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lostintransist · 1 day ago

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The Second Duchess

Y'all, Noona's brain worms got me again. AO3 | This will be three parts. | This will end bitter. A/B/O dynamics, vaguely victorian, there will be an actual ghost in part two & three, odd power dynamics. Part 1

The staff greeted your carriage as it arrived. Duke Price had gone on ahead to “prepare the manor for your arrival”. Whatever the hell that means.

The distance had been accomplished in one day, but it is not a thing you would like to endure again. If you had been able to secure a horse, you would have ridden out with the duke yourself. But your aunt had embedded her nails into your arm and not let go until you had been tucked into the box on wheels like another gift from the wedding.

Men and women, coded neatly in their uniforms, and their distance from the duke stretched along the drive. A quick count showed at least thirty staff all dressed for inside and nearly half as many for grounds keeping and the animals. Well, you certainly had your work cut out for you, didn’t you?

Duke John Price stood front and center. At his right shoulder, chest brushing with breathing, he stood so close, this must be Lord Simon Riley. To the Duke’s left stood a man with sharp eyes and a practiced smile. That must be Kyle Garrick. Garrick functioned in the duties of the butler and would be working in lock step with you in keeping the house and grounds running. That left one member of the duke’s pack you had not yet spied from the small window.

When the crunch of gravel under the thin wheels stops, you push open the door, eager for escape.

A hand appears before your head as it breaches the door. It is broad, and you see the back is covered in a film of hair as it flips over to present a palm. Taking it, because falling on your face as the first order of business as the new lady of the house would not be the correct move, you step down.

You expect to be released when both feet have solidly placed you outside the carriage. You’re not. Glancing up, you find a warm smile and blue eyes that rival those of the Duke. These are the blue of the sky at noon above the waves as opposed to the blue of fire that dwelt within the Duke’s.

“Welcome, my lady. We’ve been awaiting your arrival.”

The accent is what tips you off. This is the last member of the duke’s pack. Johnny. It is no wonder they called him Johnny, for the duke did claim only the name John for himself.

“And I have now arrived,” you reply evenly.

“Aye, ye have.”

Johnny tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow, pinning it in place with a gentle pat, and pulls you forward.

No ivy climbs up the stone of the three-story manor. Something about that feels wrong, as if a single climbing vine burrowing into the walls would absorb the oppressive millstone of a dread that settles deeper in your lungs with each breath. Nothing about the perfectly trimmed bushes or tended flowers eases the pressure in your mind. If anything, the gently bobbing heads of the roses called to you with the seductive whispers to torch their petals.

Offering a wan smile to your new husband, and an additional nod of acknowledgment to your new bedmates, you eye the man on your arm once more. You would be expected to share a nest with them, but not required to perform “wifely duties” unless you desired to do so. Johnny, who stepped closer to your hip with each step forward, could likely tell the fit of your corset with his it brushed his arm now. He would be one gunning to settle between your thighs.

Despite the several conversations and more with many different courtesans, you had yet to find the appeal of lying with someone. Could be that you did not enjoy lying with women. Certainly seemed like you would find out soon if that were the case.

A sharp crack, as if a rock had been launched by a storm, sounded from the front window. No one turned to look but you. A small panel of glass sat neatly in its frame, fractures jetting out of a central point. The hell just happened? And why is no one else freaked out about it?

“My lady, if you are pleased with the staff, I will excuse them back to their duties,” Kyle watches you with eyes that would cut like brown diamonds.

It hadn’t been phrased like a question despite the lilt that would suggest it had been.

“Does the lady of the house rank above chosen pack, Duke Price?” The words, biting in tone, scrape the roof of your mouth on the way out. Something about this place, the distance traveled, the tone that held only challenge instead of deference had you wanting clear demarcations of where your duties and powers would fall.

“I imagine I can arrange a boxing match so the two of you can work it out.” Duke Price’s droll tone had who you assessed to be a stable boy snorting into his hand. The young man straightened, eyes on the distance, as you glanced at him.

There is a screaming in the back of your head. A voice you listened to when at all possible, screeching that you leave, flee, run, to escape before your foot touches the carpet of the rugs that had to dot the sitting room. Nothing could save you now.

Johnny leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Let me show you to your room. The kitchen staff do need to return to the preparations for the dinner meal if you would be so kind?”

The boyish innocence on his face sat such that you expected he got away with a lot here.

“It appears I have yet to draw the blood necessary to command the staff,” you reply sweetly.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Simon mutters before raising his voice, “If you receive payment from the estate, please go back about your business.”

Everyone but the four men who eyed you scattered.

“Johnny,” you intoned sweetness into his name as you glanced up at him and patted his hand, “Would you instead provide me a tour of the building?”

Rusty as the skills were, you could shift any dynamic to your needs. Kyle and, likely Simon, would be adversarial for some time. The goal was not to pick at their bonds, but plucking strings often told you their quality and tone.

“It would be my delight,” Johnny grins down at you. He is beautiful. While the collar of his shirt hides his scent gland from view, you imagine it is littered with scars. It appears that his packmates all carried sharp teeth.

The day had been long. So, so long. Johnny had given you a thorough introduction to the estate. The corners leered at you as if waiting to scare you with each turn. A hallway in the north wing had a door slammed in your face as you neared it. If not for the lack of anybody in the dim, you would have sworn one of the staff was taking the piss by locking the door. If it hadn’t startled you so badly, you might have laughed. Johnny’s deep sigh? The one that speaks of annoyance and not fear sits as comfortably as the lack of vineing ivy.

“We do not allow staff or family down those halls for reasons that must now be clear.” He pulled you along, finishing the tour in time for a meal.

Dinner dragged on and on. It ended with John inviting you to the nesting room. He did, as you suspected he would, lay you out until you reached completion with a hiccuping scream. Let it not be said that Duke John Price was not an attentive lover. You hoped your smell would cling to Simon and Kyle as they replaced you in the nest. If nothing else than to sting their noses. A romp with a man sizzled in your bones like the time with the ladies had been unable to do. Shame. Loving a woman would be much less drama.

A single candle burned at your bedside. Sitting upright in bed, you have effectively vacated your body as your mind drifts. That is, until a startling noise drags you from your distant place. A small plate from the mirrored vanity rattled on the floor, swirling until it finally stopped moving.

Ghosts are a common tale in your home countryut damn if you never expected to meet one.

Sitting up in bed, you address the room.

“Alright, well, that was startling. If you are a ghost, can you—”

Your words are cut off as a book is thrown from your bedside table, and a chill breezes across your skin.

“Okay…okay..um,” you tongue your teeth as you decide how to handle this. “To the ghost in this room, I extend to you a formal invitation. You are welcome to keep residing here if you agree to the following.”

Waiting for some kind of response is agonizing. Three breaths were enough for you to continue.

“Your continued presence hinges on agreement to the following: you will not bring harm to me or those of this house, you may not bother me in the bath, you understand that your invitation can be revoked at any time for any reason.” Superstitiously, you slide your gaze along the room, “Two knocks will be taken as agreement.”

An agonizingly long time is spent in silence. When the candle on your bedside guttering twice, you cup a hand around the small flame and blow until the light disappears with a flicker. As you tuck yourself under the bedclothes, two small knocks on the frame of the bed tell you of a new acquaintance. Sleep slides over you with a smile on your face.

The second day in your husband’s home starts with a fight.

Not a fight involving you, that would happen after breakfast, but between the maid and the door.

“Miss? Miss!” Knocking roused you from a surprisingly restful sleep.

“Yes?” You call from your pillow.

“Have you locked the door?” Her voice is getting quieter as the sound particular to the interior mechanisms of a doorknob fights the orders given.

“Ghost,” you pitch your voice low, “If you have messed with the door, please let the maid in.”

An angry chill settles over your bed; it tastes of pouting.

The rattling of the doorknob continues, but now a deeper voice has joined the chorus.

“Pout all you want, they will break the door down. I am a treasure hard-won. Do you think any of them will let a door stand between them and what they want?”

As if to prove you right, a splintering sound, not unlike the sound a mast makes as it gives, reaches you across the room. The cold dissipates. Leaving frost on your bed covers reminded you of winter’s first blush. Sitting up, you take in the mess of your new accommodations.

Bracketed neatly in the door frame is Simon’s hulking form. His blond hair curled around his ears but stood wildly from the roots everywhere else. With breeches open at the waist, a hastily tucked white shirt being the only barrier to exposing himself, Simon looks more a pirate than a Lord of the land.

“Good morning, Simon. Did you need something?”

His brows tuck together as his jaw works side to side; it appears he had not yet realized he had forgotten his face covering.

“The maid said the door was locked,” he grumbled the words. The maid in question stepped back when his eyes searched for her. Likely, he wanted to avoid the shape of you beneath the thin material of your night gown. His loss.

“Likely it was the ghost you all have.”

The speaking glance between Simon and the maid, whose name you have yet to learn, did not go unnoticed as you stood from the bed.

“Now, unless one of you is joining me in either bed or getting naked, I am requesting the door to be returned to its frame as much as is possible,” your hand crept toward the ties at your throat.

Both bodies scrambled until only the air moving in your throat claimed to be near.

Snorting, you drop the nightgown. “Cowards.”

Breakfast saw Duke Price and all of his men standing at your entrance. John, for after he had felt your most inner parts, he could be called John, held court from his place at the head of the table. Kyle sat to John’s left. Simon’s to the John’s right, with Johnny on the other side, told you quite a tale. With a nod to the men, you skirted the table and filled your plate. Taking the traditional place across the table from the duke, you watch the pack dynamics.

John favors Kyle. Simon and Johnny rely on each other; they lean to share whispers that reach you only in murmurs. They functioned as a pack should, but found a person to cling to harder than the others. Interesting. You consume your food quickly. Eager to be out the door and peeking through John’s stable, you do not contribute to the conversation at the other end of the table.

A sausage, fat still dripping from its casing, lifts into the air above the side table. A quick hiss, not unlike one you would use toward a naughty child, brought the men’s gazes to you. The sausage dropped onto the plate with a splat.

“John, you did not mention you housed a ghost.”

He carefully held your gaze as he wiped his mouth and returned his napkin to his lap.

“I did not think the information would endear you to accepting my offer, wife.”

Kyle and Simon watched with hard brown eyes, while Johnny winked when you glanced at him.

“What a shame. Had you tried to get to know me before stitching our lives together, you would have learned ghosts are something of a fascination for me.” Standing, you push your plate further onto the table, “Well, gents, I’ll see you at dinner.”

Johnny’s voice follows you out the door of the dining room. When he doesn’t appear, you can only assume Simon collared him with a large hand.

The stable, with its smells of warmth and straw and horse, welcomed you like no other place on this forsaken estate had. The stable hands were more skittish than the horses at your appearance. Being within sight of an imposing, looming, if you dare say, hedge maze would put many on edge.

The young man who had snickered into a hand the day before appeared at the elbow of the head man, Ernest. A glance between them displayed a marked familiarity between them.

“Ma’am, might I direct you to one of our more sedate rides?”

“Ernest, I am an accomplished horsewoman. I could handle even Lord Riley’s mount with ease, so might I offer a compromise?”

Ernest’s bushy brows rose.

“What are ye offerin’, my lady?”

“Let me take a horse with spirit, but one who will run when given their head, but listens to the rider without argument.”

“You’ll be wanting a horse of the Duke’s, Johnny or Kyle, then.” Ernest turned to his son, “Get the lady the block.”

“Oh, there is no need for that,” you shift forward, drawing both eyes back to you. “If you can show me where everything is and introduce me to the horses, I will take it from there.”

Ernest looks you over with a more keen eye now.

“A compromise to meet your own, my Lady?” The caution in his voice could have set a flock of birds to flight.

“As it is our duty to care for the horses, would you allow my son, Paul, to assist you with what you require?”

Shifting your weight back into your heels, you can’t prevent a small smile from forming on your lips.

“Ernest, I accept your compromise. Might I put it out that if anyone in the village or elsewhere on the estate is in need of assistance, any assistance, I excel at connecting people to solutions.”

“A businesswoman were you before the duke snatched you up?” Ernest’s weathered face takes on a curious cast.

“Of sorts.” You pull at the collar of your dress, letting your lack of gland be seen, “I have a particular interest in helping those who, like me, might be dismissed for one reason or another.”

“Not many will trust ye,” Ernest hedged.

You lift one shoulder as you catch Paul’s eye, as you set your collar back into place.

“I don’t need trust to connect the needs to the providers. Only the knowledge to know where to look.”

Both sets of brows pull together as they think over what you had said. Smiling to ease the creases you had introduced, you lift a hand to get back to the task at hand.

Leaving the front gate on Kyle’s horse, Cannonball, your skirt abandoned in the stall, you pass the men all gathered around a fence post a ways down the lane. Sending them a wave as you ask for more speed from Cannonball, you chuckle to yourself at their shocked faces.

John had told you that he needed someone who could see—you were taking yourself on a sightseeing expedition. If taking his horse put a twist in Kyle’s pants? Well, all the better.

John, a commander as taught from infancy, directed his men from the building and across the lane. You had confirmed their fears. Their sins haunted their home.

They were discussing how to woo you, and if they should consult a witch or a priest to rid the ghast from their presence, when you blazed past them. Seated like a man, legs that had been wrapped around his waist only hours ago now clad in trousers, and riding Cannonball like she provided no challenge, you waved. John chubbed in his pants.

Johnny? Well, Johnny caught a backhand from Kyle to a painfully hard erection. It was his own fault, though, muttering to an angry Kyle ‘You’re only mad she rides your horse better than you do’ would always require retribution.

Simon lifted a brow when John turned for his opinion.

“She is nothing like your first wife. She won’t wilt.”

John nodded once. Maybe this time, they could draw his wife into the fold instead of keeping her apart from their love.

The ride into town went quickly. Once you had introduced yourself to the shops dotting the main road, you purchased several sweet-smelling soaps and several lengths of fabric. You had found a map showing the breadth of the dukedom and where each family that worked the land lived. The best place to start reaching out to the community would be those directly newly under your care.

Five visits in you had your first negative experience. Seated on a rickety chair in the kitchen as Miriam, the young woman who lived here, worked on the afternoon meal. The front door opened, slamming against the wall as a brute of a man filled the space of the frame.

“We’ve no need of charity. Told the clergy to leave us be, and they send pretty faces who smell of perfume instead?” The man’s accent takes you a moment to parse through. Your eyes drift to Miriam; gauging her reaction as embarrassed but not scared, you stand.

“Hello, Samford. I have come today to introduce mysel—”

“No cares who ye are, be gone!” He crossed the floor in two steps, glowering down at you. He had height on Lord Riley. Interesting.

“Sam! That is the new lady of the house!” Miriam squeaked as she pushed her husband back. His thick brows tucked together. They pulled closer still as he scoured his wife’s stricken expression.

Something there must have convinced him because the mantle of indignant rage fell from his stance. Lifting his gaze to you, his lips disappear beneath his mustache.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Miriam spins, watching your expression, fear bright in her eyes.

A laugh, real and honest, bursts from your lips. They share a look.

“Yes, I am the new lady of the house. I must say, I appreciate you, Samford. That is the first honest greeting I’ve gotten all day.” You tap the soap and the neatly folded length of cloth. “I don’t bring charity. Where I come from, it is customary to provide a gift to your new neighbors as a sign of goodwill and as an invitation to call upon the other in times of hardship.”

Looking up, your heart catches on the arm Samford has slipped round his wife’s waist. Easy affection had to be the single gesture of love you missed most.

Caught up in your memories, you miss Miriam calling you.

“—am? Are you well?”

Blinking to clear the cobwebs, you give them a weak smile.

“My apologies. The love you hold for one another is refreshing and sent me stumbling into memory lane.” Brushing your hands down your trousers to dispel your clinging insecurities, you offer them both a smile. “Before I came here, I excelled at connecting folks who had skills to those who had a need. If you have a need, please test my skills. I fear this country living might be the end of me for the boredom it brings.”

“Why do you do that? If you don’t mind me asking,” Miriam stepped forward, face full of curiosity.

“Mmm? Oh, the rumors must not have spread yet. I have no secondary gender. Where others only saw to pity me, I found a way to usurp the power of that pity and use it to make other people’s lives better.” You shrug as you shift your gaze to the door. “I take particular pleasure in stripping those who hold power of their ability to effect change.”

“And aren’t you,” Samford started slowly, “One who holds power to change?”

A smirk pulls at one side of your mouth.

“The duke married me for reasons unknown, but he also has no need of me.”

Holding Samford’s gaze until he nods once is as much of an acknowledgment as you expect to get.

“Thank you for your time. I have a few homes left to visit before darkness returns me to the manor. And please, truly, if you find a need, give me a chance to assist you.”

Stepping to and through the door, the couple follows you.

“We still don’t accept charity, ma’am,” Sanford’s brows lifted as he took in your lack of propriety in trousers and your ease of mounting Cannonball. Once seated, you lean forward, now eye to eye with the large man.

“Is it charity to accept eggs from a neighbor after helping gather up their scattered chickens, or is it the cost of community?” With that final thought, you nod and turn Cannonball to continue your journey.

Johnny found you, dusk highlighting the shape of his face as you tucked Cannonball into her stall. She would rest easy with an extra serving of food and a long session of brushing for all her hard work.

“Johnny. To what do I owe this pleasure?” You cast a look at him as you settle the latch on the stall.

“Pleasure is why I seek you, my lady.” The husk in his voice is not one you have heard from a man before. It pulls your attention and your brows up.

“With a sentence like that, I’m not sure how to reply.” The honesty is all you can offer. Your body understands well before your mind does, your skin beginning to tingle and begging for touch.

“Invite me into John’s rooms tonight,” Johnny’s breath hitched in pain as he knelt at your feet. His hands cupped the back of your thighs.

His position entreated you to settle your fingers through his hair. Who were you to deny him?

“I do not know that the Lord Price will draw me into his bed tonight, Johnny.” The fates must have loved this one to give him such striking eyes and soft hair that begged to be touched.

“Then invite me to yours, my lady.” The growl in his tone bit at your womb.

Tilting his head back using the grip on his locks, you peer down at him.

“Why would I do that?” You ask coolly. The last invitation like this you received had been nothing more than a rouse, a sham, to bring you to shame.

“Packs share and share alike. And I do like you, my lady. The idea of settling between your legs as John kisses up your neck, Simon licking your skin clean of sweat, Kyle squeezing every soft feature hidden away under your clothes, keeps me awake at night.” There is no blue left in his eyes.

“You are quite bold, Johnny.” You tighten the hold on his hair.

Panting and keening quietly, he replies.

“When men yearn, they will earn. I like your spark, my duchess, let’s see if we can cause an explosion, aye?” He waggled his eyebrows as he said it.

The laughter is what did you in.

Johnny joined you and John that night. Sparks did indeed lead to detonations.

@myeyesonlyfouryou @listen-to-navi @MindsofJade

Part 1 | Part 3

Masterlist | Taglist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap cod #john price x reader #soap mactavish #price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #captian john price

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gingerteawrites · 3 days ago

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Sweet Ocean Breeze - Nanami Kento

Nanami is for the oldest daughters. He knows that you're used to taking care of others first and foremost, often relegating your own well-being and desires to the bottom of your priority list. And that knowledge means he makes it his priority to take care of you.

It is so difficult at first, to let go of the reins that you've so tightly held onto your whole life. It feels like losing control, and your mind —already prone to overthinking— spirals when he tells you that he wants you to be free from the usual mental load when you're with him.

But he is gentle —when is he ever not— slowly prying all your fears away from your hands. Handling them with reverent care, rather than scoffing at their irrationality.

"My love, I understand that these are the things you have needed to do to survive. But I don't want you to just survive around me. I want you to live, and thrive. And I intend to prove myself trustworthy enough for you to let me be that safe space for you."

He wants you to lean on him, and noticing the small ways in which you learn to trust him to take care of you genuinely makes him the happiest.

Like when, a couple years into your relationship, he was finally able to get a two weeks off of work and booked the both of you a seaside getaway.

You did not even have the opportunity to lift a finger; Hotels, tours, restaurants, and every reservation you would ever need are all set even before you depart. At the airport, he handles all of your bags and effortlessly leads you to your terminal during the layover.

