#something that was simple and related to like. his hair or something.

[aventurineswife]

im under the assumption that requests are open, so uhmmmm

ahem-

can i request Aventurine giving Reader a hug or whatever physical affection, and Reader starts crying because of that? (Reader is crying because it's been a long time since they were last touched/held, and the thought of someone wanting to touch/hold them is very scary. even the sensation behind being touched/held is almost overstimulating, despite how badly they want to be held)

i know my request is, uh, oddly specific ?? hope that's ok with you tho 🧍‍♂️ im one of the few dorks out there that is so touch-starved that i cry when it happens lol,,, it's not that i hate touch, my brain just can't register it.

“If you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did”

Summary: After a long time without any physical affection, you’re overwhelmed when Aventurine gives you a comforting hug. The sensation is almost too much, and you break down, finally allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Aventurine reassures you with gentle words and a steady presence, letting you know he’s there for you whenever you need.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Emotional Vulnerability, Reassurance, Established Relationship.

Warnings: Emotional Overwhelm, Touch Starvation, Reader Crying.

A/N: Don’t worry, Rose! My requests are open, so feel free to drop yours whenever you like! ;) And don’t worry, your requests aren’t weird or anything—actually, they’re cute and wholesome. 🤧🥺 I can also relate to the touch-starved feeling, though I’m uncomfortable with people touching me without consent (trauma). I’d be fine with holding hands or arms, though. :') Hope you enjoy this! And remember, you're valid! 💖🌹🫂 *Sending virtual hugs <33*

Sorry this uh rushed and I didn't edit it properly and got to your request late :')

The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of the city outside. Aventurine led you in, his gentle hand resting on your back. You felt your pulse race as he guided you to sit on the sofa, his easy confidence steadying you as you took a shaky breath. Tonight, he’d traded his playful banter for a quieter presence. His usual grin softened, and his eyes were filled with something far more tender.

You sat beside him, hands twisting nervously in your lap, feeling that comforting warmth radiating off him. Despite how close he was, you couldn’t shake the distance you felt from it, as if an invisible wall held you back. It was as though you were tethered to a feeling you couldn’t escape—something that had kept you from letting anyone close for so long.

“Are you alright?” Aventurine’s voice was low and gentle, his words laced with concern. He reached out, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture simple, yet it felt like a landslide of emotion.

And then, without another word, he drew you into his arms, pulling you close against his chest. The sudden warmth, his touch, the feeling of his heart beating steadily—it was too much. A wave of sensation hit you, so foreign yet so needed, and before you could stop yourself, tears blurred your vision.

You hadn’t been held like this in so long, hadn’t felt this kind of closeness. It scared you, left you trembling in his embrace as the ache in your chest spilled over into silent sobs. Every part of you was screaming that this was wrong, that you couldn’t trust it, that you shouldn’t let yourself need it so badly. Yet Aventurine held you tightly, his presence unwavering, silently urging you to let go.

“Hey… you’re safe here,” he whispered, a hand rubbing slow circles along your back. “I’ve got you.”

You felt his hand press against your back, steady and comforting, grounding you with each small touch. His other hand cupped the back of your head, cradling you as though you were the most fragile thing in the world. His words, low and close to your ear, were soft promises that left no room for doubt.

The tears came harder, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling the fabric of his coat against your cheek. You clung to him, fingers clutching the back of his shirt as though he might disappear if you let go. Every part of you felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that was terrifying, yet liberating.

“I’m sorry...” you managed, voice muffled against him.

“For what?” He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes, usually playful and glinting with mischief, were filled with nothing but understanding and warmth. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

Your words choked up, and you simply shook your head, a fresh wave of tears welling up. You couldn’t explain it; it was too raw, too deeply ingrained in every wall you’d ever built around yourself. But Aventurine seemed to understand. He stayed, hands gently brushing up and down your back, thumb tracing soothing circles along your shoulder.

And in that moment, for the first time in ages, you felt safe. The warmth, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the quiet strength in his hold—it reminded you that maybe it was okay to let yourself be held, to be cared for, even if it was overwhelming. His hand found yours, fingers entwining, grounding you in the here and now.

“Whenever you need this,” he murmured, his voice steady and filled with reassurance, “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise lingered in the quiet, like a lifeline you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for. You let yourself lean into him, allowing the tears to finally fall as he held you, the world slipping away until it was just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, safety, and an unspoken promise of more moments like this—of a love that was patient enough to wait.

This is so Aventurine 😪💛

[dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd]

Graven Hearts

After being unofficially banished from the Mourn Watch, rebellious Lisbette must recruit one of her former professors, Emmrich Volkarin, to help her defeat two ancient Elvhen gods. Hurt that her favourite professor never stood up for her when she needed him, Lisbette takes delight in provoking the handsome, silver-haired necromancer, perhaps enjoying herself a little too much.

Female Rook | Age Difference | Daddy vibes | low key bratting | Hurt/Comfort | Eventual Smut

Start with Chapter One

Chapter Two

Lisbette can’t sleep that night. She tosses and turns for a long time, before finally sitting up and glaring at the wall. Emmrich Volkarin is just through that wall, no doubt sleeping soundly. He probably wears striped pajamas and one of those long, tapering night caps over his perfect silver hair. 

Her lips twitch as she imagines it. What would he look like if she went in there and got into bed with him? Scandalised, no doubt. His nightcap might fall off. 

She sighs and flops onto her back. As amusing as it is to think about, she’d gotten carried away earlier that afternoon. She didn’t want to make the professor angry with her, or make him uncomfortable. She should have welcomed him to the Lighthouse, but instead anger had hijacked her mouth and she’d said and done all...that.

Lisbette couldn’t understand why. Probably it was a mixture of her anger and hurt toward the Mourn Watch and the fact that she’d always found Professor Volkarin to be particularly handsome and charming. Poking at him, teasing him, making him glower at her. It was better that he was angry with her than pity her. She doesn’t want his apologies for how the Mourn Watch treated her. If he tries to apologise, she thinks she might scream, or sob, or both. 

She reaches for his book, Alvarus’ Treatise on the Undead , and reads a few passages, idly turning the pages. She’s never read it, but the content is painfully familiar. It feels like her childhood. It feels like home. She ends up with the book clutched against her chest with both arms wrapped around it, her eyes closed against the tears that threaten to fall. 

She doesn’t miss the Mourn Watch. 

All right, maybe she does, deep down.

But no one was going to hear that from her. Ever. 

It has been a long, filthy day in the Hossberg Wetlands. Lisbette chose Davrin to come with her, because as a Grey Warden, he’s a natural choice for the area. Then she asked Emmrich to make up their third as a kind of apology she didn’t have to say out loud, because she thought he’d enjoy the gloomy atmosphere of the place as much as she did. 

After a particularly bloody and blighted fight, she and Davrin were filthy, but Emmrich was as pristine as when they set out. Dirt didn’t seem to want to cling to the professor.

‘Oh dear,’ Emmrich tuts, looking at them both. ‘Neither of you have learned dirt-repelling charms. I put them on my clothes every morning. The dead can be so messy.’

Despite the fact that she’s resolved to keep things strictly Fade-related and professional with Emmrich, Lisbette speaks without thinking. 

‘Dirt-repelling charms?’ she asks, wiping the back of her hand over her cheek. ‘I’ve never heard of those before.’

‘The principles are simple. I can tell you about them, if you wish.’

She eyes Professor Volkarin warily. He’s smiling pleasantly at her, and they have a long walk to their next destination. This doesn’t seem like a topic that concerns Watchers particularly, and so she cautiously nods. 

The two of them discuss the theory behind the charm and the mage who invented them, and Lisbette is surprised to find she’s enjoying their conversation. Professor Volkarin is a great deal less formal with her than he was as her professor. He’s animated as he speaks, gesturing with his staff and his hands, and adding a lot more personal opinion about things than he ever used to do. 

Then he says something that feels to Lisbette like tripping up and falling flat on her face. 

‘Vorgoth hasn’t been without a dirt-repelling charm since the incident with the ink bottles and the four playful spirits from the lower Necropolis.’

The playful spirits from the lower Necropolis. They’d been her friends when she was a child. They’d played spooky hide-and-seek with her, popping out of urns and chasing her around statues. She’d never been afraid back then. She hadn’t learned fear until very recently. 

‘Lisbette?’ Emmrich says. 

She realises he’s been talking and she hasn’t heard a word. ‘Sorry, I was...thinking about the Evanuris.’

But the professor isn’t fooled. He asks gently, ‘I think you’d rather not speak of that place. Am I right?’

Lisbette watches Davrin and Assan up ahead. Her pride is telling her to keep her mouth shut. No one from the Mourn Watch can know how much she misses them. It’s embarrassing. Shameful somehow. They turned their backs on her, and she won’t come scratching at the door like a pathetic stray cat.  

It was strange seeing the Necropolis yesterday after so long. The long corridors, decorative urns, and flickering veilfire had once been home to her. The most wonderful place in the world. 

‘It doesn’t matter. I won’t be returning there ever again.’

‘Ah, so I shouldn’t ask if you...’ He trails off and smiles. ‘Nothing. Never mind.’

They walk together in strained silence, Lisbette looking everywhere but at him. 

‘I find that long walks are preferable if there is conversation,’ the professor says in a cheerful tone. ‘Would necromancy in general be an agreeable topic of conversation for you, Lisbette?’ 

‘Yes it would,’ she tells him. ‘Very welcome, actually. The group tends to be disconcerted by the ‘death stuff,’ as they call it.’

‘The death stuff is weird,’ Davrin calls back to them.

Emmrich and Lisbette exchange glances, and Lisbette is surprised to find she’s smiling. 

‘People from outside Nevarra, they’re the strange ones,’ Lisbette says.

‘Burning their dead. Heartbreaking.’ 

‘So wasteful.’

The professor speaks eloquently about his corpse whispering, and the necromancer in Lisbette can’t help but be drawn into a technical conversation about souls and spirits. 

This is surprisingly nice, she thinks to herself as they walk along. As long as they don’t talk about the Mourn Watch, she’ll be happy to chat with the professor any time, and it was comforting speaking with someone who’s known her longer than everyone else in her life. 

Hours later, they're stepping back through the eluvians, and she feels as though she should say something to the professor. 

Saying sorry was too much for her pride, so she expresses gratitude instead. ‘Thank you for coming today. I liked having you with us. Me.’

‘I was pleased to be of service. Oh, dear,’ Emmrich murmurs, and plucks an invisible speck of dust from his pristine coat. ‘I fear I’m filthy.’

‘Bathing in this place is fine, but don’t you miss the-’ Lisbette breaks off. She was about to say, Don’t you miss the bathhouses at the Mourn Watch . 

She misses the bathhouses. She misses the friends she made, and the camaraderie of being with other necromancers. She misses being among people who uncomplicatedly like her. Who don’t look at her like she’s strange or wrong or is going to get them all killed, even if they have accepted their deaths. 

For a moment she can’t breathe, as if death itself has stopped her throat. 

Emmrich reaches for her. ‘Lisbette? Are you unwell?’

If he manages to put his hand on her shoulder, she’ll probably cry, and then he’ll look at her with pity, which is the last thing she wants from people who turned their backs on her. 

Lisbette shakes her head and hurries into the Lighthouse, grateful for her masses of curls that hide her face. 

--

Emmrich can’t remember the last time he felt this angry. The mission was a success and everyone was safe. Including Lisbette. Thankfully, especially Lisbette. She had fought remarkably, one might say even magnificently, facing down the horror that is Ghila’nain without flinching. He’d been inspired, even dazzled, in those moments.

But to punch the First Warden. 

This is not the behaviour of the thoughtful and compassionate leader who he’s been growing to esteem.

That night at the Lighthouse, everyone is congratulating Lisbette on her actions, praising them and even laughing about them. Only Bellara is silent, but her silence is uncertain. 

Emmrich leaves them to their laughter and retreats to his rooms. He needs tea. 

Later, he passes Lisbette in the library. 

‘Lisbette,’ he says with a polite incline of his head, because it’s bad manners not to greet her.

He is already past her when she calls to him, ‘Is that all you have to say, Professor Volkarin?’

There’s a distinct sass to her voice. 

Emmrich stops, and then turns around to face her. How best to proceed when faced with an angry young woman who is his senior in rank, however informal things are at the Lighthouse, but who he longs to dress down as though she was still his student? 

She’s not writing snarky little essays now. She could get herself killed. 

He clasps his hands behind his back and regards her with a grave expression. ‘We made an impressive stand at Weisshaupt, but I was taken aback by certain events of the day.’

Lisbette’s eyes glitter with anger. ‘Just say it. I shouldn’t have punched the First Warden. That’s not how a Mourn Watcher behaves.’

‘I am conscious of your feelings on the matter of the Mourn Watch and I won’t speak of them, as I have already told you.’

She was being entirely too sensitive about the Mourn Watch, but he would respect her wishes even if he didn’t understand them. 

She was being entirely too sensitive now as well. 

‘You don’t have to say it. Your disapproval is written all over your face.’ 

‘You are better than how you behaved today, Lisbette.’

Her eyes narrow, and she takes an angry breath. ‘And what gives you the right to decide that? You can’t form a council and pass judgment on me, and exclude me from all these people who’ve dared to call themselves my friends. If you’re so disappointed in me, Professor Emmrich Volkarin of the Mourn Watch, you know where the door is.’

‘Lisbette...’ 

‘I’m not interested in talking about it. Either you stay or you go, but you keep your opinions to yourself, and that includes your judgmental looks that I feel boring into the back of my neck.’ 

Well, that told him. Emmrich feels his moustache twitch in even greater disapproval. 

That night as he lies in bed, he goes over the conversation with Lisbette again. Just what happened to Lisbette when she was asked to temporarily depart the Mourn Watch? What council was she talking about? 

He gets out of bed and writes a letter to Myrna. 

Myrna’s reply comes back within two days. It includes a detailed description of the events of the civil war that pertain to Lisbette and her group of fellow mages. After the unrest had been resolved, Lisbette was judged in front of dozens of noble Nevarrans, not just the Mourn Watch, who were angry about the civil war and looking for someone to blame. There was not one word of acknowledgment, let alone gratitude, for the lives she had saved by intervening. The judgment was entirely focused on the fact that she had acted without anyone’s approval or permission. Lisbette did not speak up in her own defence, and no one from the Mourn Watch spoke for her either. 

Emmrich reads the letter through again and sighs. The Nevarran council sounded excessive, even cruel. He’d imagined that it had been gently suggested to Lisbette by the Mourn Watch that she leave until things settled down, and it had been a private, internal matter, but how wrong he was. 

Thank you for reading!

CHAPTER THREE

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

sanbi jinchuriki concept slowly being developed more

[writingouthere]

singledad!Sukuna x neighbor!reader-Sukuna and Yuuji really want you to join their family! role reversal from my other series, think this will just be a one-shot though. Yuuji is Sukuna's brother but he's raised him since he was a baby and Yuuji calls him dad.

cw: Sukuna is manipulative and also a murderer but everyone's happy and you're both aware so it's okay. this is really just fluff.

"I....want you to be my mommy?"

Sukuna scowled as Yuuji looked more confused than ever.

"No, no that is not what you're saying kid. You're just going to tell her about how the other kids' mommies on the playground make you feel left out."

"But they don't, Megumi's mommy always gives me a snack when I'm hungry!"

"That's not his mommy, that's Megumi's daddy," Sukuna corrected, wondering if this was just a hopeless endeavor. He could have easily followed a plan this simple when he was four, but Yuuji was too soft. This was what happened when you raised a kid in a stable, loving environment. They lost the ability to go for the jugular when needed.

"But Megumi's daddy calls him mommy?" Sukuna didn't hold back his groan. You were going to be coming back from your morning walk any minute. He didn't have time for Yuuji to not get basic directions or to explain the dynamics of that Gojo family.

"Look when we go out there, just look sad and I'll handle the rest."

"But I'm not sad, I'm happy. We're going to the park and Megumi's mommy is bringing mochi today!"

"Shit kid, do you want a mom or not?" Sukuna asked, trying not to roll his eyes as be bent down to snap on the velcro straps on Yuuji's light up sneakers.

"I don't need a mom, I have you," Yuuji said. He looked uncharacteristically defiant and Sukuna couldn't help feeling proud of his little brother.

It had been touch and go when Yuuji was a baby. Sukuna had still been a kid himself and they didn't have any money and Yuuji's mom was even crazier than Sukuna's. Their father nowhere to be seen. Since Sukuna and Uraume had spread the pieces of his corpse around the city.

Sukuna pushed these memories aside and ruffled Yuuji's hair. "I know you don't need one, we only need each other." Yuuji nodded, his little head moving with all his conviction. "But it might be nice, right?"

Yuuji seemed thoughtful before finally biting his lip and looking down at his sneakers. He tapped them, making the red and black lights flash.

"She's really nice, I like her."

"I like her too," Sukuna said and he heard the sound of your sneakers slapping against the tiled hallway. "So let's go and look sad, okay?" Yuuji nodded, determined now and Sukuna grabbed his backpack before the two brothers went out into the hall.

You were just taking your keys out of your bag and you turned to the brothers, a smile on your face. "Good morning gentlemen, it's nice to see you. Heading out?"

That was when you noticed Yuuji's downturned expression. Sukuna saw your face shift into one of concern and he resisted a smirk.

Sukuna cleared his throat and squeezed Yuuji's hand. Good boy. "We're heading out to the park, you know the one by the high school."

"Oooh, that's nice. You like that park, right Yuuji? You said it was the biggest one in the whole city," you crouched down so you could look Yuuji in the eye and Yuuji seemed to forget he was supposed to be sad for a minute because he jumped up and down, the lights of his shoes flashing in the dim hallway.

"Yeah, it has the best swings too!" You ooohed and aawed appropriately while Sukuna tried not to smack his head against the wall. Maybe he and this kid weren't related after all, fuck.

Yuuji seemed to notice his expression because he stopped jumping to look down at feet. He put out his lower lip and used the tip of one of shoes to mess with a scuff mark on the linoleum. It would have made a more pathetic visage if his shoes weren't still lit up.

