#so they all have to remind him that they’re there and they love him

[moonstruckme]

Hello! I find myself unable to stop thinking about fae Sirius, so here's another drabble about him as sort of a continuation to the first :)

cw: brief, vague allusion to sex

fae!Sirius x whimsical!reader ♡ 745 words

You’re scanning the earth for small, white flowers when there’s a rustle in the bushes nearby. You turn, expecting the orange streak of a fox vanishing into the brush or a bird taking flight, but you see nothing. The forest is quieter today, as it has been for you lately. Stiller. The sort of place with secrets. 

You draw in a breath as arms snake around your middle, catching you in their snare. 

“Hello, my little naïf,” says a familiar voice, smooth and lovely as the rock in your pocket. “What are you doing wandering about by yourself?”

You turn in Sirius’ arms. He grins down at you, and you press your smiles together in a gentle kiss hello as your own arms wind around his middle. He likes spending a lot of time pressed close together like this; you didn’t know you’d enjoy it so much until you did. 

“I’m looking for chickweed,” you answer him. 

Sirius’ eyebrows raise. Like most of him, they’re beautiful, finely shaped things; you reach up to trace your finger underneath one. Sirius very dignifiedly does not preen over it. “You’re not looking for me?” 

You shake your head, though you both know it’s a lie. You’ve always enjoyed this particular forest, but you visit twice as often since you met him. You’re never not thinking about Sirius, finding things for him, wishing to see him. It’d be embarrassing if he weren’t the same. 

“I was looking for you,” you confide to appease him. 

He tuts softly, a smile curving one side of his mouth. Sirius loves when you’re plain about your feelings for him. He doesn't always return the courtesy, but that’s alright; you can tell that they’re there whether he does or not. He wouldn’t have given you his name otherwise. 

“And what have you brought for me today, lovely thing?” 

“Do I always need to bring you something?” you ask, teasing. “Am I not enough by myself? You never give me anything.” 

Sirius’ eyes flicker with amusement, because this too is a lie. Sirius has given you many, many things. He’s taught you how to listen to the moods of the wind and shown you how to entice butterflies to rest in your palm and brought you unimaginable pleasure one long afternoon by the creek. Not least of all, he’s given you his devotion, proven in a thousand tiny ways. 

You’re unable to conceal your smile as you reach into your pocket, pulling out the rock you picked up this morning. It’s oval, worn to perfect smoothness by the rushing waters of the river you found it near, and a grayish blue that reminds you of Sirius’ eyes (when they stay still for a while, that is). 

Sirius takes the rock from you, studying it. He rubs his thumb across the top. “This is pretty.” 

“It is,” you agree, basking in your own private pleasure. You think he’d still say the same thing even if he did know why you chose it for him, but you enjoy keeping this to yourself. Sirius’ eyes slide to yours like he can tell you’re keeping secrets, but he doesn’t push. 

“Not,” he says, ��as pretty as you, however.” His hold tightens without warning, drawing a surprised giggle from you as your bodies come flush together. “You’re more than enough of a gift.” 

You hear the sincerity in his tone and repay it in kind, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I know.” 

Sirius’ eyes squint the way they tend to do when you particularly delight him. Just before he calls you strange or silly or my lovely little oddity. He doesn’t say any of those things now; only, “You won’t find chickweed around here, you know.” 

You frown. “If I knew, why would I be looking?” 

Sirius heaves a great sigh and presses his lips to your temple before loosening his hold on you. He guides you away from your little patch of bushes by your hand, moving with otherworldly grace. “There’s chickweed by the meadow. We’ll find it for you there. Do you use it for something?” 

You nod. “Pesto.” 

His brow furrows. 

“It’s food. I’ll bring some for you to try.” You give him a sweet look. “Thank you for showing me where to find it.” 

A low hum. “What would you do without me?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll never have to find out.” 

“No,” he agrees, fingers winding between yours like vines, “you won’t.” 

[dearru]

i miss you, come here ! | t.oikawa

-> pairing: ts!oikawa tooru x gn!reader | sfw | cw: headcanons, suggestive content under the cut, reader is in university, long distance, manga spoilers ig, bittersweet ending | mlist 

-> rq: boyfriend headcanons with oikawa tooru

boyfriend!oikawa who started dating you in high school. you were heartbroken when he told you he was going abroad post-graduation, but he assured you that long distance would work.

boyfriend!oikawa who has never failed to text you “good morning” and “goodnight” despite the time difference between you guys. the messages are also always accompanied by a selfie of him. he says it’s to prevent you from “ forgetting about his pretty face,”  but that’s nearly impossible to do considering images of him are plastered on every magazine you read and news channel you turn on. it’s nice to have pictures of him that are solely for you, though. 

boyfriend!oikawa who brags to everyone he meets in argentina about how lucky he is to have you as his partner. his teammates feel like they’re the ones dating you from how often he rambles about how much he loves you. he could drone on for hours about how smart you are for going to university, or how cute you are when you scrunch your nose at him. he’s obsessed with you and makes it everybody else’s problem. 

boyfriend!oikawa who gets offended when his PR team suggests marketing him as an available bachelor to increase his popularity. he reassures you that he’d never sacrifice the integrity of your guys’ relationship to get a little ahead in his career. he express-ships a big bouquet of flowers to your door as a way to apologize even though he did nothing wrong. (he calls it “proactive damage control”) 

boyfriend!oikawa who unfollows everybody except for you on his social media accounts to prove his devotion. this causes quite a stir and results in your classmates staring at you when you walk into your lectures. you’re known around campus as “oikawa tooru’s significant other,” but you and him agree that there are worse things to be known as. 

boyfriend!oikawa who notices how stressed you get from being a university student, so he surprises you with a round-trip business class ticket to argentina. he squeezes you so tight when he sees you for the first time that you think you may suffocate. as he holds you, you can feel the wetness of his tears against the back of your shirt, but you decide not to tease him about it. you missed him too.

boyfriend!oikawa who’s excited to show you the life he’s built for himself. he shows you his favorite beaches, introduces you to his teammates (who you apologize to in broken spanish about how annoying your boyfriend is), and takes you to the best restaurants in town. when you two go out for food, he orders for you in perfect spanish, and the dishes he recommends for you to try are always better than what you would’ve ordered for yourself. it reminds you how well he knows you.

boyfriend!oikawa who’s shocked when you admit one night during dinner that you’re afraid that he doesn’t need you anymore because of how well he’s assimilated to argentina without you. he takes your hand and fervently reassures you that despite moving here, you’ll always be his home.

boyfriend!oikawa who won’t let go of your hand the entire time you’re walking on the beach afterward. “people are staring, tooru.” “let them stare.”

boyfriend!oikawa who takes you to the airport when you eventually have to leave. he impulsively buys a ticket for the flight solely to wait with you at your gate for as long as possible. when it’s finally time to board, he watches with teary eyes as you walk away. it takes all his willpower not to get on the plane with you.

boyfriend!oikawa who loves you more than life itself and is counting the days until he can be with you again. 

extras ! (cw: suggestive :3)

boyfriend!oikawa who’s loved kissing you since the beginning of your relationship, but now that you’re long distance, there’s a little more desperation in his touch. during nights spent together, he makes a habit of littering you with kisses. his lips start at the top of your head, make their way down to your stomach, and if he’s feeling lucky he goes a little further.

boyfriend!oikawa who unwinds after practice by hand-feeding you food. it’s cute at first, but sometimes it goes overboard and makes you wonder what his true motivations are.  “try this one. this one too!” “tooru, you’re gonna make me choke” “im just getting you prepped!” “FOR WHAT.” 

boyfriend!oikawa who almost convinces you to extend your trip simply by how well he knows how to make you tick. when you kiss for the last time, his hand snakes down your waist and pulls you closer in a way that leaves you breathless. he laughs at your blissed-out expression and tells you, “you’ll have to visit your lonely boyfriend again to get another one of those.”  you roll your eyes and whisper in his ear to inquire about other things you’ll get when you visit him again, and he goes red in the face.

—a/n: me making oikawa content on this blog is the equivalent of walking into your kitchen and seeing a fish cooking pasta.

[steddieas-shegoes]

slowly, then all at once

for @steddielovemonth inspired by the quote "as he read, i fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once." from the fault in our stars by john green

rated t | 731 words | cw: nightmares | tags: pre-relationship, feelings realization, literal sleeping together, cuddling

📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖📖

Steve’s nightmares aren’t a secret. The severity of them, along with the frequency, and how shitty he feels after, those are all secrets. Not even Robin quite knows how bad it gets sometimes.

The summer is worse: the memories of the Russians, the way the pool reflects off his window at night, the humidity clinging to his skin reminding him too much of the way dust and ash and mud clings in the Upside Down.

He feels stupid after spring break, that he should even still have traumatic memories when Eddie almost died. But he does. They’re worse now. He isn’t being tortured, Robin isn’t even in these ones. It’s always Eddie.

Eddie bleeding.

Eddie’s broken body.

Eddie not breathing.

Eddie dying.

It’s weird how quickly he took over Steve’s brain, how he went from being someone Steve barely knew from school to being one of his closest friends. Near-death experiences tended to do that, he supposes.

But it’s almost every night, and he rarely gets more than a couple hours of sleep before they hit, so he’s in a constant state of exhaustion these days. It’s not great for all the volunteering he does, and the usual taking the kids where they need to go, and trying to find a new job, and trying to convince Robin he’s fine. The bags under his eyes and the constant slump of his shoulders says everything.

She worries, but she knows he just has to get over the hump.

They all do.

Eddie stays with him late into the night a lot. It’s like he senses that being alone is the catalyst.

He finds excuses, tries to make it seem like he’s the one who doesn’t wanna be alone. Steve appreciates it, but he’s far past the point of feeling any shame for being afraid of being alone.

He doesn’t turn him away, though. Eddie sticks around for hours most nights, well past the point he should. Sometimes they watch movies, sometimes they just turn music on and sit quietly in the living room. Eddie is always moving a little, fingers tapping, leg jiggling, head bobbing. It’s good, though. It’s nice.

And sometimes he lays down in Steve’s bed with him until he falls asleep. He doesn’t touch him, or really do anything more than just exist in the space while Steve closes his eyes and drifts off. He’s always gone when Steve wakes up.

Tonight, he’s got a book open and Steve’s curled up under his blankets. His bones ache from how tired he is, and he wonders if his body will ever get to the point where exhaustion keeps the nightmares away. Steve’s eyes are closed, but he’s not asleep. Not yet.

Eddie’s voice is soft, accents coming through for some characters, colorful inflections describing the scenery. Steve smiles to himself as his eyes start to feel heavy.

It’s nice to be read to. He doesn’t know which book this is, but it sounds like a dream.

Maybe he’ll dream about this instead of bats circling a body he loves.

Oh.

His eyes open and he looks up at Eddie, who doesn’t stop reading, even when Steve knows he can feel his eyes on him. It’s a beautiful thing, to see Eddie so enraptured in a story that he’s probably read before, to see him still putting the effort into giving Steve a show even though Steve was mostly asleep.

He loves him.

Steve loves Eddie.

Not the way he loves Robin, or the kids. Maybe closer to how he loved Nancy, but even that didn’t feel quite like this.

This feels like a later sunset after a long winter, a fresh breath of air after being stuck in the Upside Down, a glass of cold water in the middle of summer.

It’s refreshing, and waves of calm take over his body.

He settles.

He reaches out, places his arm over Eddie’s stomach, curls his fingers into his shirt. He buries his face into Eddie’s side.

Eddie pauses for a moment, just long enough that Steve worries he shouldn’t have done this. But then one arm covers Steve’s body and he continues, voice softer but no less enthusiastic.

Steve closes his eyes and falls into a deep sleep.

When he wakes, it’s calm. There’s no crying or screaming, no thrashing, no fighting.

Eddie’s there, holding Steve against him.

He loves him.

[acphengene]

Little dove

₊ ⁺ pairing: Jake x afab!reader

₊ ⁺ genre: soulmate!au, sweet asf fluff and the tiniest bit of angst

₊ ⁺ wordcount: 3.2k

₊ ⁺ note: this can be read as a standalone but also as a part of my enhypen soulmate series. let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list

₊ ⁺ Jake ₊ ⁺ Jungwon ₊ ⁺ Jay ₊ ⁺ Sunoo ₊ ⁺ Heeseung ₊ ⁺ Niki ₊ ⁺ Sunghoon ₊ ⁺

When Jake woke up at his 13th birthday, he frantically searched his whole body for any type of physical mark. It was generally known that it was a little easier to find your other half when your mark literally could count down the seconds until you met them.

And right there on the inside of his bicep it said ‘bite your lip one more time’ in fine red letters. He had wondered just why his soulmate would want him to bite his lip, because in the eyes of a child that caused pain and nothing else.

His family had celebrated, and he had been nothing short of excited and hopeful that he would get to meet you sooner rather than later. But as most people he would have to wait.

When he traveled to Korea to live his dream, he hoped that it would bring him closer to you. And when the dream took him to a tv-program he hoped with every bone in his body that you’d be watching and cheering him on.

The tattoo, he made sure stayed hidden, he had no interest in people who weren’t you, saying those words to him.

When he and the guys had debuted, they shared their marks with one another, there was no reason not to, and he felt lucky that he didn’t have to hurt like Heeseung, somewhat jealous that Jay had known his soulmate since he got the mark. And despite him feeling bad for his platonic soulmate, he couldn’t help but be thankful that he wasn’t markless like Sunghoon

Engene loved theorizing when it came to them and their marks. There was no doubt in the fandom that Jake had a physical mark, also no doubt that it had to be somewhere on his arm. He had a habit of almost always grabbing on to his bicep whenever he was nervous.

They could however not agree on which mark it was, but he enjoyed seeing people’s theories on social media. He felt grateful that most of the fandom was so acceptable of it, not all groups were that lucky.

One afternoon he threw himself onto Niki’s bed once again scrolling on weverse to see what their sweet fans were up to.

“Dude seriously? With your outside clothes and everything?” The young man said as he looked at his hyung with judgement in his eyes.

He only rolled his eyes. “Do you think they’ve ever posted on weverse?”

Niki shrugged. “No idea, if I’m being honest I try not to think about it too much. In the end mine is definitely not close by”

“I hope mine is close” Jake said with a far away look in his eyes.

“Wouldn’t that be korean if that was the case?” Niki said as he pointed to the red words.

Jake looked at his arm and sighed. “Fuck, I didn’t think of that”

Niki laughed. “Obviously. But don’t worry too much okay? You’ll find them when it’s time”

“How’s the string?” Jake asked as a diversion.

Niki looked down at his left pinkie, where a red string was neatly tied with a little bow. He followed it out and through the window of the room. Where it’s stretched all the way to the horizon.

“Still tight as ever, wherever they are, they’re in no hurry to get closer” He shrugged. Niki had always had a very casual way of seeing the world, and once in a while Jake needed to be reminded to take it easy.

He was right after all, the Universe had given them a soulmate for a reason, and would pull you together when it deemed fit. But sometimes that could be a little hard to accept.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust that, it was more so that he was impatient, he wanted to get to know you, sooner rather than later.

As they traveled for their tours he frantically searched every face in every crowd hoping someone would draw his attention, that he would feel that pull and calmness people so often described.

In a new city, he found himself in a Prada store, looking at a new collection, as they all were picking things out.

“What do you think?” Jay said as he held up a bag.

“Pretty sure that’s a woman’s bag” Jake said with a chuckle.

As the fashionista Jay was, he only sighed. “First of all fashion is gender less, plus it’s not for me… it’s for her. I think she’ll like it”

Jake shook his head with a smile, as he tried to avoid that sting of jealousy he always felt whenever Jay talked about his other half. He knew it was most likely harder than he ever admitted. To know her, but to not have her would be torture in and of itself.

“Do you have this with gold hardware instead of silver?” Jay asked one of the sales assistants.

“We should have one in the back, give me a second and I’ll see if I can find it”

That. Voice.

It stopped Jake's entire world as he quickly turned towards you. And as he saw your eyes and that sweet and polite smile, it was as if the world stopped spinning, and everyone around him disappeared. For a second there was only you.

You went to the back to go and fetch the bag Jay had asked for, and for a second he almost followed you behind the counter.

He stood there as a puppy waiting for its owner, eyes locked on the door you had disappeared through. His fingers drummed on the glass as his heart beat frantically.

“Jake?” Sunghoon said as he tried to get his friends' attention. When he didn’t answer, he laid a hand on his shoulder, but his eyes never left that door.

“Not now” he whispered, and it almost sounded like he was in pain, and then you walked back through the door with the dust bag and set it almost right before him.