And that's when he notices.

The way relaxation made your features melt into a tender expression. How your fingers intwined with his, letting your body be led by his with no hesitation. And the clarity behind your pretty eyes, betraying no anxious thoughts at all swimming beneath their depths.

The knowledge that he managed to put you in this mood; knowing how turbulent your mind could become in places like these made his heart swell with pride and his whole body stand a little taller.

When you finally arrive at your destination, you both spend days on end by the sea, inhaling the salty breeze and feeling the sand between your toes.

And Kento realizes that even greater than the peace he felt from being away from all the usual stresses, seeing you happy was the greatest gift of all. Holding hands while floating together in the azure expanse of the sea. Rubbing sunscreen on each others' backs. Simply admiring the way the setting sun seemed to worship your skin as it bathed you in its golden light.

He knows he wants to spend the rest of your days with you. And can only hope that you will let him bring as much joy and tranquility into your life as you do for him.

Signed, a tired oldest daughter.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

#JJK drabbles #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk #nanami kento #nanami x reader #gingerteawrites #nanami fluff #nanami angst #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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carlyraejepsans · 3 days ago

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I do understand your arguments that her decision to party with Sans "wasn't her fault," but I feel like that's a bit of an overcorrection.

As you have rightfully pointed out, contrary to what this new viral strain of Toriel slander argues, she isn't some neglectful drunk ignoring her kid. She's a much better mom than most people give her credit for (in fact not giving moms their due credit is something we see way too often). At the same time, I can't help but strongly feel that her decision to get with Sans wasn't the best decision she made.

IIRC you said in another post of yours discussing Asgore and Toriel's flaws and how they weren't equally flawed, you pointed out how she didn't make the best possible choice at every turn. And the way I personally see it, the chapter 4 ending is an example of her not making the best choice.

It was completely understandable what led her to make that decision (and those who slander her under the pretext of "giving her nuance" are the REAL ones ignoring her nuances), but it was still a decision she made, and that decision had unfortunate consequences.

Again you RIGHTFULLY pointed out that she badly needed this (a moment to be herself and a break from being Kris's mom), and I agree with you. But she couldn't have waited just a little longer for it.

I mean, she couldn't have waited until Kris had got home and then started having her break from being Kris's mom?

I do LOVE how she asked Kris if Susie was okay indicating how much she cares about Susie and how she's still concerned about her, but one can't help but wish she also asked that to Kris as well. Though in her defense, Sans did NOT help with the situation AT ALL in egging her on to party rather than allowing her a small moment to make sure everything's okay.

And in her defense again, Asgore didn't exactly help either, and it's positively ridiculous nobody seems to be harping on HIM for not doing his due diligence.

And in her defense again, the town didn't help either, as you have pointed out, in given her a decent support network.

That said, there were things she came up short in in that moment even though there were very understandable reasons or doing so.

Sorry about the long ask.

you're telling me the impromptu party for 2 she impulsively ditched church for wasn't at the most appropriate and convenient time? color me surprised.

if toriel had a reason to worry where kris was (and she didn't, they were at noelle's with susie), if toriel wasn't highly stressed out by and fed up with Asgore's behaviour, if she WAS in a position to think 100% clearly and rationally she wouldn't have taken sans home to begin with... she probably wouldn't even have stopped by his store. toriel at her most rational will always put respectability and her kids' needs before her own desires. which is exactly why i will defend this rowdy outburst of hers to the end of the earth, that kind of vice grip on yourself can't last forever without crashing out spectacularly

considering her reaction to having the winter party brought up in the alarm clock dialogue, I'm actually really worried that she'll be ashamed of herself? or close herself up even harder afterwards. girl it's okay! you can ditch choir practice once in a while, you can get drunk with the hot new guy. you don't have to be so perfect of a mom you stop being your own person, you're still young, go live your life once in a while!

#answered asks #deltarune #toriel

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orlaunderrated · 3 days ago

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The Edges of Us: Chapter 29

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 8.8k+

Note: Lol i went back and the first chapter of this series is only 1.3k words... how times have changed

also i lied about no update today, turns out when you work 10 days straight of 13h+ days, you sleep. who wouldve known!

xxx

I'll pick you up at seven is frustratingly vague when it comes to dressing for the occasion. I’ve been texting Will relentlessly, trying to squeeze any more information out of him about what I should wear. After a couple of hours of vague replies, he finally says, "I'm wearing a green sweater, my nicest jeans, and my cap is probably staying on."

Okay, cool. Thank you. Casual.

So, I slip on the jacket I always wear with a nice top and jeans. Simple. Done.

But as I pace back and forth, the reality of the situation settles in. Will is always cryptic with his plans. What does "casual" even mean in his world? His sense of ‘dressing up’ involves a cap. Great.

I hear the buzz of my garage. "Oi Oi" he says, over the intercom. And then I press the button to let him in. Then I wait. And then a knock at the door, and my heart jumps. He’s here. I take a deep breath and swing it open.

He’s standing there, holding a bunch of pink roses from the supermarket. Not the kind of grand bouquet you'd expect, but there’s something sweet about the simplicity of it. He walks into my kitchen, finds my kitchen shears and carefully cuts the bottoms of the stems, searching for my vase under the sink and pops the little flower food packet in like he’s done it a thousand times. It’s small and thoughtless, yet oddly… perfect.

I try not to dwell on how easy it is to talk to him. We fall into a rhythm, chatting as if we’ve only been apart for a few days. The rhythm feels comfortable, natural—like this is the easiest thing in the world. But in the back of my mind, that knot of uncertainty continues to tighten, and I push it away for the evening. I can deal with that tomorrow.

"So," I say, raising an eyebrow, "Where are we going?"

"Ah, so..." He plucks a dead petal off one of the flowers, examining it as if it held all the answers. "That, is for me to know, and you to find out."

I roll my eyes at him, but he grabs my hand and tugs me toward the lifts to head down to the garage. My stomach flips slightly, and I try to ignore it. I don’t want to think about the last time he was here, the last time he made a decision to retreat. Not tonight. Tonight, we just exist in the here and now.

We get in his car, the drive through the city quiet for the most part, except for the hum of the radio and the distant chatter of the world outside. He doesn’t place his hand on my thigh, and I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed. I guess this is a proper first date — no sudden moves. Just the feeling of the car doors closing, of the city lights flashing by.

He parks on the street, and gets out to feed the meter. He turns the engine off, but there’s a brief moment of silence, before he finally turns and says, "Oh my god, I forgot to say how beautiful you look."

I laugh, shaking my head. "What?"

"Were on a date," he says, catching my eyes. "I bought you flowers, and I picked you up and I forgot to compliment you. I love your top, and you makeup looks lovely."

I glance at my reflection in the side mirror. Barely any makeup. My top’s simple, a loose fit, nothing fancy. Definitely not lovely. "Well… thanks for remembering." I pause, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I like your hair. It looks better a little longer."

His eyes brighten, and his lips curl into that closed-mouth smile I’ve missed. "Yeah, me too," he says, ruffling it a little before finishing up with the meter. He checks his phone, glancing up at me, but not before another little smile escapes him. "It should be... this way."

He nods towards the end of the street, and my hand is suddenly enveloped in his. For a moment, it's like the world outside has faded. He checks his phone again, then his emails, scrolling for something. I can’t help but smile at how he’s always half in the moment, half distracted.

We walk through the night, our footsteps synchronized on the cobbled streets, the air crisp against my skin. The little pockets of people blur in the background—like we’re in our own little world. It’s almost easy to forget we’re not alone.

We arrive at our destination, and it's nothing like I expected. The building's nondescript, tucked away between two other buildings. From the outside, it looks like nothing more than a small studio. But when the door swings open, the smell hits me first: garlic, herbs, something warm, comforting. A few people laugh, some shout in excitement. It’s alive inside, full of chatter and laughter, the sound of a hundred hands chopping ingredients.

We step inside, and I can feel the hum of warmth from the kitchen. The space is bright and clean, but there’s an unmistakable feeling of comfort. The two long kitchen benches are set up with stove tops, their surfaces dotted with bowls and glasses and random utensils. At least ten other couples are scattered around, each one in their own little world. And then there’s someone wearing a chef hat that looks like it belongs in a kids’ birthday party.

I can’t help but laugh a little under my breath. "Late night cooking class?" I say, a little incredulously.

He laughs, a bit nervous, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was that or pub trivia, and we’ve spent so much time in pubs." he shows his email to someone who approaches him. And were shown to our stools. Were clearly the last to arrive, were placed on the end. "Is it what you expected?" he asks. He's smirking already, he knows the answer.

I smile. "Not really, no. I thought you might take me to a bar."

"Aye, we finish here at 10, there's still time."

xxx

I think Will has forgotten that I cook a giant vat of pesto pasta once a week. Or he doesn’t know that. I don’t really remember if I told him much about The Van. If he knows that Ruth and I are the Pesto Queens, I’m not sure. But it’s a point of pride for me, the way we whip up pesto like it’s a sacred art. I don’t know why, but that’s how I feel about it. The fresh basil, the zing of garlic, the hint of Parmesan—pure magic. I might not be a chef, but I’ve got that down.

The dish we're being guided through is a Chorizo pasta, but still, I know how to make pasta. I watch the instructor’s hands move fluidly as she throws the ingredients together. Garlic sizzling, sausage crisping. It smells good, of course, but there’s no magic in it like pesto. Although I think the magic is in The Van rather than the pasta sauce.

Will, on the other hand, has just revealed to me that he’s only cooked three meals from scratch in the last year. I can feel my eyes widen just a little. Three meals? In a whole year? I try not to make it too obvious, but it’s hard to believe. He doesn’t exactly strike me as the takeout king, but... well, there it is.

"I get a meal prep service!" he says, shrugging with a mock-innocent grin on his face. "It’s not like I’ve had only takeaways."

I chuckle, a little surprised. “Meal prep, huh? Really leaning into the ‘adulting’ thing, I see.”

Will laughs back, and I watch him scrub the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I know, I know. It’s too organized. But hey, saves me time. I don’t want to end up like a guy who eats cold pizza for breakfast and calls it ‘fine dining’.”

I shoot him a teasing grin. “That doesn’t sound too bad,” I joke, but I can tell he’s a little self-conscious about it.

That’s when he catches my gaze and gives me that familiar grin, the one that always makes me wonder if he knows exactly what he’s doing. “What about you then, eh? I bet you’re the kind of person who can whip up a five-star meal with one hand tied behind your back, right?”

“Something like that,” I say, trying not to be too smug about it. But there’s something about Will’s playful energy that makes me want to play along. “I've been getting into the baking thing. After you ghosted me, I figured, why not? If I can’t make a relationship rise, I’ll at least make a cake do it." He laughs, a warm, loud sound that makes the people around us glance over.

Will and I are all over each other. In that subtle way that you really notice when you’re first getting to know someone. It’s like everything is new, and yet familiar all at once. It feels so silly, almost like we’re playing some kind of game. I know him already—I know he scratches the back of his neck when he's nervous and I know he likes to be kissed right under his earlobes. But the way his hands linger over mine, fingertips brushing, or when he touches my shoulder to nudge me aside while looking for something the instructor told us to grab—there’s this tension that builds in the air.

Each touch feels like an electricity I wasn’t prepared for. There’s nothing overt about it, but it feels like we’re both noticing these little moments. The way he moves slightly closer when he speaks to me, like we’ve forgotten about the rest of the room. It’s silly, but it’s also something deeper, something I can't quite shake off.

Of course, Will, chatty as ever, has already made fast friends with the couple next to us. The older gentleman, who's wearing a button-down shirt with an apron on over it, gives Will a friendly smile as he stirs his pasta sauce.

“You guys a couple?” he asks, clearly interested. It’s a question that seems innocent, but there’s an almost unspoken assumption that we must be. Probably because we’re both leaning in toward each other with those comfortable smiles only shared between people who’ve known each other for a while. The fact that it’s our first date is a little lost on him, I think. Will picks up on it instantly, though.

Without skipping a beat, he flashes his cheekiest smile. “Oh no, not yet. First date, actually!”

The older woman with him nearly chokes on her water, a laugh escaping as she glances between us, clearly trying to do the mental math. “Well, I must say, you two do look comfortable,” she comments, glancing at me with a knowing look. “You must be good friends first, then, right?”

I blink, a little thrown by how quickly they’ve come to this conclusion. Will beams, practically radiating with amusement. “Exactly! We’ve known each other a long time. So, we're starting slow, you know?”

I nearly roll my eyes, but catch myself at the last second, biting back the sarcastic remark brewing on my tongue. “Yep, just taking it one step at a time,” I say with a grin, playing along.

They both look satisfied with that answer and continue chatting away. I’m distracted for a second by the way Will is leaning in, fully engaged with the couple now, dropping his voice low to make them laugh. He's a talker, that’s for sure. A few minutes later, he even begins talking about his favourite food trucks, mentioning Ruth's and mine (I don’t even know how he knows Ruth's, or if I ever told him mine) and then listing all the best ones. The older man laughs and gives him an exaggerated “You’ve got to take me to these places sometime!” before they continue talking about meal prepping and food delivery services.

I don’t even know how Will does it—he’s so effortlessly likable, it’s both impressive and slightly exasperating. Like he’s a magnet for conversation, drawing people in with the slightest of smiles. Even now, the older couple next to us seems more than happy to include him in their conversation. And me? Well, I’m just here for the ride. And I’m sort of grateful for that.

Will’s smile widens, but there's a glint of something almost... nervous? My thoughts are interrupted as the instructor tells us to toss our pasta into the pan, and we get back to work. Will gives me an exaggerated wink as he moves, his movements awkward, trying to mimic what the instructor said in a very “Will” sort of way. I shake my head, the hint of laughter bubbling inside me.

It's time for me to focus on peeling oranges for garnishes for our cocktails, and the sounds of clattering spoons and sizzling food fill the air. But my focus drifts as I see Will glance up at the older man again when he thinks I’m distracted, his voice dropping lower as he leans in a little closer.

“Hey,” Will says quietly, so low I have to strain to hear, “I’m trying to get her back. Trying not to mess it up this time.”

The older man pauses in his stirring, looking at Will with an appraising eye. “Ahh,” he says slowly, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I had to do the same, you know. Get down on my hands and knees for her. Begging her for forgiveness. And now we’ve been married nearly—what, forty years? It’s the best decision I ever made.” He pats Will on the back lightly.

Will, who clearly wasn’t expecting such honesty, straightens up a little. “Seriously? Forty years?”

“Forty-two,” the man replies with a wink, as if the number was one of his great achievements. “And let me tell you, it wasn’t always easy. But if you really want it, you make it happen. It’s worth it in the end, lad.” He taps the side of Will's arm knowingly. “Trust me. You’ve got to be patient with her. But when you do it right, you’ve got a lifetime of good.” the gentleman looks over to his wife, also peeling oranges.

Will nods, a mix of gratitude and relief washing over him. “Yeah. I know, I know.”

I glance over, trying to not be obvious I can hear all of it. Will looks like he’s absorbing the man’s words, and for once, he doesn’t crack a joke. His gaze flickers back to me as I finish setting my dish aside, the chorizo pasta sizzling in the pan.

The older gentleman pats Will again, his expression softening with a sense of understanding that only comes with age. "We’ve all been there, son. You mess up, you apologize, and you make it right. That’s all you can do."

The words hang in the air between us, weighted and true. Will doesn’t say anything for a moment, but I can see the tension leaving his shoulders as he takes a deep breath, clearly reassured.

“You’re right,” he finally says, a more thoughtful expression replacing his usual playful grin. “Thanks.”

The older man smiles and returns to his cooking, clearly pleased with himself. Will, still processing, glances over at me again, but this time, there's a new layer to his gaze—one that feels like a quiet promise.

I don’t say anything, but something shifts in the air between us. It’s subtle, almost indiscernible, but it feels different. Less tentative. Like maybe we’re both here, in this kitchen, in this moment, because we’re both willing to try.

Its… nice.

xxx

We get to eat our chorizo pasta at little tiny tables, the kind that seem designed for someone half our size. Will, being the giant that he is, looks a bit like a folded deck chair—his legs barely fitting under the table, and his back hunched slightly as he tries to maneuver around the limited space. His elbows are dangerously close to tipping over the cocktail glass in front of him, and his broad shoulders are pressed uncomfortably against the sides of the table as he leans in, trying to avoid knocking over the candle in the center.

It’s an awkward dance, his height and limbs too long for the tiny space, and I can’t help but smile at the sight. The candle flickers, even though the overhead lights are on. It's casting a slight shadow on his face, making him look like he's in a constant state of contorting himself to fit into this miniature setup. Despite the awkwardness, there’s something endearing about the way he tries to make it work, like he’s determined not to let the space get the better of him.

"God, these cocktails are good," he says, clearly proud of himself since he mixed ours. "Shame the oranges are peeled like shit."

I look at him, feigning shock, hands dramatically placed on my chest. "At least I know what it means to cut something in a half-moon shape."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly trying not to laugh. "Oh, come on, it’s not that bad." But his smirk says otherwise.

"Of course, not," I reply, taking a sip of my drink. "It’s just that, unlike you, I know the difference between a wedge and a crescent."

We sit like this, in a physically uncomfortable, but strangely comfortable silence, munching on the chorizo pasta we made together. Despite the lack of legroom, it feels easy—familiar, even. Almost like we’ve been doing this for years, even though we haven’t.

Will, however, seems to have a bit of an internal debate about how to sit properly without knocking things over. He shifts again, his knees nearly colliding with mine, and we both laugh quietly.

We’ve decided that he definitely booked us some kind of marriage counselling special, judging by the way the host kept stressing the importance of communication in a partnership. And also How to delegate without being a twat. That wasnt the was the actual phrasing, of course. It’s hard not to chuckle at how serious the host looks while talking about ‘delegation’ as if this was some kind of intense therapy session.

At one point, the instructor came over to our table, just as I made a light-hearted joke about Will's square head. The instructor was clearly not impressed, launching into a three-minute spiel about how essential it is to lift each other up, especially in moments of weakness. I tried to hide my smirk, but when Will attempted to step in to defend me, explaining that that’s just our personal love language, the instructor was having none of it. I could practically see his judgmental eyebrow raise.

“So,” I say, taking a slow sip of my cocktail, pretending to be innocent. “Being mean to each other is our love language, huh?”

He gives me that look—the one that’s somewhere between amused and exasperated. “I reckon,” he replies, fiddling with the orange peel in his drink. “Remember our first month of knowing each other? All we did was text each other insults.”

I grin at the memory, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. “That’s because you genuinely got on my nerves,” I retort. The memory of those late-night back-and-forth roasts, the ones that kept me up until 4 AM even though I had work the next day, comes rushing back. I couldn’t stand him in those early days. He was relentless.

“Nah,” he says, smiling a little too smugly. “I genuinely got under your skin. There’s a difference.”

I raise an eyebrow, taking another sip from my drink. He’s probably right. If I’d truly hated him, I wouldn’t have kept replying, or gone to such lengths to keep the insults coming. "I guess you did,” I admit, giving him a sideways glance. “But you don’t just hate someone and end up in bed with them, do you?"

His grin widens, and there's that glint in his eyes I’ve come to recognize. "Nah. But I do remember the night we crossed that line. You whispered 'I still hate you' and then proceeded to dance on me like I needed to find out if you had a secret career before programming."

The words hit me like a flashback, and I can’t help but laugh despite myself. I can't believe I did that, how I had genuinely thought that getting that close to him—whispering that I hated him—was the perfect cover-up for whatever the hell was happening between us. But then I ended up on top of him, grinding away like I was trying to burn off all my frustration with him. He hadn’t been the only one with pent-up tension.

“God, I was such an idiot,” I say, shaking my head, a little embarrassed. “But you were just as bad. You let me do it.”

Will chuckles low and easy, his voice rich with amusement, but there's something softer behind it, something I don’t quite understand yet. “You weren’t the only one with a secret, you know,” he says, and his eyes flicker with something more serious, almost vulnerable. “I never told you this, but I liked you the whole time.”

“No way,” I murmur, half in disbelief, half with a quiet thrill blooming in my chest.