"Yuuji," you said, coming closer so you could kneel on the ground in front of the boy. The sight of you on your knees did something to Sukuna, but he pushed it aside to see what the brat had in mind. So far, he wasn't impressed with the performance. "Is something wrong?"

"It's just," Yuuji let out a sad sigh that wouldn't get him a gig in a car commercial. "Megumi and his mommy will be there and it makes me feel sad because all the other kids have mommies and I don't." God, there was no way you could be buying this, Sukuna looked at you and saw that your eyes looked a little watery.

Huh, look at that. Maybe he wouldn't have to kick the kid out, after all.

"I'm sorry Yuuji, that must be hard," you said and you reached out and swiped out where Yuuji had even managed to shed a tear. Sukuna felt so proud. "But I know that your dad is really excited to take you and the two of you are going to have so much fun!"

"Could you come too?" Yuuji asked and you bit your lip. Yuuji looked up and batted his little doe eyes at you. "It would make me really happy if you came with us. We could all have fun together."

"I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"It wouldn't be intruding," Sukuna cut in. "If you're busy though no worries, I know we'll have fun just the two of us. Right, Yuuji?"

Yuuji bit his lip and Sukuna could tell he was torn between showing how excited he was to spend time with his dad and being 'sad' so you would join them.

You looked between the two before seeming to come to some kind of decision. "If you don't mind waiting while I change, I'd be happy to join you two. Should I bring anything?"

"I think we're all set. We'll wait outside for you," Sukuna said and Yuuji went up and gave you a big hug that you returned.

Sukuna took Yuuji outside to wait for you, the kid occupying himself with a mostly washed away hopscotch chalk sketch. Sukuna alternated between watching him and texting Uraume who was claiming to be over him and his nonsense. Sukuna would take it more seriously if Uraume hadn't been saying that for going on twenty years. He knew they loved him, fucking sap.

Soon, but not soon enough, you came bounding down the stairs. A scarf tied around your neck, your turtleneck exposed by the open top button of your coat. He couldn't keep letting you be single, looking all pretty like that. He was too greedy for that.

Besides, looking the way you did and knowing your big heart, it was just a matter of time before some nice loser tricked you into settling with them and he just couldn't have that. The idea of you taking someone else home to your warm apartment with it's million throw blankets and a cookie jar, an actual cookie jar, he was convinced you kept stocked up just for Yuuji, made him want to commit another murder.

"Ready?" you asked and Sukuna nodded while Yuuji took your hand in his right and Sukuna's in his left.

"Let's go!"

Yuuji's enthusiasm was contagious and the two of you chatted all the way to the park. Sukuna saw some people shoot you all looks as you walked. Sukuna was used to people viewing him with suspicion, even fear. His tattoos, dyed hair and general demeanor making people cross the street to avoid him. Something about you and Yuuji seemed to balance him out though and people reacted as if they were just looking at a cute family going out on a Saturday.

You didn't seem to notice either way and just continued talking to Yuuji about some new anime for kids Sukuna had probably had to suffer through but hadn't retained any memory of.

As soon as you all got to the park, Yuuji took off with barely a good-bye. You seemed concerned and Sukuna bumped your shoulder with his. "Don't stress, he just sees the Fushiguro kid over there. See, they're already fucking around."

He pointed to where Yuuji was chasing around a scowling dark haired boy the same age as him. Sukuna didn't buy the scowl for a second.

He had once run into the kid and his weird dads at the grocery store and the kid had scolded him when he figured out Yuuji wasn't with him. Sukuna would have knocked the kid down a peg if he wasn't actually four years old and if his 'mommy' didn't low key give him the creeps. Sukuna was pretty sure he wasn't the only person guilty of homicide currently at this playground.

"That's so cute," you cooed and Sukuna nodded along while he took you over to some picnic tables. Unfortunately one of them was already occupied.

"Aww if it isn't Sukuna. How nice it is to see your lovely face on a Saturday morning!"

"Gojo."

Sukuna was ready to leave it there but then the bastard got up and walked over. His partner continued sipping on a large cup of boba, watching from his seat although he gave you a little wave.

"Who is this, new girlfriend?" Gojo asked tilting down his sunglasses to look you up and down.

You laughed and introduced yourself while Megumi's parents did the same. Gojo grabbed your hand when you held it out and kissed the back of it, his lips curved into a smile even as he lingered, his fingers clearly holding onto where your pulse would be. Sukuna moved closer to you and put a hand around your waist, the gesture a clear sign for the other man to back off which Sukuna knew Gojo understood because the bitch fucking smiled at him.

Sukuna didn't necessarily take any of Gojo's flirtations seriously. He flirted with every mom and dad on the playground, including him when they first met. He'd even seen him flirt with the guy who worked the ice cream truck so egregiously the kid had looked on the verge of passing out. His partner never seemed bothered and Sukuna wondered if he was just that secure in the relationship or if he hoped someone would finally come along and get the annoying man away from him.

As usual though, Gojo lost interest quickly and went back to his husband who didn't say anything as Gojo lay across his lap like some kind of housecat.

"There are children here," Sukuna said. Mostly out of spite and not jealousy that the two of you weren't curled up like that.

"Don't be homophobic," Gojo said and you snorted before looking innocent when Sukuna shot you a look.

"Alright, let's go see what Yuuji's up to." Sukuna went along with your excuse, mostly just because he liked the feeling of your hand in his. The two of you wandered closer to the playground where Megumi and Yuuji were currently engaged in a game with some other kids that Sukuna couldn't have possibly guessed the subject of.

The kids alternated running around the large structure, disappearing into tunnels, jumping down to hide underneath slides and behind climbing walls. Every time Yuuji popped back up to view he would wave and call out to you both. Sukuna still felt a little warm whenever the kid called him dad and the look you gave him after made him feel caught.

"So, I can see why Yuuji was so sad those morning. Megumi's parents are just vicious monsters," you said and Sukuna was so taken aback he knew his expression didn't hide it well. You smiled and swung your hand that was still in his, turning so you could look at him.

"I don't think that's what the issue was," Sukuna managed and you nodded.

"Right, it must have been because he's so lonely," you said before the two of you were interrupted by the sound of children's ecstatic laughter. You both looked to where Yuuji was now being chased by an entire horde of children.

"I'm the curse, you have to catch me," he yelled out and the other children screamed and laughed as they tried to grab him. Yuuji had never had a hard time making friends and that was very evident in the way he got kids of all ages, even the quiet ones to join in on his game.

"You can have friends and still be lonely," Sukuna argued and you gave him just the softest look. It wasn't fair for you to see through his schemes and still look at him like that.

"Are you lonely, Sukuna?" You got closer to him, your hand still got in his and you were so warm. "Maybe I should come home with you, then?"

Sukuna couldn't have stopped himself from kissing you even if he wanted to, which he didn't. He let go of your hand so he could cup your face in both of his palms. You moaned your approval into his mouth and he responded by nipping your upper lip, pulling you up to meet him as he leaned down to kiss you. Sukuna was about to risk another arrest by taking you right here in the park before a familiar voice called out to the both of you.

"Hey now, there's children here."

Sukuna turned to give the infuriating dumbfuck a piece of his mind when you distracted him by pulling him back to you and giving him a quick peck on the lips. He could leave the fight with Gojo for another day, he supposed. He knew he'd win anyway.

You're smiling and you look so happy and Sukuna doesn't feel the least amount of guilt in getting you here. Even if you knew it was a trick.

Although.

Did this mean you knew that all those times he was "stuck at work" and needed someone to watch Yuuji were a lie too? Or that he actually could cook and the one time he set the building fire alarm off had been because he started an actual fire and not just him burning dinner and two of them didn't actually need you to invite them to dinner so much? Did you also know that your radiator hadn't just stopped working randomly but he had broke it, knowing you would call him because your super never answered, and when he said a part was still missing and you would just have to stay the night at his and Yuuji's place-

Sukuna looked at you more closely and you just kept smiling.

As Yuuji called for the two of you to come help him and Megumi on the swings, Sukuna wondered if he had ever trapped you, even once. Or if you had just let him catch you.

Watching you push Yuuji as the boy screamed for you to go "higher, higher!" he decided he didn't care. Fuck, it might just be better. Knowing you were maybe as crazy as he was.

shout out to the dad at the park today who had the audacity to play with his toddler and have a cute dog at the same time.

also I liked the end of this so much I may just write a prequel of Sukuna and reader taking turns gaslighting the other into a relationship, we'll see.

Edit: wrote the prequel, here!

[haveihitanerve]

Four Times the Batkids Forget They're Adopted, and The One Time Damian Forgets He Isn't

It had started off as a joke, as most things do, and Dick meant nothing behind it, really. It was amusing to him, actually, to tell his coworkers things about Batman and pass it off as his father. “Oh my dad? Yeah hes not big on talking. He loves showing me he cares though.” (this was, of course, in reference to Batman doing three back flips and a kick split when Nightwing had patrolled with him the other day, a classic Nightwing move) But it soon…went deeper. Dick stopped making jokes out of it, and actually began listing things about Bruce. About his Dad. It didn't help that his police friends were actually interested. “So did you and the old man do anything fun over the weekend?�� Dick thought back to how he had wanted to surprise Bruce by stopping by for dinner and instead had ended up in the sewer eating granola bars on a stakeout for killer croc, who had escaped. Again. “Oh yeah we had a picnic.” Dick nodded, smiling at Randy. “Yeah. He’s, he’s kinda bad at remembering when to eat a meal on time and all that.” Dick laughed. “Its something I share too. Must be genetics.” He rolled his eyes. Randy laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I hear you. My old man smoked all the live long day. I try to keep it down, but that addiction gene is just strong eh?” Dick chuckled. “Yeah I guess.” His phone buzzed in his pocket and he waved to Randy, turning to tug it out. It was one, simple message from Babs. “Ur adopted genius. What genes.” 

Jason didn't even know how they had gotten on the topic. But here they were. “Yes. I got my mothers hair, of course, but I get my temper from my father.” Artemis was saying. “I have parents.” Bizarro grunted. Roy laughed, smacking him on the shoulder. “Well you certainly didn't get Kal’s looks buddy. But you do have his killer hair.” Starfire laughed. “That is true. I, for one, share my parents hair and have my fathers powers. But truly the best gene I was given were my mothers eyes.” They all turned to Jason. “What about you?” Roy asked. Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I used to have my dads eyes but um after the pit y'know,” He waved to his now green eyes. “And actually I have my dads dark black hair, and he’s graying early too, which might be why my white streak is so prominent.” They nodded in agreement. “But yeah, hes actually a little taller than me so maybe I’ll still grow a few inches but uh yeah. I don't… remember my mother enough to talk about her.” “Dang man. I wish we could meet your dad.” Roy murmured, laying a comforting hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Then we could really compare. I mean-” He laughed. “You sound like his carbon copy.” Jason frowned at his friend. “What do you mean? You’ve met Bruce?” They stared at him. “Jason,” Artemis began slowly. “Aren't you adopted?” 

Tim hunched over the information form, eyes straining to read the small print. His hand reached up to stifle a yawn and he settled for a sigh instead. It was late, but Tim needed to get the form done before he went to bed, otherwise everything would be far too stressful in the morning. He reached over and grabbed his coffee mug, a dark black cup that had a red R painted on it poorly. Bruce had made it for him a few years ago when he had first become Red Robin. He sipped it, staring down at the medical form. “Gods I hate having to do this.” He muttered, but reluctantly grabbed the thick medical binder Alfred had obligingly gotten for him when he had asked for medical records of the family. Tim did not under any circumstances, want to have to sit at the doctors office the next day and somehow lie his way through all the medical questions relating to his family history. He didn't have the time nor patience for it, and it was crucial he was given proper medical advice what with his missing spleen. “Any history of heart issues Bruce?” Tim muttered, flipping back past Martha and Thomas to Bruce’s great great great grandfather. “Nope, guess not.” Tim was halfway through the form when he realized the blood coursing through his veins wasn't Bruce’s. 

Steph rubbed a hand across her belly, staring at the monitor. “Your baby looks good Ms. Brown. They’re at the proper stage. Due in about two months. We’ll see you back here for your next check up.” “thank you doctor.” Steph murmured, sliding off the bed and dressing quickly before hurrying out to her car. The car door slammed shut behind her and she breathed, pressing her forehead to the steering wheel. Her phone buzzed. She lifted it and pressed it to her ear, hitting accept. “Hello?” “hey Steph.” Bruce’s voice vibrated through the phone. “How was your doctors appointment?” Steph gave a bitter laugh. “Everything looks good. The baby will come in about two months.” “Thats good. Thats real good.” Steph nodded, eyes closed. “You doing okay Stephanie?” Bruce asked, voice soft. “I don't know.” her voice broke and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears. “I just- I’m so scared Bruce. So scared.” Bruce hummed comfortingly through the phone. “I know Steph. Its scary. And parenting, its hard.” Steph coughed out a watery chuckle. “Was that a hit?” She muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. Bruce chuckled. “No. Baby it wasn't. And just think, you’ll get to see all the firsts I didn't get with you. Their first steps. Their first wave. You might even get to hear them say mama before i kidnap- i mean adopt him or her.” Steph laughed again, and it sounded less watery. “Yeah. Well, when do kids start walking?” She asked in interest, sniffing and sitting up straight again. Bruce hummed. “Well i started walking almost immediately, but Im special.” Steph laughed. “Of course.” “alfred said i first started talking when I was around thirteen months old, and Talia said Damian was walking by ten, but she could have been lying.” Steph nodded. “Tell me more.” She whispered. Bruce obliged, happy to distract her. “Oh and whats probably going to be your favorite, babies, or at least I did, start laughing at around four months.” “laughing?” Steph gasped. “Oh Brucie!!! Thats too funny! Little chubby baby you, the future batman, laughing!” She cooed. She could almost feel his eye roll through the phone and stifled her laugh. “So yeah..” Bruce finished. “You should expect your kiddo to start walking around then. And laughing probably sooner. I would have if you'd be in my life at that time.” Steph was quiet. “Thank you B.” He hummed. “Anytime Steph. I’ll always be here to help you.” “Wait wait wait-” a new voice joined in the background of Bruce. “Are you guys serious right now?” Steph identified it as Jason. “What?” Bruce asked puzzled. “B, Stephs adopted. Her kid is as likely to walk at the same time you did as when she did!” 

“Damian?” “Go away Drake.” Damian called back, riffling through the papers. “Dami?” Tim poked his head into his younger brothers room. “Oh hey kiddo. Whatcha doing?” “I am busy Timothy.” Damian countered in annoyance, shoving the box back under his bed and moving to his desk. “What are you looking for?” Tim asked puzzled. Damian ignored him. “Dami.” “Go away Timothy.” Tim crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Come on Baby Bird. Tell me.” Damian shook his head, covering the blush on his cheeks by poking behind the desk. “Damian.” Tim’s hand was suddenly on his back. Damian jumped. Tim held up his hands in surrender. “Just tell me. I’m sure I can help you find it.” Damian sighed in acceptance, cheeks pink. “I have.. Lost my adoption papers.” He muttered, staring at the floor. But Tim didn't laugh or ridicule him. In fact, when he looked up, his brother seemed thoughtful. “Well i know me and dick and jason have them hung over our beds…” His gaze drifted to the very clearly empty space above Damians bed. “I know.” Damian jerked his head in a nod. “That is why I wished to find it.” Tim nodded in understanding. “Well, lets go look in the den. Thats where Alfred keeps all the legal stuff.” Damian trailed after his brother to the living room and watched as he opened the cabinet and pulled out three boxes. “You look through this one, I’ll search these two.” Tim ordered. Damian nodded, accepting the box. It was where Alfred found them, two hours later, broom in hand. “My dear sirs, what are you doing?” The butler asked in bafflement. “Looking for Damians adoption record.” Tim answered, nose still in some papers. Alfred looked at them. “Master Tim. Master Damian.” The two boys looked up. “Yes Alfred?” Tim asked. Alfred's face was fond and utterly confused. “Master Damian is not adopted. He is Master Bruce’s blood son.” 

@nonepizzawithleftglitter @zombiewithaflowercrown

you asked and you shall recieve!

[staryuee]

WHAT THEY DO WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE!

꒰warnings꒱ not proofread, dainsleif/pantalone may be ooc (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

⠀꒲ ` synopsis . . . just cute habits, actions etc that they do, whether intentionally or not, after being struck with cupid’s arrow.

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . jean, diluc, zhongli, xiao, nilou, xianyun, dehya, wanderer, arlecchino, pantalone, dainsleif

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . scrolling through the genshin tag makes me wanna die sometimes…i’m trying to do investigative work and i have to quickly scroll past the same smutty language like it’s booktok torture + also i’ve been playing baldurs gate 3 for the past several days and i think i’ve developed a problem…

G. JEAN — 琴

ʚ jean is very subtle in the way she loves someone, she doesn’t want to keep it secret per se, but her love is always almost adjacent to a puppy crush; something that seems fleeting but in the long run returns harder and hits oh so much worse.

ʚ she can’t necessarily abuse her powers, and she wouldn’t dare dream of messing up the order she so carefully has managed to maintain, so the way she tries to convey her feelings across isn’t too brash or loud.

ʚ simple things like letting her hands brush against yours when she passes you documents, allowing you to visit her office whenever you please even if it’s to just sprawl down at a nearby couch and read a book you found in the library while meandering, and even letting you join her on her daily walks across the courtyard.

ʚ during windblume festivals she won’t hesitate to strike up a seemingly harmless and friendly conversation, all the while sneaking a flower into your hair that resembles the feelings you stir up inside her fuzzy heart.

ʚ jean is overall quite an awkward person when it comes to anything related to romantic or plantoic ties, she’s a bit of a people pleaser in that way where she prefers to assume everyone’s a friend before an enemy… or in this case, “interested”.

ʚ with backup and sought guidance from her good friends lisa and kaeya, she’ll try a myriad of tactics to get you to notice her; a little shoulder massage there, a heartfelt sticky note placed on your workstation there, inviting you to classic candlelit dinners etc.

