometime…and maybe you can help make the grove grow too!” The gold fairy suggests, making a shiver run down Halister’s spine. 

“A-Ah…I would, but I’m so busy with preparing tea time and events and-” “We’ll certainly come again! You have a beautiful grove.” Mary interjects, much to the poor hare’s dismay.

The colorful fairies see the group off, vanishing away in colorful dust that spreads around the grove as they tend to their tasks once more. The little pup continues to snooze in the security of their parent’s arms, their little feet twitching ever so slightly as the magic kisses continue to tingle long after they were applied. They’ll vanish in time, but for the moment, Teacup’s going to have a lot of tickle based dreams for the moment for as long as they tingle away. 

And secretly, he’s already planning his next visit to Giggle Grove~. Maybe he’ll bring Mary and Halister along with him too!

[zillyeh]

Many sweeps ago... Zippie!

Doc version

Delhon’s worse storms rarely came as far inland as the swamps, but those rare times were always bad. Hot, sulfury swamp water mixed to steam with the cold bullets pouring down from above, making it nearly impossible to see. It had come fast and aggressive. Delhon storms always did. Unluckily for you, your terrible finicky doors decided that tonight was the night you needed to be locked out. Figures. The rare cold always did this. Marija was going to pluck your eyes out for real this time. Wherever she was.

You curl yourself as much as you can underneath the small amount of door frame you have for shelter. Enny’s lusus had taken her again, but even if she were here- running out in the rain was dangerous. Beasts that lurked under the surface were bold in this weather. Trolls were even bolder. Not you, but you’d barely been something one would consider a troll in all your five sweeps alive. Marija was supposed to keep you safe. So far she had, but that night was more than unsafe, and she was nowhere to be seen. 

The soft, childlike part of you wanted to cry. It might not matter in that much rain, but you hadn’t yet mastered the art of being quiet yet. Being loud would be just as much a death sentence as someone finding you.

But you were five sweeps old, and you were cold and wet and hungry. The solution to all of those things would be so easy to fix if your stupid hive’s doors weren’t so shitty, like everything else you had- your soaked through shoes and the paper thin hoodie that clung to your face and horns. It comes out of you- a sob that almost sounds like a waterfowl’s honk. Your tears warmed your face, but not enough for comfort. Not enough to be worth doing this. You curled up further, pressing your knees to your forehead as you cried. It wasn’t fair, it was never fair. You don’t get fair.

A splash from the swamp mere yards from your doorstep only amplified your cries. You were really in it now- whatever it was was coming fast. Why not make it easy? If En was there she’d shift the both of you inside, as much as it made her nose bleed. You wondered if she’d miss you when her lusus dumped her back here again. Maybe there would be bones for her to offer her.

The wet slapping sound of your lusus’ webbed feet didn’t reach your ears until she was right up on you. You flinched as she ran up the few steps to your side. That was probably worse. 

To your surprise, the horned goose snuggled close. Marija pushed herself into your lap, her body warm and surprisingly dry. Her wide wingspan was enough to tuck your rain soaked head into. She made a series of trilling noises- that little three note tick you’d picked up from her- and rested her neck down your back. You make those clicks back as well as you can through your tears. She’s here, she’s here. As tough as she is with you, anything else that comes here would have hell to go through before they reached you.

Your crying didn’t stop until you slipped into unconsciousness in under her body weight. Your shivering wouldn’t stop for the next week.

[onmyojicoasttocoast]

Envoy

"I've heard the most interesting things about you."

His head turned. He locked his gaze on the speaker.

"That you're a keeper of sacred things. Speak the language of birds. See monsters others cannot. Know hidden villages, Yanxian in location, but not Doman in name. You've mediated disputes with parties of whom we can find no record. Brokered uncatalogued alliances with non-entities. Now, that hardly makes sense."

Slow footsteps brought her into his line of sight. Hyur. Dark hair. Her manner spoke of martial discipline. She wore the uniform of the new Viceroy's favorites. A pause gave weight to her words when she accused: "You've been teaching rebels magic."

Uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach.

"You summoned that beast during the pointless scuffle near the dock." She leaned against the bars, as casual as could be.

His blood ran cold. The first accusation constituted a coercive threat. The second meant torture before an inevitable death sentence.