He nods slowly, as if confirming some quiet truth. “The second I met you, I thought you were stunning. I asked George if you were together, remember?” I nod, the memory vivid. “And then, an hour later, I try to convince you to watch a Formula One race and you tell me you’re allergic to high-speed sports.” He smirks. “That’s when I realized I liked you.”

I raise an eyebrow, “Why… why did we spend three months hating each other?”

“If it meant I was talking to you, then I wasn’t gonna stop it, was I?” Will’s gaze softens as he looks at me, almost searching. It’s a quiet vulnerability I don’t often see, and it makes my stomach flip a little. “I didn’t mind the insults. I just wanted to be near you, even if it meant pretending I didn’t like you.”

He looks at me, searching my face. I'm trying not to betray the fact that I really did not like him for a bit. Probably never actually hated him, but I did think he was annoying and a little bit full of himself. "I'm glad you decided to not hate me, in the end."

"And when did I decide that?" I joke with him. Trying to lighten the mood.

He looks at me, like he wants to say something real.

I know the answer, the real answer. It was when I had fallen asleep and woken up to a bunch of youtubers talking in my living room. When he first slid into my room, and said You’re not invisible to me. Because I believed him. I really did. And then he kissed me soft and slow, giving me the chance to change my mind.

He smirks, his eyes glinting with that familiar teasing light, but there’s something deeper there now. “Today, I hope,” he says, spearing a piece of chorizo with his fork.

xxx

He's driving me home now.

The silence in the car is comfortable, but there's an undercurrent of something else, something we both feel but don’t quite know how to express. I can’t help but glance at him occasionally, the glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows over his face. His hands grip the steering wheel in that steady, methodical way that makes me feel like he’s the kind of person who’s always got everything figured out, even when I know that’s not true. There’s a gentleness in the way he drives, as if he’s aware of the space between us, how much room we need without ever asking for it.

We visited a bar, just like we joked we would, staying for just one drink, as if we both knew there was more to be said but didn’t want to rush anything. Will didn’t even have a drink himself—a perfect gentleman—but I couldn’t ignore the way his eyes lingered on me, glinting with curiosity as if he was trying to figure out what was going on in my head.

Our knees brushed gently the entire time, and neither of us made the first move to close the distance, but the connection between us was undeniable. No hands on thighs, no grand gestures—just that subtle electric pulse when our legs met again, like we were savoring the simplicity of the touch, letting it linger in that space between tension and comfort.

The bar itself was light and breezy, the air faintly smelling of citrus and laughter, with just enough ambient noise to keep it alive without being overwhelming. The moment felt like something from a first date—a sweet, tentative exchange, both of us making excuses to stay a little longer, not wanting it to end. I found myself stretching out the time, unsure if it was because I feared what would happen when it was over or if I simply didn’t want to face the distance between us without understanding what this was.

Our conversation flowed effortlessly, the words falling into place with a rhythm that felt almost too easy. He told me about Whitley Bay, about growing up near the coast. There’s something wistful in his voice, a quiet longing for something simple, something real. I listen intently, nodding along.

I tell him about Manchester—my life there, the friends I’d made, the chaos of being so far from home, and away from George. I tell him about the flat I rented, the nights out that were more about surviving than thriving, and the conversations that went nowhere but somehow still felt deeply philosophical at 3 AM, probably because we were all slightly drunk.

He walks me up to my flat, stopping just outside my door. Of course he makes fun of my doormat. I invite him in for a cup of tea, the kind of end-of-date offer I know he can’t resist. But, of course, this one time he resists.

"I'm a gentleman," he says, the words practically dripping with smugness, "I can’t come into your gaff on the first date."

I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow. "You came in when you picked me up," I point out, grinning at him, already knowing I’ve got him. God I've missed this—missed him—more than I want to admit. "Just one cup of tea. It’ll be like a cozy little tea party."

He smirks, catching his tongue between his teeth like he's just won a prize. "When you look at me like that, you and I both know there's no tea." He gives me that look, the one that makes my stomach do weird things. "And I," he says with a flourish, going for an over-the-top half-bow manoeuvre, "Am a gentleman."

I roll my eyes so hard they might get stuck in the back of my head, but I can’t help laughing. Of course, he’s doing that thing again—acting like he’s the most charming person to ever exist.

He doesn’t even kiss me. Not even a cheek kiss, which honestly feels like some kind of personal violation at this point. Instead, he just pulls me into a hug, and whispers, "Goodnight," near my ear like he's auditioning for a role as the world’s softest human. Then, just to really seal the deal, he rests his chin on top of my head, like he’s some kind of oversized, cuddly dog.

“Really?” I mutter, half-laughing, half-rolling my eyes. I feel like I’ve just been hugged by a cloud that’s too polite to kiss me. But for some reason, I let it happen. Because he’s... well, he’s Will.

xxx

The kitchen is warm, the faint smell of soup and bread filling the air as we sort through blankets. Ruth and I are crouched on the floor, tossing folded donations into neat piles, the chaos of the last few hours finally calming. It’s been a busy morning, but now it’s just us, the quiet buzz of the space, and the comfort of each other’s presence.

I flick a glance at Ruth as I fold another thick woollen blanket. She’s unusually quiet today, not her usual chatty self. I can tell something’s been weighing on her, but for now, I keep my focus on the task at hand. We’ve had plenty of these quiet moments, where words feel unnecessary, but I can feel the need to talk bubbling up.

“You’re still seeing Arthur, right?” I ask, glancing up at her. She doesn’t meet my eyes right away, but I can tell she’s thinking about her answer carefully. I’ve known Ruth long enough to know when she’s hesitant, when she’s holding something back.

“Yeah," she replies, her voice softer than usual. "But it’s... complicated.”

I raise an eyebrow, knowing exactly what she means. "Complicated how?"

She runs a hand through her hair, the way she always does when she’s unsure. "It’s just... I dunno, I feel strange about how close he is with George. I just, don't want it to be weird. And now he’s going on tour soon, and, well...” She lets the sentence hang in the air, looking over at me for a second, searching my face for understanding.

I lean against the counter, folding another blanket slowly, as I digest her words. "You’re worried about how far you’re going with him?"

Ruth lets out a breath, eyes fixed on the stack of blankets, her voice low. "Yeah. I mean, I thought about it for more than one minute and I can’t just pop up to see him at a gig, right? Not unless I’m ready to... you know, make it serious. And I’m not sure I’m there yet."

I nod, knowing how much Ruth values her space, her independence. The idea of rushing into something because of distance or time always feels too much for her. It's touching how much she values me, too. The way she's still hesitant about the George situation, even after all of my reassurances. I do get it, where she's coming from.

But I also think she really, really deserves to be happy.

"But I really want to," Ruth says, her voice taking on a slightly dreamy tone. "Show up at a gig, I mean. He would lose it. Imagine him spotting me in the crowd or in the wings. It’d be like the greatest thing to ever happen to him." She pauses, her fingers playing with a loose thread on one of the blankets as she imagines.

A mischievous grin forms on her face, "I’d totally wear homemade merch of his face. Like, a huge I ❤️ Arthur Hill shirt, but with his face front and center, of course. Maybe a hat, too—like a full-on fan experience." She smirks to herself, imagining it all too clearly. "Maybe I’d even have a sign with his face on it, yelling, 'I’m Arthur’s #1 fan!' I swear, I would be such a good groupie. And he’d think I was so cool."

We both dissolve into laughter, imagining the scene in vivid detail—Arthur’s reaction when Ruth shows up in her full-on fan getup. I can almost hear him gasp, mouth open in surprise, as Ruth waves her sign with that grin of hers. “Honestly, I think if I made the hat a cowboy hat, that would just top it off,” I chuckle, picturing it even more vividly. "And, of course, the shirt has to be cropped, for extra spice." We laugh harder at the thought of it.

The laughter slowly dies down, and for a brief moment, I feel that familiar lull of quiet between us. The kind that only best friends share—the comfortable silence before one of us inevitably changes the subject.

“It's funny,” I say, breaking the silence, “I went on a date with Will last night.”

Ruth glances at me, her interest piqued, and I can’t help the slight grin that pulls at the corner of my mouth. “Well, don’t keep me hanging—what happened?”

I bite my lip, memories of the night still fresh. "It felt... different. Like, all the shit in my head just melted away when I was with him. The kind of easy that comes with years of knowing someone, but also, like, new? It wasn’t rushed or messy. We just... talked. And laughed. It was like a weird calm came over me, you know?"

Ruth watches me carefully, folding her own pile of blankets, but there’s a thoughtful expression on her face. "You know, that sounds great," she says after a beat. "But... you and Will? You’ve got more than just the calm and easy. You’ve got history, unfinished history."

I shift, uncomfortable under her gaze. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

She gives me a pointed look. "It means, you two havent spoken about your time apart, have you? Like he ghosted you. And you had another kind of-relationship since. You can’t just jump back in like nothing happened. I mean, you can, but you won’t know what it means until you deal with all the messy stuff first."

I chew on that for a moment, my fingers stilling as I fold a blanket in half. "We’re not exactly jumping in. It’s... slow. We’re taking it slow."

Ruth’s voice softens. "Are you though? You’re not just picking up where you left off?" She pauses, letting the weight of her words sink in. "I know I’m not the one who had to go through all of that with him, but I don’t want you to get stuck in a place where you’re not really moving forward."

I let her words hang in the air for a while, the weight of them settling inside me. "I guess I never really thought about it that way," I admit quietly.

Ruth glances at me, her expression softening. "I’m not saying you shouldn’t go for it with Will. But I think you need to decide what you really want from him... and from yourself. You don’t owe him an easy answer. And you don’t owe anyone else an explanation, either."

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. "Thanks, Ruth," I whisper, feeling the warmth of her words wrap around me like one of the blankets we’ve been folding.

“Anytime,” she says, her tone lightening. "Now, are we actually going to finish this pile of blankets or what?"

I laugh softly, the tension lifting for the moment, and nod. "Yeah, let’s get this done."

I watch Ruth as she neatly folds another blanket, the sound of fabric rustling filling the quiet space between us. I feel the weight of her words settling in, and for the first time in a while, I feel a sense of clarity creeping in. Sometimes, you don’t realize how much you need the hard truths until someone you trust throws them at you, no matter how uncomfortable. That’s what best friends are for, I suppose. To tell you what you need to hear, even when it’s the last thing you want to listen to. And maybe, just maybe, that's what makes it feel so right—because even when you don't want to hear it, you know they’re telling you out of love, out of a place that’s never going to steer you wrong.

Ruth catches my eye then, and I see that familiar softness in her gaze, the unspoken reassurance that, no matter what, she’s got my back. And I know, in that moment, that she’s right. I might not have all the answers yet, but at least I’m not alone in figuring it out.

xxx

Drinks after work?

The text is so simple, and so achingly familiar. Like a message plucked from some gentler, easier past.

How could I say no?

If you can stomach seeing me in my work clothes.

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. It’s been a day — the kind that makes your chest feel too tight and your spine coil with frustration. Nothing I do is good enough for my supervisor, who speaks exclusively in sighs and red-pen corrections. And somehow the bumbling intern — the one who left an actual backdoor in his code — got the full-time offer.

I was fed up. Tired in a way that coffee won’t fix.

But Will always had a way of making things feel lighter — even when I didn’t want him to. Especially then.

So I said yes.

The warmth of the pub barely cuts through the tension between us.

It’s packed tonight. The air hums with conversation and clinking glasses, the low roar of a football match flickering silently on a wall-mounted TV. A group of mates bursts into laughter by the dartboard, and someone walks past trailing the scent of cologne and stale ale.

It should be comforting. Familiar. It used to be.

But right now, none of it touches us.

We're in a booth by the window, surrounded by noise but wrapped in our own quiet storm. The table between us is sticky with old spills and ring marks, but neither of us comments. The distance isn’t physical — it’s the unsaid things. The words still coiled in our throats.

Will’s sitting across from me like theres nothing strange about this situation. He’s smiling at me like he always does — like nothing happened. Like we’re just two people picking things back up, easy as breathing.

He flashes that same easy smile — the one that used to make my stomach flip. It still does, but Ruth’s words are ringing in my ears.

“So…” I trace the rim of my glass, eyes on the soft bubbles. “Can I ask you something?”

Will raises a brow. “Dangerous start to a sentence. But go on.”

“Why did you ghost me?” I say it plain. Not angry. Just real. “After helping me move, after… all of it. You just disappeared.”

He shifts, eyes flicking to the worn wooden table, like there’s an answer carved into the grain.

“I didn’t want to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I just thought— Look, it was complicated. George was—” He cuts himself off.

My stomach twists. “George was what, Will?”

He finally looks at me. “He made it clear it wasn’t a good idea.”

“So instead of asking me how I felt, you let George decide what was best for me?”

His jaw tightens. “It wasn’t like that.”

“You stopped talking to me. That’s exactly what it was like.”

He runs a hand over his face like he’s trying to wipe the conversation away. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“For who?”

The noise of the pub fills the space he doesn’t.

I sit back, heart hammering, the pressure in my chest blooming wider. “You don’t get to pretend this is something easy, Will. You can’t just show up, crack a few jokes, and expect me to forget you dropped me when George told you to.”

His voice drops, rough now. “And what do you want me to do? Apologise for trying not to fuck everything up worse?”

“I want you to take accountability,” I bite out. “Stop hiding behind George, or your own guilt, or whatever this thing is. If you’re here now, be here. And if you’re not—don’t string me along again.”

He huffs out a laugh that’s not quite bitter, eyebrows raised like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You think this has been easy for me?”

“Oh, sorry,” I say, voice sharp. “Did I ruin your vibe by having feelings?”

Will leans forward, elbows on the table. The light above us throws shadows across his jaw. “You weren’t the only one confused, YN. You think I didn’t want to stick around? I was already in too deep and I didn’t know what the fuck you wanted, and George—”

“Stop saying his name like he’s your moral compass,” I hiss, leaning in too now, low enough that only he can hear. “Why didn’t you tell George to fuck off?”

That lands. He blinks, startled.

“I—” He stammers, caught somewhere between shame and defence. “Because I thought he was right.”

My stomach lurches. “Right about what? That I’m too fragile? Too messy? That I’d break if you touched me again?”

Will shakes his head, jaw tight. “That if I got close, I’d hurt you worse.”

“But you did, Will.” The words come soft but sharp. “You hurt me anyway. And you didn’t even give me the dignity of knowing why.”

He looks away.

Then, suddenly: “That kiss at the club — was that real?”

“What?”

“You kissed me right after you saw George kissing someone else,” he says. “You looked straight at him across the floor, and then you grabbed me like it was a fucking performance.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“You expect me to believe it wasn’t about him?”

We sit in that for a beat — the air between us tense and heavy. Fuck.

A couple nearby glance over, sensing something sharp in our quiet voices. I feel my pulse in my throat.

Will sighs hard, drumming his fingers once against the table like he needs to bleed off the frustration. “We’re in a pub.”

“Yeah. I noticed,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself like I can hold the heat in, or hold the ache back. “I wasn’t using you,” I say, firmly. “That kiss was messy, yeah, but it wasn’t fake. I liked you. I wanted you.”

His eyes search my face like he’s trying to find the truth between my words.

He exhales, bitter. “George basically told me he might be in love with you. And then I’m watching you freeze up when he walks past. Watching you clam up every time his name comes up. I thought… maybe I was in the way.”

My chest aches. “And instead of asking me, you just assumed we were meant to ride off into the sunset?”

“What was I supposed to do?” he mutters. “Push in between that? Screw over my mate? Watch you look at him the way I wish you looked at me?”

I sit back, stunned. “You should’ve talked to me.”

He looks exasperated. Someone else across the pub starts singing happy birthday.

“I mean…” He hesitates. “You’re not great at communicating either.”

There’s a beat. We both know he’s not wrong.

“You thought Becky and I were dating,” he adds. “Because of a photo that some random showed you on Instagram.”

I wince. “It’s not quite the same though, is it.”

“You thought I was cheating on someone with you, and believed it no questions asked.”

I sigh. “Okay, neither of us are saints.”

The tension crackles between us, sharp and bright. It’s then the server arrives, placing down a bowl of hot chips between us. The smell of salt and vinegar rises with the steam.

Neither of us reaches for one.

“Jesus,” Will mutters, shaking his head. “I’ve apologised, haven’t I?”

I blink. “When?”

“What do you mean when? In your old room last weekend. And I took you to dinner. Bought you coffee and flowers. I showed up tonight, too, didn’t I?”

“That’s not an apology,” I say flatly. I don’t mention it, but in my old room he said he would’ve told me sorry.

“Yes, it is!” His voice rises — not loud, but enough for a few heads to glance over from the bar. “I got on my knees for you, for fuck’s sake.”

I let out a single laugh. Bitter. “Yeah, that wasn’t you apologising. That was you trying to beg your guilt away.”

I can sense the couple from before staring at us again. Burning a hole in the side of my head.

But we are silent again. The thick, suffocating kind. Someone’s dog barks near the door and the jukebox skips to another song.

“You haven’t said, ‘I’m sorry for ghosting you and leaving without a trace.’ That sentence. Say it.”

He looks at me like I’ve just asked him to jump off a roof.

“I didn’t think I needed to spell it out.”

“You do,” I whisper. “Because otherwise it just feels like you got what you wanted and bailed before your friendships got messy.”

He exhales slowly. Then, quieter: “You froze up. That night. We were in your room, and then you heard George’s voice and you just—”

My breath catches.

“You stiffened, YN. Like I was hurting you. Like I was some kind of mistake you didn’t want to admit to.”

“That’s not fair,” I snap. But my voice shakes. Just say you’re sorry, Will.

“Isn’t it?” he says. “You were kissing me and thinking about him. You think that didn’t mess with my head?”

“I wasn’t thinking about him,” I say, quieter now. “I just… couldn’t breathe. It was like the room shrank.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“Because you left, Will. You never gave me a chance to.”

He goes quiet. The noise around us carries on — clinks of cutlery, someone’s pint being refilled at the bar.

“You can talk all you want about how complicated it was, how George had opinions, how I froze. But none of that changes the fact that you disappeared. You made me feel like I did something wrong.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah,” I cut him off. “You keep saying that. But you still haven’t said you’re sorry.”

His eyes are on mine now. Serious. Steady.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Quiet. But solid. “I’m sorry for ghosting you. For leaving without a trace. I should’ve said something. I should’ve explained. I should’ve stayed.”

It lands like a weight in my chest. Not relief. Not forgiveness. But something unblocking, finally.

I breathe. “Why didn’t you just talk to me, Will?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” he says simply. “And because I thought if I said it out loud, I’d fuck it all up.”

“You did fuck it all up,” I murmur.

“I know.”

Another long beat. The tension slowly drains, leaving something raw behind.

“This is exhausting,” I mutter, rubbing my temple.

He nods, no sarcasm this time. “It is. Because we’re terrible at this.”

“At what?”

“Talking. Being honest. Existing around each other without stepping on a landmine.”

I let out a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah. That.”

He leans forward, voice softer now. “I don’t want this to be a game, YN. I’m so unbelievably sorry that I left. That I hurt you. And that because of that, George hurt you.”

I shift in my seat. The sound of his name still stings.

“But I’m here now. I want to put in the work. But I think you need to put in the work too.”

“I know.” I pick up a chip absently, let it cool in my fingers. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what I should’ve done differently.”

I should’ve talked to Will about what we were before it was too late. I should’ve talked to George, about why he was acting so weird. I shouldn’t have given George so much power in a relationship that wasn’t his.

There was a lot that I did wrong, too.

I pause. “But I need more than a promise. I need you to show up. Not just physically. Emotionally. And I need to know I can tell you when I’m overwhelmed, or scared, or angry — without worrying you’ll disappear again.”

He meets my eyes, steady. “Okay.”

“Okay?” I echo, cautious.

He nods. “We try. We talk. We don’t pretend this is chill if it’s not. We don’t lie by omission. We get better at the hard bits.”

“And you won’t let George decide for you again?”

He smirks, just slightly. “George can fuck off.”

It makes me laugh. Just once. But it’s real.

Will smiles too, softer now. Like something unclenched in him.

“We’re gonna be weird about this for a while, aren’t we?” I say, picking up another chip.