ʚ yes, believe me, she even tried the cartoonish “rose bit between teeth and uncomfortably arched side lean on a wall” approach before deciding it’s much better to listen to herself than the flamboyant duo.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

ʚ diluc is the actual epitome of a gentleman. his love is so pure and genuine you can’t help but flower press every petal from the various bouquet he personally delivers to you on special occasions (anything from you completing a particularly hard or draining mission to doing something you thought you’d suck at).

ʚ his coat is also yours now. it’s like a six sense at this point to notice when you’re shivering out in the cold winds, and it’s become even more of a routine for him to simply shed that fluffy coat of his and drape it appropriately over your shoulders, trying to maintain a comfortable distance between you two as he adjusts it both to ease your tension and assure the pounding of his heart goes unheard.

ʚ diluc doesn’t enjoy using his riches to woo someone, it’s uncouth and just shows a desperation unbecoming of someone who dates to marry. if he wants to know you’re in it for the long haul, he’ll be much more sensitive and thoughtful when picking out gifts for you, each them have to hold some level of significance in your life.

ʚ the whole fiasco with his poor maids and some sneaky, perverse stalkers and diluc’s flaming great sword certainly applies to you as well; he’ll quietly ensure your safety in the night, helping you walk home with his arm hooked under yours, and in broad daylight he won’t hesitate to swing that polished wolf’s gravestone of his against any onlookers.

ʚ diluc is extremely closed off but deeply sentimental, he can so easily find himself rambling about his childhood stories to you; anything from how he used to collect seashells with kaeya to bring back to their dad, or how him and jean used to let baby barbara braid their hair together while babysitting…to things that are slightly more troublesome and heart wrenching to even mutter.

ʚ he may be less vocal than most in terms of feelings, but that doesn’t mean he won’t commit to it if he’s in love with someone. diluc isn’t the slightest bit dumb, he understand in order to get his feelings across he needs to do more than take random days off to spend time with you, he needs to at least hint it in a way that clearly gets his intentions across.

ʚ believe me, whenever you come by to dawn winery per notice, everyone raises a brow at you with curious smirks and gazes as diluc nearly stumbles on his words to get the phrase: “you look lovely tonight” out.

ZHONGLI — 钟离

ʚ he has up to thousands years of romantic customs under his belt, he understands the vague signs and ways to further communicate how much he adores you.

ʚ … that would be the case in its full if not for the fact for the first thousand couple years of his life he wasn’t busy maiming other gods and shedding blood. safe to say, his memories of mortal “courting” is slightly, if not absolutely, a massive, weaving and overlapping trail of various centuries and cultures he’s been accustomed to; anything ranging from the days when khaenri’ah was still in its prime to nowadays with newfound slang.

ʚ he’ll recite the most beautifully heartfelt and awfully sincere poem all the while you’re fighting your life in a haunted house (he’s heard this activity is helpful to get couples closer to one another, and given the fact you’re clinging on for dear life at the edge of his coat, he assumes he’s on the right track!)

ʚ he wants to impress you while also maintaining an air of genuineness to his actions, and while that does sometimes end in awkward situations where he ends up wearing regal attire to what’s supposed to be a casual dinner at wangmin, his heart remains completely pure in its endeavours.

ʚ oh, let’s not forget this man is quite literally a dragon too!

ʚ sometimes he can forget you don’t have the same complexion as him and will proudly present you some sort of glimmering relic from his hoard, forgetting that certain materials that existed back in the day were deadly and or toxic for mortals to touch let alone possess.

ʚ with a little nudge in the right direction, he’ll quickly learn everything there is to know for how to properly handle your precious heart. whatever you’d like, you may have — if it’s within his reach, that is. but it doesn’t mean he’ll stop at what’s available, no, just how much he’s willing to risk for you.

XIAO — 魈

ʚ he’s already embarrassed and awkward enough with accepting the fact he likes you, so accepting the fact that he loves you had left him with a lengthy exorcism spree down in some forgotten areas in liyue (it didn’t help).

ʚ in all honestly, not much changes; both because he’s rather emotionally constipated but also because he’s more than sure he’s loved you for longer than he seems to currently acknowledge.

ʚ letters that came only on special occasions like your birthday or his became much more frequent and a lot less poetic, it felt more like he was writing about his thoughts at the time, a little akin to how you’ve made him feel less constricted and much more free; he can finally have the courage to step out of his comfort zone.

ʚ all those small acts of love he used to subtly express (i.e gifting you two crystaflies, personally inviting you to come hang out, etc) he manages to double, he can’t have you thinking his intentions are the same as before. no, they’re much stronger now.

ʚ his guard softens around you regardless, but when you randomly fall asleep on his shoulder on your weekly visits at wangshu inn, instead of taking you to one of the rooms, he’ll sit there and allow you to rest, and if he’s assured you’re not awake to ridicule him, maybe, just maybe…he’ll sneakily loop his arm around your waist.

ʚ even just the thought of you makes him spiral into daydreaming, sitting atop a tree and swinging his leg back and forth carelessly as he stares up at the night to await for a new light, knowing full well the only sun he wants to see is you…just imagining his hands holding your waist like they did so long ago makes him shiver (hopefully this time he’ll get to do it when you’re not falling, and instead are falling for him)

NILOU — 妮露

ʚ nilou is basically a disney princess, if you see her singing to random birds that come watch her performances, everyone in the grand bazaar already knows it’s because you’ll be in the crowd that night.

ʚ each step within her routines are done with the little more passion, if that even is possible given her character, all because she imagines that pride and hopeful heart eyes in your eyes as all the attention is on her.

ʚ sometimes this fixation can lead to dumb mistakes on stage which bring her to sulking away with a hand on her forehead dabbing away at the sweat, but even the mention of your name as you pass by several sumeru streets is enough for her to brighten, do a quick wardrobe switch and run off to tackle you within her embrace.

ʚ nilou is not loud, but definitely not subtle. the exact representation of how she feels when you come to encourage her at her lowest (though those days are few). you’re there for her in ways you don’t imagine, and that alone is enough for her to daze away into the night as she cuddles her pillow, legs wrapped around it and all, and begins thinking about the what ifs of your relationship.

ʚ sometimes it’s a little comedic the way she speaks about you, it almost sounds like she’s reminiscing about a fictional book character with how much she takes pride in whatever little thing you do. no one tires of seeing her footsteps lightly tap against the ground in circles as she gushes about how when you complimented her the other day, you touched her cheek seemingly subconsciously ∩^ω^∩

XIANYUN — 闲云

ʚ she’s a little embarrassed at just how obvious she can be sometimes, it doesn’t help the fact her own children keep using this love of hers to their advantage.

ʚ she keeps nagging them about not taking care of themselves (she’s all too keen about their health and whereabouts now that she dwells alongside liyuean people) and yet just the mention of your name has her slightly stuttering in a ditzy trance as she hooks her glasses back up her nose bridge.

ʚ without hesitance, she’ll show you a photo album she has of all those close to her; would you like to see the drawing little ganyu made when she just barely had her horns? or perhaps the polearm young shenhe broke when she miscalculated her own strength in training?

ʚ her family is her pride and joy, it’s only natural for her to want you to be part of it even if it’s something as silly as raking through photos of a chubby ganyu eating the stem of a flower or teeny shenhe napping on a tree.

ʚ a peaceful life mingling with mortals has left her with ample time to enjoy the trivialities of life, and yet she finds her mind all too quickly wandering to you; had you been taking care of yourself? were you feeling lonely? did you need her to make something for you?

ʚ a secretive worry wart that quickly becomes that ancient adetpus she used to pride herself as soon as your delicate hands accidentally brush against hers; suddenly she’s perked up, chest heaven up high with a confident hand on her shoulder: you wouldn’t even think that flurry of pink hues gushing across her cheeks was real if not for the light providing evidence.

DEHYA — 迪希雅

ʚ oh she’s absolutely ecstatic!!

ʚ there’s genuinely nothing better than love in her eyes, especially just having the ability to love and trust someone fully when you haven’t been able to do so for a plethora of years.

ʚ doesn’t try to hide it, like at all, if anything she makes it rather obvious with the way she constantly pulls you closer as if you were already an item, arms constantly clinging onto you and your sides or her hands messing up your hair as you greet her.

ʚ she’ll take you anywhere you ask, free of charge of course (just promise to smile…and maybe if you’re up for it give her a kiss on the cheek, that’s sure to be enough reimbursement).

ʚ she’s already quite a confident and outwardly friendly person (if the price is right that is) but when in your presence? what’s wrong with just a little bit of showing off…

ʚ dehya needs you to see the best side of her!! maybe then you’ll finally give in and realise that her constantly asking for you to come join her on her travels and commissions isn’t brought out of mere timed coincidence

WANDERER — 流浪者

ʚ i saw that a few people were upset and confused by wanderer’s sudden switch up into being more kind/friendly, but i think we all forget what kind of person he was before his betrayals.

ʚ he loves wholeheartedly, if he adores something it consumes him in a warm pit of mushy domesticity — he doesn’t hate love or being kind, he hates the way it makes him vulnerable and the way it reminds him of the way he used to be.

ʚ that also means he’ll completely ignore you, or, try his best to rather.

ʚ wanderer knows within his heart that he completely years for you, just the accidental slip of his gaze meeting yours makes his brain go haywire, sending volts of electricity down his spine — you make him feel so alive.

ʚ it’s terrifying to return to a person you once were especially now with the knowledge of how being the way you were lead to some sort of tragedy, he’s managed to build up these walls so high and here you were, sneaking in through cracks he didn’t even know he had.

ʚ and he both loves it and hates it; loves the fact he can still feel, but hates how he’s so easily susceptible.

ʚ loving you turns into self-loathing and brooding, his feet pacing up and down every street at night to clear his muddled head. small distractions like taking strolls in meadows or sleeping up in the vines of trees lead to just thoughts of you and you alone.

ʚ wanderer refuses to be overly friendly and buddy-buddy with you even if he’s aware that if you decided to just one day hold him sincerely he’d burst into tears, but he can compromise with being less cutthroat.

ʚ “shut the fuck up” turns into him just rolling his eyes at you as you ramble (he soaks up any piece of information he can and locks it away), items you gift him now are more apparent in their value as he yells at those who dare question the dumb aranara pin you bought him and placed sneakily on his hat…oh and he gives you hat privileges.

ʚ it’s raining? …get close to him so you don’t begin complaining about the way the rain feels on your skin.

ARLECCHINO — 阿蕾奇诺

ʚ she starts treating you less like an asset in her “contact if in need of assistance” roster and more like a friend — of course, she maintains that distance between you two, but she lets you wriggle around in her heart to see if you manage to fit.

ʚ chances are, you will — unknowingly she’d grown to love you in ways that may have even gone unnoticed by her given how natural they were; inviting you to random gatherings when the whim arises, pulling your chair out for you when out for brunch, or even tucking away strands of hair and twirling it around playfully.

ʚ arlecchino’s love isn’t something immediate or expected, she’s a woman who keeps every card close to her chest and her children even closer, you have to prove to her that you’re worth it, in a way that doesn’t necessarily mean spilling blood but more so answers the question: do you care, and are you willing to accept her blinding love?

ʚ it’s like a shepherd dog with a lost lamb, but that little sheep is just you, and she’s a wolf in need of a muse.

ʚ cute tea parties aren’t uncommon with the two of you, she’ll happily let you indulge yourself in treats as she leans back with scorching tea in her hands while memorising every curve of your lips as you chew and swallow, she loves watching the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and the little sway from side to side you occasionally do as an expression of joy.

ʚ once arlecchino notices that she’s began treating you as another authority figure in the house of hearth, she’ll reach and collar you gently, intertwining her dark, cursed hand into your flowery one.

PANTALONE — 潘塔罗涅

ʚ one of the most attractive qualities a man can have is knowing when to shut the fuck up and to slide his card over during a dinner — both such things pantalone can do effortlessly, especially when it comes to you.

ʚ arlecchino claims that: “he allows his actions to be governed by the vengeance and hatred locked in the depths of his heart.” something that definitely translates into his love affairs in more than obsessive manners.

ʚ don’t be afraid of the massive hauls of clothing and sparkling jewellery galore that are being trudged in by multiple men, darling, it’s just a menial souvenir from his latest travels and newfound connections that he thought you might enjoy ^^

ʚ while his grandeur usually stems from his deep hearted desire to overthrow the imbalance between immortals and mortals, rest assured the luxury he provides you purely stems from his desire to make you his.

ʚ whether that entails you being his pet for him to seek comfort from on the occasion or a genuine connection where he can comfortably hold you at night purely depends on you.

ʚ oh, you’ll let him chew your ear off about his recent expedition and extravagant plan? consider your rent payed for the next few months and a few kisses on your cheek that certainly aren’t actually part of the snezhnayan custom (let him indulge in those little cravings or else he’ll undoubtedly be petty).

DAINSLEIF — 戴因斯雷布

ʚ has a breakdown.

ʚ a little dramatic, but honestly if his entire life wasn’t a disgusting mess already, you’ve come to make it worse. fate is deliberately mean to brooding blondes it seems, given the fact he’s now stuck pacing around back and forth on a trail of dead abyss mages as he rereads a letter you’ve sent him weeks ago.

ʚ everything you give to him, everything you say, do, write, whatever, he remembers implicitly. each word you say is engraved into him as if they were important artefacts regardless of how pointless and mundane.

ʚ it can honestly get a little…scary at times? you’ll mention liking something once and all of a sudden you find it within your possession at least a few weeks later.

ʚ dainsleif doesn’t have enough time to wallow in the glory of mushy, all consuming love despite desperately wanting to imagine how your hand would feel caressing down past each of his scars, but what he can do is protect you, and to him that’s a greater blessing than intimacy he knows will end eventually.

ʚ a big tough man who would honestly fold the moment you call him any variation of a pet name, specifically with the word “mine/my” at the beginning — hey, it’s nice knowing you mean something to someone the point they view you as inseparable.

ʚ the timings at which he comes to aid you are all too convenient and believe me he’ll try his best to downplay it as coincidence, all the while he’s breathing heavily both from the face your eyes are scanning his so closely and the fact he used up so much energy to merely make a portal to sneak into your space.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Fifteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 4.7k words Tags: 18+ mdni, nurse!reader, hospital setting, domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt, anxiety about sex. PTSD. Tiny bit of a panic attack. Tiny smidge of Simon's past if you know where to look. Comfort. Cockwarming. Barebacking, anal fingering, masturbation, praise kink, daddy kink. Basically the guys fuck while Bunny watches.

You’ve been having dreams about the hospital.

It’s always the same one.

You’re running a code with an intern and a fleet of baby nurses. No one is moving as fast as you are, no one is following direction. You’re on fast forward, they’re on rewind.

Every time, the dream starts and ends the same way. For some reason, you can’t see the patient’s face. You work on them for what feels like hours, and then only once it’s been called does the mental block disappear, you look down-

To see yourself.

Intubated. Bruised and broken.

Dead.

“Bunny.”

“Hmm?” You glance up across the counter, feeling the focus of Simon’s eyes before you see them.

“Everything alright?” Pen babbles ‘moremoremoremore’ while making the sign at the same time.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He mimics Penny’s sign, and then gives her a yes, spooning more yogurt into her mouth.

“You’ve been standing in the same spot for the last ten minutes, staring into your coffee.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry… I’m just a little… scatterbrained this morning.”

“Still having that dream?” It’s been a week and a half since it started, and a few days since you finally confided in Simon and Johnny it was bothering you. “Do you think it might be related to going back to work this week?” You shrug.

“Maybe? I don’t know… I’ve never dreamed of working on… myself.” His jaw flexes, and then he sighs.

“I’ve been thinking…” Penny squawks, demanding the attention of the room, and you pull some blueberries from the counter and put them on her plate. “My therapist is taking new patients. I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, but I’d like you to consider it.” The grimace slides onto your face without preamble. Sure, you’ve considered therapy in the past, but it’s a risk. Mandated reporting, paper trails, everything you don’t need.

“I don’t need therapy right now.”

“You have PTSD.” He says point blank, and you blink. Your mind fractures, little pieces twisting and turning, trying to knit together a larger picture.

“No- I- I’m not… it’s…” You’re a medical professional, don’t you know what PTSD looks like?

“It’s hard to see, in yourself.” Simon senses the confusion and tries to soothe it away, cool balm on a burn.

You suppose he’s not wrong. It’s not unrealistic, you having PTSD, but you’ve never been confronted with it. Never been forced to face the truth.

No one’s ever known you well enough, to see.

It stings. It stings for some reason, and you don’t know why.

“I’m sorry.” He stands, moving around the counter to stand in front of you. “I want to help you, bun, but I should have approached that differently.” You shake your head, relenting into the steady hand at your back, and tip your face into his chest. The confrontation of the truth aches, but there’s comfort in Simon’s touch, understanding, and you relent to it, drifting away inside his tender hold.

“What’s goin’ on?” Johnny’s close, appearing in the kitchen after sleeping in. He was deep in his own dreams when you woke up, sweet like angel in the clouds, buried in the pillows, and you couldn’t stand to wake him.

Simon rumbles something over your head. You can’t make it out, ear covered by his bicep, and you turn your head to peek, reaching for Johnny.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi.”

“Why don’t ye come lay down wit’ me on the couch?” He coos, stroking a hand over your hair. “’m not quite awake yet.” Simon gives you a squeeze, and you nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

Johnny holds you close. His nose in your neck, fingertips carefully tracing over your skin, heat at your back, he calms you, comforts you, lulls your stiff muscles languid. He’s so good at it, pulling and kneading until you settle, and it dawns on you he’s had practice.

“Would you tell me about you and Simon?”

“What do ye want to know?”

“What was it like… in the beginning. When you got together.” He kneads your hip, thoughtful for a quiet moment, and then takes a deep breath.

“He was difficult. Didnae wan’ to let me in, no matter how hard I tried. Had to corner him in his room on base just to get him to kiss me.” Johnny chuckles low, rubbing your shoulder. “Took him forever, to break down, let me see him, really see him, for the first time. I had glimpses, here and there. Moments in the field, on base, at the bar with the team when we’d decompress but… it took a lot of work. He tried to push me off, hide away.”