His breath hitched when you finally looked at him. He saw how your eyes widened, how your mouth fell open in almost chock. And for a second he thought: my first words can’t just be hey.

Instead he bit his lip nervously, he had always done it. Maybe it was because of the words you were to one day say to him, maybe it was just who he was. Your eyes fell to his mouth, and he saw the subtle twitch of the corner of your mouth.

“Bite your lip one more time…” you almost whispered the words, and as if you just realized what you said your hands flew up to cover your own mouth.

A gasp filled the room from both the guys, but also their bodyguards, and the whole room stilled.

“God I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud”

Jake just smiled like a maniac, as he felt the tears prick in his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere” he said as he opened his arms for you to meet him if you wanted.

You threw yourself over the counter, not caring for the bag you had just put down, not caring for what your manager in the corner might think, not even caring for the horde of people with cameras outside the large boutique windows.

At that moment he had never felt happier. He chuckled as he pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, and the two of you stood like that until your heartbeats had calmed.

He didn’t want to let you go, so as he sat back down his hand reached out for yours and he smiled wider than he ever had when you took it and gave it a squeeze.

“You’re beautiful” he whispered and he saw you turn red almost instantly, he hoped his words would always have that effect on you.

“And you’re a romantic aren’t you?” You asked and he answered with a shrug.

You looked towards your manager who just gave you a smile and a little nod. As to say; “I understand, just go”

Jake held out his arm, and you quickly went around the counter to grab on to him. He pulled you close as the guards made sure to escort you out of the store safe and sound.

In the store behind the two of you stood Sunghoon with the biggest smile as he looked after the two of you. Sunoo was laughing in a corner as he kept repeating: did that just happen?

Jungwon smiled and said: “Finally, he was getting unbearable”

“So this is where I’m staying” Jake said as he opened the door to his hotel room. The two of you had decided it might be best for you to go there, there was no reason for you to dox yourself.

You looked around the room, but your eyes kept finding him, and every time they did his smile got wider, if that was even possible.

“C-can I see it?” you asked as you took a step closer to him. He nodded and got rid of his jacket before pulling up his sleeve, revealing the now golden words etched into his skin.

You laughed as you let your hand trace the words. Jake shuddered beneath your touch. “Oh I’m sorry, is it too much?” You stepped back to give him space, but he quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to him.

“It’s nice, I’ve been wanting this, waiting for this for so long. My hitching breath and shuddering is in nothing if not from happiness and excitement for having finally found you”

The heat once again flushed to your cheeks, and he, that cheeky bastard, he bit his lips once again. You placed your hands on your face.

“I had an idea you might be a hopeless romantic” You said turning away from his gaze.

He laughed. “Why?”

“When you have ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere’ etched into your skin from the ripe age of 13, you cant help but hope”

He felt how your words fucked on his heartstrings. “Tell me everything”

So you did; you told him how excited you were when you saw the words. How lucky your mother had told you that you would end up being because of the sweet nature of them. How your friends had fawned and been jealous.

“I know it’s not a given, and I know not all soulmates are made to be more than just platonic, but I would love to give this” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “Us a real shot”

Your cheeks were blazing hot, but you wanted to say them. In case he felt differently, you’d rather be disappointed sooner rather than later.

His hand snaked up and rested on the back of your neck, firm enough to make sure you knew he wanted you close, but still loose enough for you to get away from him if that was what you wanted.

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I want nothing more” as if he had done it always he rubbed his nose against yours, the gesture so soft and subtle it stole a whimper from your throat.

In that very instant his eyes shot open, pupils dilated, the love he had always felt for you on full display.

“Can I kiss you?” He whisperd. His lips so close to yours he almost did by saying your words.

Instead of answering him, you closed the small gap between the two of you. His other arm snaked around your waist as yours traced his shirt, up his stomache, over his shoulders and around his neck.

You pulled him as close to you as physically possible. And he smiled agains your lips at the way you responded to him.

A knock on the door pulled you from losing your minds, hearts and souls to one another.

“Yo, love birds… wanna grab some lunch? Get to know one another?” Heeseung said on the other side.

The two of you looked at each other and laughed. Jake only raises a brow, and you nodded as a response. You couldn’t wait to get to know him and those closest to him.

Once again he stretched out his arm for you to grab on to and you did without a doubt.

“Let’s go little dove” he said with a wink.

“Wait so I’m the first?” You said with a shocked expression.

Jake had his arm around your shoulder, it felt like his heart would physically break if he were to not touch you when you were so near.

“Yeah, hopefully the rest will come soon…” Jay said with a far away gaze in his eyes.

“You miss her?” You asked him.

“Every waking minute of every day” he answered with a small smile.

Nothing short of pure torture. You thought to yourself and leaned into Jake’s embrace. He kissed the top of your head instinctively.

“God the two of you is gonna be unbearable, aren’t you?” Niki said with a groan as he took another spoon full of the broth standing in front of him.

“Especially when we leave in two days” Jungwon said, trying not to sound to harsh.

The eyes you looked at him with broke his heart. He would have to leave you behind, go on on the tour. He would be in contact sure, but this would end up breaking him and in extension you.

It was common knowledge that the first few weeks, if not months were the hardest to be without your soulmate. It was as if your souls needed one another, after being separated for so long.

“The tour isn’t don’t yet, but I’ll be back as soon as possible. Okay? I promise” Jake said as he pulled you into another close embrace.

Jungwon stole the attention by spitting out his noodles. “Why would she think now is the perfect time for chocolate pudding. I swear it’s her hobby to ruin my meals” he pushed away the bowl, as the guys laughed.

You were thankful for the change in subject, but you couldn’t help but wonder just why the universe would set you up with someone whose job was to travel the world and leave you behind.

“Hey” Sunghoon said, “why dont you just ask if you can bring her along?”

Jake remained quiet as he thought it all through. It was not impossible, he knew that it was impossible to tear some soulmates apart, and Hybe had to accommodate that, but still… you had a life, a job and friends and family. He would hate to pull you from it all.

“Let’s talk about it when we’re alone, how does that sound?” You asked him with a little squeeze of his thigh. The mere sound of your voice calmed something inside of him, and his worried eyed softened.

“As Niki said, unbearable” Heeseung said right before he was snacked in the back of the neck by Sunoo.

“As if you’re gonna be any better than them”

He only shrugged.

“I don't wanna assume you have the possibility of just leaving” Jake said as he fiddled with his fingers. He did want you to come along. He wanted to sleep with you in his arms and wake up to your kisses.

“I don’t think that I do, sure I have a few weeks of vacation left, but it’s just so short notice” you said with a sad smile.

He nodded, “I know… what if I called Prada, or maybe if one of my bosses did?”

You smiled as you stood between his legs as he was sitting on the bed, you pulled lovingly on his long hair as he looked up at you with pleading puppy eyes. God he was beautiful.

Instead of answering you kissed his lips slowly, and his arms pulled you closer. “As much as I would love that, that wouldn’t be fair. Come back to me when you’re done, in the meantime we will just have to figure something out, okay?”

And figure something out you did. Every time you had the chance you were FaceTiming, you fell asleep talking about your childhood, and while he was training you caught up on the hours worth of content.

Hybe had been kind enough to leave you with a bodyguard of your own, but so far you hadn’t needed it. It had, however, calmed Jake’s mind a lot to know you were taken care of.

“When I can’t do it, I need someone else to, okay little dove?” That had been hard to argue with.

He had been gone for a few weeks now and it felt as if your heart had been ripped from your chest, as if you were no longer whole.

You hated every second of it, you hated your stubbornness. Why wouldn’t you take him up on the offer of just going with him? Integrity… fucking pathetic. You thought to yourself as you got the store ready before it opened.

You heard the door open, and as you turned to tell the early customer you weren’t open yet you froze.

“Sunghoon” you said before giving him a bow, you had spent the weeks reading up on Korean etiquette and culture.

He bowed back before he held out an arm just as Jake did. “Come, he’s unbearable and none of us can take it any longer… he needs you” he sent you a smile that never really reached his eyes.

Instead of bolting out the door you found yourself hesitating. You had a life and a job you had worked so hard for. Sunghoon rolled his eyes as he laughed. “Don’t worry about it, we’ve taken care of it”

And for once you chose not to second guess it, and grabbed his arm.

You knocked on the door to the room, despite what the two of you did most days, you had ignored his calls all day. Jungwon had warned you, he had been sulking and sad and as good as impossible to get to do anything. Even eat.

“Go away!” You heard his voice groan from the other side. You knocked again.

“Hee, I’ve told you all day I’m just not in the… mood” he swung the door open without even checking who was on the other side.

In your hand you had a bag of food, he would need something before the concert tonight.

“Surprise?” You said with a unsure smile, cause he only stared at you.

“You’re here?” He said as his voice cracked.

You nodded. “I’m here”

And as he heard your voice once again he broke down in the door to his room, you quickly gave the food to one of the managers in the hall as you joined him where he had collapsed.

He snaked his arms around you as he sobbed into your shoulder. And as painful as it was to see him like this you had also never felt more like yourself now that he was near.

He looked at you as he stroked your cheek. “You can’t leave me again, okay?” He said as he both laughed and sobbed at the same time.

You smiled at his words, as a single tear escaped your eye. He kissed it away as quickly as it had fallen. “I won't,” you whispered.

The two of you heard a groan further down the hall and saw Niki there. “Fucking unbearble love birds” he swore under his breath.

“Language young man!” You both yelled in unison, and a laugh quickly followed.

Neither of you minded being unbearable love birds, as long as you weren’t apart.

Hi! Thank you sm for Reading! Please remember to like and reblog, and let me know if you have any theories about the others or these two sweethearts. Feedback is very much appreciated 🫶🏼

[revelboo]

God hi I know it SUPER isnt gonna happen like this obvs but I'm just imagining EIA Shockwave Staring at the Two Sparkbonds in the human and is like Quiet and somehow figures out the second is Megatron and he doesnt say SHIT and is just like "Uhhhh yeah. Human's fine. Soundwave, please stay back so we may talk" and Sounders just like "Mkay" and so Star and the human leave and stuff and Soundwave is like "Query: What is it that Shockwave wishes to tell me" and Shockwave is just like "Bestie idk how to say this but I think Lord Megatron is what the humans call a homewrecker." And Soundwave has to play. SO cool about everything.

🤣 Shockwave is just assuming the other bond is Soundwave’s and he just can’t understand the appeal- thinks they’re both deviants. I’ve started going back trying to add warnings to the first chapters of everything, so folks don’t get surprised if the run into my stories in the wilds of Tumblr

Psst psst @thegarageafterdark aka Storm is one of my writer buddies who convinced me to even consider Transformers smut back in the day and she’s started a Tumblr. She does fated mates Transformers stuff for Bayverse and G1

Everything Is Alright Pt 129

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Wincing as Shockwave just stares at you, you’re not about to admit the other bond is Megatron’s. Can’t imagine the Decepticon leader would want that to get out. And Soundwave rescues you by reaching out to run a servo affectionately against your cheek. Making Shockwave stare at him instead, antenna back. You’re pretty sure the scientist just thinks you’re all three a bunch of freaks at this point. If he realized Megatron was also involved, he’d probably literally blow a gasket. “If a spark was to form from a full bond-” Starscream begins and Shockwave growls.

• “Illogical,” Shockwave snarls, turning away with his scanner, studying the readings. Wings lifting in affront, Starscream growls back at the scientist. Not liking the other mech’s dismissive tone. “No sparks are possible with an organic,” Shockwave adds, tone almost angry. Like the very fact that he wanted to spark you is deviant. That he wants you is obscene. Tempting him to lash out at the bigger mech to defend you. Except you might get hurt if he does, worry for you chaining his temper. But it’s something he can’t forget or forgive even if they will need his skills eventually.

• Servo trembling where he’s got it against your cheek, Soundwave wants to take you from Starscream. Press his face against you to feel the beat of your heart, your warmth. Unable to really believe that he can have this without risking everything else he has. And the Seeker scowls at him when he gives in and cups his hands around you, lifting you close. “Little one.” Just needs to hold you, to ground himself in you, because he can repair that broken bond now without any guilt. Can really have everything.

• Gently pinned against his battle mask, you’re aware of the way Shockwave stiffens. Apparently not liking the display of affection. Or you. Pretty sure that he has some sort of issue with you in particular that you can’t figure out. Maybe he’s just xenophobic? And nobody has answered your ‘how long do Cybertronians live’ question which is beginning to worry you. There’s a niggling little worry in the back of your mind about that. Because you’d been in Star and Megatron’s memories and there’d been a lot to parse through, but no real concrete sense of time. Startling when Soundwave retracts his mask and brushes his mouth against your body, apparently not caring about Shockwave watching. Had he been really worried about how long humans live?

• Wings flicking as Soundwave rubs his face against you, venting softly, Starscream wants to be angry still about you and the communications officer. To resent that you love him, too. To ask who you love more even if he’s terrified of what your answer would be. Reminding himself that you’d chosen him. Bonded fully to him. No one can take that from him. “We got our answers,” he mutters, because as entertaining as watching the scientist’s obvious discomfort watching Soundwave is, he wants some quiet time with you. Wants to talk without Soundwave or Megatron listening in. Pretend it’s just you two like it had been back then when he was happiest. Figure out this new dynamic with the other two. His new Trine.

• Following Starscream out into the hall, he’s aware that he’s getting looks. That most of the Decepticons aren’t used to seeing his exposed face. Or it could be you as he nuzzles against your body to make you squirm with breathless little protests. And he stops short when the Seeker stops, wings lifting before Starscream starts laughing. Leaning, he looks down at Rumble and Frenzy and the little human they have in tow, Rumble’s arm around them. “Oh. Hi, boss,” Rumble says as Frenzy tries to pull the human into his arms. Head lifting to stare at Thundercracker, the Seeker carrying plastic boxes full of stuff, his wings flaring like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. And you’re twisting to look too as the other human notices you and waves. “So, we need our own habsuite,” Rumble adds as Starscream keeps laughing.

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[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 6!

and what a week it's been... idk about you all, but i'm very much looking forward to all the 8b spec fic after seeing That One Leak...

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

a graveyard in blue | moonlightmornings/@moonlight-mornings | 12.9k | GA

After a call goes south because of limited resources and an equipment malfunction, Eddie's brave move to rescue a young girl takes a nasty turn. i love how this captures the energy and vibe of a rescue!! genuinely feels straight out of an episode <3

and i'd do it over and over again | playinginthunderstorms/@playinginthunderstorms | 4.4k | E

Buck and Eddie hook up at the end of "Confessions". oh when i tell you i savoured this one... such a wonderful fic that captures buddie's first time so so perfectly!! i love how their dynamic is written here <3

everything in between | simplyylupin | 2.1k | T

They’re quiet for a moment, mulling over the unsaid, and then Buck’s bringing his phone closer to his face, eyes squinting. “Are you naked?” the absolute codependency of these two <3 so good!!

hot ghost problems | ebjameston/@ebjameston | 40.9k | T

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind. this was a reread! i was reminded of the magic system here and revisited it - can confirm that magic and ghosts and all that are so very good here, and i love the diaz siblings!!

i'll tell them put me back in it (and i would do it again) | paleredheadinascifi | 4.8k| T

Eddie doesn't know how to make his listening history private. Buck doesn't know what to do with the words in front of his eyes. Chris cannot believe he has to deal with either of them. the sheer brilliance of this concept... such a lovely look at the buckley-diaz dynamics! i was smiling the whole way through <3

it's golden, like daylight | rarakiplin/@hoediaz | 8.7k | T

“Shut up,” fingers dig into his ribs, “I mean, would you want to? Be married again?” such wonderful firefam dynamics!! i read this last week, i think, and already reread it this past week as well. a new favourite for sure <3

lonely little love dog | littleghost/@ghostlandtoo | 24k | M

When the 118 is closed for reconstruction after an earthquake, Buck is a floater for different stations around the city. He tries not to let it get to him. Much. this is such a fascinating look at buck's character!! and i LOVED the mara scene <3

parabola | semperama/@semperama | 4.6k | T

“Hey, uh. By the way.” Buck’s been thinking about this, and he has to say it now, or it’ll explode out of him at a much worse time, in a much worse way. “Make sure you don’t forget to change your will again.” truly no fic captures the angst with a happy ending tag like this. also this fic is how i learned that there's a special ao3 tag for eddie's will, which sounds about right. anyway, point is, this is wonderful!!

the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love | lemonzestywrites/@lemonzestywrites | 25.7k | E

After the events of 6x13, Buck is worried he's lost his charm in bed. Eddie eagerly offers his services to prove otherwise. a reread of one of my favourite fics <3 there's something about the intersection of smut and feelings realisation and introspection in this fic that just hits so very hard, it's lovely <3

the whale fall principle | fastcardotmp3/@fastcardotmp3 | 95.5k | M

Daniel Buckley lives, but he’s still deciding what that means. Maddie is having a baby, but it isn’t her husband’s. And Evan knows his purpose. Until he doesn’t anymore. okay so definitely heed the creator chose not to use archive warnings tag here (there are specific warnings in the chapter notes) but holy shit, this fic. genuinely the best buckley sibling dynamics i have read, like, maybe ever. such a wonderful eddie and chimney and everyone, and such gorgeous writing!! if this one sounds up your alley, you're in for a treat <3

to ebb and flow | akapeterman/@akapeterman | 5.1k | GA

buck is sick, eddie is worried, and christopher is an angel. they'll be okay. i've really been vibing with sickfics lately, can you tell? this is another lovely lovely fic, such great hurt/comfort/domestic fluff!!

wait for me to come home | written_promises | 1.9k | GA

Eddie comes back home to LA from Texas to find Buck waiting for him… in his bed. Because he’s been living in Eddie’s home. and eddie's bed is exactly where buck should be<3 so soft and sweet and beautiful!!

we return to each other in waves | cozycatwriter/@leon-trans-kennedy | 3.1k | GA

“Yes I do. Of course I do. You saved Chris and looked after him the best you could during a tsunami-and you’re still recovering from an embolism from having your leg crushed on the job. The least I could do is look after you and let you stay the night. Besides, Chris would want you to stay.” post-tsunami fics my beloveds <3 it genuinely makes me so happy to see new ones pop up, and this is truly an excellent one!! i love the bed-sharing especially!

you need a friendly hand (and i need action) | AmZamReads | 13.1k | E

Eddie picks up pottery as a hobby and accidentally blows up on Instagram for "accidentally" posting thirst traps of him throwing on the wheel. Buck stumbles across the account and immediately becomes obsessed with Eddie's hands, and horny shenanigans ensues. this fic makes me wish i could make pottery. i love eddie's pottery friends!! and a lovely buddie dynamic too <3

[princessrazzledazzle]

My Random Twisted Wonderland Headcanons

Riddle: Doesn’t only love strawberries because of the taste, but also because they’re sorta shaped like little red hearts and it reminds him of love. The love his parents never gave him, but he dreams of all the time, the love of his close friends, and romantic love. He’s secretly a hopeless romantic.