“yeah,” Will says, raising his glass to clink against mine. “But weird’s better than silence.”

We sit like that for a moment, eating our chips, the greasy warmth from the fryer still clinging to each piece. The salt lingers on my lips, and I can’t help but catch Will's eye, his grin a little sheepish, a little more vulnerable than usual. The air between us feels lighter, not quite as heavy, and I find myself slipping into the comfort of it.

Under the table, I can feel the faintest pressure against my ankle. Just a brush of his foot against mine, a quiet invitation that makes me hesitate for a moment — like maybe I’m not supposed to let this in, not supposed to feel this easy. But my foot shifts in response, sliding gently to meet his. It’s nothing overt, nothing charged, but it’s there — a soft connection, a reminder that we’ve always had this unspoken thing between us, even when everything else was a mess.

This is something. It’s not love. Not yet. But it’s connection.

It’s the kind of connection that sneaks up on you when you least expect it, when you’ve been too busy with your own doubts and messes to notice it unfolding in front of you. We’ve got a long way to go, I know that. There’s still all the history between us — the ghosting, the miscommunication, the stupid mistakes we both made. But in this moment, none of that feels as big. It feels... small, almost laughable, in the face of this — whatever this is.

He picks up a chip, his fingers grazing mine as he passes it across, and I realise how ridiculous this is — how simple, how human it all feels. A few moments ago, the space between us felt like a chasm — each of us locked in our own versions of hurt and frustration. Now, here we are, sitting in the midst of it, sharing something almost silly, and yet more real than all the words we’ve said so far.

The clink of glasses and the low murmur of voices in the pub fade, becoming background noise. Everything falls into place — no more walls between us, no more shouting or stony silences, just the ease of shared space, a shared understanding. The tension that had been so thick in the air, so palpable between us, melts right off like the ice in my drink.

For a second, everything is quiet. The world outside of this booth, outside of this moment, doesn’t matter.

His foot brushes mine again, just lightly enough to make me smile without thinking about it. There’s something fragile in the way we’re both playing this — careful, soft, tentative — but I’m not as afraid of it as I thought I’d be. Will hasn’t said much, hasn’t done anything grand, but it’s enough. We’re here. We’re still in the same room, still tangled in this space. And maybe that’s the start of something better — something real.

We eat in silence for a while, dipping chips into ketchup or aioli, stealing little glances, the quiet almost comfortable. There’s something in that small touch of foot against foot, in the way we don’t rush into words or apologies now. Casual kindness, casual softness sneaking in like it’s always been here, only waiting for the right moment to make itself known.

It’s the simplest thing, really. But in this moment, it feels like everything.

He breaks the silence, his voice low but steady. "Can I take you out to dinner on Friday?" he says, almost shy. "A do-over?"

The words hang in the air for a moment, and I feel my shoulders slouch, the tension that’s been hanging on my frame for too long finally melting away. The question isn’t a promise. It isn’t some grand gesture. It’s just... him asking, softly.

"Yeah, I’d like that," I say, the words coming out easier than I expected.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and I see something flicker in his eyes — relief, maybe. Or hope. It’s hard to tell. But in that moment, I’m sure of one thing: whatever comes next, it feels like we’re starting to get it right.

We go back to eating, to chatting. The tension gone, but something new between us — something quiet, something real. And for the first time in a long time, I’m not afraid to let it be enough.

TagList: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz @luvnarthur @capnjosh @ellouisa17

#The Edges Of Us #george clarke #george clarkey #george clarke x reader #george clarkey x reader #george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #george clarke imagine #will lenney #WillNE #willne x reader #willne fic #willne fluff #willne imagine #ukyt #george clarkey angst #willne angst

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evansbuckle · 11 hours ago

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tattoo!artist!reader X Bucky Barnes

I've been thinking about this trope for a hot minute, and part of me wants to write more specific drabbles for these two, but we'll see. Hope you enjoy! Likes & reblogs always appreciated <3

word count: 1k

Warnings: little to no proofreading, maybe swearing? Reader uses she/her pronouns, and is referred to as 'the girl'. Mentions of Bucky mentalling struggling (very vague allusions to self-harm desire) Some mentions of body parts, but no specific body descriptions.

Bucky struggles and his brain is constantly crying out for distractions. He tried the journaling, and the knitting, and the rubber bands on the wrist but nothing quiets his mind. Until he stumbles upon a reddit post of some user sharing that body modifications (tats, piercings,) help still things, even for a brief moment.

So he walks into the first tattoo parlour he finds; it’s small, filled with sketches and people covered in borderline scary ink head to toe. He sticks out, badly. He doesn’t know what he wants or what he's doing there, but quickly figures his dead best friends birthday is a good place to start, so he makes an appointment and comes back.

He sits on the chair, and watches a girl prepare a fresh needle and ink with quiet grace. He appreciates that she doesn’t push him to talk, only asking if he’s ready, and telling him when she’s going to start. He barely registers the needle touching the skin on his flesh bicep, too entranced by the way her gloved hands control the vibrating thing. He takes his time looking over her tattoos, the black lines on her fingers visible through the blue gloves. He barely registers her question.

“Sorry, repeat that?”

A quiet chuckle, then “is this your first one?”

“Yeah.”

A brief nod, the hair in her ponytail moving slightly, “any special meaning?”

He’s quiet for a moment. “friends birthday.”

She briefly glances up at him, but doesn’t push the topic, putting the tattoo gun down. Cleans it efficiently, wraps it in second skin, and walks Bucky over to the counter. He pays, tipping generously because he doesn’t know how to tip tattoo artists, and silently decides he’s coming back soon.

Two months pass before he walks back into the same shop, and is met with the same buzzing sound that seems to cover up the soft rock in the background. Half hour later he’s laying down on the same chair, the same girl working on the same arm. It’s a phoenix, rising from the ashes. Symbolic for sure, but Bucky mainly just really likes the birds.

The girl hums as she tattoos, pink gloves instead of blue this time.

“New gloves?”

“What?”

“I-just- the last time I was here you had blue gloves.”

A soft chuckle, kind eyes meeting his nervous ones, then “yeah, i fancied a switch up. feeling pink, i guess.”

Three hours go by, and it’s only half done. Bucky’s sent home and told to come back in two weeks.

So he does.

He walks back into the same shop, same buzz, same soft rock, same sweet girl.

He decides to talk this time. He tells her his name, about his recent inclination for body art, his backstory (or at least a modified version). He even asks her out for a coffee. She’s a bit resigned, but his traumatised-yet-still-beautiful eyes end up convincing her. He doesn't stop smiling the whole walk home.

Three days later, Bucky walks into a cute little coffee place downtown, his gaze immediately landing on the girl focused on her sketchbook, decorated hands moving with skill. He spots two coffee cups in front of her, walks over, and sits down.

It’s awkward at first, small silent gaps, and Bucky stumbles over his words a fair few times, yet each time he’s met with the amused glances of the girl in front of him. When she starts talking, his heart stills. Her stories put a smile on his face, and the rest is soon forgotten.

A week later, he starts bringing her flowers at work, always paired with “they were pretty, reminded me of you.” Persian lilies, carnations, daises even, whatever first catches his eye when he walks into his local florists. Her co-workers start teasing about the man who’s sweet on her, but glimpses of the flowers never fail to make her smile through long days.

Weeks after that, Bucky sits in her apartment while she finishes cleaning, or laundry, or whatever housework she needed to do. The girl walks over to sit next to him when she’s finished, artwork covering her arms, hands, parts of her legs and feet. Bucky rarely takes his eyes off the ink, downright enamoured at the way they accentuate her soul, each little drawing showing the world a glimpse of her personality.

“Do you want to try?” Her voice cuts through the silence.

“What?” His gaze snaps up to her. She smiles, grabs his arm, leading him to her spare room. He looks around as he walks in, not having been in there before; it’s fairly empty, mostly a storage room he notes, save for a desk with something that looks like squares of flesh, and ink bottles. She sits him down, quickly gathering everything needed. Tattoo gun plugged in, fake skin in front of him, a small ink cap next to that.

She perches on his lap, showing him how to hold the gun. He listens, obviously, but every fibre of his body is hyper aware of just how quiet this moment feels - someone he cares for, is growing to love, living life with him, willingly. He smiles to himself, wondering how the hell he got to this place when everything was dark two months ago.

The gun buzzes to life in his hands, and her smaller ones hold him tighter as she guides his movements over the silicone skin. They laugh, and after a while she lets go, letting Bucky freehand it. He tries to focus on the task at hand, he really does, but the warmth of the body on top of his engulfs him, wrapping around his heart like a safety net.

He quickly decides life isn’t quite so bad when there's someone to share the stillness with.

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blufblucake · 2 days ago

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⋆ 𐙚 ̊.𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐘

ᴘᴀʀɪɴɢ: Wheeljack x GN!Human!Reader

᥉ᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Amid the metallic silence of the Ark, two minds collide: brilliant, relentless, and lonely. You were welcomed by the Autobots as an ally, but the real shock came when you fell for Wheeljack, the eccentric genius with a shy smile and incredibly skilled hands. Between codes, algorithms, and a bold shared creation, a connection is born, one as intricate as any alien technology. But when work turns into connection, and connection turns into desire... things might just start heating up in the lab.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Smut with plot, AFAB Reader (no gender specified), size difference, oral sex, penetrative sex, mutual pining.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4,7k

❝ Maybe we, can be, be each other's company Let's end each other's lonely nights Be each other's paradise Need a picture for my frame Someone to share my reign Tell me what you wanna drink I'll tell you what I got in mind ❞

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓

Surrounded by the thick metal walls of the Ark, with no windows or accessible doors to the outside world, it was easy to lose track of time. Hours had already gone by, maybe it was even past midnight, but you were too focused on the numbers and codes flashing on the screen of your small, modified datapad to care. By some twist of fate, your path had crossed with the Autobots’. Of course, running into a conveniently hidden alien species on your planet, who also happened to be caught in the middle of a war, wasn’t exactly what one expected to happen on a random Thursday. But against all logic and common sense, that encounter had completely transformed your life. And in the best way possible.

Being an independent scientist wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world. Not that you weren’t intelligent, on the contrary, you were brilliant, but there were always far too many incredible minds and not enough scholarships to go around. Not to mention those who had the right connections in all sorts of universities and managed to secure their spots among the best by pulling a few strings. The lack of support and funding was always discouraging, it felt like a cold bucket of water every time. That’s why you considered yourself lucky to have found the Autobots. You sympathized with their cause and wanted to help. They, in turn, saw in you a worthy ally. It was the perfect deal: access to Cybertronian technology in exchange for your knowledge and skills. Naturally, there were objections about your usefulness and discretion, but you were used to that; the scientific community on Earth had thrown the same doubts your way. What truly mattered was that Optimus Prime trusted you. A vote of confidence you would never forget and would cherish for the rest of your life. Now, not only did you have the means to work, but also a purpose and a lab partner.

“Stuck on those codes?” Wheeljack’s voice sounded a bit tired, pulling your gaze away from the glowing screen in front of you. The mech held a cube of energon in one servo and a ridiculously small blue can in the other. He extended his arm and offered you the can, which you gladly accepted, cracking it open with a click. Lifting it to your lips, you took a generous sip of the hot energy drink, grimaced, then replied, “Not anymore. I think I found the problem.” The wide smile you gave Wheeljack made him smile behind the mask covering part of his faceplate. “We were too focused on the obvious issue and forgot to look around it.” The mech pulled over a chair and sat across from you, leaning over the desk to get a better look at the tiny screen in your lap. You adjusted yourself on the beanbags where you were seated and started pointing animatedly at a stream of ever-scrolling code. Carefully, you explained your discovery in detail, growing more excited by the second.

Wheeljack nodded in agreement and used a single digit to affectionately ruffle your hair “You’re right, sweetspark. You found the solution.” He smiled again, and his mask retracted so he could take a few long sips of energon. While he distractedly drank the glowing liquid, you discreetly admired him. Maybe it was the long hours spent together, or maybe your brain was just fried from work, but you’d been finding the bot attractive for some time now. Of course, in a completely new and alien way, but still attractive. You liked how his blue optics lit up when he talked about his projects, his shy smile whenever he was complimented, his good humor and resilience — even when the two of you literally set his lab on fire. He understood you in a way no human ever had. There was something special in the connection you shared. But you were also aware it would likely never be more than that, a one-sided crush.

You stood up and left your datapad on the beanbag before walking to the edge of the desk and signaling for Wheeljack to come over. He finished his energon cube, set it on the desk, and held out a servo for you to climb onto. You were so used to it by now that you knew exactly where to step and hold. Once you were secure in his cupped servos, he carried you toward the workbench where your newest creation awaited, almost complete. As soon as he set you down on the bench, you ran toward the drone, the object several times larger than you. Its design was modern with a vintage twist, blending your personal tastes perfectly. “Our creation, our baby,” you said in a comically affectionate tone, as if you truly considered the drone your child, which made Wheeljack laugh out loud. The mech liked your playful nature and the lighthearted way you approached things. Maybe it was because you were both scientists, but for the first time in ages, he felt truly accepted. You understood him. Understood when inventions failed and stood by him when they succeeded. You celebrated together, laughed off the failures, and at the end of the day, you were together, usually with you sitting on his chassis, chatting and making silly plans. He was afraid to admit it, but the truth was, you had long since stopped being “just a friend” to him. Still, he often wondered if you could ever see him as something more, as a mech.

The sound of you clearing your throat snapped Wheeljack out of his thoughts, and his vocal indicator fins flickered a light shade of blue as he spoke. “Sorry, what were you saying again?” you giggled and leaned your body against the drone, arms crossed over your chest. “I asked if you’d already uploaded your code into Sparkle’s algorithm.” He looked confused, his optics flicking between you and the drone a few times, barely holding back a laugh. “Since when did you name the drone Sparkle?” You only shrugged and gave him a mischievous look, like a kid caught doing something sneaky “Since earlier today. I thought it needed a name. Don’t you like it?” The mech vented softly, ruffling his hair, and leaned over you and the drone, his massive helm now only inches from your face. “I love it. I just thought, since it’s our sparkling, we should’ve picked the name together. But Sparkle fits perfectly. Look at our baby, it’s the spitting image of you.”

You burst out laughing and moved closer to Wheeljack, resting your forehead against his helm and reaching up to touch one of his vocal indicator fins, which flickered a soft pink “Hm, I think the optics are yours. But we should’ve added your fins, I think they’re very charming. Especially when you’re embarrassed,” you said teasingly. You could hear his engine roar as he abruptly pulled away, suddenly shy. Wheeljack shook his helm and stumbled over his words when answering your original question “I-I finished it earlier today while you were on break. I think yours is the only one missing now. I can help if you want.” You quickly shook your head, pouting in mock offense “No way! We agreed it would be a surprise. We’ll only find out what the other programmed when we activate Sparkle.” He nodded and gently lifted you by the torso as you raised your arms excitedly. He carried you back to the shared desk and carefully set you down on the cold metal surface. The warmth of his servo disappeared all too quickly when he pulled away. You picked up your datapad again and plopped down into the beanbag, letting your full weight sink into it.

Wheeljack sat in the chair and pulled up his own datapad, resuming his work. He knew it wasn’t healthy for you to stare at a screen for so many hours. You should’ve gone to rest long ago. But he also knew it would be pointless to try and convince you otherwise. You’d had that same argument countless times, and he always lost when you gave him your best kicked-puppy look and asked with a sweet little pretty please. All he could do was wait for your body to give in so he could carry you back to your shared quarters, like he did almost every night. And judging by the way your blinks were slowing and your head was starting to droop to the side, it wouldn’t take long.

As predicted, just a few minutes later, you finally drifted off to sleep, your body leaning entirely to the side, nearly falling out of your seat. Wheeljack smiled at the sight and used two digits to pluck your tiny datapad from your hands and set it on the desk. Then, carefully, he cradled your entire body in his servos and brought you close to his chassis. The motion stirred you slightly, but you quickly relaxed again once you felt the mech’s warmth and the familiar rhythm of his spark pulsing. He stood up and carried you out of the lab, heading straight to his habsuite. The halls were completely empty, the only sound was the faint hum of the ventilation system. Most of the bots were already in recharge by now.

When the door to his habsuite slid open, Wheeljack walked straight to his berth, too tired to even think of anything else. He adjusted your sleeping form so he could hold you with one servo and used the other to open a drawer in his nightstand. From it, he pulled out a fresh polishing cloth, the perfect size to serve as a cozy blanket for you. Then, still holding you close to his chassis, he laid down and got comfortable. You stirred a little, yawning and rubbing your cheek against his metal frame, but didn’t wake up. The sight warmed Wheeljack’s spark, and he smiled, completely enchanted by your human fragility. He covered you with the cloth and rested one servo over you like a protective barrier to keep you from rolling off during the night “Goodnight, my little brilliant scientist,” he whispered, gently stroking your spine with his thumb.

-`♡´-

The next morning started off in a whirlwind. You didn’t even bother making breakfast — apparently, you’d had ideas in your dreams about how to improve the drone and needed to put everything into practice before you forgot. The scent of metal and chemical components filled the lab, and you suspected it couldn’t be good for you, especially since your head was spinning slightly, and you coughed every now and then. Still, you refused to stop or leave, even with Wheeljack insisting repeatedly. He’d already made it clear he’d drag you out, one way or another, if he felt things had become too dangerous for you.

While working on the drone’s structure, you stole discreet glances at the mech, who was animatedly working on something on his datapad. Sometimes, you wished you could dive into that mechanical head of his and explore every bit of his processor. You’d always seen Wheeljack as an inspiration, even before you fell for him. You admired his intelligence, his skill, his insight. And most of all, his resilience. Working alongside someone like him was simply a dream come true. It was like a horror fan getting to meet Lovecraft, undeniably a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

You paused for a moment and sat down, wiping the back of your hand across your forehead to catch the sweat that was trickling down. A sigh escaped your lips as you smiled at the drone. It was a huge achievement for you, the project of your life, something you’d never imagined would be possible just a few months ago. And now, there it was. Perfect. And none of it would’ve been possible without Wheeljack. You turned and looked at his back, your eyes full of quiet affection. You felt like you could never thank him enough, not even in a million years. When the Autobots had found you, he was the first to speak on your behalf, explaining to Optimus, point by point, how useful you could be to their cause. And because of that, you made a point of giving your all every single day. Deep down, you also wanted to make him proud, to show him he had made the right call in accepting you.

The bot turned around in his chair and caught you staring, but you didn’t look away. With his mask covering half of his faceplate, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. He leaned over the workbench, resting his chin on his closed fist. “Were you able to make the modifications?” his voice sounded curious. You smiled as you replied, “I did, Jack the Hack. Take a look at Sparkle now.” The mech straightened up and walked over to the drone, analyzing it carefully. After a few moments, he turned to you and raised both thumbs in a positive gesture, the one you’d taught him. “Not bad!” Your laughter echoed through the lab, and Wheeljack nearly melted, completely fascinated by you.

You stood and motioned for him to come closer with one finger. “Alright, back to work. Will you take me to the desk again?” he nodded and extended a servo for you to climb onto. Before long, the two of you were once again immersed in your datapads, too focused on your respective tasks to talk, pausing only now and then to show each other something interesting.

And so the day dragged on like that. You barely stopped to eat, it was only when Ratchet stormed in to scold you both for skipping meals that you realized how long it had been. You checked the watch on your wrist, it was already past midnight. Stretching out on the beanbags, you finally set the datapad aside, stood up, and did a happy little dance as you walked over to Wheeljack. He stopped as well, watching you with tenderness in his optics, and reached out a digit to gently stroke your cheek as you sat down on his forearm. “I can’t believe we’re done… It’s something so magical, so special to me…” your voice cracked slightly, emotions rising at the sight of your creation. The bot retracted his mask and smiled. “It’s special to me too. We worked on this project together, and only blew up the lab three times. I think that’s a personal record.” You burst out laughing at his words, and he turned to glance at the drone resting on the workbench “We can activate it tomorrow.” You stood up and stopped in front of him, holding out a hand “This deserves a celebration, don’t you think?”