“Why?

“It’s his story to tell ye, bunny. An’ he will, in time.” He sighs. “He’s always been like this, strong, steadfast, more serious than me, but he buried a lot of things, deep. Always was very aware of it, jus’ not willing to show it to anyone else. Wanted to be a ghost.”

“But… he’s okay."

“He’s okay. Has some moments where he gets lost, still, but works through ‘em, wit’ me or on his own.” He kisses your neck, soft enough to tickle, and you shiver. “He’s really good at this, bein’ a da, takin’ care of a family. Treats us all like his little unit. I miss him too much when ‘m away. Pen too.”

“I’m sure.” His lips graze your shoulder, humming.

“An’ ye. When I go back, I’ll be thinkin’ of ye all the time.” When he goes back. The idea is chilling, a douse of cold water. It’s felt so far away, the idea of Johnny returning to his job, the thing that brought you to him in the first place.

“But that won’t be for a while, right? I mean, you’re still healing.”

“It won’t be for a while.” He assures, though there’s something in his voice, pinched and pained. You don’t ask, don’t push, choosing to close your eyes instead, nestled in his arms, safe.

“This is the worst.” You’re whining. You know you’re whining, know you sound like a child, but it spills out of you without stopping.

“I know sweetheart.” Simon screws the cap onto a travel mug, giving you a sympathetic smile. They’re both up with you, before the sun, listening to you moan.

You shouldn’t be going to work at this hour. You should be awake, puttering around, working your rhythm back to normal, getting oriented to working at night.

You’ve never hated your manager more. She insisted she was sorry, that she had no choice but to fill the overnight shift. She assumed, she said, the new nurse would want to go to days when you got back, but she’s taken a liking to it.

She’s taken your shift.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad? An’ ye’ll see me tomorrow when I come in for therapy.” That is an upside at least, knowing you’ll be able to see him, see them both, at work.

But the rest of it, simply put, sucks.

“We should probably get going.” Simon kisses Johnny goodbye, and you’re drawn to them, sidling up in their orbit. Johnny wraps an arm around you, mouth to your temple.

“Have a good first day back, bunny. I’ll be thinking of ye.” You turn, grazing your lips on his, and he seals the kiss, drenching it in care, sweetness.

“Bye.”

Simon walks you all the way to the door.

Your resistance at the initial idea slowly fades as the sun peeks over the city. It’s different with Simon at your side, the paranoia and rampant fear infecting the atmosphere wherever you go is farther away.

You trust him. You’re starting to believe they may be able to keep you safe.

He holds your hand for most of the trip.

It’s… nice. Once you make it to the door, he turns and tucks his fingers under your chin, holding your gaze like a magnet. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.” He presses his lips to your forehead, and you lean into it, eyes closed.

“Have a good day, bunny.”

Work is absolute hell.

Dayshift is so different from nights, and you have trouble adjusting. The turnover rate at the hospital is fairly high, so when you badge in and get started, you hardly recognize anyone.

Except, Marshall.

He’s standing outside the pit when you round the corner, devilish grin aimed at one of the nurses you don’t recognize. New probably. Sheep in a lion’s den.

You clear your throat. His head snaps up.

“Well, well, well… looks who back from vacation.”

“Marshall.” You greet, barely looking at him, tapping through your tablet. “I wasn’t on vacation. I was out on medical leave. Big difference.”

“Right.” He takes you in from head to toe. “Rotator cuff, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

“Surgical?”

“No.” The other nurse watches you with interest, before scurrying away when a bell chimes. “Still having inappropriate relationships all over the hospital, I see.” He raises an eyebrow.

“You’re one to talk.” Ice cracks across your forced smile. He smirks. “Heard you’ve got yourself two boyfriends.” You suck your teeth. Nia.

“Considering he’s no longer my patient, it’s hardly inappropriate.” With the best timing, his phone rings, pulling his focus, and you slip away.

Fucking asshole.

Simon opens the front door for you and is careful not slam it closed.

“Penny asleep?”

“Johnny’s trying now. We’ll see if he has any luck. She’s been fightin’ it.” The kitchen smells like garlicky lemon, and you peek over his shoulder to see a large saucepan filled with linguini, capers, and shrimp. Your mouth waters.

“That smells amazing.” He takes your bag from you and hangs in on a hook from the hall tree.

“Scampi. We remembered you said it was one of your favorites, and we thought we’d spoil you a little bit. Celebrate your first day back.” Your cheeks burn hot, and to your horror, tears build up through your nose to your eyes. His brows crinkle together. “Hey, what is it?”

“That’s just… it’s really nice. You don’t have to.” Someone celebrating something with you, for you, is alien. The memories of the beginning of your relationship with Phillip are long gone, twisted and gnarled into black rot. It’s how he charmed you, wooed you, brought you closer and closer until they all but faded and you were left with only the darkness. The vice grip of his hands. His satisfied, sickening smile every time you closed your eyes.

“It’s not a ‘have to’ thing, sweetheart. We want to.” He skates his fingers over yours, pulling them to his mouth. “I know it’s hard to get used to.” You’re a little bewildered by it, the care, the consideration, even the memory of something you mentioned off hand.

“I… thank you.” He kisses your temple.

“Go shower. You smell like a hospital.”

“This was so good. Thank you again.” Your hands are woven together under your chin, rich wine sauce still present on the back of your tongue.

“Aye, thank ye.” Johnny winks at Simon, who rolls his eyes.

“Here, let me-“

“I got it.”

“No, you cooked.” You protest with a pout as they both rise.

“Johnny, sit.”

“Can wash dishes, ye know. I’m not helpless.” A sliver of twilight passes over Simon’s expression, not quite darkness but still full of a looming shadow until he sighs, relenting.

“Alright.” Your lips purse.

“What about me?”

“Ye jus’ sit on the couch and look pretty, bun. Willnae take us more than a few minutes.”

‘Just sitting on the couch’ lasts for all of five minutes before you’re antsy, rolling to your feet and padding into the kitchen.

You stop dead at the corner of the counter.

They’re making out. More than making out, Simon is swallowing Johnny’s whines with big breaths, his hand down the front of his pants. You buzz, thighs pressing together without permission, spine tingling heat awakening in your blood with zeal.

“Ah, shite-“

“Shhh. Be good.” Simon admonishes, but smiles into the kiss, wrist working a rhythm in Johnny’s sweatpants. He pulls away, chin tilted, looking down his nose with an eyebrow raised, almost condescendingly, but still grinning. “Feel good? Just need some relief?” Johnny’s moan is strangled in his throat, and you’re about to turn the corner in the shame, mortified you’re essentially spying on them, when Simon looks at you like he knows you’ve been there the whole time. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” You whimper. It slips out, unbidden, and Johnny turns, forehead pressed to Simon’s cheek. His hips are trying to jerk into the grip that has slowed, and he groans.

“Si.”

“Relax.” Simon stills him, pulling his hand free. “Maybe bunny wants to play too.” You give them a nervous smile, butterflies building in your stomach. You’re scared, there’s no other emotion to describe it. There’s fear, bad memories, anxiety building in the back of your throat, but at the same time, desire pushes you forward. You trust them, and it’s reached a critical point. You want to try.

“I… maybe if we s-started slow… I’m not sure…”

“That’s okay.” Simon coaxes, wrapping an arm around Johnny’s waist, hand splayed possessively on his stomach. “Let’s go upstairs.”

Their bed is an enchanted place.

There’s love in it, beguiling affection that transfers to you, dots down your throat to your chest, your clavicle, ass pressed into the hardened swell of Johnny’s cock.

It’s enough to strike down your fear, pry you open, lecherous want infiltrating your mind, your soul.

Their dynamic is crystal clear. Simon is natural in his mastery of both Johnny and you, the leader, the maestro. His forbearance at slowly peeling you free, layer by layer, puts you at ease, calms you enough you let him take your pants off, leaving you in only your underwear and the t shirt you put on before dinner. He folds you up against Johnny, careful to mind his sore spots, the pieces still healing, lips finding the plush fold at your ribcage.

“Sweet little bunny.” He glides careful fingertips over your panties. “Can I touch you here?” You draw a deep breath.

“Yeah.” Johnny’s lips graze your neck, and he sweep up over your belly towards your nipples, under your shirt.

“An’ can I touch ye here?”

“Mm- mhmm.” You buck into them, sensation building between your legs, lust cascading to where Simon’s fingers slip into your underwear and down the seam of your pussy.

“You’re wet, sweetheart. Is this for us?” You nod, Johnny tickling circles across your breasts, playing back and forth, pinching and stroking gently.

They’re both taking it slow, cautious, and there’s one half of you wanting to rip into them, and vice versa, while the other half is terrified. So far, the reckless abandon side is winning, but when Simon grazes over your clit, the crest of your fear bottoms out in the pit of your stomach. Johnny flexes his hips, the weight of his cock between the curve of your ass, and the combination of it, the touch now overwhelming, stream of thoughts turning panicked and unstoppable like a bolder rolling down hill, steals your breath.

In the wrong way.

“S-stop.” You freeze, immobilized, muscles turned from molten lava to stone, eyes wide, lungs rasping. Simon immediately creates distance, while Johnny jerks backward, palm steady on your shoulder, but separated otherwise.

“Ye’re alright, bunny.”

“Take a breath.” Simon coaches, maintaining eye contact, and you nod shakily, anchoring yourself to Johnny’s tender hold. You manage a breath, not so far gone you’re spiraling, and it’s deep, without a hitch or a studder. “That’s great. You’ve got it.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, disappointed. You’ve let yourself down, let them down-

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He murmurs, understanding and slow. “We’re done. There’s no rush.”

“No!” You blurt. He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I just… I don’t want it to end I’m just not sure I can… do it.” His head tilts, surprise contained with a slow smile, and Johnny hums.

“Do ye wantae watch, pretty girl?” You nod shyly.

“Is that… is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay.” Simon rasps, stroking your cheek. “Sit up against the headboard.”

The two of them move into position seamlessly, sweat and breath thick in the air, a wet fog blanketed around you. A bottle of lube discarded on the mattress, a pillow under Johnny’s hip to cushion him. He’s settled on his side, arranged carefully to avoid pressure on his injuries, and they both face you.

Simon kisses his neck, sucking urgent marks into his skin before he palms Johnny's ass, hard and then slips between his cheeks. You’re unable to see his hand, but when Johnny’s eyes go wide and he groans hoarsely, your clit throbs.

“There you go.”

“Simon.” He whines, high pitched and needy.

“Bloody tight, Johnny. Been so long since I’ve taken care of you, huh?”

“A- fuck, aye.” He presses backwards into Simon, and pants. The scene makes you drool, the eagerness on Johnny’s face, the slow movements of Simon at his back, his lips against Johnny’s cheek, neck, murmuring gently. You’re nearly shivering, ache screaming between your legs, and instinct takes over as your slip your hand inside your underwear. You’re slick, so wet it dampens your curls, and your fingertips slide over your clit, zaps of electricity echoing through your nerve endings.

Simon looks up at you through heavy lids, mouth obscured by Johnny’s shoulder. “Are you touching yourself sweetheart?” You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid it will come out a garbled mess. “You want to come when I fill our boy up?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Keep going.’ He orders, and then shifts, pressing his cock to Johnny’s entrance. Johnny moans, and your own hips jerk.

Simon pushes slowly, focused on Johnny’s face, cataloging every expression. “Y’alright?” Johnny nods, lip tucked into his teeth. “Christ. You’re strangling me.” He thrusts sharply, sealing his hips to the soft curves in front of him, and Johnny cries out in a high-pitched wail, eyes slamming shut. He fumbles with his cock, squeezing at the root, but Simon pulls him away. “Not yet, sweet boy. Need you to last for us.” You’re trapped in a shockwave that hasn’t quite reached shore yet, tension building with each swipe over your sensitive bud.

“Bunny…” Johnny rasps, and your apprehensions wane.

“Does it feel good?” you whine, and he nods, groaning. Simon builds his thrusts into an unrelenting pace and cups Johnny’s belly, stroking down, pushing against the strain of muscle there, Johnny’s eyes rolling into the back of head. You wonder if Simon can feel it, the pressure, the bulge of his hard cock, shoving deeper and deeper.

“Daddy-“ Johnny shrieks, and Simon’s mouth curls into a satisfied smirk.

“That’s right, good boy. Fuck… perfect little hole f’me. All mine.” He practically growls it, and you writhe, flicking down your pussy and back up, breathing hitching in a frantic pace. Johnny’s delirious, hands scrambling across the sheets, half reaching for you, half reaching for nothing. “Isn’t he perfect, bunny?”

“Ah- yeah.” Your tongue is numb, body burning. Sweat slicks down the middle of your back, and you ride your hand violently.

“Please.” He’s begging, frenzied, fingers twisting, and Simon reaches for his cock, wrapping his fist around his length. It doesn’t take long until Johnny’s back bows, and your toes curl. You hiss. They move together wildly now, a push pull in a frenetic dance, and your eyes slip closed, sinking into the slick sounds of Simon fucking Johnny open, Johnny moaning, whispers passed back and forth. Simon cups his jaw, tilting his face towards you, and they both watch, drifting from your eyes down to where you’re trying to make yourself come, clit swollen and throbbing.

“She’s such a good girl, isn’t she? Touchin’ herself, watching you take my cock.”

“Pretty girl.” Johnny slurs through his gasps, body shaking with the power of Simon’s thrusts. He’s close, judging by the fevered look on his face, little gasps and whines tumbling from his mouth. Simon squeezes him, thick thumb rubbing over his slit.

“Come, bunny. Be good for daddy.” Simon coaches, and you tighten, cosmic explosion streaking behind your closed lids, the same time Simon grits out something under his breath, jaw tight, tugging relentlessly on Johnny’s cock until he’s crying out too, cum splattering up his belly and chest, Simon milking every last drop from his cock as he lazily strokes inside him.

Immediately, you gasp. Shocked at yourself, but not scared. Not nervous just… emboldened.

They both read it on you, and Johnny’s head lolls with a satisfied, lazy smile. Simon pulls free, rubbing Johnny’s hip sweetly, ducking into the bathroom to get a towel. He cleans him up carefully, gently, and Johnny’ reaches for your hand. You don’t turn away.

And when Simon urges you to tuck in between them for sleep, you do. More than willingly.

“He looks good.” Hot tea wafts from the cup in front of your nose. You’re on break, somewhat, watching Johnny work through his last few minutes of physical therapy, his face broken out in satisfied smile. His biceps flex. “Really good.”

“He’s been workin’ out at home, a bit. In the garage.”

“He shouldn’t be pushing it.”

“I know.” Simon squeezes your good shoulder. “He’s okay, bun. He’s strong. A bit too stubborn for his own good sometimes, but strong.”

“Dada.” Penny smacks an open palm against Simon’s chest, and he covers it with his own, bouncing her slightly.

“Look, Pen. Is that your Da in there? Is that him?” The therapist smiles at Johnny and pats him on the back, rubs his shoulder down to his elbow with wandering fingers. She’s pretty, and fit, tight ass, tiny hips. A sliver of self-doubt, self-consciousness pokes at you, and then jealousy nearly turns you green. Simon cocks his head with a laugh. “Easy, bun. She’s just doing her job, you know.”

“What? I know that. I’m fine.” You immediately blurt, and it does nothing for your cause.

“It’s cute. That you’re jealous.”

“I’m not,” you roll your eyes, “whatever.” He chuckles, and then starts to pass Penny to you.

“Can you hold her while I help him get his stuff together?”

“Sure, c’mere girlfriend.” You tuck her up into your chest, playing with her hair as she curls into you. “Sleepy huh? It’s past your nap time. I bet Dada keeps you up for an early bedtime tonight.” She coos. Her fingers tighten in the collar of your shirt.

And then a freight train rams itself in the deepest parts of your heart.

You lean against the wall to keep your balance.

This is not your baby, but she feels like yours. Her weight is familiar now. Her routines. Her signs and sounds.

It’s easy to close your eyes and imagine she’s yours.

It’s been days since you touched yourself in bed as Johnny and Simon had sex, and the scene, the desire, is burrowing itself in your brain.

You want more.

You want more so badly you wind up touching yourself in the shower, fingers stroking your clit until you're muffling a moan in your elbow when you come.

It doesn’t soothe the ache. You’re not sure what will.

So, when you’re done, and find them relaxing in bed, Johnny in boxers, an idea abruptly runs through your head.

Could you?

Your fingers twiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Hi.”

“Hi?” Simon raises an eyebrow. Johnny stops his sketching to smile.

“I um. I wanted to… see… or ask for something.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I just… I was wondering if I could… sit on you.”

“Sit on us?” Simon’s brow furrows, but Johnny’s face lights up.

“Like, ye wannae sit on one of us?” He emphasizes the word sit, and Simon murmurs.

“Ah.”

“I just… I really want to… I want to move on.” The words take you by surprise. “I want to feel like a human again, like how I used to feel. Before I was like this. I think…”

“Taking back control of your body will bring you closer to healing.” Johnny looks at Simon, and there’s desperate sadness in their eyes. Their hands intertwine, gripping onto each other so hard it looks like it hurts.

The moment passes, gone like it was never there in the first place. Johnny turns back to you.

“Ye’ll have to sit on me, pretty girl.”

“But... your hip.”

“I can take it.” You nod. Not that you prefer one to the other, but you’re curious.

“Is there a reason why…”

“I’m too big, bunny. Especially if it’s been a while for you. We’ll need to ease you into it.” Johnny smirks, and you hide an excited shiver.

“Okay.”

You stretch yourself out with your own fingers at first, the process made easier by your orgasm in the shower, all the while both Simon and Johnny encourage you, coo at you, praise you.

You stay present. Focused.

“Take it slow,” Simon coaches when you straddle Johnny’s hips, “don’t rush it. Just take your time.” Hands on his shoulders, Simon reaches for his cock, sliding it through your lips, brushing your clit before angling it at your entrance. You take a deep breath.

“Okay.”

The first inch makes you whine. Johnny’s fingertips draw circles up and down your spine, his lips in your ear. “Good job, pretty girl. Just like that. Nice and easy.” Your eyes slip closed, and you take more, sliding down his cock, the burn of the stretch smarting tears in your eyes. Simon wipes them away.