"How much of it is true, I wonder?" At first she spoke as silky as a lover might. Poisonous disdain slipped in with her continuation. "The Urabe kept such secrets zealously. However did an animal like you earn them?"

Akeno had to admit, the woman caught him off his guard. The previous legionary's efforts turned up nothing. Yet she apparently had started some dossier on him. He could not say he knew anything about her in turn. All he could tell of her was that she was from western Yanxia and raised the Garlean way, given her look and accent. Granted, he did not care to know any more about her, either.

Instead, the vicious impulse to grab her, push, then pull as hard as possible savaged his thoughts. She stood half his size and close enough to capture in a lunge. He could break her. He could kill her. He could. He should. She frightened him. Everything about her attitude and airs screamed predator, despite the small frame.

"… with one of the jungle tribes on their own grounds. A rarity." Her voice cut back into his thoughts. "Hingashi let a Yanxian officer travel past Kugane unfettered, yet they shame you on paper? What did you do for the bakufu to respond so, I wonder? Someone passed me a little something you wrote, too. Swallow's Compass was closed for good reason. How would you know what Onokoro rituals entail, to compare them to other sects? That observation about Xaelic faiths and their glyphs is interesting, too."

Akeno said nothing. He made no movement. Unyielding stone pressed against his shoulder, and the floor beneath his hand prickled with stale straw. His stomach cramped. He still hurt from the last interrogation. He focused on physical sensation, and then the pace of his breathing from there. No recognition of her words crossed his face. He could not allow it.

Of course they honed in on those with whom diviners and mages had contact. Not to mention anything also hinting at reference to Allag. Goodness forbid Doma shared anything to surrounding nations about binding powers unknown, what Garlemald could claim as evidence for the summoning of eikons. Or, leads on anything the Empire could exploit for technology.

They sought confirmations for their bias, excuses for further invasions. That his research ever would have fed such rot stung fiercely. That his comrades missed so many key files and reports when they tried to destroy anything of value? Frightening. If someone in his network broke and divulged so many secrets, it likely was too late to grant them a merciful death. That made him wonder what other information the Viceroy's little birds had found.

The hyur turned to face him fully. She smiled. The smile did not reach her eyes.

"Please. Tell me of your…" She trailed off, considering her words. "Your mysterious diplomatic missions, my dear scholar. What helps me, spares you tenfold suffering."

[innerbeast]

it had already ended, this fight of theirs.

evident in the way dar'khol's fist trembled with its last wave of force before yuri's tightening grip brought it to a standstill. he had intended to make up for where he was under performing prior, to try and bury his pathetic display of honesty with the purpose this cage held. but what was the point? he'd gone and said that which he'd been avoiding; he got the conversation he wanted.

eyes widen, briefly, until his entire face is scrunching up with the want to protest. words sitting at the tip of his tongue, but not knowing how to properly string them together. the only trouble here was their stubbornness, how they each went about trying to avoid this.

but that didn't mean there wasn't something worthwhile in the midst of their mess. dar'khol wouldn't be trying if there wasn't.

what he saw was an equal; a fresh perspective that had him yearning for the days to come, for every and any excuse to come together. a star that shone just as bright as the sun itself, guiding him towards something he'd been missing.

he may love the world, and its people, so easily -- but there's a reassuring warmth he's desperately reaching for. the fact it remains so hidden, buried so deeply, only has him wanting it more.

there's no resistance when his fist is brought back down. it practically dissolves; fingers going lax and parting from his palm. his only struggle now, being trying to hear everything said to him over the rapid drumming in his chest reaching his ears.

"as if you're not a walking road block..." there's his own attempt to roll into normalcy again, but he's too caught up on that unfinished sentence at the end. there was some truth to his retort, but ultimately it came down to dar'khol doubting most of what he saw -- or felt. writing it off as his own feelings when in truth... they overlapped, didn't they.

if he wasn't so quick to rush in; to act first and leave the thinking for later, perhaps he would have pieced it together.

dar finds himself flinching, ever so slightly, once their heads come together. part of him expected more force, to hear a crack followed by incessant pounding -- but that never came. instead, he's left with the sight of his own face being far too close. it's the knowledge of it being yuri pressed against him like this that has him drawing in a shaky breath, and holding it.

lips part as if to speak, a quiver held in them as he racks his brain for something to respond with. there's a voice in his head telling him to deny it, to keep the blame huddled for himself -- while the rest of him feels like its on the verge of bursting.

a sentiment shared. something he should have known yet kept himself in the dark under the assumption things would get better; that it should all just remain as it had been. when the reality was so painfully different.

he wanted something... more.