Wheeljack moved stealthily through the base, sneaking through the halls to grab a bit of engex for himself and a six-pack of beer for you. When he returned, you were distracted, fiddling with the datapad and trying to adjust the lab’s lighting and queue up some music. He stopped and leaned casually against the closed door, watching you intently. Wheeljack admired every little detail about you, your mannerisms, your smile when you talked about science, the way you gently comforted him when something went wrong. And there you were, so focused on making the atmosphere more pleasant, so perfect without even trying.

When you finally turned and spotted him, a big smile spread across your face “Much better like this, don’t you think?” The lab lights had dimmed, turning warm and cozy, and the speakers began playing Take On Me. He simply smiled and walked over, setting your beer on the desk and settling comfortably into the chair. “The environment is always perfect when you’re in it,” the words slipped from his metal lips before he could stop them. And when he saw the shy smile on your face and the faint blush in your cheeks, he felt embarrassed by the confession, his vocal indicators glowing a vivid shade of pink.

“You’re too kind,” you replied softly and set the datapad aside, moving closer to the beer. You knelt down and began opening the pack. When you pulled out a longneck bottle, you held it out to him “Can you open this for me?” Wheeljack vented dramatically, pretending to be annoyed by the request, but the faint smirk on his faceplate said otherwise. He’d had enough bad experiences crushing beer bottles to know that opening them at his full size wasn’t a good idea. So, resting both servos on the table, he mass shift. Compared to you, he was still a giant, but no longer a towering titan.

He gently stepped forward and took the bottle in one servo, it still looked ridiculously small in his hand. With the other, he reached out and helped you to your feet. The top of your head barely brushed his chassis. In one quick motion, he popped the bottle open and handed it back to you. You took it, brought the rim to your lips, and drank a generous swig, savoring the bitterness of the beer. Wheeljack watched you with affection before turning to his engex resting on the table. The container was now much larger than he was, but he wasn’t about to go through the mass shifting process again just to drink. So, he simply sat down and closed his optics, enjoying the music playing softly in the background.

You walked over and sat beside him with a loud sigh, hugging your beer bottle to your chest like something precious. Your eyes were focused on your feet swinging back and forth to the rhythm of the song, your mind drifting through past memories and hidden desires. Until his voice gently pulled you from your thoughts “What are you thinking about, scientist?” he asked in a low voice, the hum of his internal systems filling you with comfort. You lifted your gaze to meet his glowing blue optics and offered him a shy smile, raising the bottle to your lips for another sip “About you.”

Your words caught him off guard, and he watched your lips glisten with beer, his fans kicking on the moment you ran your tongue across your lower lip. His optics locked with yours, his vocal indicators flashing a soft shade of pink. “And what were you thinking about me?” You tilted your head slightly, calmly analyzing his expression. Then, setting the bottle aside, you scooted closer to him. Maybe it was the effect of the alcohol — even if you’d only had one bottle — or maybe it was the music. Either way, filled with unexpected courage, you decided to finally confess the feelings you'd been keeping to yourself for so long. “I was thinking about how much I like you. About how you make me feel seen, understood. About how sweet and gentle your touch always is. About how you give me butterflies when you compliment me… or when you look at me and think I don't notice. About how you take care of me, and how I can’t sleep properly anymore unless I’m on your chassis, listening to the pulse of your spark.”

Wheeljack stood frozen, processing your words, stunned. He hadn’t expected that from you, he’d never imagined his feelings could be reciprocated. So he’d let himself dream, but never dared take a step forward. But when he saw you pulling away, your face flushed with embarrassment, he quickly reached out and gently caught your arm his servo closing around your wrist carefully, making sure not to hurt you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I made things weird…” you began, avoiding his gaze. But he gently cupped your chin, and in one swift motion, leaned in and sealed your lips with a kiss. It was a calm kiss, unhurried, filled with unmatched tenderness, conveying what words alone could never fully express. And you kissed him back, melting into the moment, surprised by how soft his metal lips were, so unlike what you’d imagined when daydreaming about this.

When the mech finally pulled back and rested his forehelm against your forehead, your breathless gasps blended with the whir of his fans. A blissful smile spread across his faceplate as he stroked your cheek with two digits “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamed of hearing those words. How much I wished my feelings could be returned,” he whispered. A quiet giggle escaped your lips, and you kissed one of his cheeks, then the other, then his chin, before placing one last peck on his lips. “If I had known, I’d have told you sooner,” you murmured, and he cupped your face with both servos, staring deep into your eyes. “My little scientist… I think you’re the only one who hadn’t noticed just how in love with you I am.”

His confession made your heart race. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down with you as you laid back. He followed eagerly, bracing himself with one servo beside your head while the other stayed gently resting on your cheek. You brushed your lips over his teasingly, and he captured your lower lip between his denta, giving a soft bite, careful not to break your delicate skin. You sighed, eyes fluttering closed as you kissed him again. This time with more intensity, more heat.

He asked for entrance with his glossa, and once you granted it, he explored your mouth slowly. The kiss was deep and unhurried, brimming with desire, a longing long suppressed by both of you. Your muffled moans made Wheeljack’s spike throb behind his modesty plate, begging to be freed. Wheeljack moved his lips to your jawline, nipping at the tender skin, then down to your neck, where he left wet, lingering kisses. One of his servos slipped under your shirt, exploring your warm skin, impatiently trying to remove the fabric. Your hands found his chassis, silently asking him to pull back just enough so you could remove your top.

He paused for only a second to admire the sight before him. Your soft skin, fully exposed, begging to be touched, reacting to every vent of heated air from his frame. His lips trailed down your belly, leaving a line of scorching kisses until he reached your waistband. His servos paused at your hips, silently asking for permission, and help. A quiet laugh escaped you as you unbuttoned your pants and began pushing them down along with your underwear. Wheeljack helped, tugging both garments off and tossing them aside. The sight of your completely nude body pulled a groan from deep within him, and without intending to, his modesty plate slid open, revealing his fully pressurized spike.

You tilted your chin down to get a better look, and the sight of him staring into your eyes as he descended to kiss your folds made you moan, your head hitting the metal tabletop beneath you. Gently, Wheeljack ran his servos along your thighs, caressing up and down before spreading your legs and resting them over his shoulders, one at a time. He kissed your groin softly, then licked from your entrance up to your clit, earning a series of gasps from your lips. Your wet pussy was like a divine feast to him. Taking his time, he closed his lips around your clit and began sucking, savoring both your taste and the sounds you made. When he looked up and saw you biting into your palm, trying to silence yourself, he carefully caught your hand and laced his digits with yours “Please, sweetspark… I’ve waited so long for this, dreamed about this moment for so long. Let me hear you. Let me know how good I’m making you feel,” his voice was full of something deeper, more than just lust.

Then he dove back in, devouring your pussy with fervor. He sucked, licked, and kissed you like a mech starved. His glossa penetrated you deeply, exploring you from the inside out, fucking you with slow, deliberate skill. Your moans and gasps mixed deliciously with the obscene sounds of his tongue working, his frame struggling to regulate its temperature. The lab, normally cold, now felt dangerously hot. Sweat trickled down your body as your back arched from the pleasure. Your hands gripped his vocal indicators tightly. His body was so hot it nearly burned, but maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you wanted.

Wheeljack rolled his hips against the metal table, grinding his spike, already leaking prefluid, in a desperate attempt for some relief. He felt like he could overload just from eating you, your addictive taste better than anything he'd ever known. “Wheeljack…” You came hard against his lips, moaning his name loudly as your climax hit. He took his time savoring you, optics half-lidded, utterly intoxicated by your pussy. And by the time you came down from the high, he was already on top of you, kissing your neck, pressing his large frame gently against yours.

His heavy spike rubbed against your inner thigh, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against him, teasing him further. He held himself up with one servo, making sure not to crush you, while the other slipped between your bodies, guiding his spike. When he aligned the thick tip with your entrance, he locked eyes with you, silently asking for permission. It was adorable how much he cared for your comfort and well-being. You answered by tilting your hips toward him, searching for more contact.

Wheeljack began to slide into you slowly, savoring the tight squeeze of your walls around him, groaning softly with optics shut. It had been a while since you’d last had sex, and you were thankful for the care he showed you. The initial stretch burned in the most delicious way, and you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. He was big, there was still a full handspan left to go. He paused for a few seconds, savoring the way your warm, soft pussy clung to his spike. He had never felt anything like it before, no valve had ever come close. It was the most divine sensation he’d ever known.

He started to move slowly, grunting and moaning into your ear, each motion sending waves of pleasure through your core. The wet sounds of his spike fucking your pussy filled the room, and you couldn't hold back the filthy, pleasure-drunk noises escaping your mouth. Your nails lightly scraped across the metal of his back, and when you moaned his name loudly, he picked up the pace. He could feel his overload approaching fast, but he didn’t want to leave you behind. One of his servos traveled down your thigh, then curled under your knee. He lifted your leg gently, pressing it against his chassis to change the angle. The shift made you both moan louder, and your back arched with the new, deeper strokes. You lifted your head just enough to watch his thick spike slide in and out of your soaked pussy.

He rested his forehelm against your forehead, optics glowing with unspoken devotion as he gazed deep into your eyes. A few more hard thrusts and you came again, moaning his name like a prayer, your pussy clenching around him, milking his spike deliciously. The way you tightened around him was all it took. With a deep, shuddering groan, Wheeljack overloaded, spilling hot streams of transfluid inside you. His hips kept rocking, even as his movements became slower and less coordinated, dragging out the last waves of his climax, savoring every second of being inside you.

His optics scanned your sweat-drenched face, your hair stuck to your forehead, your eyes closed as you panted softly. You were beautiful. He wished he could burn that image into his processor forever, the way you looked, perfectly and deliciously fucked. He kissed your chin, your forehead, the tip of your nose, your closed eyelids, and finally, your lips — softly and full of love. “I dreamed of this moment for so long… I still think I might be dreaming,” he whispered. You opened your eyes and looked at him tenderly, brushing your fingers along the side of his helm “You’re not, sweetheart…” you replied, pulling him into a quick kiss “And trust me, there’s still much more to come.”

#transformers #transformers x reader #transformers idw #transformers wheeljack #wheeljack x reader #valveplug

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scent73 · 3 days ago

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NEW UPDATE

So hung out with Him again tonight and things were pretty chill and tame until just before He headed home.

We had gone out to dinner and headed back to mine after. While at mine, He started ripping some very pungent farts. They definitely smelled very rank and I jokingly said “if Your ass smells that rancid, I may not want You to sit on my face after all!” He remarked that His ass definitely stinks and I wouldn’t want to ever bury my face in His ass, let alone rim His hole.

I respectfully disagreed and told Him I was just joking and would happily breathe in His farts, no matter how nasty and eat His ass no matter how dirty. He said’ “I seriously doubt that” and chuckled.

He was fully clothed and standing at the time so I immediately dropped to my knees and buried my face in His the seat of His trousers - planting my face firmly in His asscrack. He tried to pull away at first but then said, “I’m warning you, i will fart on your face if you don’t stop.” I replied, “I told You, I’m a faggot, so if you do, I’ll thank You and breathe it all in!”

With that, He let rip another foul fart.

True to my word, I breathed it all and sniffed His nasty gas.

It was awful, but also very much appreciated. I loved feeling like some small part of Him was inside me - filling my lungs with His stink.

As I took an audible intake of His fart through my nose, He laughed nervously and yelled, “fuck dude, that’s truly gross. Stop doing that!”

I thanked Him and said I would happily inhale His stink whenever He needed to let rip a fart.

I told Him I liked the stink of His ass, and I again stressed my desire to eat His ass - clean or dirty.

He said “probably never gonna happen, but okay.”

And that was it.

I know it’s not as much as last, but He literally farted in my face; I literally breathed in His fart; and He just laughed but didn’t get angry or so disgusted that He bailed.

Last night was more sexual and intimate. Tonight was more a declaration of my faggotry: I demonstrated my complete submission and my commitment to serve, worship, and obey Him - even if that means performing truly disgusting and degrading acts like breathing in His nasty farts.

Again, I think I’m getting closer to at last being permitted to serve Him fully as His faggot.

Not seeing Him again until end of next week, but will keep sharing developments as they arise.

THIS IS TRUE

In a few weeks I’ll be joining my best Friend for a 5-day vacation. We’ll be sharing a motel room.

He is married and has a young child.

He knows I’m gay and a faggot.

He knows I yearn to serve, worship, and obey Him.

Normally, I’d do what I do in the case of most of my straight friends and limit my hunger to my imagination, however, in this case, there is a history between us that makes this difficult.

We have chemistry and there is always sexual tension when we’re together. In the past, this tension has been released through playful roughhousing, massages and, on a few occasions, light clothed fondling and me sucking on His fingers and toes - though these latter activities typically occur when we’ve both had a bit to drink.

I know that my feelings and attraction are shared by Him. He has never objected to anything we’ve done - even when I e explicitly asked Him if He minded or disliked these interactions.

More than anything I want to use this vacation to advance our friendship from awkward bouts of flirtation and light petting to a intimate, sexual relationship or FWB in which I can serve, worship, and obey Him as He should be served, worshipped, and obeyed.

So I am planning to offer Him a full-body massage. Hell almost certainly agree and will strip down to His boxer briefs. I plan to give Him an incredible massage and, when working on His thighs, will gently graze His ass and balls. Based on His reaction, I’ll then begin working on His glutes. I’ll be using massage oil and will then suggest He slide off His boxer briefs while I step into the bathroom (in case He doesn’t want to strip naked in front of me yet).

Then, with Him laying face down, I’ll begin to work on His glutes - gradually working my fingers nearer to His taint and ass crack. If He gives no push back, I’ll begin to massage His crack and working His pucker with my fingers (not stinking my fingers in Him, just massaging the exterior of His hole). Ordinarily I would quickly advance to a rimjob - tonguing His hole - but I’m not wanting to push my luck. I’ll see how He responds to my fingers working His asshole and, assuming no issues, will ask Him if He wants me to keep working on His backside or would He like me to move on to His front.

If He wants me to stick with the current focus, I’ll make a gentle move towards rimming Him - placing my face and nose between His asscheeks as I continue to massage His hole, inhaling His natural aroma, before tentatively darting my tongue against His pucker. If no issues raised, I’ll begin rimming Him properly.

If, however, He wants to switch to His front, I’ll ask Him to turn over and (unless He already has a full erection) will begin to massage His frontside - again, methodically working my way towards His crotch. Working His thighs again, I’ll begin to focus tentatively on His taint and then His Balls if He permits. If He still raises no objections, I’ll move onto His cock and give Him an incredible handjob. If and when He cums, I’ll make a point of either asking Him to cum in my mouth or licking the cum from His body after He ejaculates.

I may need to do this progressively over a few days/massages, but for either scenario, I plan to risk a lot in hopes of cementing a better outcome for us both.

Any thoughts, ideas, suggestions? Any predictions?

If I get enough interest, I’ll provide updates on my progress and the results of my efforts.

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loderlied · 8 months ago

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i need you all to know that the main reason (besides a general hunger for attention) niles even accepts aldori’s call is because he got caught stealing his student’s work and passing it off as his own and his reputation as a teacher was obviously ruined. lmao

#when i say that niles is the most envious creature i mean it #he’s watched a good handful of them become more successful with their music than he ever would be and felt that since he was basically the #reason for the success (not really. not like it’s everything it’s mostly luck but you have no real passion for this lol)#it would be fine if he had a piece of the cake too with future students. not like he immediately came to this conclusion #and felt not torn and no guilt over it.#took a while to rationalise it and all.#the envy and feelings of inadequacy and a desire for approval and fame just won over after a time #it’s not like he believes he’s better than them he just wants people’s eyes and attention on him so unbelievably bad that’s what he believes #he deserves #and at some point(s) he feels so small that he will do shit like this. he would fake having a terminal illness too lol #he’s just a loser. niles’ story is supposed to be a horror comedy style thing and the majority of the comedy comes from that fact lol #oc: niles #honestly? can relate on the parts of being a loser who is only ever mediocre at something creative they do.#for me i don’t think it’s for the same reasons as niles especially don’t care about fame or shit like that lol #and i obviously don’t steal shit even if my ocd tells me the exact opposite so much #that i actually hesitated to post this because i thought people would assume that i steal too because he’s my character #and your ocs always have a part of yourself in them and what if people found out that i was stealing i just didn’t know and. hi.#can you tell that i’m a fear based writer. i write about my fears. hi #anyways. and then kingmaker and fae mpreg happens. yay

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beachyserasims · 2 years ago

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♡ Episode 20 | FinalPool-Party | GENEVA ISLAND

♡ Autumn has decided that she doesn’t mind being single and she actually enjoys not being tied down to anyone or having to feel responsible for anyone else’s emotional well-being or commitment issues. Spending time with all her friends is her happy space and so she ended the evening after the pool-party feeling super happy. She was the last one dancing, enjoying the vibes.

♡ Judi woke up and realized that since Sean has left that she likes him more than she thought, and she wished that she could ask him to be her boyfriend. She has a habit of wanting what she can’t have and the timing of her revelation shows her level of commitment issues. She talked with Rowan about her issues as she doesn’t want to be that way anymore, but can’t help it.

♡ Jasmine spent the day chatting with Justin and Darion in the kitchen. She is feeling a lot more relaxed about her relationship with Justin since they cut things off with the other islanders and loves the time that they spend together, but she still gets jealousy pangs when he isn’t around because she is nervous he will be flirting behind her back more.

♡ Samora spent a lot of time chatting with Judi as they are both party animals. She was in a bad mood because she started her period and so she was spending time trying to feel better by running and generally taking it easy.

♡ Rowan spent his day relaxing around the villa and enjoying his morning rituals of drinks and working out. He spent a lot of the day chatting with Autumn and he asked her again if she thinks it would be ok if he moved in with her after the island. She agreed! Judi came clean to Rowan about her commitment issues, which he always knew about but it was nice to hear it in her own words.

♡ Justin spent his day chatting with Jasmine and enjoying her company. They are becoming very close in the villa and its making him feel a lot better about the direction that their relationship is going, becoming more serious about them.

♡ Darion spent his day battling his anxiety again as he is not used to being in such a relaxing environment all the time. He has always loved his career and is finding it hard to be away from his commitments at home. He enjoys chatting with the boys and making friendships with them the most.

The Start || Beginning of Episodes || Previous || Next

#its hard to tell what rowan is thinking but my best guess is that him and autumn are really good friends #and yes he often thinks about woohoo when she is around #so to me that means that there is a small desire in him to be with her #but it definitely is overshadowed by their amazing friendship #Geneva Island #sims 4 story #ts4 story #sims4 storytelling #Geneva recap #ts4 gameplay #ts4 screenshots #ts4 story time #ts4 screenies #ts4 screencaps #ts4 challenge #simblr

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arcade-confetti · 1 year ago

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Honestly fascinated learning more of the fanon vs canon going on here. Truly tempted to read Tim's comics just to see the extent of what's been done to him

#i wont however. unlike jason tim doesn't die for like 17 years #lot more to try and work through #dc liveblog #update: just finished 442. funky little guy #theyre trying real hard w the new robin this time around. as much as i love jason #i will easily admit he doesn't have too strong characterization #its fun to analyze the details and small bits and what they could mean. but overall if you asked me to describe robin jason id struggle #a shame! but theyre definitely working hard with tim now #anyway yeah fanon is wild #im not rly gonna read anymore tim comics so very real and genuine question here. where does tim liking jason even come from #literally only talks about jason when talking about how his death affected bruce. otherwise its all dick #fanon im holding you by the shoulders please explain yourself to me im so desperately confused how you got here #BEST i can think of. and im just saying stuff here. is that it partially formed out of a want for anyone to like jason??#bc nocturna and harvey were the closest characters he was to and they disappeared after the retcon #and it is easy to say dick was bruces favorite #jason didn't have the chance to join any teams. so maybe the fanon was born of a desire for someone to mourn and look up to him????????????#extra angst for the tower??#idk man

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kitimeq · 5 months ago

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✿‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ say yes to heaven 🤍 sylus 秦 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ✿

pairing ✿‧₊˚: lads sylus x reader

summary ✿‧₊˚: 3+1: three times Sylus suppresses his desire to have you, and one time his control finally snaps. sprinkled with relationship fluff, size difference, love confessions and whole lot of overthinking from our fav crow boy.

word count ✿‧₊˚: 13.6k (a whole ass freaking novella, grab a snack.)

tropes ✿‧₊˚: 18+, 3+1, smut, but packed with feelings, fluff, est. relationship, body worship, plot with porn??, love confessions, sylus is obsessed, and so in love, first times implied, p in v, size difference, (by size difference i mean sylus is freaking huge, like a mountain of a man, so big it actually makes him nervous bc u so small, every single one of us would be a small dot next to him that’s my personal headcanon, have you seen his ib memory? yeah, yeah u have this man HUGE), anyways what is protection they don’t use it don’t be like them, needy sylus, pet names, everything is consensual, awooo.

author’s note ✿‧₊˚: hello! i was cooking this one for so much time, i hope it’s not too boring! I’m not a native speaker so i apologize in advance for all mistakes or repetitions. I was also trying to write inclusive y/n and i hope i succeeded. I also did not imagine y/n to have a specific body type — i truly believe that no matter your size, next to sylus you would look like a crumb. as small as a pebble. believe me, i’ve studied the sacred texts (night of secrecy, grassland romance, innocent birdcage do i really have to keep on listing the memories where he enormous u get the gist). so!! i hope you’ll enjoy it ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

!!do NOT read if you’re not 18+!!