“Our brave girl. You’re doing so well. Feel okay so far?”  

“Y-yeah.”

“Ye alright? Does it hurt?”

“A little.” You wince, taking another inch, glancing down. Your equilibrium pitches.

“Look at me.” Johnny redirects, head tilted back on a pile of pillows. “Jus’ look at me, bunny. You’re safe. I’ve got ye.” His hands guide your hips, keeping your pace even and slow, careful. Even when the anxiety invades your control, he steadies you. “It’s us, just us. We’re here, bunny. You’re okay.” The ache, the open sore spot spilling sticky, blackened tar, seals up. It's zippered shut, away from you, packed tight for another day. Another moment. The only thing you need to focus on is here, and now. With them. Johnny's jaw clenches. “Christ Si. She’s really tight.”

“I know.” He pushes some of Johnny’s hair from his forehead. “You’re both being so good. I’m proud of you.” The praise, the warmth from the both of him, glows in your heart. You’ve never felt so safe, so cherished, in your life. Again and again, they surprise you, teaching you how things you used to dread or shy away from can be enjoyed, valued.

This is how it should be. Love without fear. Intimacy without fear.

You’re fully split open on Johnny, stuffed full. It’s tender, calm in the low light of the bedroom, almost cozy. His thighs blaze under your ass, and the heat creeps like lava to your fingers and toes, turning you boneless, languid in his arms. Simon leans in to kiss your temple.

“How do you feel?”

“R-really full.”

“Are you in pain?”

“No just… stretched, I think?” You wiggle a little bit, and Johnny finally breaks eye contact, looking up at the ceiling with a groan.

“Try to be still bunny. We just want to get you used to the feeling. This isn’t about sex.” Simon's last comment earns Johnny a warning glance, and he nods, straightening.

“Right. Even though your perfect little pussy is drivin’ me mad-“

“Johnny.” Simon chides. “Bunny, can you lean forward for me?” His hand presses to the middle of the back, guiding you to rest your cheek on Johnny’s shoulder. “Good girl.”

The room lapses into silence that lasts, rhythm of your chest rising and falling syncing with Johnny’s, Simon humming, working a hand up and down your spine.

Up and down. Up and down.

You think you could do it now. Roll your hips and rise on your knees, sink back down to feel the pressure, the bludgeoning tip of Johnny’s long cock nestled at your cervix. You’re not sure, not confident, but somewhere in your dreams, you picture yourself milking him dry, riding his cock until you’re shattering.

“Si.” Johnny’s voice pitches to something you’ve never heard, low and heavily accented. “Will ye read?” Pages of a book flutter. You hadn’t realized your eyes had closed, but as Simon’s voice picks up a page with no pretense, you don’t fight it, allowing yourself to drift between them, cradled on Johnny’s body with a piece of him pulsing inside you.

It’s bliss. It’s love. You’re…. happy.

[rie-092]

FATHER, CAN I DIE?

✶﹒ platonic yandere! manhwa fathers x suicidal/overworked daughter! reader

summary : maybe they should just lock you in your room to make sure that you won't do something dangerous.

a.n : i plan to make this a series, what do you think?

abel heilon

let's start with the most chill platonic yandere! out of the guys that i will feature in this post! abel heilon, the duke of the north with a simple mindset of 'if you mess with me then i'll mess with ya' we all know how protective he is with fiona and siegren. but just imagine, what if— just what if he has an illegitimate child who's related to him by blood that he hid from the public's eyes.

anyways, the first time he met you. he became sure of one thing. damn, you were indeed his child. with that silver hair, blue eyes and personality of yours— you were indeed his child. he can't deny that because you looked like a kid version of him. well, it's not like he is denying it tho— but what the fuck is wrong with your brain anyways?!

he doesn't know if you were abused before he met you. but why in the hell are you so obsessed with suicide anyways?! why the fuck are you even throwing yourself in battles when you were a support mage?! for the fuck sake! stop! yes, you have above average amount of mana! but the hell?! you're not as strong as fiona nor siegren! stop it!

if it's not for siegren then he wouldn't know the fact that you happily greeted the assassin that was sent by the imperial family. according to him, before siegren saved you from the assassin you even have the guts to propose to that damn assassin about committing suicide together since according to you, you have fallen in love with him— hearing that story, abel couldn't help but facepalm. (first name), you're thirteen! and that assassin is already thirty-six or worse, older!

maybe because of the stress of managing the north and keeping you safe from your suicide attempts. abel finally snapped.

look, abel likes watching you enjoying your freedom. but damn, if he doesn't do anything about this— he might end up burying you before you even reach the age of 18. he won't hurt you, he swears. that was the last thing that he will do to you. but that doesn't mean that he can't take preventive measures to make sure that you were safe.

platonic yandere! abel heilon was one of the chillest platonic yandere that existed. he will let you do anything that you want, he won't take away your freedom nor hurt you. he isn't also overbearing to the point that it was suffocating. but don't make him snap, because he can be the most suffocating and controlling parent existed.

now, on your sixteenth birthday— to celebrate it. you decided to jump onto the freezing river near the manor. you expected that you'll wake up inside your room— but no. when you opened your eyes, you were inside an unfamiliar room that has no windows. seeing that you can't use your magic, you were sure that there's a magic restricting device placed around here. what the hell is happening?

the door had opened, you looked at who it was and saw abel looking at you with a smug grin. you tried to ask him what is going on but instead of replying— abel only ruffled your hair saying that it will be only him and you from now on. and that was when you realized one thing— abel had taken your freedom away from you.

but abel didn't care. cry until you have no tears left, he doesn't care. the only thing that he cared about was keeping you alive. and this is the only thing that he know to achieve his goal. but don't worry, he will visit you everyday and give you books to make sure that you won't get bored. so, can you stop being a btch and appreciate his efforts?

he doesn't care if your eyes lost its usual enthusiasm and spark. he doesn't care if you stop eating at some point— because abel can shove the food inside your mouth to make sure that you stay alive.

oh, by the way— fiona was the one who made the room where you were staying now. she just wanted to make sure that you were safe! and the only place where you can be safe is the place where you can't use magic! so, forgive them, will ya?

“should i just cut off your arms? so that you won't be able to use your magic again?”

gallahan lombardy

okay, as far as you know— you are not really a suicidal type of person. but for your father, gallahan lombardy you are. because for gallahan, overworking is another way to try to kill yourself after all.

gallahan is a sweet person, i swear. he won't hurt you at all and isolating you? no, no, no, gallahan won't do that! but he still couldn't help but become paranoid when it came to you. you were way too focused on studying— maybe because of the pressure that you were getting from the other people.

your sleep only lasted for two or four hours, you always isolate yourself inside the library. and gallahan didn't like it at all— look, you need to take it easy and rest. the only time you leave the library was when gallahan and tia drag you outside to eat in a cafe or buy new clothes.

platonic yandere! gallahan loves to spoil you. you wanted to buy books? here you go. want to try home-cooked foods? sure, he'll cook it for you. do you want to go to the festival with tia? alright! as long as he will go with you two.

but then, a certain event made gallahan snap. it was a normal day and gallahan entered the library to drag you outside so that you could socialize with the family. but then, he saw you unconscious on the floor, buried in the books and your nose was bleeding. gallahan was panicking, he didn't know what to do. what if you don't wake up? what if something bad happens to you? or worse— what if you die? if it wasn't for shananet who saw her younger brother's panicked face and her niece's condition. then gallahan won't be able to calm down and call the family doctor.

and what is the doctor's diagnosis? you were overworked. and after hearing that, rulac lombardi, your grandfather along with your auntie and uncles saw how your father's face darkened while looking at you who was peacefully sleeping on the bed.

and then, after that incident. you couldn't help but become confused when gallahan didn't scold you— instead, when you woke up. you saw him smiling softly at you. he didn't even ask you to take it easy. he just lets you do what you want.

but what you found odd was your father started giving you foods and drinks everytime and after consuming those things. you started feeling tired and before you knew it, you always ends up asleep. and once you woken up, you were already on your room. with tia cuddling with you while your father was asleep while sitting on the chair next to your bed also asleep.

knowing how innocent your father was, you never suspect a thing. you just kept on eating and drinking the things that he was giving to you. and you never questioned why you always get tired after it. your father loves you so much, so he wouldn't do anything— right?

plot twist, gallahan actually puts drug on your food and drinks to make sure that you will take a rest and never overwork yourself again. but a year later, you started losing your sense of sight because of it. but gallahan and tia don't care when you have them? oh, just thinking about their sweet (first name) being dependent on them was enough to make them very happy.

“sorry, honey! this is just a precaution, okay?”

[queenshelby]

Uncle Tommy (Part One)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Niece Reader

Warning: Smut, Incest, Taboo Relations, DDLG, Dub-Con

And yes, this was a request! Please comment and engage!

It was during the month of August that you moved back to Birmingham after having spent almost twelve years travelling with your mother Esma after your father died and whilst your mother disliked the idea, you were eighteen now and to put it bluntly, you were no longer a child and had to make your own decisions.

Your mother had met and married another man a few years ago, and you had no desire to be a burden on their newfound happiness so, when your Aunt Polly suggested for you to move in with either her or your Uncle Tommy, you were grateful for the opportunity.

Your Uncle Tommy had horses and you had always loved the idea of working with them, so it was an easy decision to move in with him. Your Uncle Tommy had a new wife. She was his third wife and whilst you thought that living with a man like him and his newfound love would be slightly awkward, you settled in easily. 

After a few days, you began to feel more comfortable in your new surroundings, enjoying your work with the horses and even though you had not seen your Uncle Tommy for over 12 years beforehand, he seemed genuinely happy to see you.

You came across as bright, intelligent and respectful and found yourself in your uncle's office quite often, helping him with paperwork and other business-related tasks. However, there was something peculiar about your Uncle Tommy. Something that made you feel slightly uncomfortable but also somewhat exited when he was around, although you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was.

He was a mid-forty-year-old attractive man with a commanding presence, handsome, with piercing blue eyes and jet-black hair. You never remembered him like this from your childhood. Now he seemed to have acquired a distinguished elegance - a byproduct, perhaps, of his wealth and power.

It wasn’t just his looks, but also the way he carried himself. Confident, commanding, yet respectful. He treated you like an adult and didn’t hesitate to give you the responsibility you craved.

But then, occasionally, you felt as though he made some advances towards you which you were not sure whether or not you should reciprocate. He was your uncle after all. He was a married man, and you were in a relationship with a good young man who happened to be working in your uncle's factory. 

On occasion, your uncle would put a stray hand on your waist, his fingers lightly tracing your curves as he leaned in close to whisper something mundane, his warm breath tickling your ear in a way that made you shiver.

You would quicken your pace, eager to escape the alluring pull of his nearness and return to the comfort of your own room. However, sometimes, you got lost in the moment, in his mesmerizing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through you.

One evening, after a particularly long day of work with the horses, you found him in the study.

He was sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a pen in the other. His eyes were focused on some documents in front of him, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

"Uncle Tommy," you said softly, not wanting to disturb him.

He looked up, his gaze softening as he took in your appearance. You were wearing a simple dress that hugged your curves and showed off your legs. Your hair was loose around your shoulders, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks under his gaze.

"Come in, Love," he said, gesturing to the empty chair in front of his desk. "What can I do for you?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"I just wanted to talk to you about something," you said finally. "It's about James, the young man I am seeing," you told him, causing him to furrow his eyebrows.

"What about him?" your uncle asked , setting his glass aside and giving you his full attention. There was a hint of something in his tone that you couldn't quite place, but it made you feel slightly uneasy.

"Well," you began, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. "I just wanted to let you know that we're getting serious. I think we might even get engaged soon which means that, maybe, I would be moving in with him."

Your uncle's expression didn't change, but you saw a flicker of something in his eyes that made you feel uncomfortable.

"Love, you are fucking 18 years old, " he said, his voice low and controlled. "You should not be making decisions like that yet," he said honestly as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin as he looked at you thoughtfully.

"I respect your feelings for this young man," he said finally. "But I urge you to be careful, eh? Don't be a fool. You are a fucking Shelby and you  do not commit yourself to just anybody," your uncle said and you sat there in silence for a moment, digesting his words. You knew he was right, of course. You were young and had a whole life ahead of you. You should not make any rash decisions, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

"I understand Uncle Tommy, but I really love him,"  you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your uncle chuckled in response before leaning over the desk and caressing your cheek.  His touch was gentle, but the heat of it sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and danger at the same time.

"You are a beautiful young woman Y/N, " your uncle said, his voice dripping with suggestion. "And you deserve much better than a factory worker like him who seems to have no fucking aspirations to become anything more, eh," he added, his fingers tracing your jawline.

His fingers lingered longer than necessary, and you felt a strange heat spreading through your body. You knew you should pull away, but you couldn't bring yourself to move. Instead, you felt yourself leaning into his touch, your heart racing as your mind filled with forbidden thoughts just before his wife walked into the study.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt," she said as she entered the room, her eyes flickering between you and your uncle.

Your uncle quickly withdrew his hand, his face becoming impassive as he greeted his wife with a warm smile.

"No, it's alright, love. Y/N and I were just having a discussion about her future," he said, his voice betraying no emotion.

You quickly stood up, eager to escape the tension in the room, but you took what your uncle had said to heart. You knew that he was right and, over the next few weeks, the relationship between you and James became strained.

A few weeks later...

It was around 10 o'clock when you heard a knock on the door of your bedroom. You were sitting on your bed, reading a book and trying to clear your mind. 

"Come in," you called out, setting your book aside and straightening your posture as the door opened and your uncle stepped inside.

He looked striking as ever, his hair perfectly styled and his suit tailored to perfection. His eyes scanned over you in a way that made you feel both excited and slightly uneasy.

"Uncle Tommy, what are you doing here?" you asked as he entered your bedroom, closing the door behind him, before sitting down by your side.

"I just came to check on you, Love," he said , eyes gleaming as he looked at your young and naive figure. "To see if you were doing alright," he continued, running his fingers ran through your hair. "Frances told me that you have been having some problems with this boy you were seeing," he then admitted  , with a hint of concern in his voice.

You couldn't help but feel grateful for the attention, and somehow, comforted. You thus sat up next to him, wearing nothing but your satin nightgown, confiding about what happened between you and James.

"We had a little argument because he wants things that I am not ready for, you know. So, I have distanced myself a little from him for now and it's really making me sad," you answered honestly, and your uncle nodded before resting his hand on your bare thigh. 

Your uncle's touch sent a jolt of pleasure throughout your body, his skin was warm and rough, you leaned in slightly towards him, letting out a soft sigh.

"Well, I told you before Love, you deserve better than a boy like James fucking McFallon, eh," your uncle said with a gentle voice, running his fingers up your thigh, causing you to shiver.

"Now, tell me though Sweetheart, he didn't make you do anything you didn't want to do, did he? Because if he has, then I will need to deal with him,"  Thomas said, his voice a low growl.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and safety in your uncle's presence. You knew that he would always be there for you and protect you from anything that could harm you.

"No, he didn't. I just didn't want to take the next step with him yet," you said softly, looking up at your uncle.

His fingers were still tracing their way up your thigh, sending tingles throughout your body.

"And he hasn't touched you in any placed you didn't want to be touched, has he?"  Thomas asked, looking into your eyes with that piercing blue gaze.

"What do you mean by that?" you asked, in your rather naive mind, causing your uncle to chuckle.

"I mean, he hasn't touched you down here without your consent , has he?" Thomas clarified, his hand vaguely brushing over your clothed sex.

You felt a sudden heat rising to your cheeks as your uncle's words finally sunk in.

"No, he hasn't. I wouldn't allow it," you said, but your voice wavered slightly, giving away your uncertainty as your uncle's eyes gleamed as he nodded his head, pleased with your answer.

"Good, because if he had touched you right there without your consent, then would have had no choice but to fucking cut him, eh?"  Thomas said, as he gently caressed your cheek with one hand while rubbing his fingers over your panties with the other, before pulling the fabric to the side. 

You froze almost immediately , tensing up as you tried to comprehend what your uncle was doing.

"Uncle Tommy, you shouldn't touch me down there, I think," you stammered while, at the same time, inadvertently spreading your legs.

"You are right Love, I probably shouldn't. But doesn't it feel nice when I touch you there?" Thomas whispered as you rubbed his thumb over your clit, creating a strange wetness between your folds.

"It feels really weird, Uncle Tommy," you moaned as your uncle started to move his thumb in a circular motion, building up a strange and unfamiliar ache in your lower belly.

"Do you want me to stop?" Thomas asked, his voice husky and full of desire as he slowed down his movements, waiting for your answer.

"No, don't stop," you panted , your body coming alive under his touch.

Thomas smiled and resumed his previous pace while feeling himself grow hard beneath the confides of his pants.

"Do you think I could have a closer look at your treasure, Sweetheart? I would love to see that beautiful little hole of yours now, because it is getting so nice and wet for me,"  your uncle whispered in your ear while slipping his fingers under the waistband of your panties.

"Uncle Tommy, I don't know if that's a good idea," you said, gasping slightly as you felt your uncle's fingers touch your intimate areas.

"I promise, Love, I will make you feel really nice down there," Thomas reassured you, sliding his index finger over your wet folds. 

"Okay , but just this once," you agreed, reluctantly but with a hint of curiosity in your voice.

"Good girl. Why don't you lie down for me , Love?" Thomas suggested, removing his index finger from your wetness and giving you a soft pat on your bottom, encouraging you to lie back down on the bed.

You didn't resist and followed your uncle's instructions, biting your lip as he slipped off your panties, leaving you bare before him.

Thomas couldn't help but admire the sight of your body laid out before him. Your legs were slightly parted, giving him a glimpse of your beautiful, wet sex. Without warning, he then spread your labia open with his fingers, exposing your clit and inner folds.

"Such a beautiful sight, eh" Thomas whispered while gently tracing your folds with his index finger, causing you to shiver at the touch.

"You are simply stunning, Love," Thomas continued, awe in his voice as he leaned down to get a closer look.