Trey: The reason he has glasses is because he used to stare into the light thing they have above you on the dentist chair on purpose.

Cater: Was into animation memes and musicals at one point. Still watches them from time to time, especially if ones trending.

Ace: Loves car racing games, whether it be a random free mobile game, arcade game, even on roblox. Used to want to be a race car driver when grew up.

Deuce: Would eat autozone seafood boil, then get collared by Riddle for one, being stupid enough to consume food from autozone of all places, and two, stinking up the entire dorm for 3 hours straight.

Leona: Likes being scratched behind the ears when he’s feeling sad or sleepy, only Ruggie knows about this though as one time he did it just to tease him when they were younger, and REFUSES to let Leona live it down. Leona lets Ruggie scratch his ears in exchange for never telling another soul about it.

Ruggie: Once stole and drank an entire can of whip cream in one sitting and got really sick to the point he was throwing up for days. He vows to do it again someday.

Jack: Secretly loves plushies and would openly collect them if wasn’t so invested in being a “tough guy”. He has a few as gifts from his family members and he cherishes them, he even sleeps with them sometimes.

Azul: Had a itty bitty crush on Ariel when he was little, he used to read picture books of the benevolent Sea Witch just to look at the illustrations of Ariel.

Jade: Likes to debone animals for fun, whether it’s a land animal, sea animal, big, or small, he’s gonna catch it and he WILL debone it. He’s slightly ashamed of this hobby however.

Floyd: Slightly jealous of Jade because he’s seen as the “sane” twin, and even though most people avoid both of them like the plague, he can tell they feel more at ease with Jade and it makes him sad. He tries to control himself and act “normal” every once in a while, but he can’t help but to be a weirdo, he doesn’t know how to mask himself like his twin does.

Kalim: Had a pet viper that he found in his back yard one day and decided to keep because it reminded him of Jamil. He would even dress it up to look like Jamil and everything and swore it could talk, claiming it sounded just like Jamil. The snake ran away btw.

Jamil: Hates most cartoons because Kalim used to and still does force him to binge watch them with him. When they were little, Kalim used to cry if he didn’t, so now he has slight ptsd.

Vil: Accidentally gave himself a weak stomach due to his strict diet of only healthy stuff, and can barely eat a ice cream cone or a cheeseburger without getting bad stomach aches.

Rook: Was one of those people that had two costumes for halloween so they could go around the neighborhood twice and get more candy. He went as Neige first then Vil every year till he got enrolled in Night Raven.

Epel: Collects horse figures, not mlp just regular horses, He keeps them in a box where no one can find them because they’re “unmanly”. He doesn’t really play with the horses, but he does have names and personalities for them.

Idia: Likes magical girl animes, but too afraid to admit it to anyone, even online. He knows that if he does he’ll get called a gooner, he kinda is and he doesn’t need even more people thinking that about him as half of NRC already does. He genuinely likes those animes and loves all the cool weapons and transformation scenes, though he finds them a little repetitive.

Ortho: Is really into pokémon because he wanted to watch anime just like his big brother as something to bond over. Occasionally he’ll beg Idia to somehow install pokémon go into his programming, Idia always says no.

Malleus: Likes having his horns petted and wishes he could have them pet more often. The only people who would were his mother, grandmother, Silver when he was little, and Lilia. Lilia is the only one who still pets him from time to time, mostly when he’s had a bad day or falling asleep.

Lilia: Really into those mlg memes, the doritos and mountain dew shit, and will randomly yell “OOH BABY A TRIPLE” or “MOM GET THE CAMERA” to spook people. He thinks it’s hilarious.

Silver: A really good singer, but only Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek know because they caught him a few times on accident. Silver is incredibly embarrassed of it and made them swear to never tell anyone else.

Sebek: Has a secret passion for art, he’s not very good at it and most of his drawings look pretty goofy as if a first grader drew them, but he’s proud of them, Despite that, he never let anyone go near his sketchbook, especially his liege, claiming it’s just a book about how great Malleus is.

[softlypaintedseafoam]

your love, like birth and death

synopsis. in which you hope a misguided prince realizes his affection for you is misplaced gratitude for you saving his life. a smitten prince can only propose once more.

pairing. gojou satoru x f!reader

word count. 3.1k | masterlist

content warning. faerie au, seelie prince!gojou, banshee!reader (afab), mentions of pregnancy, descriptions of blood and injuries, mutual pining but gojou's love is heavier, almost kisses

reblogs & interactions appreciated.

another repost of a favorite fic of mine to finally get something on the jjk masterlist i have set up. the title comes from a nizar qabbani poem, one of my favorites. anyone who knows me knows banshees are one of my favorite faeries, so this was a very fun piece for me to write!

This Court is dyed in the colors of Life, you note this particular morning.

Of course, this is something you’ve noted every morning since you’d been brought to this palace nearly a month ago. Yet you aren’t tired of noting it; the Court you have found yourself in is beautiful. From the ledge you lean against, it almost feels like you can see everything in Faerie.

You see the royal gardens, a mass of long grasses and moss dotted by colorful wild blooms. Overgrown and yet each flower seems right where it is supposed to be.

Beyond the walls of the castle, you see stretches and stretches of blue spruces and just beyond that a lake that almost seems purple. If this were a palace in Unseelie territory, you might have thought a kelpie lived in it.

Across the courtyard, souls living and deceased move as if in a dance. The living with their duties for the day, unaware of their ghoulish companions drifting about. Some have the ever permanent dribble of poisoned wines falling from their lips, others’ have blood seeping into their clothes from their torsos and others are missing limbs although they find no difficult in moving.

The sight of death faeries is one that gruesome. A mixture of life and death, the path you folk walk on until you return to nothing.

Neat yet unkempt, wild yet tame, expected yet unexpected ー that is the beauty of Faerie you’ve grown accustomed to in the centuries since your creation.

A beauty you rarely have the opportunity to appreciate when you often find yourself in the realm of humans, heralding death.

You wonder how much time has passed there since you’ve come to the Court of Reckoning. All while the skies have lost the traces of violet, peach and marigold that painted the dawn skies and have begun settling into a lovely shade of pastel blue. 

“I see I’ve finally found you,” when you look over your shoulder, it’s one of the prince’s advisors that greets you. The one with the long raven-black hair and brown eyes that remind you of humus-rich soil. You see the makings of a black tail with a tuft of fur peeking from his cloak and believe him to be some sort of phouka. “I almost thought for a moment our honored guest had disappeared,” his voice is light and airy, but he seems relieved to an extent. “I’m glad my concerns were proven untrue. Satoru would be quite unmanageable if that were the case.”

You shake your head, smiling politely, “I enjoy watching dawn turn into morning.” You look at the large bouquet in the phouka’s hands ー an assortment of lavender roses, baby’s breath and ferns.

“Our prince is too busy to deliver these himself this morning,” Suguru explains once they’ve caught your eye. You make sure to not let your fingers brush against one another when you reach for the blooms carefully. “Love at first sight, purity and fascination it is supposed to symbolize,” the advisor recounts the meaning of each bloom dutifully. He’s exasperated, you can tell. “Do you like them?”

“Yes, they’re quite lovely,” you believe so truly. Everyday since your arrival to the palace, the prince has had bouquet after bouquet gifted to you. Even if he cannot deliver them himself. “As were the rest I’ve received.”

“I’ve never seen Satoru so smitten,” you avoid the phouka’s gaze. “You should have met him when we were younger. He was adamant that he’d never be besotted with anyone lest he become a fool.” There’s a light pause as Suguru recalls the evening Satoru brought you to this palace. You who are cloaked in death and all of her colors. “Look at him now. He’s certainly caused a stir in his insistence you’ll be his queen. He’s a charming fool, though, I am sure.”

You prefer to think of the prince as a ridiculous fool but you cannot deny that he is charming. Dangerously so. If you hadn’t known better, you would have thought him to be a gancanagh, a love-talker.

“Please marry me,” came the soft request as sky blue eyes stared into your very being. “And I’ll love you more faithfully than any man, fae or otherwise.”

You try not to remember the way your chest clenched in surprise. How you were so surprised it almost felt like your skin had warmed. It’s best not to focus on that memory at all.

It’s a ridiculous notion, a seelie prince in love with a banshee.

“The prince is simply confusing gratitude with love,” you return Suguru’s gaze with a polite smile. You hope he believes you. “He’ll realize that soon and I will leave this place.” You know that will bring palace staff a great sense of peace. If there is one thing you’ve learned in your long life as a banshee it is that even if the Folk spurn mortals and their blink-of-an-eye lifespans, there are many things faeries and humans have in common.

A fear of death is certainly one of them.

As such, to the vast majority of faeriekind, Death Folk like yourself are not looked upon favorably. Banshee and dullahans alike, you’re more like pests in their eyes. 

You banshee women who scream and keen if death is near. 

The dullahans who hear those screams and arrive when that final hour has approached.

Yes, you know how death fae are viewed. You’ve heard the whispers in the palace, how you are an omen of malevolence to come. That your kind are like roaches. Should one appear, others will soon follow suit.

This is why you’ve come to appreciate this private ledge on the castle walls that receives less foot traffic than the rest. You’d rather the staff of the palace have peace of mind in your absence while you live in the palace even if their prince insists you can venture the halls as much as you’d like.

Once the promised revel he hopes to throw in your honor comes to pass, you know the prince will lose his interest in you. Then you will leave and continue about your existence until you fade into nothing but a vague memory in his subconscious.

That’s what you truly hope when you see the prince in question later on in the day for lunch in the garden.

How his eyes light up and he stands to his feet as Cypress, a lovely pixie tasked with being your attendant, announces your arrival. How he doesn’t even wait for you to reach the table before he comes to meet you. You are unused to being treated like royalty and yet their prince insists that you are. “You won’t believe how the old hags go on and on,” he sighs, remnants of annoyance dancing in his tone but his voice is soft with you. Cypress takes the dismissal in stride. “I couldn’t even come see you for breakfast. Did you like the flowers?”

He wraps your hands in his own large palms, seemingly unaffected by your corpse-cold skin, as he has done every time you’ve met since your arrival. “Yes, they were beautiful,” your smile is small and doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You hope this ridiculous yet charming fool realizes that loving one such as yourself is more trouble than good. That his love truly is just misplaced gratitude. “You really don’t have to send me flowers every morning.”

The prince disregards your words the way water rolls off the back of a duck, “next time I’ll bring you the flowers myself.” He guides you to the table filled to the brim with food you aren’t accustomed to eating. “Will you tell me your favorites finally? I’ve been going out on a limb with my guesses.”

“My tastes in flowers are unique, to say the least,” maybe it’s your nature, but your favorites tend to circle around the prevailing theme of your kind. Lavender to give the dead peace in passing on, calendula for blessing and love. Dandelions in the seed head stage were quite popular with ghost children, still finding them just as amusing as they did when they were alive. “The flowers you send me are more than enough.” The prince pouts but he decides to let you skirt around his request once more. You bring focus back to the spread, “it looks like you’ve demanded everything in the kitchen.”

There are strawberry-and-whipped cream filled pastries, cold cut platters and buttery biscuits to name a few things. The tip of the iceberg of everything on the table.

“I wanted to make sure our bases were covered,” the prince grins, teeth as white as his hair. “I hope you like lavender chamomile, that’s today’s tea. I’ve never had it before.” He drops cube after cube of sugar into his cup, drizzles the contents with honey before finally pouring in a splash of cream.

You take your tea plain and enjoy the gentle fragrance. Lavender buds are just barely visible below the tea’s surface. You close your eyes as the flavor hits your tongue. It tastes as wonderful as it smells. “Yes, this is quite nice. I really like it.”

“Should we have it for tomorrow as well?” He’s too eager to curry your favor.

You open your eyes to dissuade him but your attention is instead drawn to a headless hob nearing your table. You’ve seen this hob before, skirting about the palace bitterly as he carries his head in his hands much like a dullahan. He’s old, even by fae standards, with a long beard. There’s no question as to how the man died, beheading. You hope it was quick.

His beady eyes glare at you with a quiet rage similar to how most fae spirits do. You wonder how long he has been like this, refusing to board the carriage of any dullahan that may come to collect him and bring him to the Otherworld.

You personally believe that faeries leave behind ghosts more than humans do.

It’s why you’ve often seen ghosts from a distance at revels, dancing from dawn til dusk even if they will not be perceived by the living. Even if they can no longer don the fancy dresswear they were able to dress in.

Time and time again, they will do this. Staunchly refusing death even after they’re already in its hold.

“Oh, is there a ghost with us?” The prince notes how your eyes dart between him and the space he perceives as empty. “What’s it saying?”

“Tell this lout that I sooner hope his rule is contemptuous and brings the Court to ruin!” The hob’s head seethes. “That his many days are fraught with danger! Gakuganji is my name and this is the curse I cast upon him!”

Folk can’t lie, but you you prefer not to relay the bitter message. “He hopes your rule is one that is,” you lick your lips and raise your cup to your lips. “Filled with exciting thrills,” not an exact lie. Perhaps to this radical prince, those sorts of threats are exciting. “He says his name is Gakuganji.”

“Exciting thrills, you say?” The prince barks in amusement, shoulders shaking with his laughter. “That doesn’t sound like the traitorous scoundrel I know. You don’t have to lie, he’s probably cursing me and my bloodline for generations to come as we speak.” The hob growls at the lackadaisical nonchalance of the elf. But it seems he has had his fill as he stomps off before he can hear more insult to his person.

“Gakuganji has lost his touch even in death,” the prince’s amused chuckles turn into light sighs “You wouldn’t have liked him very much when he was alive,” you’re sure you can agree with that much of the prince’s words. Gakuganji, as you now know him, has been one of the more unpleasant spirits in the palace. “He was very stuck in his ways. What’s it like, seeing ghosts all the time?”

Normal?

You can’t quite remember what it was like when you were a newly-made banshee and everything was new. Nor can you remember the life you once led as a human. You simply remember your death was a terrible, terrible thing. “It’s as normal to me as it’s normal for you not to see them,” you set your cup down. “If someone asked you what’s it like to see the blue sky everyday, it would be a strange question, correct?”

The prince takes in your words thoughtfully, not slighted in the least. “I guess that’s true,” he nods to himself. “I just wondered if it was something that took some getting used to.” The prince removes his darkened spectacles from the bridge of his nose. “I told you before I have pretty good eyes. I’m able to perceive a lot of things no one else can from mana to the shape of one’s soul. But the spirits of the deceased are exceptions to my eyes, it seems.”