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡ ݁

Sylus usually considered himself to be a patient man.

He occasionally did act on his desires—he could admit that much—but when it came to the things he truly cared about, the things he treasured, he didn’t mind the wait. He knew that the best things in life came at a price, and if the currency was time, in this case he was willing to pay in full. He knew it was worth it. That you were worth it.

You, who accepted him as he was, with all his flaws and imperfections, making his life better every day you were together. You, who were so brave, gentle, and kind that you made him want to become a better man too—just so that one day, he could say he truly deserved you. You, who he had completely fallen for, unable to imagine a world in which he wouldn’t make the same choice of courting you all over again.

That’s why he wanted nothing more than to treasure and respect you in every aspect of life—including intimacy and his own desires. And to be perfectly candid, he had plenty of those from the very moment he laid eyes on you. But he wanted to act like a gentleman, never rushing you into anything. He was patient, waiting for you to make the first move. He wanted to be sure you trusted him, that you weren’t afraid of him—or of the things he wanted to do to you if he ever got the chance.

And even after several months of officially dating you, he still stuck to his resolve, despite the unhealthy hunger growing inside him. He was adamant that you make the first move, even though the waiting was slowly killing him from the inside—his desires burning through his skin, desperate to see the light of your glossy eyes, to feel you squirming beneath him, and to hear your soft moans and whimpers, letting him know that you wanted him too.

He wanted you passionately. He didn’t desire anyone or anything else in his life. He had never thought of anyone else in such terms, which made the wait much more bearable, fun even. The occasional tension in the air only made things between you even more intriguing. Sylus wondered when the moment would come for you to finally let him explore you, taste you, just as he had wanted since the first time he held you in his arms.

He was a patient man. An inquisitive one, but patient nonetheless.

But it was just getting too much for him to handle lately.

He wondered if you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to make him go feral with want, push him into some action? Maybe you were just too shy to ask for something more, and decided to coax him to take you right then and there? Was it an act? A part of your meticulous, sneaky plan?

He felt his sanity slowly dissipating.

“Sylus? Please, hurry up and help me, we have to go!” You turned your head to look at him, your lips puckered in an adorable pout, and your feet anxiously shifting from one to the other, the sound of your beautiful black heels clicking against the floor of your apartment. The red soles didn’t go unnoticed by him.

And what didn’t go unnoticed as well was how breathtakingly gorgeous you looked, dressed in your tight black gown that accentuated the figure he was obsessed with.

However, he was a strong man. He could look at you in a dress and not get an instant boner; he wasn’t some mere beast. But when you asked for his help, he realized that life hadn’t prepared him for everything you had up your sleeve.

Because right now, you stood before him, your back turned toward him, holding your hair in your hands and exposing a zipper that you wanted him to take care of. A zipper that ran from your neck down, down, down to your red lace panties, which peeked out from beneath the unzipped black material.

He turned his head upward at the sight, his hand reaching for the bridge of his nose, a silent prayer escaping his lips. If God existed, He was not merciful this time.

He could also clearly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, the soft skin of your back exposed, slightly hidden under the material of the dress. Hadn’t he suffered enough?

He wanted to bark. Badly.

Oh fuck, was he really going to bark?

He hoped not.

“Sy?” The nickname almost made his legs buckle. He needed a moment to calm himself after just one look at you, and it seemed to take him much longer than what would be considered natural. The impatience in your voice betrayed your desire not to be late for the opera performance, which he had promised to take you to today. He gulped audibly and realized that you had no idea what you were doing to him—and that scared him.

If you were this dangerous unintentionally, how will he survive when you’ll finally, consciously decide to take things further?

“Yes. Yes, of course, sweetie.” He managed to choke out and stepped closer to you, your delectable scent overwhelming his senses. He tried to hide the slight tremble in his hands as he reached for the zipper at the bottom of your dress. When he zipped you up, he took his sweet time caressing your body with his knuckles, basking in the soft feeling of your skin and the dangerous touch of the lace of your panties. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heartbeat—or see the pink in his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had blushed, but now he was sure of it, judging by the warmth on his face.

He was hopeless. Utterly ruined.

“There you go.” He said quietly, caressing your beautiful hair with his fingers, smoothing the creases which appeared after your hold. He brushed it from your neck and planted a slow kiss there, his movements far too composed for someone who was boiling with desire inside.

“Thank you. I couldn’t reach it at all and we’re already short on time.” You put your hand on his head, patting it gently and sighing when he touched your waist. He couldn’t help but squeeze you there, feeling the warmth of your skin through the soft material of your dress. You understood this gesture as teasing and giggled adorably.

“You look magnificent, my dove.” The compliment slipped through his lips, earning him your sweet smile and a kiss on a cheek. He watched as you passed him to grab your purse, going straight to the front door, leaving him behind. Trusting he’ll follow your step, as he always did.

Sylus closed his eyes and touched the very spot on his cheek where your lips had grazed, releasing a sigh that could be interpreted as both contentment and a silent prayer for endurance.

“You coming, Sy?” He could hear you calling for him, and he opened his eyes. His left one shone brightly at him from his reflection on the window. His Evol proved useless when his body already made it abundantly clear what—or whom—he desired the most.

“I fucking wish.” He whispered under his breath, turned around, and walked up to you, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder as he reveled in the weight of your body pressing against him. His ears were graced by your little squeal, that quickly transformed into uncontrollable laughter, a sound he wanted to record and play every time you were away.

You slapped his back playfully and joked about wanting to use your legs once in a while, and he laughed, saying that he just wanted to make sure that he had all he needed with him. Then, he grabbed his coat with his Evol, and used it to slam the door after you both went out. He hoped that the lust he felt, which started to get out of his control, managed to stay behind them.

He waited for so long; how hard could it be to wait for another couple of months?

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

Hard.

Tremendously hard, both theoretically and physically, given the reaction of his body upon the contact.

He shifted slightly so that you wouldn’t feel his growing bulge against your core, his hands hovered over your thighs, his cheeks flaming hot. He was about to fucking pass out.

But you were none the wiser, sitting on his body, strangling him with your soft, mouth-watering thighs, practically rubbing yourself against him, and performing your little dance of victory after pushing him to the ground during your sparring.

Normally, he would have laughed with you and treasured your moment of happiness, his senses overwhelmed by pride as he watched you get better and better at self-defense with every practice.

But that was just cruel.

Not only did you show up in that little piece of fabric covering your breasts, something you dared to call a sports bra, its thin straps reminiscent of a fish net, offering NO support whatsoever for your charms, but you also dared to wear that pair of leggings you claimed you had bought with your friend during your last trip to the mall.

And they were leaving nothing for his imagination, your every curve hugged tightly, every dip deliciously emphasized. And fuck, you looked gorgeous in wine red. You knew you did.

“I got it in your color! Do you like it?” You asked upon entering his gym, twirling for him like the most adorable fucking thing he had ever had the pleasure of seeing, your arms up and your hair still untied. He did saw red, and it wasn’t just the color of your clothing.

His color. His girl in his color, he was going absolutely feral.

“I do.” He choked out, and tried to avert his eyes from your posture but lost that battle quickly. “You look stunning. My little gem.” He answered and you dared to look at him sheepishly, your face showing the signs of getting flustered.

“I’m not just a gem anymore. I’m a professional fighter.” You playfully punched his shoulder, jumping around and mimicking boxing moves, making him laugh out loud as he grabbed your fists in his hands. He pulled you closer to him and kissed your forehead, his arms wrapping around your frame.

“Is that an apology in advance?” You asked him when his lips left your skin. He smirked, his brow raising.

“Might be. Today we’ll be practicing attacks and knocking down your opponent.”

“Me? Knocking you down?” You looked at him with disbelief, your hands dropping to your sides, already defeated. “I’m doomed. Sylus, can’t I knock down Luke or Kieran instead?” Your cute pout and hands clasped in a begging gesture made him laugh again, as he fixed the bandages on your hands.

“And you think they would be easier to conquer?”

“Yes. Obviously, yes.”

“But they wouldn’t make sure you’re not going to hurt yourself, kitten, and I already know your patterns…” He leaned over you, his hot breath caressing your ear, making you shiver. His hands avoided touching your body. “And weak spots…” A whisper and a gentle bite on your earlobe were enough to send your adrenaline soaring.

“You—!” You jumped from him, like a little kitten, your face flustered and gaze filled with playful threat. “You’re going down mister. You’re SO going dooown.”

And down he went.

Right under your soft body, squashed between your warm tights, looking up at your beautiful lips twisted in an adorable, cunning smirk.

Oh, the way he loved you. The way he wanted to have you. The intensity of that feeling started to suffocate him.

“Okay, you got me, sweetie.” He choked out and tried his best to sound as nonchalant as possible. But nothing about this situation was nonchalant—your soft tights squeezing his waist and your butt pressing on his weak spot almost made him see stars. He grabbed your waist to try to stop your body from moving and gritted his teeth, fighting with himself to not buckle his hips up. “Now, up. I admit defeat.”

Defeat that had to do with the improvement of your skills and the force of your little fists, yes, but also with the way Sylus was distracted by your body, his eyes wandering everywhere during the battle, but not the places he should actually pay attention to.

Apparently, he was a weak, weak man, when the situation concerned you. Weak and impossibly horny.

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I want to.” You answered, a mischievous glint adored your gaze. He drank that expression in.

Beautiful. You were absolutely beautiful, sitting on him, your body sparkling with sweat, face red from the exhaustion. How could he keep his mind from going places? “I think I like you like this.” His eyebrows went up, and cheeks felt a little bit too warm for his liking.

What were you trying to say?

“Yes? Like what, kitten?” His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. He knew that you could feel it, one of your hands rested on top of it, stroking his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin through his shirt. He shivered, his body covered in goosebumps, finding the gentle touch too intense, somehow.

“Towering over you.” His breath hitched; his heart almost stopped its beating. “It’s much easier to look at your face when I’m like this. It’s nice.” His heart squeezed instead, your confession turning out to be more touching than teasing, and he cursed himself internally for belittling your interactions and intimacy lately. His mind immediately assumed sexual undertones, where everything you were doing with him, at your own, unique pace should be more than enough for him.

“You like looking at me that much, huh?” He answered, his hand going up to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers. He smiled with content, and he put his hand at the nape of your neck, hoping you’ll understand the implications.

You did. Not a second later you lowered your body so that you were lying on top of him, one of his hands holding you to himself by your waist, pressing you even closer together. He acknowledged how much he loved your full weight on his body, your hearts pressed so close to each other they started beating as one.

You put your hands on his cheeks, smiled down at him, and pressed a small kiss to one of his eyelids, and then to the tip of his nose. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling.

“Of course. You’re my beautiful boy, Sylus.” You whispered to him, a smile adoring your face and he couldn’t help himself. He pulled you close by your neck and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, almost whimpering into your mouth from the intensity of his feelings.

You reciprocated the kiss, not hesitating even for a second, and soon, both of your lips were swollen and glistening, your minds filled with sparkles and cotton.

You were the one to break the kiss, your mind going dizzy, body trembling from the arousal. He could feel it without using his Evol—the desire that raised within you, the fire that now flowed through your veins. His eyes sparkled with anticipation.

One moment and you’ll go pliant against him, melting into his embrace.

One second, and he’ll finally taste heaven, be as close to you as anyone ever has been.

“Y/N, will it be alright if I—” He started speaking, your eyes looking at him from above as you held onto his cheek and neck, caressing his skin with your thumbs, making him feel oh, so cherished. Yet, he didn’t manage to finish the request because a sudden crash from the door opening pierced through the silent room, popping your comfortable bubble in an instant.

You jumped out of his embrace, leaving him cold and yearning, his hands sliding over his face in frustration.

“Boss—”

“Luke, Kieran it better be fucking important.” Sylus hissed through his teeth, and the fact that he didn’t even try to hide his frustration made you huff out a laugh and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. You didn’t want to laugh at him so openly, hiding how adorable his anger towards boys seemed to you at that moment.

His eyes caught yours, lured by the bubbly sound, and one of the corners of his mouth went up slightly. He raised his hand to your covered mouth and brought your hand down with his fingers, revealing your smile.

“It is, Boss! The Girm Company chairman called and demanded a meeting in thirty minutes.” Luke said quickly, Kieran peeking out from behind his shoulder. “And he didn’t want to take “no” for an answer.” Kieran added, his body now revealed.

You were not sure if Sylus was even listening, his eyes glued to your face, his fingers tracing the line of your smile absentmindedly. He still didn’t raise from the floor of the ring, his posture relaxed, one arm now resting behind his head.

“That bastard.” He answered under his breath, and closed his eyes in annoyance for a second and when he opened them, they were once again glued to you. “If you don’t want me to leave, just say a word.” He said, and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. The back of his hand started a slow caress of your cheek, and you felt embarrassed, knowing that the boys were still looking at you both, waiting for Sylus’s answer.

“It’s okay, Sy. I actually have some errands to run in Linkon so I better get going.” You answered, grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to his fingers. His breath hitched, eyes following the movement with a longing deep in his chest. “Besides, I’m tired of beating your ass today. Save some dignity for the next time.” You added with a mischievous look, poking his hard chest with your finger teasingly.

The laugh that came out of his chest was sudden—loud, deep, and so sincere that it warmed your chest, your lips spreading in a proud smile. He grabbed your hand off of his chest and brought it to his lips, kissing your fingertips. The mirth in his eyes clearly visible, the affection bare and tangible.

“You are so generous, sweetie. Letting your pray off the hook so easily.” He couldn’t stop smiling even when he was raising to his feet, his hand going to massage his left shoulder. He looked at you and offered you his hand, which you immediately accepted. He helped you stand, his eyes tracing your every move, still unable to look away.

Your body entranced him, your presence lit a fire in his veins. The point where your hands touched warm and almost overwhelming. His desire for more once again proven unquenchable.

“Boys, let him know I’ll be there. It seems that I need to remind him who actually is in the position to make demands.” His voice was now authoritative, followed by the boys’ exclamations of “Will do, boss,” along with two salutes send his way.

And they were gone just as quickly as they had appeared.

“Don’t be too harsh on the chairman. I don’t want to get in the way of your business.” He saw you turn to him with a worried expression on your face, and he leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering on the spot for much longer than necessary.

“Hmm, I’m afraid that’s impossible.” He took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your knuckles, looking deep into your eyes. The sadness of you parting ways already blooming inside him. “They cut our time together short, so I’m planning on making them pay for that offense generously.” He smirked and watched you shake your head with disbelief, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I already miss you.” He heard you saying and you surprised him by throwing your arms around his neck, then kissing him almost senseless.

He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, which was starting to border on filthy. His hands grabbed your frame, pressing you closer to him, as his body bent toward you.

When you parted, your breaths were hot and heavy, a string of saliva still keeping your mouths connected. He stared at the filthy sight, his heart pounding in his chest, his boxers starting to become a rather tight fit. You placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away gently, your fingers trailing downward until they grazed his abdomen. He gulped audibly and remained still, watching you walk further and further away. He didn’t trust himself to move even an inch, afraid he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself anymore.

“Bye, Sylus. I’ll let you know when I get home safely.” You told him, walking away backwards now, your eyes not leaving his. “And we’ll continue what we started next time, okay, Boss?” The last part a whisper from your sweet lips, almost making him drop to his knees right then and there. You waved at him, shyness visible on your cheeks, and then you left him in the middle of the ring, stunned and filled with excruciating desire to finally have you.

Next time.

He groaned, his hands covering his blushing face, his mind already imagining the things he’ll do to you, only if you let him. God, he hoped that you’ll let him.

He did arrive late to the meeting that day, having to compose himself for much longer than you would have expected. He also made sure the chairman regretted keeping him away from you—your softness, your scent, an addictive drug he never wanted to be deprived of. The audacity to take that from him deserved nothing less than the highest of punishments.

He couldn’t help it; he already missed you.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

Sylus could write poems about his beloved, listing all her remarkable qualities and quirks; however, not once would he describe her as elegant and composed.

You usually were a tornado of various emotions, a temple of the things you cherished, your expressions lively and loud, honest and unrestrained.

You were also a bit clumsy—an occasional stumble, a bump to your limb now and then, or a broken glass wasn’t anything that Sylus hadn’t see you do before. He often worried about you and your safety, with new bruises appearing on your body from bumping into things or a piece of glass piercing through your delicate skin. Sometimes, he wished he could protect you from yourself too, but all he could do was press a kiss to every small injury you sustained from your hectic movements.

All bumps aside, he utterly adored that quality of yours. Every time he caught you acting awkwardly his chest seemed to shrink on itself, his heart squeezing, cute aggression overcoming his senses. You were just so adorable in those moments, the sight always reminding him of a little fawn, beautiful but uneasy on its feet. His craving to grab you and hold you in his arms, protecting you from the whole world, was strong; the urge to press a kiss to your forehead, then to kiss you senseless, even stronger. You were his little chaos: wonderful in your unexpectedness, extraordinary in every sense of the word.

Needless to say, he was used to your adorable clumsiness. He loved it.

That was probably why his brain stopped working when you proved to be everything but clumsy while playing the games at the local funfair. Your moves sure and precise, your gaze locked onto the targets, your body positioned exactly how it should be in order to gain the reward you wanted—whether it was a new plushie, a funky gadget or even some snacks.

And he had to say that this new, confident, borderline cocky behavior you were displaying was making him feel some things.

“Wait, let me try this time.” You said the first time he couldn’t score the prize, the claw mocking him relentlessly, wounding his pride.

You got that plushie in one, excellent attempt.

“Let me get that for you, Sy.” You proposed later, seeing him eyeing a figurine of a crow that reminded him of Mephisto. You were able to get not only that, but also a coupon for a food stall that served the best waffles you’ve ever eaten. As for Sylus, the sweetness of the treat paled in comparison to your blinding smile, with whipped cream still staining the corner of your mouth. He swiped it away with his thumb, then licked the digit, sending you a wink in the process.

He took pride in your blush, especially when making each other red that day started to feel like a competition between you two, whether you were aware of it or not.

“You want this one? Say no more, handsome.” Your words almost making him choke, your hands already grabbing the controls, your body bending over the machine, offering him a wonderful view of your ass. The tips of his ears immediately started to feel as if caught on fire. Even though he knew that you were teasing him, the pet name sounding foreign from your lips, he liked the feeling of you taking the initiative.

He also couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering, your body presented to him in a way that felt illegal to watch. He swiped his gaze up from the nape of your neck to your shoulders, taking note of your delicious-looking waist, perky butt, and thighs, which seemed lonely without his hands squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.

The cheerful sound of the machine made him snap back into reality, just as you were looking over your shoulder, sending him the sexiest, oh so sexy, proud smirk he ever saw in his life. He smirked right back, even though his legs felt disturbingly like jelly.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy this.” He remarked, grabbing the prize from your hands once again, the rest of your treasures already sitting comfortably in the back of his car. You send him a mischievous smile and fixed your hair, your fingers threading through the strands, the smell of your perfume reaching him once again during that night.