"yuri," it's all dar could bring himself to say, the name a gentle -- albeit shaken -- breath. speaking aloud comes with a sigh, the remaining air he held finding release as he allowed his own eyes to fall shut. a similar attempt to envision the man as he should be against him. his hand that remained free slipped from its previous placement, reaching up and around to perch against the back of yuri's head.

anything to hold him there, for even just a second longer.

there's still plenty left to be worked on, much still left unsaid. but the bulk of it was out in the open. that alone carries with it a wave of relief; as if rid of a weight he'd been carrying for far too long... he's finding it difficult to not allow himself a smile. even if small.

"you're still such a pain in the ass..." dar carries his voice quietly, words meant for nobody else but the swordsman above him. their closeness is used to his advantage, tilting his head to press against him in turn. "i don't wanna see that changing any time soon."

a huff is what finally draws him away. head resting fully back against the floor, his hand slipping away to lay outstretched at his side... and he's laughing. it's light, bubbly almost. a short-lived sound, but his eyes reopen once it fades.

"... we both really suck at this, huh?"

he didn't want to fight anymore, anyway.

"dar--" he flinches as the floor is struck, ears twitching at the thunderous impact.

"dar'khol, stop--" another try, but a punch knocks yuri's protest aside.

'caring'... he feels sick hearing it aloud, eyes blown wide and paralyzed.

but seeing that fist fly again, his instincts take over, "DAMN IT, LISTEN TO ME--!!" he catches it this time, the strained, painful hold only an inch away from his cheek. for as strong as he pleaded, he can't concentrate long enough for a follow-up; his head's too light, nerves firing on all cylinders. he doesn't know what he can say to fix this-- what he should say or how to say it.

in truth, they're both to blame -- he played just as big a role in reciprocating the man's behavior -- but it's yuri who deserves the ire most of all. him and the stupid, delusional mistakes. this is what he'd been hoping to prevent. this was never supposed to happen. but that doesn't matter now, does it? it blew up in his face regardless.

unintentionally, his grip tightens, perhaps a bit too much.

"...ya stubborn idiot, why would ya still--" he gulps down a growing lump in his throat, curses internally when it does nothing to prevent the waver in his pathetic excuse, "it's not worth all the trouble i put ya through, can't ya see that!?"

anyone with a shred of sense would agree that dar'khol shouldn't waste his energy on someone like him, especially after his cowardice-- the warrior's sincere, affectionate, so bright it's blinding at times... how's yuri supposed to match up to that?

but their shared turmoil's out in the open now, whether he likes it or not; disregarding it would only hurt the miqo'te more than he has. though his remaining uncertainty's screaming at him to keep his mouth shut, one thing is clear: he can't bear to see dar'khol like this, blaming himself for an emotion he can't control, over the same unrelenting passion that enamored yuri in the first place (misdirected as it may be).

breath shaky, he presses the fist to the floor, holding it firmly down within his grasp.

"ya got stuck with my memories 'n still couldn't piece it together? simple doesn't even begin to describe ya, i swear," a pitiful attempt at rekindling their banter, clinging to anything that'll make this any less daunting, "if ya hadn't stormed in here so fast, maybe ya would've realized i..." damn it.

for the love of-- just say it! he already did!

fitfully shifting his weight, eyes squeeze shut as yuri presses their foreheads together in a last-ditch, desperate attempt to drown everything out. he forces himself to believe it's the miqo'te's body he feels beneath him, that he isn't sporting a bloody nose in the middle of his damned fight club.

"i failed, too!" not yet ready to admit it -- let alone to their spectators -- the harsh confession's only a touch above a whisper,

"i left. i shut ya out. all 'cause i care! more than i damn well should," brow knit, a heart not his own pumping furiously within its cage (as if beating for both men, body and mind), "so don't ya dare pin the blame on yourself. that ain't your guilt to carry alone."