“Your Highness,” you begin.

“Satoru,” the prince corrects you swiftly.

“Your Highness,” you insist. This boundary you won’t cross for yourself. “I’m not sure it’s really wise for you to tell me about your eyes. I’m not a member of this family or your closest allies.”

“But you will be,” he tells you as if he’s simply remarking on how pleasant the weather is. “I will become king of this Court and you’ll be by my side as my queen.” You’re quite sure that if his mother, the High Queen, has anything to say about it, she’d sooner relinquish her throne to a random nixie than allow a banshee to wed her son. “I trust you as much as I trust Suguru or Nanami.”

You wish he wouldn’t.

A Seelie prince and his banshee queen? That sounds like the start to a ballad meant to insult him.

It’s misplaced gratitude, not love. That’s what this prince feels for you. You tell him as such once again as you have everyday since you were brought here. “You’ll realize that soon, maybe even before the revel you plan for me,” you whisper ー no, you pray. “There will be another you yearn for and you’ll realize the difference.”

The prince will fall deeply, truly, unapologetically in love with someone and he’ll discover the truth.

Perhaps it will be a lake maiden of Spring whose dreadlocks drip with water droplets that fall onto dewy cinnamon-brown skin. Who sings of the beautiful red and pink of the roses and of love.

Or maybe it will be a selkie man who doesn’t mind living far from the sea as he’s brought a love as deep as the ocean along with him. Whose coat is donned in scars and scratches from battles past, a reflection of his form as a seal.

Or maybe he can grow enraptured with his phouka advisor whom he trusts more than anyone in this life.

Someone dyed in Life’s colors.

Someone beautiful.

When that time comes, you’ll be happy for him. Maybe then the ache that resonates through your heart and bones will end.

The prince isn’t the only fool here, you admit reluctantly. You’re just as much, if not more so. But this feeling will come to pass, “this is just gratitude. Fascination. Not love.”

“You think I don’t love you?” The prince asks quietly, resting his chin on his palm as he looks at you. He says he has good eyes, he wonder what you look like to him through them. You who once was dyed in Life’s colors but have since become painted over by Death’s brush.

Death folk with death folk.

Life folk with life folk.

“I know you don’t,” he can’t. You can’t allow either of yourselves to do so. “A banshee by your side as queen,” you want it sound ridiculous to both of your ears. “It’s absurd.”

There are no rules that state your union is forbidden, this you know. But the laws of nature are simple. Life and Death co-exist separately, unable to exist without one another. But there has never been a tale where the two joined together as one.

Maybe you’re just too scared to be the first.

“I want the woman that I love by my side as queen,” the prince replies smoothly. “Your species is of little importance to me. All that matters is that my love is returned in full. Please, allow me to be yours,” he reaches for your hand once more, stepping out of his chair in favor of sitting on bended knee. “More than anyone has or ever will, I love you. This is an unwavering truth.”

The blood of the love-talker must run through his veins. Why else do you feel like this? Your desire for this prince will eat away at you until you become undone and return to nothing. “You’re a prince. It’s the duty of the royal family to provide heirs,” even the smallest sprite knows this to be fact. “Are you asking me to stay with you and have them?”

“Please have my children,” azure stares seriously into your pale eyes that were once [color] when you were human.

Your skin feels warm at his unabashed request.

Gojou Satoru has no shame, that you have become sure of in the near month of knowing one another.

He had no shame when he asked you to be his bride when you first met.

There was no shame to be found when he insisted that you stay in the palace as an honored guest he owes his life to.

Nor is there any shame to be found in him now when he cups your cheek in his furnace hot hands to guide your lips down to his, long white lashes fluttering shut.

I shouldn’t, your mind screeches at you. I shouldn’t allow us to get even one millimeter closer. Yet you make no move to do so as your lips are just barely touching whenー

“Your Highness, your mother is requesting you,” Nanami’s mild-mannered drawl saves you at the last minute.

You jerk back into your chair in relief, heart pounding. You aren’t able to make eye contact with anyone, least of all the overworked horned elf-kobold hybrid brought to receive the Gojou heir.

The prince clicks his tongue in annoyance, glaring over his shoulder at the advisor, “she can’t wait? We haven’t even begun eating yet.”

Nanami looks just as annoyed to be there, “the faster you heed her call, the quicker you can go back to fawning after the object of your desires.” He tells his prince. “And the faster I can get back to resting.”

The prince with snow-white hair clicks his tongue once more, but he doesn’t argue against it. He turns to you regretfully, “I’ll have to leave again. Perhaps we’ll have more time together at dinner,” you hope the wait for dinner is longer still. You know the prince hopes the time passes as quickly as he can blink.

Warm lips press against the back of your hand, lingering for five seconds longer than they should.

The bones of your hands ache.

[777bae]

SAFE IN HIS HANDS JURAJ SLAFKOVSKY

Summary :: Pregnancy is hard, but with Juraj by your side, it feels like you’re not doing it alone. From making breakfast to soothing your aches, his quiet love builds the foundation for the family you’re about to become.

Warnings :: pregnancy aches, kissing

Word count :: 6.7k

The first thing you feel when you wake up is warmth—Juraj’s body heat still lingering on the sheets beside you, even though he’s no longer there. It’s a fading warmth, the kind that tells you he must have left the bed not too long ago, but without him, the space beside you feels vast and empty. Your body, still heavy with sleep, reacts before your mind fully registers his absence. Your hand instinctively reaches out, fingers searching for the familiar solidness of him, but all you find is the cool fabric of his pillow.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you blink against the golden light spilling in through the curtains, painting the room in gentle hues of morning. The air is quiet, save for the distant sounds of life beginning in the rest of the house—the faint hum of the refrigerator, the occasional creak of the floorboards, the muffled clatter of dishes in the kitchen. You know without a doubt that it’s him, moving around with quiet purpose, already tending to you in ways he thinks you won’t notice.

You shift slightly beneath the covers, attempting to stretch out the stiffness lingering in your limbs, but even the smallest movement makes you acutely aware of the changes in your body. The weight of your growing belly settles heavily against you, pressing down in a way that wasn’t there just a few months ago. It’s strange, how even something as simple as rolling over now requires thought, effort. You pause for a moment, adjusting, breathing through the slight strain before settling into a more comfortable position.

And yet, despite the aches, despite the sluggishness, you wouldn’t change a thing. If anything, you revel in it. Every sensation—the tightness in your skin, the occasional discomfort, the deep stretch of muscles adjusting to something far greater than yourself—only serves as a reminder that your baby is growing. Thriving.

Your hand drifts down almost instinctively, fingers grazing over the gentle curve of your stomach, feeling the warmth of your own skin beneath your palm. The gesture is familiar now, something you catch yourself doing more and more often, as if your touch alone could remind the little life inside you that you’re here. That you love them. That you are waiting for them.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you imagine them, curled up safely within you, their tiny hands and feet tucked close. You wonder if they’re awake, if they can somehow sense your touch, if they know that their father was just here, that his hands have rested in the very same place more times than you can count.

Before you can dwell too long in thought, you hear it—the faint clatter of dishes, the hum of the refrigerator door opening and closing, the soft shuffle of Juraj’s feet against the hardwood floor. The sounds are gentle, careful, but unmistakable. You know them now, just as you know the warmth of his hands or the way his voice wraps around you like something solid and steady.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. He’s up early again. He always is these days.

You can’t remember the last time he truly slept in. Even on the rare mornings when he doesn’t have early practice, he’s the first to rise, moving around the house with as much quiet as someone his size can manage. You’ve woken up to the absence of his warmth enough times now to know that this has become his routine. That even before the sun has fully crept into the sky, before the weight of the day has settled over either of you, he is already thinking of you—of you and the life you carry.

The bedroom door creaks open a moment later, and there he is, standing in the doorway, his tall frame nearly filling the space. A tray is balanced carefully in his large hands, the soft glow of morning light catching against the edges of the dishes. He’s still in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, the fabric clinging slightly to the broad planes of his chest. His hair is tousled, the strands falling haphazardly over his forehead, and you can tell just by looking at him that he didn’t bother fixing it before coming in. He got out of bed long enough to make sure you had breakfast before anything else.

His eyes find yours instantly, and the way his face softens when he sees you awake makes your breath catch. It’s subtle—the way his expression shifts, the way the corners of his mouth tug upward—but it’s unmistakable. A warmth spreads through his gaze, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world just to look at you.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep, low and warm in a way that settles deep in your chest.

“Morning,” you murmur back, your voice groggy, your body still adjusting to the day.

He steps forward, careful, deliberate, like he doesn’t want to wake you too harshly. He crosses the room in just a few strides, moving with the quiet ease of someone who has done this a hundred times before. He sets the tray down on the nightstand, but before you can move, he’s already reaching for you.

His hands find you easily, familiar and sure, slipping behind your back as he helps you sit up. His touch is gentle but firm, his fingers pressing lightly against the tense muscles there, offering just enough support to make the movement easier. You sigh, leaning into him for a brief moment, and he lets you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his breath close, the concern in his voice so instinctive, so natural, that you know he probably asks himself the same question even when you’re not around to hear it.

You nod, offering him a small, tired smile. “Yeah. Just needed a second.”

His brows furrow slightly, like he’s still assessing, still making sure, but after a moment, he nods and leans back slightly.

“I made you breakfast,” he says then, his voice lighter now, the hint of a proud grin tugging at the edges of his lips. He lifts the tray slightly, as if presenting his masterpiece. “I tried to make the eggs the way you like them.”

You glance at the tray—scrambled eggs, perfectly golden toast, a neat arrangement of fresh fruit, and a smoothie, the kind he knows is your favorite. You don’t miss the way the edges of the toast are cut just right, or how the smoothie is in the glass you always reach for first. Small details, maybe, but they don’t go unnoticed.

A laugh escapes you, quiet but full of affection. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, even though you already know exactly what his response will be.

As expected, his brows pull together, his expression shifting into something stubborn—something utterly convinced that the thought is ridiculous. “Of course, I did.”

And then, softer, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world:

“You’re carrying our baby.”

The words settle between you, heavy in a way that makes your chest tighten. His gaze drops, just for a moment, to the curve of your belly, his expression shifting from playful to something deeper. There’s an awe in his eyes, quiet but unshakable, like the simple fact of your existence like this—growing, glowing, holding something so precious—will never stop astounding him.

His fingers brush absently over your blanket, like he wants to reach for you, to feel you, but he hesitates. Not out of uncertainty, but reverence.

Then he lifts his gaze back to yours, tilting his head slightly. “You need to eat,” he says, like it’s non-negotiable.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real exasperation behind it. You pick up a piece of toast anyway, taking a bite, and the second you hum in satisfaction, you feel it—the way his shoulders relax slightly, the way his lips curve into a small, contented smile.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just watches you, his eyes lingering, his fingers tapping idly against the tray.

And in that quiet moment, as you chew slowly, as he sits beside you with nothing but warmth in his expression, you realize something:

This isn’t just about breakfast. It’s not just about making sure you eat.

It’s about you.

It’s about the way he wakes up before you, the way he moves through the house quietly so you don’t stir. It’s about the way he notices the smallest things—what foods you’re craving, what scents make you nauseous, which pillows help you sleep better. It’s about the way he watches over you, not because he thinks you can’t do things on your own, but because he wants to. Because he loves you. Because this—this life you’re building together—means everything to him.

You swallow, setting the toast down and reaching for his hand, threading your fingers through his. He looks down at your joined hands, then back up at you, his eyes questioning.

“How are you feeling?” he asks after a moment, his voice lower now, softer, with an edge of concern that you can hear even in the calm morning silence. His eyes are filled with an intensity that’s rare for him, an intensity only ever reserved for moments like this—when it’s just the two of you, and the world outside seems to slow down.

You sigh and settle back against the pillows, the weight of your body pressing down just a little more. “Tired. Sore. My back is killing me,” you admit, the words coming out in a slightly defeated tone, even though you don’t mean to sound like that.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t need to think twice. The moment you finish speaking, he’s already moving, setting the tray aside as though it’s not even important anymore. There’s only you and your discomfort now. He shifts closer, his body settling next to you, and without a word, his large hands find their way to your lower back. He doesn’t rush; his fingers are deliberate, pressing into the tight muscles there with careful precision.

The relief is almost immediate, the deep ache in your back slowly unwinding beneath his touch. You let out a quiet groan, feeling your body instinctively relax, your head falling back against the pillow. The tension, the tightness you’d been carrying all morning, starts to melt away, and for a moment, you forget about everything else. There’s only him, and the soothing rhythm of his hands working over you, the quiet intimacy of it all.

Juraj chuckles softly, his breath warm against your temple as he leans in to press a gentle kiss there, the brush of his lips tender and comforting. “Better?” he asks, his voice low, holding a softness that makes your chest tighten with affection.

You nod, exhaling deeply, your body sinking further into the comfort of his touch. “Much,” you murmur, closing your eyes briefly to savor the feeling of his hands working over you.

His fingers don’t stop; they continue their slow, deliberate circles into your lower back, the pressure firm but never too much, just enough to chase away the tightness that had been plaguing you. You can tell by the way his hands move that he’s paying attention to every shift in your body, every little sign that you need more or less pressure. His touch is careful, not just because you’re carrying his child, but because he knows you. Knows what makes you feel better, knows how to soothe you when you’re tense, even when you don’t have to say a word.

As his hands continue, you find yourself losing track of time. You let your body surrender to him, sinking into the comfort of his presence. There’s something about the way he’s here with you, so steady, so reliable, that makes everything feel just a little bit easier. In this moment, it’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“You really okay?” he murmurs against your temple, his breath soft on your skin, so close now that his words feel like a part of you.

You nod, though the weight of it all lingers just a little. “Yeah. Just… everything feels so heavy lately.” The words escape before you can stop them, a soft admission of the way the changes in your body are beginning to feel overwhelming. But even as you speak them, you don’t feel vulnerable. With him, it’s always okay to be honest about the discomfort, the uncertainty, the quiet struggles you don’t always voice.

He pauses for a second, his hands stilling against your back. You can feel the shift in his energy as he processes your words, and then his arm shifts, sliding over your shoulders with ease. He pulls you closer, his body pressing lightly against yours as he envelops you in his warmth. You feel the steady beat of his heart, the solid rhythm that makes you feel safe, and he traces lazy, absentminded patterns along your arm, his fingers barely skimming your skin.

It’s a touch that feels like a promise, like reassurance. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to know he’s there. He’s always there. Always paying attention.

“You want to lie down for a bit?” he offers, his voice gentle, considering. He glances over at the untouched food on the tray, eyes soft with understanding. “I can bring this back later. Or make you something else if you don’t feel like eating this.” There’s no pressure in his voice, just an open offer, a simple willingness to make sure you’re comfortable, whatever that means in the moment.

You shake your head, managing a small smile. “No, I promise this is perfect,” you say, though there’s a tiny part of you that wants to protest, to tell him he doesn’t have to keep doing so much. But you know it’s no use. You already know he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d insist, just like he always does.

“You don’t have to keep fussing over me, you know,” you add softly, a playful edge in your voice, though there’s no real attempt to push him away.

He scoffs, the sound light and teasing, but there’s a warmth in it that makes you smile. He always knows how to make you feel loved, even in the simplest of ways. “Yes, I do.” His lips curl upward, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, but there’s a deep sincerity in his eyes. “It’s my job.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Your job is to play hockey.”

He chuckles at that, but his expression softens, and without warning, he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, a small but tender gesture. “My job is to take care of you.”

The words hit you in a way you hadn’t anticipated. They land like a soft weight in your chest, heavier than you expect, and the simple sincerity in his voice makes your heart swell. He doesn’t say it with any dramatic flair or grand gesture. It’s just a quiet truth, a reminder of how much he cares for you, how deeply he is here—really here—with you, in this life you’re creating together.

For a moment, you’re left speechless, taken aback by the quiet weight of his words, by the depth of love that they carry. The room feels a little quieter, a little warmer as you stare up at him, searching for the right thing to say.

You reach for his hand then, intertwining your fingers with his, the touch grounding you, reminding you of the shared bond between you. “You already do,” you say softly, your voice a gentle affirmation of everything he’s been to you, everything he’s done for you. “Every single day.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles as he exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly, like he needed to hear that. The relief that passes through him is subtle, but you see it in the way his body seems to settle more fully beside you. You feel his thumb move in small, reassuring circles against your skin, and for a moment, the world outside fades. It’s just the two of you—here, together, steady and sure.

He exhales again, and his grip on your hand tightens just a little, as though holding on to this quiet moment, this connection. His eyes soften even more as he looks at you, the deep adoration in them unmistakable. You both stay like that for a while, the silence between you comfortable and full of understanding, a silent conversation in the space you’ve created.