He wanted to devour you.

“And what’s wrong with that?” One of your hands grabbed his bicep, holding on to him as you started your lazy stroll in search of yet another entertainment. “You always get me things. And since I know now that you suck at these games, I have a perfect opportunity to return the favor.” He laughed at that, his hand moving to flick your forehead.

“I don’t suck at these games, all of them are tempered with, sweetie. I actually find it astonishing that you are so good at them.” His reply kind of soothing his wounded pride, his mind once again remembering your movements from before. The way you moved with confidence and grace, the little smirks and winks you send his way. His blood started to boil several stalls ago, and it hasn’t calmed since. “Makes one wonder about the extent of your abilities.”

The new, cocky, and self-confident side of you aroused him almost to the point of him grabbing you by the waist and taking you to his car, taking advantage of his tined widows.

“It all comes down to having a good strategy, as someone once taught me.” You said, repeating the words Sylus is always saying to you during your training, a mirth lacing your tone. How he adored you.

“Wise counseling you have here, kitten. You must have a fantastic teacher, if his lessons are proving to be useful anywhere you go.” The smile not leaving your face making him never want to look away.

“Oh, yes, he is. And an eye-candy too.” You touched his nose with the tip of your finger teasingly while he laughed. He stopped walking and turned to you fully, his arms closing around your waist, bringing you to him, close enough for your bodies to touch. The height difference always made him dizzy, with your head fully tilted upward in order to catch his gaze.

“Mm. Maybe that’s a quality he learned from you.” His tone quiet, one of his hands going to touch your cheek, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip. You appeared stunned. “I cannot think of someone sweeter than you. If he’s a candy, you’re one delectable dessert.” He whispered, his eyes going from your eyes to your lips, their reddish tone reminding him of a little cherry. He was fighting with himself not to put his hands on your ass, and squeeze the flesh that you kept pushing his way from the very beginning of your date, or not to place a kiss on your smart little mouth, which kept sending him these playful smirks all day long. He knew that if he started here, he would not be able to stop. No one would be capable of separating him from you, public place be damned.

His desire boiling inside him, threatening to melt his vessels and pour from his body, enveloping you in a tight, pleasurable embrace. He felt feverish, your body pressed to his giving him all the warmth he ever needed, molding his thoughts to fit only your frame.

You were perfect in his eyes. Your body, the perfect shape for him to hold, your face the only one he wanted to remember. And the way he felt when he was with you—so immensely happy, so carefree, so right—was a feeling he had never even dreamed about having. Your banter, little jokes and witty comments made him so at ease he never wanted to stop talking to you, afraid of depriving himself of even a second of the comfort you brought him: the knowledge that he could speak his mind freely, for you understood him beyond the limitations of language. By your side, he could be himself, the thoughts in his head quiet, giving way to expressing himself in any way he wanted. His little taste of heaven: the time you spent together.

He loved you. So intensely it used to scare him, but now he was offering himself willingly, no longer afraid of rejection. Even though you both still didn’t acknowledge it out loud, the feeling lingered in the air between you — a delectable sweetness, a comforting fragrance.

He wanted you. Body and soul. Soul and body. He liked to think he already had your soul in grasp, your actions and openness served as a perfect proof of that, yet your body was still his to claim. And the fact that there was still a part of you he didn’t manage to possess, to thoroughly acknowledge, frustrated him inconceivably.

Especially because you had that strong of an effect on him. Everything you did capable of driving him perfectly insane. Oh, how you had him wrapped around your little finger, without being aware how completely obsessed he was with you.

“Is that so?” His gaze went from your hypnotizing eyes back to your lips, drinking in every single whisper. You stood on your tiptoes, the sight making his hands squeeze your waist tighter, his breath quickening, mind trying to process closer distance. “If he keeps sweet-talking me like this, then I guess he will finally get to taste it.” You grabbed his chin and tilted it down, pressing a soft, drawn-out kiss to his lips. His eyes closed immediately, desperate to heighten his senses. He wanted this kiss to last, both in the moment and later in his memory.

And just as he was about to wrap his arms around your back, pulling you closer, hiding your body from everyone else just to steal a few more kisses, you stepped back, the quiet sound of a smooch echoing between you. He bit his lip, almost drawing blood, restraining himself from chasing after your lips.

“C’mon now. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve that I need to show you.” You gripped his hand tighter and started to walk toward one of the booths. You sent him a smile over your shoulder, making his efforts to calm his racing heart futile. “And then maybe we can grab some cotton candy? All this talk about sweets made me crave some.”

“Anything for you, sweetie.” He answered absentmindedly, your taste still lingering on his lips. How were you always able to move on from the kisses so quickly? It would be the only thing he could think about in the next minutes.

“And what do you want?”

“Hmm?” The question shocked him, his eyebrows going up, his eyes intently observing your face.

“Do you have something you’d like to do while we’re here? I keep dragging you stall to stall ever since we came here.” You said while turning to fully face him, grabbing both of his hands. “I want you to have fun too.”

“I always have fun when I’m with you.” His response honest, his thumb caressing your knuckles. “You make life so interesting. And today you already managed to surprise me, so I would say that was more than enough entertainment for me in a day.” You rolled your eyes at him, a small smile on your lips, and looked at him with patience.

“But the day’s not over yet. Isn’t there anything you’d like to do? Look around.”

He lifted his head from your frame and began taking in the booths and various food stalls that had previously escaped his attention. He hummed, and he could feel you shifting on your feet, unable to contain your excitement.

That’s when he caught something interesting out of the corner of his eye—a couple emerging from a small booth, huge smiles plastered on their faces as they held small pieces of paper. A spark of excitement ignited inside him upon realizing what it was.

“There. I want to have a memento.” He said, his finger pointing to that innocent-looking booth. Almost impossible to spot in the abundance of lights and sounds coming from other attractions.

“Okay! I think I already won you a mountain of mementos but if—Ah!” Your eyes lit up when you realized what he was pointing to, your lips spreading in a cheerful smile. “A photo booth! Sylus, that’s wonderful!”

It wasn’t long before you were both inside the booth, the space cramped, almost too small for him to fit. He sat on the small stool, taking up nearly all the space, leaving you no choice but to sit on one of his legs. Your arms wrapped around his neck for stability, yet there wasn’t a hint of discomfort on your face.

He loved how natural it was for you to be this close to him, the proximity no longer making you nervous. He still remembered how you were at the beginning of your acquaintance, when even an eye contact was enough to make you shy away. Now, touching him was as easy as breathing, your body relaxed and pliant under his wandering hands.

While you were clicking playfully on the screen, setting up the machine, he took his time observing you—mainly how your body looked next to his, which made him short-circuit, reminding him why he was still waiting for you to make the first move in initiating sexual intimacy. The reason he didn’t want to rush things, nervousness buried deep inside his chest.

You were sitting on his leg, your whole body weighting next to nothing, his one limb nearly twice as big as both of yours. Your soft flesh pressed to him didn’t even take up half of the place available on his leg, and when he put one of his hands on your back, the huge patch of your skin he was able to cover made him gulp audibly.

You were so tiny, next to him.

He was a huge man, and he knew that. Not just his height, but his overall build made even other men look small in comparison. While he usually considered it one of his greatest assets, a fantastic tool for intimidation, in this particular case, it planted a seed of worry in him.

It took some time for you not to shy away from his touch, not to flinch every time he leaned to you, his body covering whole line of your vision. And it took him even more time to learn how he should touch you and hold you, not to put too much force behind his caresses, not to make you bruise. And although the gentleness run in his bloodstream by now, he was still worried about the actual sex.

What if he scares you? His body completely covered your delicious curves without issue.

What if he overwhelms you? His stamina and eagerness matched his overall size.

What if he hurts you? The thought of your body unable to accommodate to his size made his blood run cold.

He looked at your body again, and he had to hold in a sigh. He loved your curves, the unbelievable softness of your skin, how warm you were. He felt his hunger increasing every day, every minute, every second he spent in your presence.

Yet he had to wait patiently, not wanting to scare you. He also knew that you were starting to get bolder with him day by day. He liked to think that it was just a matter of time until you will initiate something more, cover him with your soft embrace, let him melt in your warmth.

Because at the end of the day, his observations of your size difference not only filled his mind with fear, but also made his body tingle in all the right places. The arousal he felt knowing that he could manhandle you without any issue, cover your whole body entirely with his, shield you from the world and its coldness—all consuming. The only thing he could think about.

You were tiny in his embrace.

But he could make it work. He will make it work so good.

How could he hurt you when he was so certain that you were made to be his? Two halves of a perfect soul.

His hand slid down to hug your waist and he pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. It made you giggle, you thought that it was his way of showing impatience. And it was, in a way. Just not the kind of impatience you assumed it was.

“All set! I had some fun with the stickers, do you want to choose your own?” He looked at the screen and opened his mouth to deny, but one sticker did actually catch his attention. He clicked on the small dove and placed it in the bottom of the template, next to the various hearts you already decorated it with.

“That’s you. The resemblance is almost striking.” He said making you laugh and you picked a sticker of some kind of a black bird.

“And that’s you. They unfortunately don’t have a crow one so this little fella has to work.” You placed the sticker close to the dove one, satisfied with your work.

“I get the vision. When I’m squinting my eyes, I guess.”

You had four pictures taken, all accompanied by laughter and endless teasing. One where you kissed his cheek, one hand holding his jaw, his eyes closed and features relaxed. One where he pretended to bite your neck, your face caught in laughter. One where he rolled his eyes, reacting to your lame joke of getting rabies from his bite, as you placed your pointed fingers above his head, adoring him with imaginary horns, your mouth open in fake shock. And the last one, where you grabbed his face and kissed him, his gentle smile pressed against your mouth, a picture of joy that couldn’t be restrained.

“I might have gone kind of overboard with the stickers.” You said when you got your two copies of the pictures, four perfect rectangles inside a scarlet border, adorned with hearts, flowers and stars. Two adorable birds were at the very bottom of it, just below the date. Sylus looked at the pictures, and his heart seemed to grow bigger, the wave of emotions making him unable to utter even a simple word. “But I think they’re cute regardless! It’s so nice to finally have a picture of us printed out. I’m definitely going to frame mine.” You said and took out your phone to take a picture of it.

His thumb gently caressed the piece of paper, words still stuck in his throat.

It was the very first picture of you two together, and when he looked at it, he couldn’t help but get emotional, knowing that he never expected to have someone like you in his life. Someone to cherish, to protect, to hold. Someone who reciprocated his feelings, someone who will never leave him, even if doomsday falls upon Linkon, even if the world crumbles.

“Are you okay, Sy? You’ve gone nonverbal again.” He felt your hand on his wrist, offering him a gentle squeeze. He finally looked at you, going out of the trace he was in, and saw your beautiful face laced with concern. He felt your hand going up and down his arm, caressing him in order to bring comfort.

“Did I?” He managed to choke out and hugged you to his chest, craving the closeness, not wanting you to see his slightly glistening eyes. He feared that the darkness of the night would not be enough to cover them, the lights from the fun fair only exaggerating his sudden surge of emotions. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” You hugged his torso tightly, your arms going up and down his back. You knew him well enough to realize he got emotional, but you were smart enough to let him savor his feelings in peace. If he was not comfortable showing you his tears, you had to understand it—the knowledge of how much it meant to him already warming your heart.

“Anything for you, Sylus.” You repeated the same thing he said to you earlier, and he picked you up, still hugging you to himself, his face finding coverage in the crook of your neck.

“Sly little thing.” He whispered and pressed a kiss there, drinking in the sound of your laugh and melting under the touch of your fingers, which stroked his hair affectionately.

Oh, how he couldn’t wait to finally be yours completely.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

Mesmerizing.

You, dancing in his room at two p.m to the new vinyl he bought, your hair down, arms up. Your eyes were closed and there was a small, relaxed smile playing on your lips, that seemed to grow bigger with each sway of your hips. You decided to wear the nightgown he got you some time ago, white lace caressing your body with a gentle flow of the shiny fabric.

He couldn’t breathe. All air sucked out of his lungs the moment he turned around and saw you swaying to the music he picked out. A surge of want so intense came over him that he was afraid to move even an inch—his body on fire, his mind filled with the visions of you, thoughts of you, and what you could be reduced to, enriched with under the touch of his hands.

If only he wasn’t a coward.

“Will you join me?” you said over your shoulder, opening your eyes slightly, and you must’ve seen something unusual in his eyes, because your movements slowed down and a furrow appeared between your brows. He wanted to kiss it off instantly. “Sy?”

You were so precious and delicate, a perfect opposite of his harsh exterior and even more barbaric interior. He waited so long, restrained himself for so much time, waiting for you to move first—now, standing before you, the thought that you wanted him this way too pierced a hole in his heart and filled it with fear.

“Forgive me. I cannot.” he answered, his voice coming out with a slight growl, that he couldn’t contain anymore. He inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth, hoping that he was at least successful in not making his eye glow, his Evol suddenly unstable. He didn’t want to know your desires, not when they were visible so clearly on your face now—openness and anticipation, ever since you went back from your date.

He hoped that shower would be able to calm you down, even though the warm and steady stream of the water didn’t manage to help him this time around.

He was losing his composure and he was losing it fast. Weeks of this insatiable hunger, unrelenting need and dripping tension did that to him. He knew he was fighting a losing battle ever since he laid his eyes on you today, looking so cozy in your oversized sweater, filling the air around him with your intoxicating scent.

He was ready to devour you months ago, the buildup straining his muscles now, making him restless. He was a goner—one wrong move and his previous patience and willingness for you to take the lead reducing to vapor.

“Why? We always dance together to your vinyls, especially the new ones.” Your movements faltered to a stop, your magnificent face turned to him, with an expression so honest it made his heart clench painfully.

He thought of all the times you danced under the moonlight, soft notes of his favorite music floating through the air, your bodies moving to the rhythm, sometimes gracefully, some other times not so much. The feelings overwhelmed him even more drastically, his eyes closing for a moment.

It was enough time for you to close the distance, and soon he felt your cold hand pressing against his cheek, swiping the flesh with your thumb. He squeezed his eyelids shut tighter, the touch making his soul burn. You took his head in both of your hands, lowering it to face you.

“Sylus, talk to me.” you said, tone worried. He could feel you standing on your tiptoes, wanting to bring your face closer to his. His body almost shaking with the need to hold you. “You’re acting very unusual today. Is something wrong?” He exhaled the air he didn’t know he was holding and opened his eyes. Your face was so close that he could see the shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. He could feel your breath, warm and inviting.

“I can’t touch you now,” he managed to utter, his hands at his sides, struck in cruel stillness. He locked his eyes with yours, filled with worry and a comforting gentleness. You were always so gentle with him; it made him go insane. “Because if I do, I won’t be able to hold back anymore.”

He saw the realization in the shift of your features as you fully grasped the meaning of his words. To his surprise, you took one of his hands in yours, and placed it on your cleavage, right over your beating heart, the rhythm beneath his palm fast but steady.

“Then don’t. Why would you even want to hold back with me?” You answered, slightly breathless, a pleasurable tingling already setting deeply in your abdomen. You looked at his face, the redness of his cheeks nearly matching the color of his eyes, the look he gave you so desperate it turned your legs to cotton.

The sudden burst of happiness in your chest almost made you tremble, you had waited so long for him to finally claim you as his, and it seemed he had finally reached his limit.

“I don’t—” He stumbled upon his words; a reaction so different from his usual self-confident demeanor it made you crave to uncover more versions of him. All versions of him, every single one he was willing to show you. “I can’t help but fear that I will hurt you. You are so soft, so breakable, it makes me nervous. Aren’t you scared of me? Of—Of what I could do, to you?” The confession slipping out of him, and he grabbed your wrist in one hand, the other coming to rest on your back. He slowly brought you to him, pressing your bodies together. He heard your breath falter, and drank that sound in. Then don’t — you had no idea what a hurricane you managed to stir inside him with just two simple words.

“Sy. My sweet, caring gentleman.” He heard your answer, and felt your fingers caressing his under eyes gently, your eyes never leaving his. One of your fingers touched the wrinkle between his brows, smoothing the furrowed surface. “You could never hurt me, even if you wanted to. You’re so fixated on the knowledge what you can do, that you’re forgetting that you’ve never even touched me hard enough to leave a bruise. No matter how much I wanted you to, sometimes.”

“You—”

“I’m not scared of you, Sylus. I could never, and I will never be scared of you. You’re the one with whom I feel the safest.” His hands started trembling, his patience thinning with every beautiful word from your lips. You were telling him things he didn’t even know how desperately he wanted to hear. “And I want you. I want to finally feel you, all your roughness and sharp edges. I want all of it.” The sound of your breathing mingled with the soft tunes of the vinyl. The air thick with want.

Any second now, he could feel it in the shiver down his spine.

“And I want it now.”

Snap.

His resolve shattered as he pulled you into him, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep and desperate it left your legs trembling. He kissed you with raw intensity, his tongue exploring your mouth, drinking in every sound you made as his hands roamed your body, claiming every inch he could reach.

You felt him everywhere. Your thighs, hips, waist, your neck, hair and breasts—he seemed to touch everything he was depriving himself of before. His hands huge, and although slightly rushed and trembling, still surprisingly gentle.

He lifted you up, your legs straining his waist and he laid you down on his bed, not breaking the kiss for even a second, your breath his breath, your lips water to quench his thirst.

His head was spinning, and when he finally opened his eyes the sight before him alone made him lose his mind.

You were sprawled under him, your hair a wild mess, your lips swollen from the abundance of his kisses. Your eyes glistened, the look in them so full of trust and love, love so visible it nearly broke him in half.

“You’re exquisite. Irresistible. Ethereal.” The praises slipped out of his tongue before he could stop them. The last bit of control fleeting with the touch of your impatient fingers, unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off of him in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t even find it in himself to tease you for your impatience, not when his brain already turned into mush after touching your bare skin. “You look as if you’re coated in frosting. My sweet girl, my most delectable little sin.” His eyes focused on your white dress; his hands not brave enough to let it slip off of you yet. He already feared the man he would become upon seeing you fully bared before him.

“Sylus—”

“It’s unholy. How much I want you.” His lips traced a path from beneath your ear down to your neck, finding their place on your collarbones. “How much I need you. The greed unexplainable, insatiable no matter how close I get to you. It’s not enough. It will never be enough.” His eyes met yours in a silent question and you nodded quickly in permission, gulping audibly, your eyes drooping. He let his hands travel up your legs, grazing your inner thighs, swiping through your hips, his palms tracing the lace of your panties, making the hair on his body raise. He then swiped through your waist and finally, finally his hands rested on your breasts, where you wanted them from the very beginning.

His breath hitched as he looked down your body, noticing how his touch had already lifted the fabric of your dress, baring your legs and stomach. His body shielded you from the chill in the air.

He squeezed your breasts gently, fondling them in his hands, a low groan escaping his lips—the same ones which couldn’t resist kissing your belly, anywhere he could reach, not even thinking about stopping his sensual kneading. It baffled him, how soft you were, how pliant under his touch. His hands, although taking so much of the space on your body didn’t seem to make you nervous at all—every single one of his touches you accepted with soft sights, low whines and a bitten lip. You trusted him, and he was drunk on that trust, wanted more, needed to see how far it could take him.

It quickly appeared that there was no limit to the things he could do to you, your whispers not only appreciative, but also encouraging. The uncontrollable thrusts of his hips against the duvet bordered on painful, the knowledge that he would have you in mere minutes making him unbearably hard. But he accepted the friction, your comfort mattered to him the most, and he wanted to take care of you properly.

“Sylus. Sylus, more, please.” He heard your silent plea, and caught your eyes in his, and that’s when he decided it was a time for you to drop the dress. He helped you out of it then licked the goosebumps forming between your breasts, each tiny dot on your skin making him awfully aware that this was it. Your beautiful form, completely bare, just for him to see, to worship.