"Have you ever put your fingers inside your little tressure box here?"  Thomas asked, his voice low and deep as he gently circled your clit with his thumb.

"No, I don't think I have," you replied, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves as your uncle asked you such a personal question.

"Would you like me to be the first one to do it?" Thomas asked, his eyes gleaming with desire.

"I-I don't know," you stammered, feeling yourself flush at the thought. "Is it going to hurt?" you asked, biting your lip as your uncle's fingers continued to explore your wet sex.

"Only for a moment, Sweetheart. But I promise, it will feel so good after that," Thomas reassured you, before slowly and gently running his index finger over your wet sex again. 

"Okay , let's try it," you agreed, feeling yourself getting more and more aroused by your uncle's actions and words.

Thomas couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement as, very carefully, he pushed his index finger inside your tight sex, feeling your inner walls clench around it.

You couldn't help but gasp at the sensation, as your uncle's finger penetrated you for the first time. It felt strange and unfamiliar, but also incredibly pleasurable.

"How does it feel, Love?" Thomas asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"It feels...weird, but also kind of nice," you replied, finding it hard to put your feelings into words.

"Good, that's great Love," Thomas praised you, as a proud smile appeared on his face. "Now, I want you to relax and breathe deeply while I move my finger inside of you, okay?"

You nodded eagerly, taking deep breaths as your uncle slowly moved his finger in and out of your sex. It was an odd sensation, but also incredibly arousing.

You couldn't believe what was happening in this moment, but at the same time, you couldn't deny that it felt incredible. Thomas's fingers were now exploring every inch of your wet sex, causing you to moan and writhe in pleasure beneath him.

"You're so fucking tight, Love," Thomas groaned, as his finger moved deeper inside of you. "But I think I can get a second finger inside without breaking your barrier," he said tentatively  , looking deep into your eyes for consent.

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, but you also couldn't deny the arousal that was building up inside of you. You nodded your head in agreement, and Thomas slowly slid in a second finger, causing you to gasp at the feeling of being stretched.

"That's it, Sweetheart. Just relax and breathe," Thomas whispered softly in your ear, as he continued to move his fingers in and out of your wet sex.

The feeling was still strange and unfamiliar, but the pleasure that accompanied it quickly overshadowed any discomfort you might have felt earlier. Your breathing became heavier and more ragged as your uncle's fingers continued their slow, teasing movements.

Thomas could feel your body tensing up beneath his touch, so he leaned down to whisper in your ear once more, "You're doing great, Love. Just relax and let me make you feel good."

He moved his fingers slowly at first, allowing you to get used to the sensation of being penetrated in this way. He could feel your tight walls gripping his fingers, and he knew he had to be gentle.

"Oh God," you moaned, your head falling back as you felt your arousal build. "Something strange is happening," you admitted, as you could feel a pressure building up inside of you, along with a warmth spreading throughout your body.

"Explain it to me, Sweetheart. What do you feel?" Thomas asked again, his fingers still working their magic inside you.

"It feels good, but I feel like I am about to wet myself," you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed.

"That's good. This means you are close," your uncle said as he started to circle his thumb faster on your clit, pushing his fingers deeper inside of you at the same time.

"Let go, Sweetheart," Thomas coaxed you. "Don't hold back, just let it happen."

You listened to your uncle, allowing yourself to fully immerse in the sensations rippling through your body. His words were like a switch, releasing all remaining tension and inhibitions, sending you crashing over the edge in a dizzying wave of pure pleasure.

"That's it, Love. Let it all out," Thomas encouraged you with a gentle smile, as he watched you ride this new and exciting experience.

"Oh my god. Oh fuck," you moaned as your body trembled and shuddered, the pleasure radiating outwards from your core  , pooling in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Your orgasm hit you hard and strong as you released your wetness all over your uncle's hands, leaving you panting and sweating. You squirted for several seconds, leaving the sheets soaked and you blushing with embarrassment.

"I-I didn't know that could happen," you stammered, your cheeks flushed red as you tried to regain your composure as Thomas carefully pulled his fingers out of you, resting his hand on your thigh, as he studied your expression. Your face was flushed bright red, and you looked utterly spent.

"How are you feeling, Love?" he asked softly, his voice thick with concern.

You blinked dazedly up at him and nodded slowly. "I...I'm okay, I think," you finally answered, your voice still trembling slightly as you tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Thomas smiled at you and leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead. "Good," he said simply before standing up, leaving your side for a moment.

You watched him through hooded eyes as he walked towards the en-suite bathroom, before returning with a warm washcloth to gently clean you up. His touch was tender, caring and you ought to ask whether you had indeed wet yourself , but you couldn't summon the words. He then threw the washcloth into a nearby hamper before reclaiming his prominent position on your bed.

"Don't be embarrassed, Love. That's completely natural," Thomas murmured softly as he traced the curve of your cheek with the pad of his thumb, smiling down at your amazed expression.

"I've just never... felt anything like that before," you admitted shyly, feeling just slightly overwhelmed by how strong your reaction had been.

"It wasn't bad, though. In fact, I think I might like it," you added, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you looked up at your uncle. "Do you think I could make you feel that good too?" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked up at your uncle with wide eyes.

"I am sure you can, but not tonight, Love. Tonight was all about you," Thomas replied, his voice gentle and soothing. "There is no need to rush things, we have all the time in the world," he added affectionately, before pressing a soft kiss on your forehead once more.

"Now, why don't you have a rest and we can revisit this tomorrow if you like," Thomas suggested, as he tucked the blankets around you, tenderly tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You watched him as he turned off the lights and left your bedroom, before letting your heavy eyelids fall closed and slipping into a peaceful sleep.

T

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[gyuuberryy]

a love affair in colour

pairing: art tutor!jay x princess!reader

synopsis: as a princess exploring her artistic passions, you’re drawn to jay, your mesmerising art teacher whose lessons stir more than just creativity. what begins as a quest to master your craft quickly becomes a whirlwind of tension and forbidden desire. with every brushstroke and shared moment, the line between teacher and lover blurs. but when societal barriers and personal doubts threaten your connection, will you both find a way to embrace a future together, or will your love remain a beautiful but fleeting masterpiece?

genre: strangers to lovers, forbidden relationship, comfort

warnings: kissing, lots of tension, mentions of status difference, angst, a little suggestive

note: i used my experience in art to detail all the content related to it so bear with me if it seems a little modern, i don't know much about how they did art in the olden times. also jay just constantly raises my standards??? i love that man so much he's so husband material it hurts TT enjoy reading!

word count : 11.1k

royally yours masterlist | prev:heeseung | next: jake

if you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

you’ve always been drawn to art. as a child, while other princesses were learning courtly etiquette or practising diplomacy, you were sneaking into the gardens to sketch the trees or hiding in your chambers, fingers stained with ink as you copied paintings from the castle’s grand halls. but those were mere indulgences, fleeting escapes from the rigid structure of royal life.

when your parents noticed your growing talent, they encouraged it—as a hobby, of course. something to amuse yourself with between diplomatic meetings, public appearances, and the pressures of royal expectations. but for you, art was never just a pastime. it was a passion. an escape. a way to express the parts of you that didn’t fit into the carefully curated image of a princess.

so, when you told your parents you wanted to pursue art seriously, it was met with initial resistance. a princess has duties, obligations, responsibilities. but you persisted, and eventually, they relented. if you were going to study art, they wanted the best for you. that’s how jay came to the palace—an accomplished artist in his own right, though he came from modest beginnings. he was hired to help you master the craft before your trip to paris, where you’d study under the finest artists in the world.

jay’s reputation preceded him. he was known not only for his skill but for his ability to bring out the best in his students. when he arrived at the palace, you were both eager and nervous, unsure of what to expect.

your first meeting was in the grand studio, a room that had once been your sanctuary. now, as you stand by the window, gazing out over the palace grounds, you feel the weight of what’s to come. you’re no longer a novice; this isn’t just a casual hobby. this is the beginning of something serious, something real. and the thought of it is both exhilarating and terrifying.

the door creaks open behind you, and you turn to see him—jay. he’s younger than you expected, though older than you by a few years. his clothes are simple, a stark contrast to the luxury of your surroundings, yet he wears them with a quiet confidence. his dark hair is tousled, as though he’s just come from a long day at work, and there’s a certain intensity in his eyes, a focus that makes your stomach flip.

“your highness,” he greets, bowing low.

“please, just my name,” you say quickly, hoping to dispel some of the formality that hangs between you. “if we’re to work together, there’s no need for titles.”

he straightens, and for a moment, you think you see a flicker of something—surprise? amusement?—in his expression, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “very well,” he says simply. “shall we begin?”

you nod, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves as you lead him to the easel set up near the window. it’s been prepared for your first lesson, a blank canvas stretched taut, waiting for the first stroke of charcoal or paint. you’ve done this before, hundreds of times, but never under the watchful eye of a teacher like jay.

“before we begin,” he says, setting his bag down on the table, “tell me why you want to do this. not because you have to—because you want to.”

his question catches you off guard. you’d expected him to dive straight into the technical aspects of drawing or painting, not to ask about your motivations. but there’s a seriousness in his tone that tells you he’s not just asking out of curiosity. he wants to understand. he wants to know you.

“i’ve always loved art,” you admit, folding your hands in front of you, feeling a little exposed. “it’s the one thing that’s mine. in a world where so much is decided for me, art is where i get to choose. it’s... freedom.”

jay nods slowly, as if weighing your words. “art is freedom,” he agrees quietly. “it’s expression. it’s telling the world who you are without saying a word. but it’s also discipline. and commitment. if you’re serious about this, i’ll push you. i’ll make sure you’re challenged. does that sound like something you’re ready for?”

your heart beats faster. his intensity is palpable, and it’s hard not to be swept up in it. “yes,” you say, though the word comes out softer than you intended. “i’m ready.”

he regards you for a moment longer, then reaches into his bag, pulling out a small sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. “we’ll start with something simple,” he says, handing you the charcoal. “i want you to draw me.”

you blink, surprised. “draw you?”

“it’s a good exercise,” he explains, moving to stand a little distance away. “if you can capture the essence of a person, you can draw anything.”

your fingers tighten around the charcoal as you sit at the easel, facing him. it feels strange, having him as the subject. his features are sharp, defined, but there’s something else—an intensity in his gaze that makes it hard to concentrate. you take a deep breath and begin to sketch, the sound of the charcoal scratching against the canvas the only sound in the room.

it’s not easy. his face is a study in contrasts—strong jawline, soft eyes, dark brows furrowed in concentration as he watches you work. you find yourself getting lost in the details, trying to capture the exact curve of his lips, the shadow beneath his cheekbone. but the more you focus, the more elusive it becomes.

“you’re overthinking it,” jay says suddenly, breaking the silence. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, though he doesn’t touch you. “you’re focusing on the parts, not the whole. step back. see the bigger picture.”

you try to follow his advice, but his presence behind you is distracting, and the scent of him—earthy, with a hint of something fresh—fills your senses. your heart beats faster, though you try to ignore it.

jay steps closer, his breath warm against your ear. “here,” he says softly, reaching out to guide your hand. his fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through your body, and you almost drop the charcoal. “loosen your grip. let the lines flow.”

you do as he says, though your heart races at his nearness. his hand lingers over yours for a moment too long before he pulls away, but the connection between you doesn’t fade. the air feels charged, as if something unsaid hangs between you.

when you finish the sketch, it’s rough, imperfect, but there’s something there—a spark of life, of emotion. jay leans over your shoulder to examine it, his expression unreadable.

“better,” he says after a moment, his voice low and approving. “you’ve captured something real here.”

you look at the drawing again, trying to see what he sees, but all you can think about is the way his hand felt over yours, the way his voice seemed to wrap around you like a secret.

as he moves to gather his things, you realise that this is just the beginning. the first lesson. but already, something has shifted between you. something neither of you can name yet, but it’s there—in the shared glances, the lingering touches, the unspoken connection.

and as jay turns to leave, promising to return for your next lesson, you can’t help but wonder if this is really just about art—or if something far more dangerous has already begun.

the days following your first lesson with jay felt like a strange new rhythm. art had always been a deeply personal escape for you, something that existed in the quiet moments between royal duties, but now it had become something more. each session with jay stirred something inside you—not just the desire to improve, but a spark of something you couldn't quite name.

jay had been nothing but professional, his focus always on your craft. but beneath his calm demeanour, there was an undercurrent, a kind of intensity in the way he looked at you during your lessons. it was subtle, barely noticeable, but it was there, like the brushstrokes of a painting hidden beneath layers of paint.

today, as you enter the studio, you feel it more than ever. the room is bathed in soft light, the kind of glow that makes everything seem warmer, softer. jay is already there, setting up supplies on the table, his back to you. you watch him for a moment, your eyes tracing the broad lines of his shoulders, the way his hands move with such precision and care.

“good morning,” you say, finally breaking the silence. your voice comes out softer than you intended, the room swallowing the sound.

he turns, a brief smile crossing his face. “good morning.” there’s a hint of warmth in his tone, but as always, it’s controlled, measured. jay has never been one to show too much emotion, though lately, you’ve caught glimpses of something more.

“i thought we’d try something different today,” he says, gesturing to the large canvas in the corner of the room. “i want to work on your observation skills.”

you nod, intrigued. “what do you have in mind?”

instead of answering immediately, jay picks up a chair and places it in the centre of the room, angled toward the sunlight. he then takes his sketchbook and charcoal, positioning himself in front of the chair but far enough away that there’s space between you.

“i want you to sit,” he says simply, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before flickering away. “i’m going to sketch you.”

the request catches you off guard. “me? but... shouldn’t i be the one practising sketching?”

he smiles faintly, shaking his head. “today, i want you to feel what it’s like to be the subject. to understand how the artist sees you.” he glances at the canvas, and then back at you. “it’ll help you observe the world around you with more empathy, more connection.”

the thought of jay watching you, studying you so closely, makes your heart race. you’ve always been behind the canvas, never in front of it. to have his eyes on you, not just in passing but with the intention of capturing every detail—it feels strangely vulnerable.

but you trust him. there’s something about jay that puts you at ease, even when you’re unsure of yourself. so, you sit in the chair, adjusting your posture slightly, your hands resting in your lap.

“relax,” he says softly, his voice gentle. “you don’t have to pose. just be yourself.”

you try to do as he says, leaning back into the chair, though your heart is beating a little faster now. the room is quiet except for the faint scratch of his charcoal on the page, and you’re acutely aware of his gaze as it moves over you—your face, your hands, the way the light falls on your hair.

he works silently, his brow furrowed in concentration, and you find yourself watching him, trying to read the expression on his face. there’s a softness there that you hadn’t noticed before, a kind of careful attention that feels almost… tender.

for a while, neither of you speaks. you’re not sure how long has passed—minutes? hours? time seems to lose its meaning in this space, as if the world outside the studio doesn’t exist.

“so you want to pursue art huh?” jay’s voice breaks the silence, and you blink, surprised by the question.

“yes” you reply, shifting slightly in the chair.

he doesn’t look up from his sketch. “why did you choose art? out of everything you could have pursued?”

the question is one you’ve asked yourself many times. you think back to your childhood, to the afternoons spent sneaking away from your tutors to draw in the gardens, the way art always felt like a safe space in a world full of expectations.

“i think… it’s because art lets me be free,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “in everything else, i’m the princess. i have to be perfect, poised, controlled. but with art, i can be messy. i can make mistakes. it’s mine.”

jay pauses, his hand hovering over the sketchbook for a moment before he continues. “freedom is important,” he says quietly. “especially for someone like you.”

there’s something in his tone, a weight to his words, and you wonder what he means by that. does he understand what it’s like to feel trapped by expectations? to want something more, something beyond the roles you’ve been given?

before you can ask, jay looks up, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since he started sketching. his gaze is intense, but not in a way that makes you uncomfortable. it’s more like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, in a way that no one else ever has.

“you have a natural grace,” he says softly, almost as if speaking to himself. “but it’s more than that. there’s something… untamed about you.”

your breath catches in your throat. no one has ever spoken to you like that before. not with such quiet certainty, as if they’ve seen beyond the surface of who you are.

you don’t know what to say. the air in the room feels heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name. you shift in your seat, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze, but jay’s expression remains calm, thoughtful.

he tilts his head slightly, observing you with the same intensity he’s had since the beginning of the lesson. “there’s more to art than technique,” he says, his voice low. “it’s about connection. about understanding the person you’re drawing, not just how they look, but who they are.”

his words stir something inside you—a sense of being understood in a way you’ve never experienced before. you’re not just a princess in this room, not just another student. you’re you, with all your complexities and contradictions, and somehow, jay has seen that.

it makes you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated, and yet there’s a comfort in it, too. you’ve spent your whole life hiding parts of yourself, but with jay, it feels like you don’t have to.

finally, he sets the sketchbook aside, standing up and crossing the room to where you’re seated. he doesn’t hand you the sketch immediately, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s unsure about showing it to you.

“you can tell a lot about a person by how they draw,” he says quietly, standing in front of you now, his gaze unwavering. “but you can tell even more by how they let themselves be seen.”

your pulse quickens, the weight of his words settling deep within you. it’s not just about the sketch anymore—it’s about everything. the way you’ve been navigating these lessons, the way you’ve been letting him into your world, piece by piece.

he holds out the sketch to you, and when you take it, your fingers brush against his, a fleeting touch that lingers in your mind longer than it should.

the drawing is beautiful. he’s captured you in a way that feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. there’s a softness to your expression, a quiet strength in the lines of your face, and yet… there’s something else. something deeper.