A few moments of quiet stretch between you, the two of you comfortably nestled in the peaceful stillness of the morning. You could hear the soft hum of the house—the quiet creak of the floorboards beneath his steps as he moves around, the faint sound of the outside world beyond the windows. But then, his voice breaks the calm, filled with the warmth and playful curiosity that you’ve come to love.

“Hey, you know what might help?” he asks, his eyes twinkling as he glances at you.

You raise an eyebrow, your tired eyes meeting his. “Please don’t say ice baths,” you joke, though you can’t help but feel a little wary at the thought.

He laughs, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. He shakes his head, his face lighting up with that familiar, comforting warmth that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the world. “No, no. A bath, though. A warm one. I can set it up for you.”

You let out a breath of relief, but then, the temptation of his suggestion tugs at you. The ache in your back and the heaviness in your feet have become constant companions, and the idea of sinking into warm water feels like the escape you didn’t even know you needed. It’s an idea that’s both simple and indulgent in the best way possible. You hesitated for only a second, but then a thought bubbles up.

“You sure?” you ask, a hint of concern slipping into your voice. You glance over at him, aware that he has practice later, and you don’t want him to take on too much. “You have practice later. You don’t have to—”

But he’s already moving, shaking his head with a reassuring smile. “I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says, his voice firm in that way he has when he’s made up his mind. There’s no room for arguing, and truthfully, you don’t even want to. He’s already started walking toward the bathroom, his footsteps soft but purposeful, the sound of the door creaking open a moment later.

Before you can say anything else, you hear the sound of water running—steady, rhythmic—and the soft shuffle of him moving around the bathroom. You picture him, lighting candles with his usual care, perhaps picking out the perfect bath salts or adding a few bubbles to the water, making everything just right. It’s like he’s curating a little moment of peace for you, and the thought alone makes your heart swell. You know he’s not just doing this out of obligation—he’s doing it because he loves you, because he wants to take care of you in ways that go beyond the obvious. He’s always been like this: attentive in the smallest, most thoughtful ways that somehow manage to make all the difference.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself get lost in the quiet sounds of him moving around, the soft rustle of fabric as he prepares the bath. You don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, he became your rock, your constant source of care, even in the most simple of moments. It’s never in grand gestures—it’s in the way he listens when you speak, in the way he anticipates your needs before you even voice them. It’s in the little things: the way he makes you breakfast, or rubs your back when you’re sore, or takes the time to prepare something as tender as a warm bath when he knows you need it.

By the time he returns to the bedroom, his face is practically glowing with excitement, like he’s just crafted the perfect game plan and he’s eager to see you enjoy it. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that catches you off guard for a moment—his usual quiet intensity turned into something playful, something entirely focused on you. He’s carrying the weight of a joy he finds in making you comfortable.

“Okay, it’s ready. Come on,” he says, his voice carrying a sense of accomplishment, as if the bath is a personal victory he’s eager for you to experience.

You can’t help but smile, your own exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of his unshakable enthusiasm. You make a move to sit up, but immediately, Juraj is there. He doesn’t hesitate for a second. His hands, large and strong, come to rest on your waist, steadying you with an ease that always feels both protective and intimate. His fingers press lightly against the curve of your sides as he gently helps you rise, careful not to disturb your comfort too quickly.

You can’t help but laugh softly at the way he’s handling it all. “You act like I’m made of glass,” you tease, feeling the soft weight of the moment, a soft playfulness easing some of the discomfort in your body.

He grins, but there’s something deeper in his eyes as he looks at you, something tender. “Not glass,” he corrects, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead, his lips lingering just long enough to send a shiver of warmth through your chest. “Just carrying something pretty damn important.”

Your heart swells in your chest, a rush of love filling you so completely that it feels like it could spill over. It’s not just his words, but the quiet sincerity with which he says them. It’s the way he’s here, entirely with you, not just physically, but in the way he holds your heart, your growing family, and everything in between.

He leads you gently toward the bathroom, and as you step inside, the transformation of the space takes you by surprise. The room is bathed in soft, golden light from the flickering candles he’s carefully placed around the tub. The scent of lavender fills the air, soothing and fragrant, curling around you like a soft embrace. Steam rises gently from the water, which is a warm, inviting hue—perfectly set to relax every muscle in your body. The air itself feels thick with tranquility, with a kind of calm that instantly soothes your senses.

You take a slow, appreciative breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders melt away the second you step into the space. This, this is exactly what you needed. And it’s just another thing he’s done to make sure you feel cared for—making everything just perfect. You can’t help but marvel at how in tune he is with your needs, even the ones you don’t have to say aloud.

When Juraj helps you over to the tub, he’s careful, like always, steadying you, his hands warm on your skin. You look up at him and see nothing but love in his eyes, soft and steady, as if you’re the most important thing in the world.

The warm water envelops you as soon as you sink deeper into the bath, wrapping you in a comforting embrace that seems to melt away all the tension you’ve been carrying. You let out a soft sigh, your body gradually unwinding as the heat seeps into every muscle, soothing each ache, and making the world outside this small space seem so far away. The scent of lavender fills the air, delicate and calming, its fragrance mingling with the quiet sound of the water lapping gently at the edges of the tub. The flickering light from the candles Juraj must have carefully placed around the room dances in the soft steam that rises from the bath, casting a golden glow that feels like something out of a dream—a peaceful, quiet cocoon where nothing can disturb you.

You sink lower into the water, letting it completely envelop you, your arms resting gently on the edge of the tub as you close your eyes. The softness of the moment settles over you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself truly relax. The stress of the day, of the aches in your body, of everything swirling around in your mind, fades into the background, replaced by the soothing warmth of the bath and the comforting presence of Juraj beside you.

His tall frame is leaned slightly forward, one knee resting on the floor while his arms drape casually over the edge of the tub. His gaze never leaves you, his eyes steady and watchful, a quiet satisfaction settling into his features like he’s just accomplished something monumental. There’s no rush in his movements, no need to hurry or pull away. He seems to take his time with you, as if savoring each moment of peace, of quiet connection. And though his expression is soft, there’s an intensity in the way he looks at you—something that feels almost reverent. It’s as if you’ve become his world in that instant, and every moment spent with you is something precious to him.

“How does it feel?” he asks after a moment, his voice soft and warm, like he’s asking about something far more important than just the bath. He genuinely wants to know, to make sure you’re comfortable, to make sure you’re feeling okay.

You hum in approval, your body melting deeper into the warm water as you smile, your eyes fluttering shut in contentment. “Perfect. Exactly what I needed,” you murmur, your voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the tranquility of the moment.

Juraj watches you for a few beats, his gaze never wavering, as if taking in the simple sight of you—soaked in the soft glow of candlelight, surrounded by the scent of lavender, and resting in the calm of the moment. He reaches out, his large hands gentle, his fingers skimming the surface of the water in slow, absentminded circles. A ripple follows the path of his touch, the water shimmering with movement, and his fingers dip lower, cupping a handful of warm water. With a careful, almost reverent touch, he pours it over your shoulder, letting it trickle down your skin in a soft cascade, as if to help the warmth of the bath do its work on your body. The sensation of the water against your skin is so soothing that you can’t help but sigh, your muscles loosening further, the tension slowly melting away.

He does it again, this time over your arm, his touch light but deliberate, as if trying to ease away every last trace of the weight you’ve been carrying. You let him, closing your eyes for a moment and surrendering fully to the peace he’s creating for you.

His voice breaks the silence, soft but teasing, pulling you back from the depth of your thoughts. “You don’t have to stay here, you know,” you murmur, though your words are more of an invitation than a suggestion. The truth is, you don’t want him to leave. You want him here, next to you, in this quiet, intimate space.

He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth curling into a playful smirk. “You trying to get rid of me?” His tone is light, but there’s a touch of something more behind it—an almost amused curiosity that makes you smile despite yourself.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “No,” you admit with a grin, “just saying. You probably have better things to do.”

You know he’s busy. You know he’s got his own commitments, his own routines. But in this moment, there’s a small part of you that feels selfish, wanting to keep him here with you, wanting to hold on to this sense of calm for just a little longer.

He scoffs, as if the very idea of leaving you to your own devices is absurd. “Like what?” he asks, his voice laced with mock incredulity, and there’s a warmth in his eyes as he meets your gaze.

You arch a brow, matching his teasing tone. “I don’t know. Hockey? Working out? Watching replays?”

His expression changes instantly, though, softening into something more serious, something deeper. He doesn’t respond right away; instead, he reaches out, his fingers brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch is so tender, his eyes lingering on your face for a moment longer than usual. Then, his fingers trace the curve of your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “This is more important,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. His words are not dismissive or flippant—they carry weight, a kind of sincerity that makes your heart skip a beat.

Something in your chest tightens, and for a moment, the world outside this bathroom seems to disappear completely. There’s no arguing, no words needed to fill the silence. You simply look at him, and he looks at you, and for that fleeting moment, there’s nothing else. His eyes are so open, so unguarded, and the way he says it—like he truly believes it—takes you by surprise. It’s a vulnerability you rarely see in him, yet in this moment, it feels like he’s giving you a glimpse into a part of him that is only ever shared with you.

His gaze is steady, unwavering, and you realize that there’s no doubt in his mind—there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than right here, in this quiet, intimate space with you. His presence is the grounding force you didn’t even know you needed, and in the simplicity of this moment, you can’t help but feel completely and utterly cherished.

You reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his, feeling the roughness of his calloused palm against your softer skin. “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, there’s a brief, stillness between you, a sudden quiet that feels like the world pausing just to catch its breath. Juraj’s grip tightens for a split second, just long enough for you to feel the weight of his fingers around yours, grounding him in the enormity of the moment. His chest rises and falls with a breath that sounds almost like a quiet hitch, his hand holding yours as if it might anchor him to the present, to this very moment where you’ve shared something so deeply vulnerable.

His eyes flick down to your hand, his thumb tracing over your knuckles in slow, thoughtful movements. The touch is gentle, but there’s a sense of intensity to it, like he’s trying to find the right words, trying to find his place in all this. Finally, after a pause that seems to stretch on just a bit longer than usual, he looks up at you, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles—a smile that’s soft and vulnerable, unlike anything you’ve seen before.

“You think so?” His voice is barely above a whisper, a question that carries more weight than just those two words. It’s a question laced with doubt, with hope, with a quiet desire to be enough, to be worthy of the future he’s already dreaming about.

You nod, your fingers tightening around his in reassurance. “I know so.” The certainty in your voice is unwavering, the words steady and sure as you meet his gaze. He needs to hear it—he needs to know that you believe in him, that you believe in everything he already is, and everything he’s going to be. He’s going to be such a good dad.

For a few moments, he doesn’t speak, just watches your hand in his, his thumb absently tracing the lines of your fingers like he’s memorizing every curve, every dip. There’s a quiet sort of reverence in his movements, as if he’s in awe of the simple fact that you two are about to embark on this journey together. And then, his voice comes, softer now, almost lost beneath the soft sound of the water lapping against the edges of the tub.

“I just want to do it right.” The words are quiet but heavy, and there’s an unmistakable vulnerability in them—like he’s baring his soul, letting you see the weight of his heart laid bare.

Your heart aches at that, but not with sadness—no, it’s a love so full, so overwhelming that it feels like it might burst. You want to reach out and hold him, to reassure him that he doesn’t need to carry all this responsibility alone. But instead, you gently squeeze his hand, your voice soft but firm when you answer.

“You already are.” You speak from your heart, your words simple but true. “You take care of me every day. You love us. That’s all our baby is ever going to need.”

There’s a brief silence, a moment where the only sound is the faint hum of the bathroom, the steam rising around you both. You can feel his shoulders relax, the tension melting away, as if your words have given him the peace he didn’t know he needed. His hand moves from yours, but only to gently rest on your belly, his touch careful, almost hesitant at first, like he’s afraid of disturbing something precious. But when he feels it—the soft, steady flutter of the baby’s movements beneath his palm—his entire expression shifts. The small, tender smile that spreads across his face is like the sun breaking through a cloud, and you can see the wonder in his eyes as he looks up at you.

“Did you feel that?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the moment is sacred.

You laugh softly, a small chuckle that escapes before you can contain it, and place your hand over his. “Of course I felt it. I feel it all the time.” You meet his eyes with a smile, and there’s a knowing in your gaze—this tiny life is already part of both of you, and you can already see how deeply it has begun to change him.

His fingers spread across your belly, like he’s trying to cover every inch of it, like he doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this. He leans down, lowering his face until his lips are just above the waterline, his breath warm against your skin. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, his voice deep and gentle, like he’s speaking to someone already listening, already aware. There’s a strength in his tone, but it’s a quiet strength, one that’s wrapped in tenderness and protectiveness. “You’re giving your mama a hard time, huh?”

You roll your eyes playfully, though your heart swells with love for him and the little one already growing inside you. “Tell me about it.”

Juraj chuckles softly, his breath warm against your skin as he stays there for a moment longer, his forehead resting gently against your belly. His hand never moves, continuing to rest in the same spot, as if he’s waiting for another movement, another sign that this tiny person is listening to him, responding to him. It’s such a simple, intimate thing—but in that moment, as he stays there with his forehead resting against you, you realize how much of him is already poured into this new life. This big, strong man—someone who fights battles on the ice, who faces tough opponents with a strength that could move mountains—is utterly undone by the tiny, fragile life inside you. It’s a side of him you’ve seen in glimpses before, but in this moment, it’s undeniable. He’s already a father in everything but name.

Eventually, he leans back, but his hand doesn’t leave your belly. His thumb continues to move in slow, soothing circles, a gesture that’s become as familiar as his touch on your hand. “I can’t wait to meet them,” he says, his voice filled with such quiet awe that it makes your throat tighten. There’s an unspoken promise in his words—I will love them, just like I love you—and it wraps around your heart like a soft blanket.

You swallow past the lump in your throat, nodding as your chest swells with emotion. “Me too.” Your voice is barely a whisper, thick with the weight of everything you’re feeling.

Juraj glances up at you, his eyes softened by something deeper than just affection—there’s a tenderness there, an unspoken understanding that transcends words. His gaze lingers on you for a heartbeat longer than usual, like he’s soaking in the moment, imprinting it on his soul. And then, without saying a word, he leans down. His lips find yours with a quiet intensity, a kiss that feels like it’s full of years of shared moments, of challenges overcome, of love built layer by layer. It’s not rushed, not hungry like so many kisses once were, but slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring this connection between you both.

The kiss speaks volumes. It speaks of the life you’ve created together—of the highs, the lows, and the everyday, mundane moments that have formed the foundation of your love. It carries the weight of shared dreams and quiet promises for the future. And as his lips linger against yours, you feel a tenderness that surpasses any grand gesture, a quiet kind of devotion that only comes from the deepest parts of the heart.

When he finally pulls away, there’s a moment of perfect stillness between you, as if time has paused just for the two of you. His forehead rests gently against yours, his breath warm against your skin, mingling with yours as the two of you share the same air, the same space, your hearts in sync. The sound of the water continues its gentle lapping against the edges of the tub, but it feels distant now, as if the world outside of this moment has fallen away.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, the words wrapped in layers of tenderness that make your heart ache. “Both of you.”

You blink, the weight of those words settling over you like a soft, comforting blanket. Something inside you shifts at the realization—both of you. You are no longer just two people. You are a family. And as his words settle into your chest, the floodgates open, and tears prickle at the corners of your eyes. For a moment, you fight them, but only for a moment, because in this sacred space, in this intimacy between the two of you, there’s no need for masks. No need to hold it all together. You let the tears fall freely, letting them trace the contours of your cheeks as the emotions of this moment overwhelm you.

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw sincerity, has unlocked something in you—something that’s been quietly building inside you, something you didn’t even realize was there until now. You wipe the tears from your face, but you don’t try to hide them, because they are a reflection of everything you’re feeling. You’re not ashamed of them, not embarrassed. These tears are love, pure and simple.

“We love you too,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion, barely more than a breath, but it carries every ounce of everything you’re feeling right now.

His thumb brushes gently over your cheek, a small but profound gesture, as if he’s trying to wipe away the tears, but you both know they’re not tears of sadness—they’re tears of love, of an overwhelming gratitude that you can’t express with words. They’re tears that come from the realization that, despite everything—despite the uncertainty, the changes, the challenges—you’ve built something unbreakable together. You’ve created a family. And in this moment, everything feels right.

Juraj pulls you closer then, his arms wrapping around you with a strength that feels like home, a protection that only he can provide. His hands cradle you gently, but with such a quiet force, like he’s holding not just you, but everything you’ve created. The baby. The future. The life ahead.