“My little gem.” He breathed out, his eyes drinking in your body, committing to his memory every dip and curve. “My treasure.” He nearly growled, his mouth attached to your breast, licking and sucking on your nipple, moaning in the process. He wanted to devour you whole, to not leave a patch of skin untouched by his mouth. He thrived in the way you took hold of his head, your hands messing up his hair, caressing it when his tongue worshipped your breasts and nipples, drowning in their softness. He found his safe place.

“Oh God I—I feel like I’m floating, please don’t stop.” He heard you breathe out, your chest heaving, your legs closing in an attempt to relieve the tension building inside you. “You’re so good. So, so, so good, Sy.” He released one of your nipples with a pop, and stored the visual of your skin glistening with his saliva for later. He basked in your praise and pushed himself down, knowing exactly what he wanted to do next.

“Yes? You want it, kitten? Say you do. Please. I need you to say it.” His voice groggy, laced with yearning so tangible it made your body shiver.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Please, Sy. I waited so long for you.” Your words made his head spin, a smile spreading on his lips not flirtatious at all, just pure joy and contentment. He kissed your stomach and his hands once again swiped through your whole body. He raised on his forearms and caged your head between his arms, and then pressed a long, deep kiss on your mouth which quickly turned into another wave of heavy kisses. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

He was ravenous.

“I need to prepare you first, sweetie.” He said to your mouth, his words immediately swallowed by your perfect lips. You whimpered and his grip on your arm tightened involuntarily, his hand playing with your hair. “I need to take my time with you, otherwise I won’t be able to fit. You’re so tiny it scares me.” You nodded into the kiss and he smiled at you gently, and after pressing a kiss to your forehead, he went down.

And when he finally widened your legs, his mouth was on you instantly, making you moan, your legs clasping on his head reflexively. He grunted into your core, licking and sucking skillfully, guided entirely by pure need and his own instincts.

“You taste so sweet.” It wasn’t long before your legs were trembling and his fingers joined his mouth in an attempt to open you up a little more, to prepare you for what’s to come. “You’re dripping because of me.” He chuckled softly but deeply, chest filled with pride, and he licked your core once again, sucking at the sensitive bud. What he didn’t expect was when he managed to fit one finger inside you, angling it upwards, your back suddenly raised from the bed, hands reaching to his chest, delicately pushing him away. A drowned-out cry escaped your lips, the wetness between your tights increased, your plushy walls fluttered around his finger.

He made you come, and he instantly got addicted to it.

“Yes. Yes. Just like that, beautiful—Fuck.” With a swear word on his lips he wasted no time in slurping up your spent, his fingers from one, going up to two, then three. And when the only thing he could hear were your moans and whimpers, the taste of you imprinted on his tongue, the slide of his fingers smooth and slick—he realized that you were ready for him.

He slowly withdrew from your pussy, pressing one last lingering kiss to your clit. As his fingers slipped out of you, he finally let himself to catch more than a glimpse of your face.

And it shattered him, how utterly ruined you looked. All flushed and heaving, skin glistening with sweat, eyes shining, filled with unshed tears.

He did that to you, and he couldn’t be more proud of himself. He licked his fingers clean, savoring your taste, then he pulled you into an embrace, his arms wrapping around your whole body. Your head dropped on his bicep; your breath labored.

“You okay, kitten?” He asked gently, ignoring his painful erection, still stranded in the stiff fabric of his pants. His head pressed to your neck, and he inhaled the scent, licking off the droplets of sweat in the process. He couldn’t get enough.

“Yes. More than okay.” You answered, and he felt your hand wandering, trying to unbuckle his belt. His chest squeezed. “Need you now. Please, Sylus…”

“You don’t have to beg. I’ll gladly give you my everything. All of me.” His hands left your body for a moment, swiftly taking off his pants, his mouth now kissing your cheeks and nose.

“I want to taste you, too.” You whispered to him shyly, and he grunted, closing his eyes, begging every deity to give him more patience. How he would love for your little mouth to envelop him, but he knew that the sight alone would be enough to make him undone.

“Next time, okay, sweetie? I cannot wait to be inside you.” You giggled and nodded, pressing a kiss to his nose, stroking his hair gently.

He shivered and hissed when he took off his underwear, letting himself out in the open. He was so hard it hurt, his hand going up and down his erection in an attempt to reduce the tension, even though he knew that the only one who could truly satisfy him was you.

“Oh my god.” He heard your gasp, and noticed that you were looking at him, his body fully exposed, his cock heavy in his hand. “Sylus— Sy, it won’t fit. There’s no way that—” He silenced you with a kiss, and swiped his hand through your core, gathering the slick and spreading it on his member. The smooth glide felt so good he lost himself in the feeling for a second, his tongue licking into your mouth, swallowing your gasps.

“Shhh, I made sure to prepare you as well as I could. And I won’t hurt you, you said so yourself.” He said the last sentence into your lips, once again pressing a long kiss there. Then he kissed your cheek, and breathed hard against your neck, his one hand wrapped around your waist, holding you closer to him, and the other stroked his cock, guiding it to your entrance. When the tip touched you, he gritted his teeth and you gasped, the first contact electric. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers playing nervously with the hair at his nape.

He breathed heavily; the tip of his cock aligned perfectly with your entrance. “You can take it; you were made for me. I will make it fit.” He let go of your waist and grabbed one of your hands in his, kissing your knuckles and smiling gently at you, the anticipation making his body shake. “Just relax for me, will you? Can you do that, kitten?” You nodded and exhaled slowly, some tension getting out of your body. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead and intertwined your fingers with his.

“Close your eyes. I want you to feel me.”

“No. I need to see you, Sy. Don’t make me look away.” He chuckled and pressed his forehead against yours in a silent acceptance. He never wanted to take his eyes away from you too, your desires matching perfectly.

You were his soulmate, after all.

He pressed his erection to your opening and started to slip in, gently, unhurriedly, despite the desire to take you in one thrust of his hips. You opened your mouth in a painful moan, squeezing his hand, panic visible in your eyes. He hated that he was bringing you pain, but knew that it was inevitable, he saw how wide he was stretching you out. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Easy. You’re doing so good…” He breathed out, his hand leaving his cock to hold your hip, the other going up and down your body in a comforting caress. “Taking me so well...” His voice hoarse, sweat dripping from his forehead from the strain of keeping himself under control. He managed to put the tip in, your pussy squeezing him, your heat making him shiver, the sensation the most pleasurable he ever felt. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm himself down.

“It hurts, it really—it really hurts.” You whispered and he grunted, feeling you squeeze him harder, his length sliding into you deeper. He opened his eyes and lowered his body to get closer to your face, and placed a kiss between your eyebrows.

“I know, love. If you want to me stop—” He couldn’t recognize his voice anymore.

“No. Never. Please.” You kissed his brow, and send him a small smile. “I—I can take it. I was made for you, yeah?”

He huffed out a laugh, a whimper finding a way out at the same time.

“You were. Mmhm. Good.” He slipped in further, his mouth opening wider. “Good girl. Just a little more.” And before he managed to stop the shivering of his body, he burrowed himself in your tight heat almost to the brim. You were not able to take all of him in yet, but it was nearly a perfect fit, the sight of you wrapped around him made him see red, a low moan slipping out of him, your whimpers the most magnificent tune he ever heard.

“I’m going to move now.” He said and you moaned, your head nodding frantically.

He started thrusting inside you, and he felt as if fireworks exploded inside him, the desire burning brightly, need finally calming down, his mind completely at ease. Your moans, whimpers, cute little “ah,ah,ah’s” making his whole body shiver, a smile finding its way onto his swollen lips. You felt so good below him, your warmth enveloping him fully, and he started to question if he truly was worthy of such a blessing.

He didn’t care anymore. He had you, you wanted him and that was all that mattered now.

“You’re so. fucking. tight. God.” He started moving faster to the accompaniment of your small encouragements, his hand holding onto yours. And when your legs wrapped around his hips, bringing him closer to you, he was gone.

He grabbed your waist and lifted up your butt, the pace and force of his thrusts intensifying, his grunts leaving his mouth freely, silent praises slipping from his lips every now and then. He couldn’t stop now. Didn’t want to stop.

“I want—I want to stay inside you forever. I feel—Ah—Mm—like I’m melting.” He moaned and you felt his mouth on your body, kissing every patch of skin he was able to reach. You kept breathing out soft, quiet moans, tears filling your vision. “So cute.”

You felt so good, the stretch now pleasurable, your body accepting him fully, every thrust welcome, each one anticipated.

And he could see that so clearly on your face, his mind calming, knowing that he was able to bring you pleasure. It made him feel better too, your lovely expressions making his blood pump faster, his hips thrust deeper, just to see and hear more tokens of your delight. He was addicted to you and your reactions, to the way you sang his name, the way your skin tasted and eyes glistened every time he managed to catch eye contact.

Time quickly went by when you were losing yourselves in each other. The positions changed constantly, Sylus looking for and finding new ways to tip you over the edge, making sure you were completely satisfied. You encouraged him to leave some marks on you, and you made sure to repay the sentiment, scratching his back with your nails, and pressing hickies on his chest—he already wished for the marks to stay there forever, and you assured him that you’ll stay instead, making him jump on you once again, burying his head in your shoulder.

“Say my name, kitten. Keep—Keep saying my name.” He grunted, his hips unrelenting, your bodies soaked, your own so tired that he had to hold it in his arm for you to not slip off the bed. He kept thrusting inside you from behind, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your neck and shoulder, his movements deep and sensual, pleasure overwhelming. You granted his wish, your voice hoarse and quiet.

You were going at it for hours now, yet he still hasn’t come.

Not because he couldn’t, but because every time he was close, he was slipping out of you, his eyes squeezing shut, a hand gripping himself at the base.

He didn’t want the night to end, refused to let you go, savored the feeling of being buried deep inside you, not knowing where you ended and he began.

“Sy—Mmm—Sylus—Ah.” The words failed you, your mind filled only with pleasure and thoughts of him. You were so tired and yet he made you feel so good you wanted to stay in his arms forever. “The—Ah—The sun is rising.”

He nuzzled into your cheek, his thrusts slowing down, quiet grunts leaving his lips. He sounded wrecked.

“I know, love. You look so wonderful in this light.” He kissed your cheek and glued himself off of you, leaving your body cold and shivering. In the next second, he manhandled you onto your back again, facing him. Your hands immediately flew to cover your face, fearing how completely ruined you must have looked after so much time making love and so many orgasms ripped out of you.

“No—Mmh—Don’t hide yourself from me.” He grunted, and took your hands in his gently, revealing the beautiful mess he managed to make of you. Your face covered in tears, cheeks flushed and lips so swollen it only made him want to kiss them some more. So he did. “Never hide yourself from me, dove. Hold me.” He kissed the palms of your hands and put them on his neck, your arms going to hold him closer. He huffed out a weak laugh, his thrusts not stopping even for a second. You felt his huge hands caressing your thighs and you moaned softly. “God, I’m sorry, kitten, I just can’t stop—I—”

“It’s okay, S—Sylus. Ah—I won’t run away.” You pulled his head closer and kissed his lips softly. His hands encircled your waist, drawing your body closer to him, the hair on his forehead brushing against your chest. Your eyes met his and he seemed to calm slightly, your gaze soothing the flame inside him.

“I love you. I—” You suddenly confessed, a single tear slipping down your cheek. His breath faltered, ruby eyes widening, your words shaking his world completely. “I love you, Sylus. So much. I love you so intensely it scares me, I—Ah—” A moan was ripped from you when he suddenly picked up the pace, the sweat from his forehead landing between your breasts. Another happy tear slipped from your eye, and if you had enough energy to keep your eyes open, you’d see that he was teary-eyed too. His hands grabbed your head, turning it up so he could look straight into your eyes—his own burning with desire and unspoken devotion. He needed to hear you say the words once more, but before he could start pleading for it, you managed to read his mind.

“I love you, Sylus.”

And those words were what finally made him shatter.

He came, so violently he nearly blacked out, his whole body trembling, and movements faltering, his cock buried inside you the deepest he could go. He released grunt after grunt, his arms holding you tight to him, your soft sighs only seemed to prolong his fall. He nuzzled his face up against your neck, then cheek, his lips touching your skin, unable to press more kisses due to the uncontrollable moans coming out of his mouth.

“F-Fuck—” He managed to choke out and you tried to calm your heavy breathing, focused on his cum filling you up, so much that you could already feel it spilling out. You whined and brought your hands to his waist, holding him close, and you came one last time too, your pussy squeezing him even tighter, ripping a short cry out of him. Goosebumps spread around your body from the pleasure and you went pliant in his arms, letting your sore muscles finally rest against the soft sheets.

Sylus relaxed a few moments later, his sweaty body collapsing on top of you, mindful not to put his full weight on you. His hot, heavy breath still warmed your neck, your hearts beating rapidly against each other, showing no signs of calming anytime soon. He managed to turn onto his side, his arms still wrapped around you, taking your body with him.

You were held in a wet, yet warm embrace, his arms protecting you from the cold morning air, your bodies still connected. The silence that ascended upon you comfortable and desired after so much time of intense workout—both throats roughed up and in need of hydration.

“Sylus, I—” You started saying, your voice a rough whisper, your head raising to meet his gaze, surprised that his crimson eyes were already studying you. He put one of his hands on the back of your head, his fingers playing with your hair ever so gently.

His gaze so intense you started to turn your head away, but he gently brought it back to him. He didn’t have to open his mouth for you to understand what he was feeling—the emotion in his eyes unmistakable.

“I love you, too.” He breathed out, his hand going up to your cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers. His hand was cold and served as a delightful compress for your burning face. “I love you more than any words could ever express.”

He reminded you of a statue under this warm, morning light, his body perfectly sculpted. The only source of color were his cheeks, blaring red, nearly matching the color of his sparkling eyes. His wet hair still bearing the paths carved by your fingers, his lips kissed and twitching, fighting off a smile, which threatened to form when he realized how intensely you were observing him.

“My home is your home, my heart is your heart. Every breath I’ve been taking ever since I met you had already been yours — the day you tell me to cease, I will gladly do so.” He continued, his breath slowly calming down, one of your hands going to stroke his chest.

“I will never tell you to cease, you little dramatic fool.” You answered playfully, blinking away your tears, your hand going to rest on his warm cheek, his face immediately nuzzling into your palm. “If anything, I would curse you to live forever. Soundly and happily, by my side.” A soft laugh came out of his lips; a start of a smile that overtook his entire face, lightening up his features, showing off his small sharp canines.

“By your side...” He repeated, his voice possessing a dream-like quality, a smirk still visible. He swiped his hand over your body: from your shoulder, through your waist, down to your hip, and then back up. His touch soothing as always. “A curse has never sounded so sweet, my little dove.” He closed his eyes, and a sigh escaped his lips. The happiness spread through his body so intensely, that he thought he was going to burst.

Live forever, by your side. There was no other place in the entire universe where he would rather be.

He felt you squirming, a crease appearing between your brows, your hand squeezing his bicep. He hissed, feeling you squeeze him down there too, his cock still buried deep inside you, your plush walls a place he never wanted to leave. However, he knew that after so much time and so many orgasms you needed a break, your body sensitive and in need of extensive pampering. Good thing he adored spoiling you with affection.

“I’m going to pull out now, okay sweetheart?” You nodded your head, a small smile on your lips. You were just too adorable. “And then I’ll put you in a warm bath, order your favorite meal and change the sheets. Any objections?”

“None at all.” He switched your position so that he was once again on top of you, and he gently pulled out, a grunt leaving his lips at the loss of the comfortable fit. You whimpered when his cum started flowing out of you freely, and he couldn’t look away, the sight making the desire in him burn once more. He stopped himself before he started showing the cum back inside you. “Will you join me in the bath too?” He looked at your face, covered in the warm sunlight, the sight making him breathless.

“I would love to, if that’s what you want.” He hugged you to himself one more time, his body covering yours completely, his face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. He grazed the delicate skin with his teeth, then pressed his lips to your pulse, his tongue picking out to lick at your salty skin. “I love you.” He whispered into your neck, basking in the feeling of your heartbeat beneath his lips. “I love you, Y/N. Thank you for showing me what love feels like. Thank you for accepting me.” His breath started going out labored, the intensity of the emotion too big for his body.

“Thank you, for letting me love you. You are the best thing that happened to me, Sylus. I hope you know that.” Your kiss to his temple and your hands caressing his back felt like a blessing, your bodies connected in a soul-crushing hug his own private oasis. Never in his life had he experienced such a moment of total tranquility; only you were capable of bringing him peace.

He never wanted to let you go, and he didn’t have to. No other thought filled him with so much joy. You were his, just as much as he was yours. An ideal exchange of souls.

“I do.” He breathed out, and looked into your loving eyes once again. You smiled at him, and he felt his breath being punched out of him, his ruby eyes fluttering. He shook his head and reciprocated the smile, which quickly turned into a full laugh, your bodies shaking, hearts beating in unison. “I truly do.”

Your lips found his in a kiss that tasted like a promise—of a hand to hold, body to warm up to, and a heart that beat for one another. In every life, every universe, and in every space and time—now, and forevermore.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡ bonus! ˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

“So, which one finally did it?” You asked him nonchalantly, when you were both freshly washed up, lying on the new, pleasurably chilly sheets, basking in the afternoon sunlight. Too exhausted to raise, too happy to fall asleep after the whole night of making love.

His head on your chest stirred slightly, a confusion slowly overtaking his features.

“Hmm?” He opened his eyes, but he didn’t find it in himself to raise. His arms holding your body close to his, tightening their hold, a signal he hoped would make you continue the caress of his back with your fingers.

Your skin bared a fragrance of his soap and his skin, and he felt drunk ever since he noticed it.

“The workout outfit a size too small? Or those jeans at the funfair?” You continued, and his mind started to connect the dots. His eyes widened. “I knew that I would be sticking my ass out a lot that day so I made sure they were extra tight.” He heard you giggle and raised his head immediately, his gaze falling on yours.

“You—”

“What? You were making me wait forever! And don’t get me wrong…” You cupped his cheek, and he was rendered speechless. The whole time he was fighting for his sanity, trying to wait for you, restraining himself from taking you on the nearest piece of furniture — You were riling him up on purpose? “I love that you are a gentleman, and the princess treatment is really nice too, but I just couldn’t wait to have you ravish me, you know? Your girl has needs.”

He was going completely insane. He let out a hearty laugh, and shook his head in disbelief. It seemed that he underestimated you again, forgot that your desires and needs matched his almost perfectly.

And he should’ve known that the workout clothes were a bit too revealing for your liking. Fuck, he should’ve known.

“And it seems my girl is a sly little vixen.” His voice laced with humor, a smile still visible, head impossibly light. He hummed, and kissed a smile off of your plump lips, then your neck, shoulders and chest. You started trembling, and the smile he sent you this time made him look as if he was a wolf studying his pray. You gulped audibly. “Well then, if you decided to manipulate me, then I think you are ready to suffer the consequences.” His kisses reached your breasts, and he took one perky nipple into his mouth, sucking passionately. His other hand grabbed at the other boob, kneading the flesh languidly.

“But it’s already bright outside, shouldn’t we—” A press of his finger on your lips hushed you, and his eyes met yours, his lips still circled around your delicate nipple. With a snap of his fingers the curtains covered the windows, cutting of the only source of light. Darkness enveloped you, making the press of his body on yours even more intimate. Your body was still on fire after the hours of tangling in sheets, every part of you sensitive and tingling under his skilled hands.

“Ah, ah. You’re trembling. Why is that, I wonder?” You heard his voice closer to your ear, and when your eyes got used to the darkness, you saw his eyes filled with mirth and something primal. His hands went slowly up your tights, their destination obvious. “I had no idea that my kitten was that starved. Now I can’t possibly leave her unsatisfied, can I?”

You felt his hands touch your warmest spot, and you let fireworks overtake you once more, your spine twisting to get closer to him. He tasted the skin on your chest again, and went down with his kisses, leaving a happy, wet trial in its wake. He raised suddenly, kissing you on the lips.

“And what about the zipper?” He asked absentmindedly into your lips, remembering the situation that nearly made him lose his mind couple of weeks ago.

“What zipper?” Your confusion truthful, your squeal loud when he suddenly plopped motionless on top of you, a sigh of exasperation leaving his mouth.

It seems that loving you was the beginning of his end, after all.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

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