“it’s beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the lines with your fingertips. “i’ve never seen myself like this before.”

jay watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. “that’s because no one’s ever looked at you like this before.”

the words hit you like a gentle wave, their meaning sinking in slowly. you glance up at him, unsure of how to respond. there’s a new tension between you now, but it’s not the kind that comes from desire or rushed feelings. it’s deeper than that—a connection, a shared understanding that goes beyond mere attraction.

for a moment, you sit in silence, the sketch resting in your lap as the light from the window shifts slightly, casting long shadows across the room. you can feel the change in the air, but neither of you moves to break it.

and as jay steps back, giving you space, you realise that this—whatever it is—will take time to fully unfold. you’re not rushing toward anything, but there’s something between you now, something real and undeniable.

but for now, you’ll let it simmer. there’s no need to rush. not yet.

the days have passed like pages in a book, each art lesson with jay slowly building a tension that you feel in the very air of the studio. his presence is constant but controlled, his touch fleeting yet always careful. you’ve found yourself looking forward to these lessons more than you’d ever anticipated, though not only for the sake of art. something else draws you here each time, something that’s harder to admit even to yourself.

when you arrive at the studio today, the familiar scent of paint and canvas greets you, mingling with the crisp morning air. jay is there, of course, already preparing the materials, his back to you as he arranges brushes and bottles of linseed oil. the sun filters in through the tall windows, casting long beams across the room, turning everything into shades of gold. today feels different, though you can’t quite pinpoint why.

he turns as you approach, offering you a brief smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good morning," he says, his voice as calm and composed as ever, though you think you detect a slight hesitancy behind his words.

"good morning," you reply, your heart already beating a little faster. the last few lessons have been charged with a new energy, a subtle yet undeniable pull between the two of you. you've tried to keep your thoughts focused on the art, but with each session, it’s become harder.

jay steps over to the large canvas he’s set up for today’s lesson. "we’re going to work on technique," he explains, holding up a palette of mixed colours, the vibrant hues blending like a sunset in his hands. "i want you to feel the texture of the paint, how the brush moves against the canvas. it’s all about control and release."

you nod, though the concept seems easier said than done. painting has always been more of a challenge for you, especially when it comes to finding that balance. jay, however, has a way of guiding you through each step without ever making you feel inadequate.

"let’s start with the basics," he says, handing you a brush. his fingers brush against yours for the briefest moment, and you feel a spark travel up your arm, though you’re sure he doesn’t notice.

you position yourself in front of the canvas, trying to steady your breathing as you dip the brush into the paint. the first few strokes are tentative, careful. you focus on the movement of your hand, but your mind is distracted by the weight of jay’s presence behind you. it’s as if the air in the room has thickened, every sound, every movement, magnified.

jay watches in silence for a few moments, then steps closer, so close that you can feel the warmth of his body behind you. "here," he murmurs softly, his voice right beside your ear. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he places his hands lightly on your waist, adjusting your stance. the touch is firm but gentle, and it sends a shockwave through your body. your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you’re hyper-aware of every point of contact—his hands on your hips, the warmth of his chest just inches from your back.

"relax," he whispers, his voice low and calming, though you can hear a slight strain in it, like he’s carefully keeping something in check. "you’re too tense."

easier said than done. you can barely think straight with him so close, let alone concentrate on the canvas. but you try, forcing yourself to take a breath, to focus on the task at hand. jay doesn’t move away. instead, he steps even closer, his chest nearly brushing your back as he moves his hands from your waist to your arm, guiding your wrist as you hold the brush.

"feel the paint," he says, his breath warm against your ear. "don’t fight it. let it flow."

his hand wraps around yours, firm but careful, and he moves your arm in a slow, fluid motion. the brush glides across the canvas with ease, the paint spreading in smooth, even strokes. his touch is light but deliberate, and you find yourself following his lead, your body responding to the way he directs the movement.

"you’re doing well," he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "just like that."

the room feels smaller, the air thicker, as if the space between you is shrinking with each passing second. you try to focus on the canvas, but it’s impossible with jay so close. his presence is overwhelming, consuming, and you’re acutely aware of every shift, every movement.

"you don’t need to force it," he continues, his voice barely above a whisper now, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "let the brush move with you."

you nod, though your throat is too dry to speak. the closeness between you is intoxicating, and you can feel the tension building with each breath you take. jay’s hand tightens slightly around yours, and for a moment, you wonder if he feels it too—the pull, the unspoken connection that seems to have grown stronger with each lesson.

he guides your hand in another slow stroke across the canvas, but this time, the brush slips slightly, leaving a streak of paint that’s a little too heavy. you let out a soft, frustrated sigh, but jay only chuckles, the sound low and warm.

"don’t worry about perfection," he says, his voice rumbling in your ear. "art isn’t about being perfect. it’s about feeling."

his hand lingers on yours a moment longer before he lets go, stepping back slightly. the sudden absence of his touch leaves you feeling off-balance, as if the ground beneath you has shifted. you exhale a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and lower the brush, your heart still racing.

"good," jay says, his voice a little more distant now as he moves back to the table. "you’re getting better. it’s all about control and release, but it takes time to find that balance."

you nod, though your mind is still reeling from the intensity of the moment. you’ve never felt so aware of your body, of your own reactions, as you do when jay is close like that. it’s as though he knows exactly how to touch you, how to guide you, without ever crossing the line—but just barely.

you place the brush down on the easel, turning to face him. jay is busy cleaning the palette, his face unreadable as he focuses on the task. but there’s something different about the way he holds himself, a tension in his posture that wasn’t there before.

"thank you," you say softly, breaking the silence that has settled between you. your voice sounds a little shaky, but you hope he doesn’t notice.

he glances up at you, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment before flickering away. "it’s my job," he replies, but there’s something in his tone—something almost… uncertain.

the silence that follows is heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that has been growing between you for weeks. you can feel it in the way he looks at you, in the way his hands linger just a little too long when he helps you. it’s as though you’re both standing at the edge of something, but neither of you knows how to take the next step.

finally, jay sets the palette down and steps back, putting a little more distance between you. "we’ll keep working on this," he says, his voice returning to its usual composed tone. "you’re improving, but there’s still more to learn."

you nod, feeling a little breathless, though you’re not sure if it’s from the painting or from the closeness you just shared. "i’ll keep practising," you say, though the words feel almost trivial in the weight of the moment.

jay gives you a small smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "good," he says softly, before turning back to his brushes. "we’ll pick up again tomorrow."

you linger for a moment, watching him as he carefully cleans the paint from his hands, his movements precise and controlled. and as you leave the studio, you can’t shake the feeling that something has changed between you, something that neither of you can ignore for much longer.

the pottery studio feels different today. the atmosphere is heavy, thick with anticipation, but you try to ignore it as you sit at the wheel, your hands already messy with clay. the wheel spins slowly beneath your fingers, but no matter how many times you’ve tried, the clay refuses to cooperate, collapsing into a lump before you can give it any real shape. you groan in frustration, watching another failed attempt crumble under your touch.

“take your time. it’s all about feeling the clay, not controlling it,” jay says softly from behind you, his voice calm but carrying that familiar undercurrent of something unspoken. he’s watching closely, his presence as steady as always, but today it feels more intense—like a subtle hum in the air that makes the space between you vibrate with tension.

you sigh, wiping your hands on your apron. "i don’t think i’m getting this at all," you mutter, staring down at the shapeless mound on the wheel. pottery has proven to be a far bigger challenge than painting—there’s something about the unpredictability of the clay that throws you off balance.

jay steps closer, his footsteps almost silent on the studio floor. "you’re too tense," he observes, his voice low and measured. "let me show you."

before you can respond, he’s already moving behind you. the air shifts as his body nears, and suddenly, you can feel the heat of him pressing close. he slides onto the bench behind you, his legs on either side of yours. the intimate position makes your heart race instantly, your pulse quickening in response to his proximity. his chest brushes your back, his breath warm on the side of your neck, and suddenly it’s hard to focus on anything other than how close he is.

he pauses his movements. “is it okay if i sit behind you like this? i may need to touch your hands as well.”

you nod at his soft words, “yes that’s alright.”

the studio feels smaller, the world outside forgotten as you’re enveloped by his presence. you can feel the solid warmth of his chest against your spine, the way his thighs gently cage yours. every point of contact feels electric, the tension simmering between you palpable.

“relax,” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, low and soothing. his breath brushes the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “you’re trying too hard to control it. you have to let the clay respond to your touch.”

his hands move to cover yours, his fingers sliding over your clay-streaked knuckles. his touch is firm but gentle, guiding your hands to the wheel as it starts spinning once again. the sensation of his fingers wrapping around yours sends a ripple of awareness through your body, and for a moment, all you can focus on is the warmth of his skin, the weight of his hands over yours.

"feel the clay," jay instructs, his voice quiet but filled with intent. his breath is warm against your ear, and the proximity, the intimacy of the moment, makes it nearly impossible to concentrate. "it moves with you. let it guide you."

his hands press lightly against yours, directing your fingers as they glide over the surface of the clay. the wheel turns slowly beneath your palms, the soft texture of the clay smoothing out under the pressure. you try to focus on the task at hand, but the sensation of his body against yours—the gentle weight of his chest pressed to your back, his legs framing yours—is overwhelming. the world narrows down to the feel of his touch, the sound of his steady breath so close to your ear.

"you need to feel the shape," jay continues, his voice lower now, more intimate. his hands move with yours, guiding your fingers as they dip into the soft clay. his touch is deliberate, patient, and it feels like he’s not just teaching you pottery, but something deeper, something far more personal.

your hands move together as you both shape the clay, your fingers sliding inside the hollow of the vase. the action is slow, almost sensual, and the suggestiveness of the movement doesn’t escape you. the pressure of his fingers over yours, the way his hands direct yours in shaping the delicate interior, feels too intimate, too deliberate. the tension that has been building for weeks now feels almost unbearable.

your breath quickens, your heart hammering in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. jay’s chest presses more firmly against your back as his hands guide you deeper into the clay, shaping it from within. his fingers dip, mirroring yours, and the act of molding the vase becomes something far more intimate than you could have ever anticipated.

"just like that," jay whispers, his voice huskier than before, his breath hot against your ear. his hands slow, his fingers lingering on yours as you move together. the wheel spins quietly, the clay yielding to your touch, but it’s hard to focus on the art when the closeness between you feels like it’s about to explode into something more.

you can feel every movement of his chest against your back, the rise and fall of his breath growing uneven. the heat of his body is overwhelming, making it nearly impossible to concentrate on the clay. your pulse is racing, and you’re certain he can feel the way your body trembles slightly under his touch.

suddenly, you realise you can feel his heart. it’s beating erratically against your spine, matching the rapid rhythm of your own. the awareness crashes over you like a wave—he’s feeling it too. the tension, the pull between you, it’s not just in your head. his hands tighten slightly over yours, his chest pressing more firmly against your back, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like the world is tilting.

you bite your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but it’s impossible with him so close, with the weight of his body grounding you while simultaneously setting you on fire. your fingers dip into the clay once more, but all you can feel is the warmth of his hands over yours, the way his presence fills every corner of your mind.

jay’s breath hitches, barely audible, but you hear it. you feel it. the tension between you has been simmering for weeks, and now it’s at a boiling point, undeniable and heavy.

after what feels like an eternity, jay finally pulls his hands away, the absence of his touch leaving you cold and disoriented. his chest moves away from your back, and he stands slowly, as if he, too, is struggling to shake off the intensity of the moment.

"good work," he says, his voice quieter than usual, almost strained. he steps away from the wheel, his hands clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to regain his composure.

you remain seated, your hands still coated in clay, your heart still racing. the silence between you is thick with everything unsaid. you can still feel the echo of his hands on yours, the warmth of his body lingering against your skin.

finally, you glance over your shoulder, your eyes searching his face for some kind of answer, some indication of what he’s thinking. but jay’s expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed on the now-complete vase on the wheel.

"you did well," he repeats, though his tone is quieter, almost distant. there’s something unresolved in the air, something that neither of you dares to acknowledge aloud.

as you stand, your legs unsteady, you can’t help but feel that something between you has shifted irreversibly. the line you’ve both been walking for weeks feels dangerously close to being crossed, and the question now is whether either of you is ready to take that step.

the last day of your art lessons starts with a sense of melancholy that you try to push away. you know that this will be your final session with jay, and although you’ve learned more than you could have imagined, the thought of no longer spending time with him feels like a loss. he greets you at the studio with his usual warm smile, but there’s something different about him today—a lightness that wasn’t there before.

“we’re not staying inside today,” jay says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “i figured we’ve done enough of that. you’ve been using my supplies, so i thought it’s time you get your own.”

you blink, surprised by the suggestion. “you mean we’re going shopping?”

he nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “you deserve your own tools. besides, i want to show you my favourite spots.”

the idea excites you more than you’d expected. it feels intimate, personal—like he’s sharing a part of himself with you outside the confines of the studio. and so, you follow him out into the bustling streets, the city alive with activity as you walk side by side, the sky overhead a muted grey that promises rain.

the first shop is a small, unassuming place tucked between two larger storefronts, and you wouldn’t have noticed it if jay hadn’t pointed it out. inside, it’s a treasure trove of art supplies—shelves stacked high with paints, brushes, and sketchpads of every kind. the scent of paper and wood fills the air, and you can’t help but feel a little like a child in a candy store, overwhelmed by the endless possibilities.

jay moves through the aisles with ease, clearly at home here. he picks up brushes, testing their weight in his hand before handing them to you to feel. “this one’s perfect for detail work,” he says, holding up a fine-tipped brush. “and this,” he adds, pulling out a thicker, more rugged one, “is for broader strokes, more expression.”

you watch him as he speaks, his voice low and sure, and you find yourself more captivated by him than the tools he’s showing you. there’s something about the way his hands move with such confidence, the way he seems to understand the soul of each item, that draws you in. it’s a side of him you haven’t seen before, one that’s less restrained, more passionate.

he catches you staring, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “what?”

you quickly look away, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “nothing,” you mumble, pretending to examine the brushes in front of you.

but you can’t hide your growing admiration for him, and you suspect he knows it. he moves closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he reaches for a set of soft pastels. “try these,” he says, handing them to you. “i think they’ll suit your style.”

you take the pastels from him, your fingers brushing against his in the exchange, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged. you swallow hard, trying to focus on the colours in your hand rather than the way his touch lingers in your mind.

from there, you move to the next shop, a slightly larger one filled with canvases of all sizes and shapes. jay pulls you toward a display of stretched canvas frames, explaining the difference between cotton and linen, the various textures and how they interact with different mediums. he talks with such enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile, his passion contagious.

“pick a few,” he says, gesturing to the rows of canvases. “you’re going to need a variety if you want to keep experimenting.”

you nod, feeling a sense of freedom in the choice. as you select your canvases, jay hovers nearby, occasionally offering suggestions but mostly watching with a quiet intensity that makes your skin prickle. you wonder what he’s thinking, whether he’s just as aware of the subtle tension that’s been growing between you over the weeks.

the third shop is more modern, filled with high-end supplies—gorgeous palettes of oil paints in jewel tones, sleek metal easels, and handcrafted wooden boxes for storing brushes. it’s clear jay has saved the best for last, and as you wander the aisles together, he shows you some of his favourites, his voice soft and reverent as he talks about the craftsmanship behind each item.

“i’ve always wanted one of these,” you say, running your fingers over a beautiful wooden palette, its smooth surface gleaming under the soft light. “it’s almost too nice to use.”

jay grins, standing beside you as he watches you admire it. “you should get it,” he says, his voice warm. “every artist needs something that feels special, something that inspires them to create.”

his words send a shiver through you, and you glance at him, the closeness between you suddenly palpable. the quiet intimacy of the moment, standing together in the softly lit store, surrounded by the tools of your shared passion, feels heavy with something unspoken. you nod, slipping the palette into your basket, trying to shake the fluttering in your chest.

as you leave the last shop, your arms full of bags and supplies, the sky opens up, releasing a sudden torrent of rain. the drops fall fast and heavy, soaking you within moments. you yelp in surprise, pulling your hood over your head, but it’s no use—you’re drenched almost immediately.

jay laughs, a rich sound that cuts through the noise of the rain. “looks like we’re in for it!” he shouts over the downpour, his hair already dripping wet as he holds a hand out to catch the rain.

you can’t help but laugh, your spirits lifting despite the sudden storm. the two of you stand in the rain for a moment, looking at each other, before jay suddenly grabs your hand.

“come on!” he says, pulling you into a run.

you follow him, laughing breathlessly as you race through the rain-soaked streets, splashing through puddles and dodging other passersby who huddle under umbrellas and awnings. the bags of art supplies jostle against your sides, but you barely notice, too caught up in the exhilaration of running with him through the storm.

the rain comes down harder, drenching you completely, your clothes clinging to your body and your hair sticking to your face. but none of it matters—you’re both laughing, the world around you a blur as you sprint through the narrow streets, your hand still held tightly in his.

jay pulls you into a narrow alleyway, ducking under a stone archway for shelter. it’s barely enough to shield you from the rain, but you’re both out of breath, giggling uncontrollably as you lean against the cold stone walls.

you’re both soaked, your clothes dripping water onto the ground, but the warmth between you is undeniable. jay’s hair is plastered to his forehead, droplets sliding down his face as he looks at you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

you can feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the dampness of your clothes. you’re pressed so close to him in the narrow space that you can feel the tension building, the awareness of every inch of space between you—or rather, the lack of it.

jay’s laughter fades as his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the air between you shifts. his gaze softens, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something more serious, more intense. you’re both still, the rain beating down around you, but inside this tiny archway, it feels like time has slowed.

he reaches up, his fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, and the simple gesture sends a shiver down your spine. his hand lingers by your cheek, and you can feel the warmth of his touch even through the coolness of the rain.

for a moment, neither of you say anything, the space between you heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid. you can feel your heart racing, your breath catching in your throat as his eyes drop to your lips for just a second, but it’s enough to make your pulse quicken.

then, without thinking, without hesitation, he leans in.

the kiss is slow at first—tentative, as though he’s testing the waters. his lips brush against yours softly, almost delicately, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. the rain, the city, everything fades away, and all that exists is the warmth of his mouth on yours, the softness of his kiss.

your heart stutters, your body frozen for a split second before you kiss him back, your hands finding their way to his chest. the kiss deepens, and the tension that’s been building between you for weeks unravels in a rush of heat and longing. his hands slide to your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond in kind, pressing into him as though you can’t get close enough.

the rain falls around you, forgotten, as you lose yourself in the kiss. there’s a desperation to it, like neither of you knows when—or if—you’ll ever get this chance again. it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and everything you’ve been holding back spills out in that single kiss.

when you finally pull away, breathless, jay rests his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close as though he’s afraid to let go. you’re both panting, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, but you can’t seem to move, can’t seem to break the connection between you.

the kiss lingers in the air, an invisible thread still tying you to jay even as the rain continues to fall. his forehead rests against yours, his breath shallow and quick, matching the erratic rhythm of your heart. for a moment, everything feels right, the world outside forgotten, the storm cocooning you in your own little universe.

but then something shifts. you feel it in the way his grip on your waist tightens briefly before loosening, in the way his eyes darken, filled with a sorrow that cuts through the joy of the moment.

he pulls back, just a fraction, enough to put space between you but not enough to break the connection entirely. his gaze drops to the ground, as though he can’t bear to meet your eyes.