And as you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, you know without a shadow of a doubt that this is home. This is where you belong. There’s a peace in your soul that you’ve never known before, a certainty that no matter what comes, you will face it together.

[mrspiastri]

I would like to request a desi girl x lewis fic

desi munda 🪅

pairing: lewis hamilton x desi!reader

cw: fluff, lewis being a bit negative etc etc

wc: 2k words

an: thanks anon, hope u like my first lewis fic!

.° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡𖦹˚ 𓇼 ｡𖦹° ｡. .° ｡

“The last time I felt like this before a race was probably in 2008. It’s madness,” Lewis lamented in his driver’s room as he put on his fireproofs, getting ready to review the final data before hopping into the car.

“Well, it probably has to do with the fact that you’re racing in India after more than a decade. Unfamiliar track and all that jazz,” Y/N responded from where she was seated on the couch, filing her nails and adding the final touches to her makeup.

“I think it might be more because my gorgeous girlfriend won’t even look at my face,” he commented with a slight grin as he shimmied into his race suit.

She playfully rolled her eyes, snapping her compact mirror shut and stuffing it into her purse before looking at him. “There, now I’m all yours.” She smiled up at him as he walked across the room, towering over her.

“I think you’ve got a lot of pressure on you today, and not just from Fred and the team,” Y/N stated, making Lewis groan before plopping down next to her on the couch in a less-than-graceful manner.

“If you’re talking about your family, then yes, it’s probably that. I think I saw all your cousins and your aunts in the first three rows of the grandstands,” he muttered pitifully, pushing his face into the crook of her neck. She took pity on him, wrapping her arms around him as he continued ranting.

“I know they’re excited to see their future son-in-law doing what he does best—” Y/N let out an incredulous grunt at this—“but this is INSANE! I might die of stress, honestly.”

She laughed at him before holding his chin and making him look up at her. “You’re going to do wonderful, Lew. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone. They all know you’re the best damn driver on the grid; they’re just excited to see you in your element.”

“But if I don’t win, they’re going to think I’m useless. A washed-up, no-good idiot who can’t even win a stupid race,” he sighed, slumping further down, letting his negative thoughts take over.

Y/N sat up straighter at this. “I know you’re not talking about yourself like that. Lewis, you are an amazing driver, and you know that very well,” she said firmly, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Besides, my whole family loves you! You could come dead fucking last, and they’d still cheer. Heck, you could DNF, and they’d cheer as you brought your car into the pits to retire from the race.”

Lewis let out a dry laugh at that. He couldn’t exactly deny it.

“I just... I don’t want them to think I’m a loser. I want them to see me as a part of their family—as your future husband. If they see me lose, they’ll think I’m not good enough for you,” he finally admitted, revealing what had been weighing on him ever since Y/N told him her family would be attending the race.

Y/N was silent, emotions warring inside her. On one hand, she was shocked he thought so lowly of himself and his reputation in front of her family. But on the other hand, the fact that he had thought so far ahead about their future made her want to grab his face and kiss him until he forgot every single doubt in his head.

“Lew, I promise you—whatever happens today won’t change their perception of you. To them, you are the coolest, most enigmatic person ever. And you’re *definitely* the best catch out of all the other partners my family members have brought home. I mean, come on, who can beat a seven-time Formula One World Champion?”

A knock at the door interrupted them, a staff member reminding Lewis that he had to check the final corrections made to the car after qualifying before the formation lap started in 15 minutes.

“I’ll meet my parents in the garage; you go on ahead,” she said, standing up and adjusting the red dress she wore, showing her full support for the Ferrari driver.

Lewis got into the car, checking if the throttle and steering were working fine. “Seems good. Wanna start the lap?” he asked his engineers, receiving an affirmative response.

Y/N leaned down and kissed his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark on his skin. “A kiss for good luck—and to remove the stupid thoughts in your head.”

“I was hoping for a proper one,” Lewis playfully pouted up at her.

“That’s for after the race. You gotta have something to look forward to, na?”

He simply laughed before putting on his helmet. The sound of his car revving up echoed in the garage as he exited. Y/N, meanwhile, made her way to the back where her parents waited for her, smiling at the conversation she had just had with Lewis.

“He seems stressed. Hope it doesn’t affect his performance,” her dad pointed out, making her sigh in worry.

“He is. Honestly, he’s more worried about disappointing the family than he is about losing,” she confided.

“I hope you told him he’s crazy for even thinkingthat,” her mother gasped.

Y/N winked while putting her headphones on. “You know it.”

🪺🪺🪺

It was the final lap of the race. Lewis had overtaken Max at the start of lap 37, after tailing him for more than half of the race. In the Ferrari garage, tensions were high, with both drivers in podium positions.

As the checkered flag waved, Lewis soared past it, clinching victory in front of his girlfriend’s home crowd and further cementing Ferrari’s Constructors’ Championship title contention.

The announcers’ voices boomed throughout the grandstands, the crowd erupting into cheers. Everyone at the Ferrari garage ran out to celebrate with Lewis and Charles in parc fermé, the latter having placed third. Y/N and her parents were escorted to where the podium finishers had gathered their cars.

Lewis stood on his car, bowing to the roaring fans with his palms pressed together in a namaste pose—just like she had taught him.

The team cheered him and Charles on, with pats on the back and massive hugs. Lewis was all smiles, scanning the crowd until his eyes found Y/N, waving at him from behind the barriers.

He ran up to her, lifting her off the ground in the biggest hug he could manage without hoisting her over the barrier. She hugged him tighter, his helmet getting in the way.

He pulled it off, handing it to a team member before pulling her in again. “Now, about that kiss you mentioned earlier...” he grinned.

“You are impossible!” Y/N laughed, playfully pushing his chest.

“Good thing you love it.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t let him suffer for long. She leaned in, closing the distance between them. Her lips met his in a kiss that was slow and lingering, as if they wanted to memorize the feel of each other. His hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

She melted into him, gripping the front of his race suit, anchoring herself in his warmth.

The crowds, the cheers, the cameras—it all faded into the background.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, their foreheads rested together, the air between them thick with unspoken words.

She let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I forgot we were in public for a second.”

He chuckled, fingers tracing her back. “Me too. Hope your dad doesn’t beat the shit out of me.”

Her parents decided to turn a blind eye to the couple, instead focusing on congratulating Lewis on his win. However, he couldn’t help but notice her father slapping his back just a little harder than necessary, a certain look in his eye that made Lewis straighten up.

🪺🪺🪺

Later, in the Ferrari hospitality, Y/N groaned as Lewis reached for her.

“Please shower! The champagne and sweat combined make me want to puke.”

Lewis, of course, ignored this, chasing her around until he finally caught her in his grasp—sweat, champagne, and all.

“You’re so disgusting. I just washed my hair, yaar.”

Her smirk, however, gave her away.

“Well, Lewis,” her cousin quipped, “you’ve definitely earned your spot in the family now.”

Lewis grinned. “Well, I’d hope so. It was very nice of you all to come out today—really motivated me. And scared the living shit out of me.”

The whole room burst into laughter. Her father cleared his throat, eyeing the two of them. “You’ve done well today, beta. You’ve got speed, skill, and determination—but most importantly, you make my daughter happy.

Lewis straightened slightly, sensing the weight of the moment. “That means the world to me, sir.”

Her father studied him for a beat before nodding approvingly. “Good. Now go shower before you suffocate us with that champagne stench.”

The room erupted into laughter, and Y/N rolled her eyes fondly. “I told you.” Lewis laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Y/N’s temple before heading off. “I’ll be back—don’t have too much fun without me.”

🪺🪺🪺

The afterparty was in full swing by the time Lewis and Y/N arrived. The upscale venue was buzzing with energy—team members, rival drivers, and VIP guests mingled over glasses of champagne, the hum of conversations blending seamlessly with the music playing overhead.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne, celebratory drinks, and the undeniable electricity of victory.

When the doors opened, all heads instinctively turned toward the couple making their entrance.

Lewis Hamilton, still glowing from his win, walked in with Y/N by his side, her right arm slotted in the crook oh his left one. They were well dressed as always — Lewis in a well-fitted, deep blue kurta, a nod to Y/N’s heritage, and Y/N in a breathtaking red saree that shimmered under the golden lights. The rich fabric draped over her in a way that left little to the imagination, her bangles softly jingling as she adjusted her hold on his arm.

“Well, don’t we look like a power couple?" Charles teased, raising his glass as they approached.

Y/N smirked. "You’re just jealous, Charlie."

“Of the matching outfits or the fact that you two have already stolen all the attention?" Carlos chimed in with a grin.

Lewis chuckled, placing a protective hand on the small of Y/N’s back. "Can’t blame them. My girl does clean up pretty damn well."

Y/N turned to him, eyes dancing with amusement. "Only fair, considering I dressed you."

Lewis leaned in slightly, voice low and teasing. "And here I thought I was doing you a favor by looking this good." She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she tugged him toward the bar.

"Come on, Mr. Race Winner, let’s get you a drink before you get too cocky." The bartender barely had a chance to ask before Charles called out, "A whiskey for the champion and—Y/N, what are you drinking?"

"White wine," she replied.

Lewis took the glass from the bartender and handed it to her before raising his own in a silent toast. "To surviving your family’s initiation," he joked.

She laughed softly, clinking her glass against his. "Oh, you’re not done yet. This is just the beginning. But let’s talk about that later, because the only thing I’m focusing on is how good you look in this kurta.”

He laughed, “Well you’re the one who said I should wear this instead of the red one I wanted to go with.”

“It’s called contrast, and we’re pulling it off well. Besides, you look much more handsome in this, like a proper desi munda.

Lewis narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "That sounds both adorable and terrifying. Should I be worried?"

Y/N smirked, "Don’t worry about it.”

Before he could question her, the music shifted to something slower, more sultry, and Lewis took that as his cue. Handing his glass to Carlos, he turned to Y/N with a familiar glint in his eye.

"May I have this dance?" Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You? Dancing at a public event?"

Lewis smirked, pulling her toward him without waiting for an answer. "For you? Always."

And just like that, in the middle of the celebration, the world shrank down to just the two of them—spinning, laughing, and getting lost in each other, a champion on the track and in love.

never written for lewis before so hope this is nice anon. honestly not very proud of this one but like fuck it we ball <4

[vinylfoxbooks]

February 10 - Euphemia Potter | @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 638

Regulus, despite being strictly against waking up in the morning, had a body that decided to wake up at seven in the morning and not be able to go back to sleep. So, every morning, he has to slink out of bed and make his way downstairs, where Effie is always setting up her things to make breakfast while waiting for James and Fleamont to get back from their run and for Sirius to wake up.

She smiles at Regulus whens he hears him, “Good morning, Reg.”

“Morning.” 

The woman laughs at the tone, as she normally does, “You’re up a bit later than usual?”

Regulus groans, going to fill the kettle with some fresh water, “I laid in bed for a solid twenty minutes trying to coax my body to go back to sleep.” 

“You know that won’t work, how many times have you tried it?” 

He hums, “Yeah, but the definition of insanity is trying the same thing repeatedly hoping it’ll work, and my family most definitely has traces of insanity within our blood.” His quip makes the woman laugh again, a bell of a sound that relaxes Regulus’ tired limbs like honey -- she has the same laugh as James, just as bright and smooth and Regulus adores when he hears it from either of them. 

“We keep offering you the sleeping draughts that Lee makes, they’re always open to you.” Regulus shakes his head and is going to say something, but the door to the house opens and two voices fill the mostly quiet air, laughing. Regulus feels his heart soar at the sound, but he knows that he’s not going to see James quiet yet -- they like to shower immediately after their run, something about their day being all off if they go around feeling gross from it if they wait too long. But Fleamont always has a different plan. 

In comes the man to the kitchen, opening the door and wolf whistling, “Good morning, beautiful.” 

The sound makes Effie laugh and shake her head. She takes a break from where she’s mixing the muffin batter to turn and look at him, “I’m in my pajamas, Lee. And besides, there are children present.” 

“He’s 16, he’s probably seen and heard worse,” the man shrugs, walking over to the island and going to sit down for a moment, “And, for your information, you look beautiful in anything that you wear. And besides, it’s a legal obligation of mine to compliment you any time you’re in my presence.” 

“Oh is it?”

“Mhm, don’t you remember the clause in our wedding certificate that states that? It was in bold red.” 

Effie rolls her eyes, “Oh yes, how could I ever forget?”

“That’s simply why I’m here to remind you.” He stands up, walks to her and pulls her into him by the waist, pressing a quick kiss to her lips and mumbling about how he’s excited for breakfast before going to shower and change. 

When he’s gone, the woman turns to Regulus, who’s now pouring himself a cup of the boiled water to start steeping his tea, “Make it your goal to marry a man as devoted as him.” 

“I think I’d get annoyed.” 

“Oh you’d be surprised,” Effie smiles, the motion of it crinkling the corner of her eyes, “They can be worse.” 

And it’s just as she says it does James traipse into the kitchen, wolf-whistling much like their dad did before and adventuring across the kitchen to wrap their arms around Regulus’ waist, muttering, “Good morning, mi estrella.” 

It makes Effie laugh once more, “Oh James, you and your father.” 

“What did we do?” 

“Nothing, love,” Regulus shakes his head, though he does send a grin to Effie, “I’m sure I’m already taking the right steps to achieve that goal.” 

“I would think so.”

[lemonlimestar]

personally, i don’t understand how someone can like [post-crisis, as this is a mostly post-crisis blog] tim & just… not acknowledge his deep relationships with certain people?? sorry, but we wouldn’t have tim drake without dick grayson. despite his many, many, many, many flaws, bruce and tim have a strong enough bond that tim uprooted to go search for him & that’s not even mentioning the push and pull of his relationships with both jack and bruce. points at that bit in contagion where he asks that jack knows he didn’t love bruce more than him. and need i remind you that he also loves his mom?? he reiterated that he wanted his parents to be back home with him Because he loved them! and they loved him! and in that same plot point (contagion) he dreams that she’s back and cooking the meals she used to when he was younger :( like guys christmas eve was literally his mommy’s funeral!!! if u even care!!!

(u don’t or i wouldn’t be making this post LMAO)

timsteph truther or Not, the impact she has on him can’t just be swept to the wayside for mediocre at best yaoi (megfitz i am looking at u). they’re best friends! and despite all the grief they put each other through they still cling to each other! tim makes wally take him all the way back to gotham during nml to make sure he’s there when steph gives birth!

same goes with him & kon + yj/cassie & bart in general. they are clingy and territorial and clingy and tim is their best friend (and he thinks of them the same). like i’m sorry. ik i joke about this but genuinely how are we glossing over damn near 100 fucking cloning attempts. they were his colors??? bro. ik they bicker in yj98 but brother i’m gonna be real with u they All do that. they’re all passively mean to each other within their friendship & banter & such, kon and tim just so happen to also have the problems with tim’s secret identity more upfront. (which cools instantly after it’s kinda resolved for them in wwyj). timcassie will never read as romantic to me, but does it have to be romantic for the way they fell into each other after kon (and then bart :[) dies to be compelling?? u wouldn’t know this bc it’s very unlikely that u fall into this camp and have also read impulse 95, but did u even know that tim is one of the first people bart turns to when he’s stuck on an issue?? did u know that kon does the same on his solo?? did u know that cassie jokingly(lovingly) calls him her sidekick??

i just feel like the many friendships and relationships that tim has is part of what makes him himself. he’s the team-up guy!! he loves his family and friends!! his closest friends are family to him!! and this isn’t getting into his relationships that are usually ignored entirely or straight up made one dimensional (babs, cass, helena, damian, etc, etc) (to which i would say read nml, read last laugh, read fresh blood, read cry of the huntress, read cry for blood, read gates of gotham)

[ezrasxfics]

abstragedy fic where caine figures out zooble likes gangle and keeps pestering them about it? (like a parent would react to their child getting their first crush lmao) /nf :3

i’ve never been prouder…

-

abstragedy (ft caine)

-

zooble pov

it’s just another day in the circus, and by that i mean, another day of being surrounded by total DIPSH*TS. jax.. bubble.. and probably the biggest of them all, caine. hell, he’s harassing me right now. absolutely f*cking relentlessly.

“oh, zooooblee~!” he calls out, floating down the hallways in an attempt to find me. by now, everyone else had left for an adventure. i stay completely silent, praying that he doesn’t fine me. until—

he’s right in front of me.

“what do you want!?” i snap, maybe a little more aggressively than i meant to. it was just.. something about him. something that aggravated me to no end. that loud voice, that ‘can-do’ attitude.. it reminded me of someone, and i couldn’t put my finger on who.

“oh, zooble, i just wanted to talk to you!! have a little chat.. because i’ve noticed that you and gangle have been quite friendly recently - almost like.. what do humans call it.. you’re ‘down bad’ for each other!”

“….WHAT!? where the hell did you get that idea-!?” i stammer, unable to deny that he was absolutely right. but his wording..? “and don’t say ‘down bad’ again. my god…”

caine stares at me blankly for a few seconds, as if he’s buffering, before cocking his head to the side. “isn’t that what you are? when two humans love each other—“

“okay- okay, shut up- no- don’t finish that f**king sentence. we’re just friends, okay?? that’s it.” raising both my hands defensively, i take a small step back. “we’re just close friends, okay??”

“i hate to accuse you of lying, zooble, but that can’t be true! the way you look at each other, the way your voice deepens a little and hers gets higher when you talk to each other, the way your pupils dilate, it’s all key symptoms of human love!”

“…symptoms? love, or whatever, isn’t a disease—“

“moving onnnnn- i’ve developed a foolproof 5 step plan on how you two can finally admit your feelings to each other!!” he says, a wide smile on his face. or.. his teeth. how can teeth even—? whatever.

“no.” i say simply, folding my arms as if to display my disapproval. “no f**king way.”

“so, firstly, i’ll set you two up on a special adventu-“ he cuts himself off, before continuing. “what do you mean, no? you haven’t even heard my plan, zooble!”

“i don’t need to. caine, you’re an ai. you don’t understand.. feelings. they’re more complicated than just statistics and predictions and plans, you just.. nevermind. forget i said anything.”

“okay!!” he replies, but his energy faltered slightly. i almost felt.. bad for him.

“..fine. tell me the damn plan. no promises, though.” i mutter, after a small hesitation. he may be an ai, but i know that even caine has.. basic feelings. i wouldn't want to be an a** and hurt him.

almost immediately, that spark of joy in him returned as he began to relay the plan. “so, zooble, firstly, you’re going to go on a special adventure for just the two of you. then, she’s going to end up in some sort of.. sticky situation. and you’re going to save her!! once you’ve saved her, you’ll say a little speech you prepared.. and happily ever after!!!!”

“……that’s only four steps.” i say, entirely dumbfounded. he couldnt seriously expect me to go through with THAT, right?? then again, it’s caine we’re talking about…

“happily ever after is step 5!! so, what d’you say, zooble? i worked very hard on it, it would be a shame for my plan to go to waste-“

“FINE— fine, i’ll f**king do it. if you leave me the hell alone.”

“done deal!!!” he sighs, clasping his hands and bringing them to the side of his face. “i’ve never been so proud..”

-

thanks for the request!! i had a lot of fun writing this!!!

reblogs appreciated!!

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Unspoken

You’ve always been the type to say how you feel.

Marshall? Not so much.

But that never really bothered you. He shows you he loves you in all the little ways that matter. He keeps a hoodie in the back of his car because you always forget a jacket. He orders your food before you even ask because he knows exactly what you like. He plays with your hair when you fall asleep on the couch, even though he pretends not to when you wake up.

You love him. So you say it.

All the time.

“Love you, babe,” you mumble against his shoulder before he leaves for the studio.

“Love you,” you call out when he brings you coffee without asking.

“I love you,” you sigh, curled up against him after a long day.

It’s effortless. Natural. Something you don’t even think about.

Until someone else does.

“You ever notice he doesn’t say it back?”

You blink, looking up from your drink. “What?”

Your friend shrugs, leaning against the bar. “I mean, I’ve heard you say it a million times. But I don’t think I’ve ever heard him say it.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” They raise an eyebrow. “Think about it.”

So you do.

And for the first time, you realize… they’re right.

You do say it all the time. But Marshall?

He never says it back.

Not once. Not ever.

Your stomach twists, suddenly uncomfortable.

That night, when Marshall comes home, you’re quiet. Lost in your own head. He notices immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning as he drops onto the couch beside you.

You hesitate. It sounds stupid now, like you’re making a big deal out of nothing. But the weight of it is pressing down on you, too heavy to ignore.

“Do you… do you love me?” you ask softly.

His brows furrow like the question baffles him. “What?”

You swallow. “I say it to you all the time. And you’ve never… you’ve never said it back.”

Marshall stares at you, silent.

You let out a nervous laugh, trying to ease the tension. “I mean, I know you do. You show me all the time. But I never noticed before that you don’t actually say it.”

Still, he says nothing.

And that silence?

It hurts.

You pull your legs up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around your knees. “You do, right?”

Marshall lets out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. “Baby, of course I do.”

You nod, waiting.

But… that’s it.

No I love you, no reassurance. Just… that.

You try to ignore the ache in your chest, try to remind yourself that he shows it, that words aren’t everything.

But for the first time, it doesn’t feel like enough.

---

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

Marshall shows you he loves you every day. He doesn’t need to say it.

But now that you’ve noticed… it’s all you notice.

It lingers in the spaces between moments—when you kiss him goodbye, when you curl up beside him at night, when you murmur I love you against his skin and hear nothing but silence in return.

Before, you never thought twice about it. Now, it stings.

You start holding the words back, just to see what happens.

He doesn’t notice.

And that? That’s almost worse.

One night, curled up on the couch, you finally ask, “Why don’t you say it?”

Marshall doesn’t look away from the TV. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

His jaw tightens, and for the first time, you see it—something unreadable flickering across his face.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you. You know he does. It’s that something about saying it makes him uncomfortable.

But you don’t understand why.

“You know how I feel,” he says finally, glancing at you. “I don’t have to say it.”

You let out a slow breath, nodding. You do know. But hearing it? That’s something different.

Still, you don’t push.

And that night, when you roll over in bed, your back to him, pretending it doesn’t bother you?

You feel his arm slide around your waist, pulling you closer.

It’s not an I love you.

But it’s something.

For now, it has to be enough.

---

It’s getting harder to swallow.

The way he holds you close at night. The way he pulls you against his chest, fingers tracing slow circles on your back. The way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking—like you’re the most important thing in his world.

It’s love. You know it is.

But now, every time you say the words and he doesn’t say them back, it feels like a small piece of you is chipping away.

And tonight, you can’t ignore it anymore.

You’re standing in the kitchen, washing dishes while he leans against the counter, scrolling through his phone. It’s comfortable, normal. But something inside you is unsettled.

So you test it.

“Love you,” you say softly, just like you always do.

And just like always, he doesn’t say it back.

He hums in acknowledgment, tossing his phone onto the counter. “You need help with that?”

You freeze, hands still submerged in the soapy water.

That’s it. That’s all you get.

Something snaps.

You turn off the faucet, drying your hands slowly before facing him. “Why don’t you ever say it?”

Marshall blinks, caught off guard. “Say what?”

Your stomach twists. “You know what.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches, his shoulders tensing. “Come on, baby. Not this again.”

“Yes, this again.” Your voice is sharp, and you hate how desperate you sound, but you can’t keep pretending. “I say it to you all the time. And you never say it back. Not once.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “You know how I feel.”

“That’s not the point!” Your voice cracks, and you swallow hard, trying to steady yourself. “I do know. But I need to hear it.”

Silence.

Your chest feels tight. “Do you love me?”

His gaze flickers to you, something unreadable in his expression. “Of course I do.”

Your heart pounds. “Then say it.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t—” He stops himself, shaking his head like he’s frustrated. “I’ve never been good at that shit.”

Tears sting your eyes, and you look away. “You don’t have to be good at it. You just have to mean it.”

He’s quiet.

And God, that silence is deafening.

You take a shaky breath, nodding to yourself. “Okay.”

Marshall’s eyes snap to you. “What does that mean?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

His whole body goes still. “What?”

You turn away, gripping the edge of the sink. “I’m tired, Marshall. I’m tired of giving and giving and never getting it back. I love you. I’ve never doubted that I love you.” Your voice wavers. “But I can’t be in a relationship where I don’t feel loved.”

His breath is uneven now, his hands gripping the counter like he’s bracing himself. “You are loved.”

You shake your head, blinking back tears. “Not in the way I need to be.”

The words hang between you, heavy and painful.

Marshall opens his mouth like he wants to argue, but nothing comes out.

And that? That’s answer enough.

So you turn and walk away.

And for the first time, he doesn’t stop you.

---

The guest room feels cold.

You’ve never slept here before. The bed is stiff, the blankets unfamiliar, the space too quiet. Every night since you’ve been with Marshall, you’ve fallen asleep next to him, tucked into the warmth of his arms—even on nights when you were mad at him.

But tonight, you couldn’t.

Not after that conversation. Not after he let you walk away.

You stare at the ceiling, your chest tight, throat burning. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be apart from him.

But what else can you do?

You roll onto your side, curling up beneath the blanket. Maybe this is what you needed—space. Maybe it’ll make things clearer.

But God, you miss him already.

Marshall stands outside the guest room door, fingers flexing at his sides, jaw clenched.

You’ve never slept apart before. Not once. Even when you fought, even when he was too stubborn for his own good, you were always next to him at the end of the day.

And now?

Now, you’re in the next room, alone.

And it’s his fault.

His hands drag down his face, frustration bubbling under his skin. He hates this. Hates knowing you’re hurting. Hates knowing he’s the reason.

But what the fuck is he supposed to do?

He wants to say it. He does. He can feel the words on the tip of his tongue, aching to come out.

But every time he tries, something stops him.

It’s not that he doesn’t love you. It’s that saying it out loud has never come easy to him.

And now, because of that, he’s losing you.

His chest tightens, panic creeping in.

He should go in there. Should apologize. Should say what he knows you need to hear.

Instead, he presses his forehead against the door, eyes squeezing shut.

“I love you,” he whispers.

But the words are swallowed by the silence.

And you never hear them.

---

You wake up feeling off.

The guest bed is too firm, the blankets too stiff, and your body aches in ways that have nothing to do with sleep. For a second, you forget where you are—until you turn over and don’t find Marshall beside you.

And then it hits you all over again.

You close your eyes, exhaling slowly. You’d thought maybe you’d wake up with some clarity, some reassurance that you did the right thing. But all you feel is empty.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you hesitate at the door, hand hovering over the knob. You don’t even know what you expect when you step out. Marshall sitting on the couch, waiting? Pacing the floor, doing something?

Instead, the house is quiet.

Too quiet.

You find him in the kitchen, staring blankly at his coffee. He looks… rough. His hoodie is wrinkled, his jaw tight, dark circles shadowing his eyes.

Your heart clenches.

You wonder if he slept at all.

He hears you before you can say anything, his head snapping up. His eyes find yours immediately, searching, hesitant.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then—

“How’d you sleep?” His voice is hoarse, like he hasn’t used it all morning.

You swallow. “Not great.”

His jaw shifts. He nods, looking down at his coffee like he’s trying to find the right words.

Something about it makes your chest tighten.

You lean against the counter, arms crossing. “You let me walk away.”

He flinches. It’s small, barely there, but you see it.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he admits, voice low.

You study him, waiting, hoping.

He takes a slow breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

That hurts. More than you expect.

You look away, trying to blink back the sting behind your eyes. “You could start with I love you.”

Silence.

The same silence that’s been stretching between you for too damn long.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Okay.”

You turn to leave, but his voice stops you cold.

“I don’t know how to say it.”

You freeze.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that I don’t love you. It’s not that I don’t want to say it. It just—” He cuts himself off, looking frustrated. “It’s not easy for me.”

You turn slowly, watching the way he grips his coffee mug like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“It never has been,” he admits, quieter now. “Not with my mom. Not with Kim. Not with… anyone.” His fingers flex around the handle. “It’s not how I grew up. It’s not what I’m used to.”

You bite your lip, heart pounding. “Marshall…”

He finally looks at you, and God, the emotion in his eyes nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I know that’s not fair to you,” he says. “And I know it’s not enough. But it’s the truth.”

You swallow hard. “I don’t need you to say it all the time.”

His throat bobs.

“I just need to hear it,” you whisper. “At least once.”

For a second, you think he might say it. That he might finally give you the words you’ve been aching for.

Instead, he drops his gaze, fingers tightening around his mug.

Your stomach sinks.

And just like that, the space between you feels wider than ever.

---

A week.

It’s been a week since you walked away. A week since you started sleeping in the guest room. A week since Marshall let you.

And nothing has changed.

You still move through the same routines, still exist in the same space, but there’s a distance between you that feels impossible to cross. He’s been quiet, withdrawn—not cold, just distant. Like he doesn’t know how to fix this. Like he’s afraid of making it worse.

And honestly?

You don’t know if it can be fixed.

You miss him. God, you miss him. But every night you climb into the stiff guest bed, and every morning you wake up alone, and every single time you almost go back to him… you stop yourself.

Because the ache in your chest hasn’t gone away.

Because no matter how much you love him, you can’t keep feeling like you’re the only one willing to say it.

Tonight, sleep comes slow, restless. The room is too cold, the blankets too unfamiliar. At some point, you give up entirely, groaning as you push yourself out of bed.

You shuffle to the bathroom, eyes half-lidded, body heavy with exhaustion. But as soon as you step into the hallway, your foot catches on something.

You frown, glancing down—

And your breath catches in your throat.

Marshall.

He’s on the floor, asleep, curled up against the wall outside the guest room door.

Your stomach twists. What the hell?

For a second, you don’t move. You just stare, taking him in—the hoodie bunched up around his shoulders, the way his arm is bent awkwardly under his head, like he didn’t mean to fall asleep there but couldn’t bring himself to leave.

Your chest aches.

You kneel down slowly, reaching out, hesitating before your fingers brush against his hair. “Marshall,” you whisper.

He stirs, brow furrowing, then blinks up at you, groggy and confused. “…What?”

You swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing out here?”

He exhales heavily, rubbing a hand down his face. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You bite your lip. “So you decided to sleep on the floor?”

His shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Better than being far from you.”

Your heart shatters.

For a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think. You just stare at him, trying to process the weight of what he just said.

He never let you sleep alone.

Not really.

You shake your head, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you just—”

“Because you needed space,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. “But I needed you.”

Tears burn the back of your eyes. “Marshall…”

He shifts, sitting up properly, gaze flickering away. “I know I’m fucking this up,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

You reach for him before you can stop yourself, fingers curling around his. “We can’t stay like this.”

His grip tightens. “I know.”

For the first time in a week, he’s close. Not just physically, but in a way that makes your heart ache, like he’s finally letting you see the part of him he’s been holding back.

You take a shaky breath. “Come to bed.”

His eyes snap to yours. “What?”

You squeeze his hand. “Not the guest room. Our bed.”

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Then, without a word, he nods.

And for the first time in a week, you fall asleep where you belong—wrapped up in him.

---

Things go back to normal.

Mostly.

You stop sleeping in the guest room. You go back to your routines, the easy conversations, the quiet moments where nothing needs to be said. You curl up next to him at night, wrapped in his warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

And when you tell him I love you, you don’t wait for him to say it back anymore.

Because you know he won’t.

Because you’ve made your peace with it.

Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Because at the end of the day, you just want him. The way he holds you, the way he pulls you closer in his sleep, the way he kisses your forehead in the morning before either of you says a word—that is enough.

It has to be.

And for a while, you think it is.

But Marshall knows better.

He sees the way your smile falters sometimes when you think he isn’t looking. The way you hesitate before saying I love you, like you’re bracing yourself for the silence. The way you hold onto him just a little tighter, as if trying to convince yourself that this—just this—is all you need.

And it kills him.

Because you’re settling.

For him.

And the fact that you’re willing to accept less than what you deserve just to keep him? That doesn’t sit right.

Not one fucking bit.

One night, he’s lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, your soft breaths steady beside him. You fell asleep curled up against his side, like you always do. But even in sleep, you’re clinging to him. Like you’re afraid to let go.

His chest tightens.

He rubs a hand over his face, exhaling quietly.

You’ve given everything to him. And all he’s given you in return is half of what you need.

And for the first time, he wonders if loving you in silence is worse than losing you altogether.

---

Marshall waits until he’s sure you’re asleep.

Your breath is slow, steady, your body warm and soft against his. You always sleep curled into him, like it’s the only place you want to be. Even after everything, you still choose him.

And he fucking hates that you have to.

Because you deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you what you need without hesitation, without making you wait for words that should be so damn easy.

His fingers brush over your back, slow and careful, and he swallows hard.

He should’ve said it a long time ago.

He should’ve said it that night in the kitchen when you asked him to.

He should’ve said it when you walked away from him.

He should’ve said it before you settled for less.

His throat feels tight.

“I love you.”

The words slip out, barely a whisper in the dark.

And you don’t hear them.

He exhales, his heart pounding harder than it should. He tries again, his lips brushing against your hair. “I love you.”

It’s easier like this. When you’re sleeping. When you can’t look at him with those eyes that make him feel like he’s being ripped open.

He closes his eyes. “I love you so much.”

And it feels real. Sounds real.

But morning comes too fast.

You wake up slow, stretching against him, your fingers trailing along his arm. “Morning,” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

His chest tightens.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before whispering, “I love you.”

And just like that, the words die in his throat.

He swallows. Nods. Kisses the top of your head.

But he doesn’t say it back.

And when you pull away, just for a second, he sees it—that flicker of disappointment you try so hard to hide.

It fucking wrecks him.

---

But you do.

Marshall tells you he loves you every night.

But only when you can’t hear him.

It’s become a routine, a quiet ritual in the dark—waiting until your breathing evens out, until he’s sure you won’t wake up, and then finally letting the words slip past his lips.

He says it like a secret. Like something fragile.

Like something he’s terrified of breaking if he says it out loud when it counts.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your hair, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back. “I love you so much.”

And he means it. God, does he mean it.

But in the morning, when you’re looking at him with those soft, patient eyes, the words refuse to come.

It’s been a month of this. A month of almosts.

You don’t push anymore. You don’t ask anymore. You don’t even hesitate when you say it—you just press a kiss to his cheek, whisper I love you, and move on like it’s enough.

But he sees it.

The way your smile falters sometimes. The way you linger in the doorway, like you’re waiting for something that never comes. The way you curl up against him at night like you’re trying to hold on to what you have, even if it’s not everything you need.

And it eats him alive.

Because he knows you notice.

And you pretend not to.

Just like he pretends this isn’t killing him.

But neither of you says anything.

Because if you did, you’d have to admit that love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

---

It’s been one of those days.

The kind that leaves Marshall exhausted, worn thin at the edges. He’s been holed up in the studio for hours, wrestling with lyrics that just won’t come together, the weight of expectations sitting heavy on his chest. The pressure to keep pushing, to keep creating, is suffocating.

And by the time he comes home, he’s drained. Mentally, emotionally—he’s just… done.

You can tell as soon as he walks through the door.

The way his shoulders are slumped, his steps slow and heavy, like he’s carrying the weight of the world. It doesn’t take much to see through the mask he’s put on, to know that he’s not okay.

You don’t ask. You don’t need to.

You just wait.

When he makes his way into the bedroom, you’re already sitting on the bed, watching him, your eyes soft. You’ve learned how to read him over the years, how to understand the moments when he just needs space and when he needs someone to be there. And today, he needs you.

Without saying a word, you move behind him, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed, your hands finding the tense muscles in his shoulders.

At first, he tenses, surprised by the touch, but you don’t push. You just begin rubbing, your fingers kneading into the knots, applying just enough pressure to coax him into relaxing.

You don’t rush.

The room is quiet, save for the soft sounds of your movements, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Slowly, the tension in his back begins to melt away under your touch, and you feel him release the tightness, little by little.

And then, without warning, you hear it.

The words that have been hanging in the air for so long, never said, never spoken aloud… until now.

“I love you.”

It’s barely a whisper at first, like he’s testing the weight of it. And when the words leave his mouth, you freeze for just a second, unsure if you really heard it.

But when you glance up, you see his eyes closed, his head leaning back against your chest, the vulnerability in his expression raw.

You can feel the truth in those three words, something he’s been holding inside for so long. Something he didn’t know how to say… but he needed to.

Without thinking, your hands pause on his shoulders, your heart racing, and you murmur softly, “I love you too.”

His breath catches, and you can feel the weight that’s been lifted from him, the relief in the air. He lets out a long, shuddering breath, and for the first time in a long while, the two of you are just present, no walls between you, no hesitation.

He turns slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, and in that quiet moment, you see everything—the love, the apology, the years of feeling like he couldn’t express it, and the realization that, for the first time in so long, he’s finally letting go of the fear that’s kept him silent.

“I love you,” he repeats, this time with certainty, his voice steady, and the words settle between you like a promise.

You smile softly, your heart full, and pull him closer, wrapping your arms around him tightly. This time, you don’t hesitate. You just hold on, because now, it feels like everything is finally as it should be.

And in the quiet of the room, you both know—you’ve crossed the line between almost, and real.

Once the words leave his lips, everything changes.

It’s like the dam inside of him finally bursts, the flood of emotion he’s held in for so long spilling out all at once. He doesn’t even know where to begin—his hands are restless, grabbing at you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, his lips finding whatever skin is closest.

He kisses the side of your neck first, the soft skin beneath your ear. “I love you,” he breathes, his voice thick with need. He kisses down the curve of your jaw, then back up to your mouth. “God, I love you so much.”

His lips are urgent, desperate, like they’ve been starving for this for years. His hands slide under your shirt, skimming over your skin like he can’t get close enough. He’s pulling you closer, pressing his body to yours, kissing your face, your neck, anywhere he can reach.

You gasp as his lips find the soft spot just behind your ear. “Marshall…”

“I love you,” he repeats, this time with a growl, his breath hot against your skin. “I love you, I love you, I—fuck—”

The words don’t stop. They come tumbling out like they’ve been locked away too long, like he doesn’t know how to stop now that he’s finally saying them.

His mouth moves down your throat, over your collarbone, desperate for any piece of you he can claim. He doesn’t care where, doesn’t care how—he just needs to touch you, to feel you, to pour every ounce of love and affection into you.

“I’ve been so fucking stupid,” he mutters between kisses, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer. “So scared to say it. So scared to lose you. But I—God, I love you. I love you so damn much.”

Your fingers twist into his hair, tugging him up to meet your lips again, and he kisses you with everything he has—fierce, desperate, as though he’s afraid to ever let you go. You can feel the weight of every moment he’s been holding back, and you don’t want him to stop.

His kisses are everywhere—on your lips, your neck, the curve of your shoulder, down your arm. Each kiss is a confession. Each kiss is a promise.

“I love you,” he says again, his voice hoarse and raw, the words coming out like they’re the only thing he knows how to say.

His hands trail down your body, his touch reverent, like he’s rediscovering you all over again. You feel his fingers tremble against your skin, his breath ragged, and you know—he’s not holding back anymore.

His lips find yours again, and when they do, it’s like the floodgates have opened completely. He’s kissing you like it’s the only thing that matters, like the only thing in the world is this moment, this love that’s finally being spoken aloud.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, filled with so much emotion you can hardly breathe. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with feeling. “I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t know how to let you know how much I need you.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you reply softly, your fingers brushing his cheek. “I know now. And I love you.”

And with that, he pulls you closer again, his lips crashing into yours with a new intensity. Every kiss is a promise. Every kiss is everything.

[velvet-n-lace]

NSFW Alphabet (Belphegor Edition)

Series: Obey Me!

Genre: Smut/Headcanon

Word Count: 1.9k words

Pairing(s): Belphegor x Female MC

Original Template by @/the-coldest-goodbye 

CW: somnophelia and some sadism

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s probably gonna be too tired after all that fucking. Belphie would have to recover before he asks you if it felt good or if you are still recovering from your orgasm. He can make the effort to clean you a bit, but he’s really there for emotional support.

B = Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Like Levi, Belphie is impressed that he’s got a good physique despite sleeping all the time. Because of that, he likes his slim arms so he can hug and cuddle you in his sleep; he believes slim arms give the best hugs, after all. Belphie also loves two things about you: he loves your thighs because he gets to sleep on them, and he especially (for no inconspicuous reason) loves kissing and wrapping his hands around your pretty neck. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Belphie loves it when he unleashes his load all over your face; watching you struggle with its salty and bitter flavor brings out a slight sadistic satisfaction. If he catches you spitting it out, he will only unleash more deep down your throat. Seeing it glisten under dim light all over your thighs and belly makes him want to lick it off you. Watching you lick it off his cock while he’s recovering from his orgasm only adds to the fun.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

There have been nights when you just woke up with cum all over your face or thighs. Belphie would, at times, wake up in the middle of the night from a wet dream and notice you’re too sleepy to give him a quick handjob. He would rub one out and aim it at his desired body part on you. At times, he can be silent and get away with it, but usually, his grunts and sounds of his hand tugging his shaft would wake you up and catch him red-handed.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Not experienced in the slightest. It was never his number one priority, but as he got to know you better, he began touching himself and dreaming about you more often. The day he finally got you in bed, he unleashed whatever desire he had for you, and a sweet but slightly sadistic demon was revealed before you.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

He’s not much of an active demon, so he loves having you straddle him in a cowgirl position. Hearing you moan his name with pain and pleasure in your voice is what he lives for when you’re riding his cock, and smacking your thighs and ass. Having him on top will unleash his more sadistic side; when he grasps your neck, it usually means he wants you to ride him roughly, which is how he likes it.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He usually tries to be serious, but even his serious side brings some sweetness. He really gets in the moment the deeper her goes~

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He has a bit of trouble grooming himself or at least keeping up a good routine. It was a lot worse before he met you. He needed Beel's help to wake up on time to brush his hair and remind him to take better care of himself. Little by little, you motivated him to at least clean himself better. The carpet matches the drapes perfectly, with the same tints of white over his mostly dark bush.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

He gets intimate, even in the moments when he’s dirty-talking or degrading you softly. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him as he nibbles on your earlobe, his hands roaming over your body like he’s claiming ownership over you.

J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

Belphie’s imagination ranges from you jacking him off violently or having you beneath him while he pounds. He is constantly humping his pillow and grinding his hips into it with a low moan. He often needs to keep it low, especially in the middle of the night when Beelzebub sleeps nearby. When he’s jacking himself with one hand, he’s touching himself with the other hand and imagining you bringing him all this pleasure.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Having you be the one on top while you ride his cock, means he could lie down while you give him all the pleasure. If you could sit on his face, he would happily pleasure you with his tongue. He has a dirty mouth filled with degrading remarks, and he’s constantly repeating them the more he holds you by the neck and chokes you softly. And as mentioned before, he’s very much into somnophelia and being degraded (he doesn't mind being on the receiving end, too). Waking up with your juices all over his face and body will make him seek vengeance on you the next night~

L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

It's mainly your room because it’ll be just you two. You can have a quick one in the Twin’s room if Beel is not there, but knowing Belphie, he will probably ask you to come in anyway. Maybe out of spite, he will want to do it in Lucifer’s room, but both of you will get caught and strung up, so… whatever floats your boat.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Most of the time, it’s just catching you doing something unintentionally sexy. Maybe you’re taking a nap in a lewd position, or you were caught humping his pillow. Belphie just imagines the many things he can do to your body when he has his way with you. Sometimes it's even out of spite like maybe you teased him too hard, and now he really wants his hard cock to be inside you.

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

It would definitely be positions that are too difficult and tiring for him, including those that make him do all the work. Sharing you with any of his brothers is a big no-no; maybe the only exception is Beel, but even then, Belphie will be very possessive.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers receiving, as always~ You will have him leaning back against the bedsheets when your lips wrap around his length. His slim body rises and twitches each time you take him deeper. He loves hearing you gag on it when you try shoving him down your throat; sometimes, his hands reach out to tangle and grip your hair as he thrusts inside your mouth. He loves the sound of a sloppy blowjob. If you want him to eat you out, you would have to be the one sitting on his face while he gives your pussy some sweet kitten licks.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual wins the race. It’s only when he’s on the brink of his orgasm that he will begin thrusting into you rough and fast~ He may even grip your neck to go even faster~

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Honestly, he totally would be down, but he knows damn well it’s too risky to commit. Instead, he likes to pull you in closely to fondle your breasts or to give your ass a soft pinch. If you’re the one taking charge, then he will follow your lead and be a slave to your quick bathroom stall handjobs~

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

Slightly risky, as long as it’s nothing that requires too much stamina~ Besides the fondling and pinching, he can rub his hands against your thighs and maybe even finger you during class. He’s not afraid to walk up to you and begin making out with you in the hallways or right in front of his brothers; it's his way of claiming you in front of anyone watching or trying to make a move on you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Two or three rounds. You would think that a demon with great power would have a bit of strength in him, but he hates that he doesn't have enough left in him to keep it going. He would if he could, so that’s why he prefers you to be the one on top.

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Just his beloved pillow and maybe even a vibrator to give him some pleasure. He even uses both for some additional pleasure, and he loves it when both are incorporated while he fucks you. Seeing you humping his pillow turns him on, and he often uses the vibrator to keep you writhing in pleasure.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He’s so unfair, but Belphie’s teasing is very blunt and direct. Instead of alluding to a blowjob, he would just outright say, “I want your mouth on my dick…” or he would whisper into your ear and tell you, “You’re making me horny…” He’s a king of blunt flirting.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He’s a quiet boy; he knows how to keep his moaning low. He only gets slightly loud when you’re the one doing something to him, like when he reaches a certain point of pleasure, his breath would hitch, and he’ll let out a ghastly moan, maybe even start whimpering your name until you shut him up with kisses.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

As mentioned briefly before, Belphie hates the idea of sharing you with anyone. Beel, however, is the only expectation, but only on very rare occasions. Sometimes, the twins would argue over who gets to penetrate what or which position you would be in for them to fuck you. Belphie can be possessive, and Beel will attempt to wrap you tightly around him. Having two demons pressed naked against you makes it more overwhelming.

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Belphie’s cock is sort of shaped like a cow’s dick. Even though it’s not as big as his older brothers, it has an extra ridge, making it look slightly intimidating when it twitches in your hands. It’s perfect for masturbation, and it’s easy to tug on with little effort~

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It’s high when he’s more awake and when you're in close proximity to him. Although when he’s sleeping, there will be times when he dreams of you and wakes up with some cum stains on his pillow. He thinks his sex drive isn't high, but really, his wet dreams sort of show a different story.

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He’s out like a light, and you know this. Maybe you need to wake him up a tiny bit so you can ask him how good the sex was. Maybe he’ll do a little aftercare if you need it, but right after that, he’s out~

[revelboo]

That Optimus cameo in Trailbreaker's last chapter fucking sent me. Any chance we could get an update on boss bot?

Sure!

Gravity Pt 13

Optimus Prime x Reader

• Draped against his chin, you study those serious optics. Wonder if stress and worry are all the big guy runs on, because those smiles are rare enough but so gorgeous. “Maybe the humans will mellow them out some,” you say and he groans, those pretty blue optics shuttering. Though to be fair, all you know about the Decepticons is that they’re the bad guys here. “I mean, you guys have been fighting for how long? Maybe they just really needed to get laid, you know?” Engine sputtering, he squints at you and he looks like he’s somewhere between trying not to laugh and indignant on behalf of those other humans. “Hey, humans survive. We’re like cockroaches.”

• Venting as you just grin down at him, he can’t understand your, well, it’s not quite optimism. He doesn’t know what this is. Jazz and Blaster are the earth experts, but Jazz is spending most of his time outside the Ark lately and he knows he needs to look into that, but even with the Decepticons being quiet, he’s been busy. There’s Hound and Trailbreaker’s attempt to preemptively save humans from getting abducted by Decepticons to deal with. When Red Alert had reported that to him having hysterics about there being more humans on the Ark, he just hadn’t had the energy to deal with it. Or to round up the Autobots with humans and try to talk about interspecies relationships. Especially since he’s been making love to you, though at least he’s the only one who’s intimate with their human.

• Boosting yourself up to sit on his chin, you grin down at his serious frown. “I mean fucking me is how you destress, right?” Bigger frown as he reaches up to run a servo against your spine. Reminding you that he’s a hopeless romantic. That it’s not just sex to him, despite that being what you insist to keep your heart safe. Because he’s so sweet and you know you’re in trouble as you stare down at those optics, getting lost in them as your heart aches. Know you’re lying to yourself about not falling for him. That you’ve already fallen down that rabbit hole knowing you’re going to get hurt.

• “It’s not like that.” At least not to him. Knows you’ve made it abundantly clear that you want nothing more from him, but he can’t accept that. Because this isn’t just interfacing or stress relief. Wants to come out of recharge with your warmth in his arms, to see that mischievous grin and hear you laugh every cycle. To watch you dance because it makes you happy. To dance with you. And he vents, freezing as you lay a hand on his cheek and drape yourself against his face. Realizing he’s falling in love with you. And wondering if you could ever love him or if there’s too many difference to bridge between you. That he’s already so lost in you.

• “Talk to me, big guy.” Because he’s doing the thousand yard stare he does. Lost in some thought or memory. And you gasp when he cups a hand against your back, rolling and mass shifting. Your back hitting the berth as his mouth comes down on yours. Kissing you with a desperation you’re not used to from him. Like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Not sure what flipped his switch, but more than willing to roll with it as his glossa steals inside to tangle with your tongue. All sweet urgency and need as you slip a little farther past the point of no return.

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