“we… we can’t,” jay whispers, his voice heavy with regret.

the words hit you like cold water, the warmth of the kiss suddenly feeling distant. “what do you mean?” your voice is soft, confused, almost pleading. you take a step closer, unwilling to let him slip away. “jay, what are you saying?”

he sighs, running a hand through his damp hair, his shoulders tense. “you know what i mean,” he says quietly. “you’re a princess. you belong to a world of crowns and thrones, and i… i’m just your art teacher.”

you shake your head, the rain beginning to soak through your clothes, but you hardly notice. “i don’t care about that! my parents wouldn’t either. jay, this—this connection we have, it’s real. you can’t just pretend it isn’t.”

his eyes finally meet yours, and for a moment, you see the same longing reflected in them. but then he looks away again, his jaw tightening. “maybe your parents wouldn’t care, but i do. i won’t let you throw away your life for me. you have responsibilities, a future. i can’t be the reason you turn your back on all of that.”

your heart aches at his words, at the way he’s trying to protect you even as it tears you both apart. you reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “you’re not asking me to give anything up. i’m telling you what i want. you. you’re what i want, jay.”

he looks at your hand in his, and for a second, he doesn’t move, as though he’s frozen between what he wants and what he believes is right. “you don’t understand,” he says quietly. “you’re used to a life of luxury. i can’t give you that. i won’t let you settle for less.”

the frustration bubbles up inside you, mixing with the hurt. “it’s not about that. it never was. do you really think any of that matters to me if i’m not happy?”

jay’s gaze softens, but the doubt lingers in his eyes, a shadow of the barriers between you. “i need time,” he says, his voice pained. “i need to think about this.”

you bite your lip, the tears you’ve been holding back threatening to spill. “take all the time you need. just… don’t take too long. please.”

he nods, his face filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. then, like the gentleman he is, he steps closer, offering you his arm. “let me take you home,” he says softly, his voice carrying a tenderness that only deepens the ache in your chest.

the walk back to the palace is quiet, both of you wrapped in your own thoughts, the sound of the rain the only noise between you. his arm around yours feels protective, grounding, but it’s bittersweet knowing that he’s still holding a part of himself back.

when you finally reach the palace gates, jay pauses, turning to face you. the light from the lanterns casts a soft glow over his features, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

“goodnight, princess,” he says, his voice gentle, though there’s an unmistakable distance in his tone now.

you look up at him, wanting to say something—anything—to make him stay, to convince him that this is worth fighting for. but the words stick in your throat. instead, you nod, forcing a small smile despite the heaviness in your heart.

“goodnight, jay.”

he gives you a final, lingering glance before turning and walking away, the rain continuing to fall as his figure disappears into the night. you stand there for a long time, watching him go, your heart aching with every step he takes.

as you finally turn and walk inside, the warmth of the palace feels stifling compared to the cool rain outside. the emptiness left in jay’s wake presses down on you, and the realisation that you might not see him again for a while hits you like a blow.

in the days that follow, the quiet is suffocating. you try to fill your time with painting, with other lessons and royal duties, but nothing seems to lift the weight pressing on your chest. each moment stretches on, and the palace, usually filled with the comfort of familiarity, now feels hollow without him.

your parents notice your change in mood but don’t pry, their knowing glances suggesting they’re aware that something more than art is on your mind. still, you keep jay’s name on the tip of your tongue, unable to speak it without feeling the ache of uncertainty.

and so, you wait. you wait for a letter, for a word from him—anything to tell you that he hasn’t let go, that he’s still thinking about you as much as you are about him. but with each passing day, the silence only grows louder, the doubt harder to ignore.

what if he doesn’t come back? what if he decides you aren’t worth the risk?

the thought makes your heart tighten painfully. you sit in your art studio, staring at an unfinished painting, the brush limp in your hand, as you wonder if jay is fighting the same battle within himself.

it feels like an eternity has passed since that rainy day, since that kiss that felt like the world shifted. and now, all you can do is hope that he finds his way back to you before it’s too late.

the days stretch long and quiet after that night in the rain, and the distance between you and jay feels more unbearable with each passing moment. you keep replaying his words, the look in his eyes, the way he had kissed you—like he wanted to hold on forever but didn’t know if he should.

you throw yourself into your art, hoping the colours and brushstrokes will distract you from the weight of his absence. but the empty space he’s left behind is hard to ignore, especially as you finish the final piece you’d been working on for weeks—a vibrant painting of a parisian street, your future awaiting you there.

paris. the word itself sounds like a dream. the trip is supposed to happen soon—your long-awaited opportunity to study art in the heart of a city known for its creativity and beauty. it’s everything you’ve worked toward, yet now the thought of leaving without jay feels hollow.

what was once the pinnacle of your aspirations now feels incomplete. you had imagined this adventure, this new chapter of your life, and pictured jay being a part of it. but now, with his silence lingering between you, you’re uncertain of whether he’ll still be there when it begins.

sitting at your desk, you stare down at the blank parchment, the quill hovering in your hand. you haven’t spoken to jay since he walked away that night, but you can’t bear to leave for paris without reaching out, without giving him one last chance to understand how much he means to you.

the words come slowly at first, but then they start to pour out, your emotions and thoughts spilling onto the page.

dear jay, it feels strange writing to you after all this time—after all the moments we shared that now seem so far away. i’ve been thinking about what you said that night, about how we come from different worlds, about the future you think i deserve. but you need to know that none of it matters to me if you’re not a part of it. i’ve wanted this trip to paris for as long as i can remember, to learn from the best, to immerse myself in art and culture. it’s something i’ve dreamed about for years. and yet, now, as the day of my departure gets closer, all i can think about is you. i don’t want to go to paris and leave you behind, wondering what could have been. you’re as much a part of my passion for art as any paintbrush or canvas. you’ve shown me new ways to see the world, to express myself, and i’ll always be grateful for that. but more than that, you’ve become someone i can’t imagine my life without. i know you think i’m giving up too much, that i’m risking my future. but my future isn’t just about royal duties or titles. it’s about choosing the life i want—and i choose you, jay. i wish you could see that. paris is calling, but so are you. i can only hope that when you think of me, it’s with the same longing that fills every moment of my days without you. i hope that when you think of our time together, you’ll realise that this isn’t about status or sacrifice—it’s about love. i’ll be leaving soon after my birthday, but before i go, i need to know: will you come with me? or will i have to leave you behind? with love, [your name]

after sealing the letter, your heart is heavy with both hope and fear. you send it to jay, knowing that the next move is his. each day that passes without a response stretches the wait longer, the ache of uncertainty growing.

you try to stay busy with preparations for your trip, packing supplies and finishing your artwork. your parents notice the change in you—the excitement for paris dimmed by something you can’t quite bring yourself to share with them yet. they ask if you’re nervous, if you’re ready for the adventure, and you smile, telling them what they want to hear. but deep down, all you want is to hear from jay.

paris is just around the corner, but so is the decision you’re waiting for—the choice that could change everything.

the ballroom is a swirl of colour and laughter, filled with nobles, artists, and well-wishers all gathered to celebrate your birthday. the chandeliers above glitter like stars, casting a golden glow over the elegant space, and the music weaves through the conversations like a living thing, light and joyous. your parents spared no expense for this occasion, not only to mark your birthday but also to celebrate the upcoming adventure to paris.

it’s your birthday ball, but your mind is elsewhere, your heart tugged toward a memory that refuses to leave. you stand in front of your painting, the centrepiece of the night, hanging proudly on display for all to see. nobles and artists alike gather around it, marvelling at the vivid colours and delicate brushstrokes. you nod and smile politely as they offer praise, but inside, your thoughts are distant, wandering to a day not long ago when everything felt simpler.

the painting is of the marketplace—a bustling, lively scene full of energy and warmth. it’s the day you and jay had gone shopping together for art supplies, the day you let yourselves be ordinary, blending in with the crowds. the colours are bright and rich, capturing the vibrant chaos of the market: vendors calling out, the smell of freshly baked bread, the sound of coins clinking and people bartering for goods. in the corner of the canvas, nestled in the shadows of an alley, is a small, quiet space. it’s where you and jay had shared a moment away from the crowd, a stolen minute of peace amidst the noise, where the world had seemed to slow just for the two of you.

every brushstroke is infused with that memory—the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft brush of his hand as he reached for yours, the unspoken connection that had blossomed between you in that hidden corner of the market. it was a day that felt like freedom, a glimpse of something more, something forbidden but undeniably real.

“your highness, it’s simply breathtaking,” someone says beside you, pulling you momentarily back to the present. a noblewoman in an exquisite gown stands at your side, her eyes wide with admiration as she gazes at the painting. “the light, the detail… it feels as though i’m standing there in the market myself.”

you nod and smile, offering a polite thank you, but her words barely register. all you can think about is him.

the weight of his absence has been heavy, pulling at your heart with every passing day, each one more difficult than the last. and now, on the night of your birthday, as you prepare to embark on a new chapter, all you can think about is the chapter you left unfinished.

you glance at the painting again, tracing the familiar lines of the marketplace, the hidden alley. that was the moment you knew there was something between you and jay, something more than just student and teacher, more than just friendship. it was the moment you allowed yourself to hope. but now, standing here alone, you wonder if that hope was misplaced.

and then, through the hum of voices and the soft strains of music, you hear it—a voice that sends a jolt through your entire body.

“you captured it perfectly.”

the sound of his voice makes the air around you seem to freeze. your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat. slowly, you turn toward the source, and there he is—jay, standing just a few steps away, his eyes locked on the painting, his expression a mixture of awe and something deeper, something raw.

for a moment, you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. after weeks of waiting, of wondering, here he is, standing before you, his presence filling the space that had felt so empty without him. he looks different tonight—still himself, but dressed in a way that blends with the formality of the event. yet, there’s something in his posture, in the way his dark eyes flicker between you and the painting, that betrays the turmoil he’s been carrying.

“jay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. but he hears you, as he always does.

he takes a step closer, his gaze shifting to meet yours, and for a moment, the world around you disappears. the ballroom, the guests, the music—it all fades into the background, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, suspended moment.

his eyes soften as they take you in, and there’s a vulnerability in his expression that you hadn’t seen before, something that makes your heart ache even more. “you remembered,” he says quietly, gesturing toward the painting. “the marketplace. that day.”

you nod, your throat tightening. “how could i forget? it was…” you pause, searching for the right words, but nothing seems adequate. “it was perfect.”

jay’s gaze lingers on the painting, as though seeing the memory play out all over again. his lips part, but no words come. instead, he takes another step toward you, his presence so close now that you can feel the pull between you—the unspoken tension that had simmered just beneath the surface for so long.

“i’ve been thinking about that day,” he says, his voice low and rough. “about us.”

your heart hammers in your chest. “and?”

his eyes flicker with a mix of emotions—regret, longing, and something you can’t quite place. “i thought i could stay away. that it would be easier, safer, for both of us. but i couldn’t.” his voice wavers, just slightly, and the vulnerability in it makes your pulse race. “not tonight.”

you swallow, your chest tight with the weight of everything left unsaid. the distance between you feels unbearably small, but also impossibly vast. he’s here. after all this time, he’s finally here. but the question still lingers, heavy in the air between you: what happens now?

just as you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions that have been burning inside you for weeks, jay steps closer, his eyes locked on yours. the noise of the ballroom fades even further into the background, until all that’s left is him. and in that moment, with his gaze so full of emotion, you know that nothing has been forgotten. every stolen glance, every brush of hands, every whispered word—it’s all still there, between you, as real and undeniable as ever.

the night may be full of celebrations, but the only thing that matters is this: jay is here, and nothing will ever be the same again.

the grand ballroom continues to pulse with life around you, but the world feels quiet in the cocoon of jay’s presence. you haven’t even fully processed the fact that he’s here, standing in front of you after weeks of silence. his eyes—deep and full of an emotion you’ve longed to see—are fixed on you, as though he’s drinking in the sight of you, afraid to blink in case you disappear.

the weight of his absence, the unanswered letter, the uncertainty—it all rushes to the surface, but you force yourself to stay grounded in the moment. you open your mouth to speak, to ask the questions burning in your chest, but before you can, jay takes a step closer.

“you never stopped painting,” he says quietly, nodding toward the marketplace painting, his voice filled with a mix of awe and relief. “you’ve grown even more since i left.”

his words are a gentle balm to the ache in your heart, but they only skim the surface of what you truly want to know. you swallow hard, the emotions too thick in your throat to speak.

your breath hitches. “why didn’t you respond to my letter, jay?”

there’s a beat of silence before he looks away, the rawness of his feelings flickering across his face. “because i didn’t know if i was strong enough to walk away again,” he admits. “and i wasn’t sure if i could give you the life you deserve.”

“after everything we’ve been through, you still think i care about that?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of all the unspoken words. “i just wanted you, jay. that’s all i’ve ever wanted.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes another step forward, closing the distance between you until his presence is overwhelming. “i couldn’t respond, because i knew that if i did, i wouldn’t be able to stop myself from coming back to you. and once i did, i’d never want to leave. but you… you have paris, you have a future.”

“and i want you to be part of that future,” you say, your voice stronger now. “i’ve had weeks to think about this, jay. i’m leaving soon, and i need to know where we stand before i go. please, just tell me how you feel.”

jay’s eyes flash with a storm of emotions—hesitation, fear, and something deeper, something that has been bubbling just beneath the surface. he reaches out slowly, his fingers brushing yours, the touch sending warmth rushing up your arm. “i’m terrified,” he admits in a voice so soft it makes your heart ache. “i’ve never felt like this about anyone before, and i don’t want to ruin it.”

“you won’t,” you say, stepping closer until your hands are fully entwined, your pulse quickening as his warmth floods your senses. “i don’t care about titles, status, or what anyone else thinks. you make me feel alive, jay. that’s all i need.”

his grip tightens on your hand, and for a moment, it seems like he’s grappling with the depth of what you’re offering. his breath comes in shallow, uneven bursts, as though he’s trying to hold himself together.

“i don’t want you to sacrifice everything for me,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “you’re a princess, destined for greatness, for a life most people can only dream of. i’m just... a man who paints.”

you step even closer, until there’s barely any space between you. “and that’s enough for me. more than enough.”

for a split second, he looks at you as though he can’t believe you’re real. but then, before you can say anything more, he steps forward, pulling you into his arms in one swift motion. the warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, but in the best way, and as his arms wrap around you, holding you tightly, you feel the tension that’s been building between you melt away.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear as he holds you close. “for leaving. for making you wait.”

you close your eyes, leaning into him, your heart swelling with the relief of finally having him here. “you’re here now,” you murmur against his shoulder. “that’s all that matters.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting gently on your arms as his dark eyes meet yours. and in them, you see everything—the love he’s been holding back, the fear, the hope. “i love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve loved you since the first day we met, and i’ve been fighting it ever since. but i don’t want to fight it anymore.”

your heart swells at his words, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. “i love you, too,” you whisper, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you as you say the words out loud for the first time. “i always have.”

the smile that spreads across jay’s face is like sunlight breaking through clouds, and before you know it, he’s lifting you off the ground, spinning you around in a burst of joy and laughter. the world around you spins with him, but you don’t care—because for the first time in what feels like forever, everything is right. everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

when he finally sets you back down, your feet touching the ground once more, his hands stay on your waist, grounding you in the moment. his eyes, full of love and warmth, search yours, and for a second, neither of you speak. you don’t need to. the silence is filled with everything you’ve both been waiting for.

“i want to be with you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “but i don’t want you to lose yourself for me.”

you smile, shaking your head. “i’m not losing anything. i’m gaining everything i’ve ever wanted.”

jay’s hand finds yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he looks at you, his gaze full of the future. “paris,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re still going?”

you nod, your heart racing at the thought of what’s to come. “i am. and i want you to come with me.”

he hesitates, just for a moment, as though the reality of what you’re asking is still sinking in. but then, his smile grows, and he nods, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “i’ll come with you. we’ll go together.”

your heart leaps at his words, the hope you’d been holding onto finally blossoming into something real. paris—together. it’s everything you’d dreamed of, everything you hadn’t dared to believe could happen. but now, standing here with jay, it’s all within reach.

“we’ll see the world,” he says, his voice soft but filled with excitement. “we’ll paint, we’ll live, we’ll—”

“we’ll be happy,” you finish for him, your smile widening as you lean into his touch.

he nods, his forehead resting gently against yours. “yes. we’ll be happy.”

and in that moment, as the ballroom buzzes with life around you, as the painting of your shared memory hangs on the wall behind you, you know it’s true. you and jay—together, free, and full of love. the world is yours, waiting to be explored. and with him by your side, you know that this is only the beginning.

as you stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the future stretches out before you like a blank canvas, waiting for you to fill it with all the colours of your love, your passion, and the adventures you’ll share. together, you’ll paint a life full of beauty, one brushstroke at a time.

and as the night fades and the dawn of a new chapter begins, you know—this is your happily ever after.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @punchbug9-blog @firstclassjaylee @capri-cuntz @addictedtohobi @jaysfavoritegirl @yuniesluv @isa942572 @academiq @missychief1404 //the ones in bold could not be tagged for some reason. im so sorry guys tumblr is acting up :(

[koenigami]

➵ WRIOTHESLEY

synopsis : sometimes all it takes is a little push from a little melusine wc : 1,3k tags : fem!reader, fluff, comfort, reader and wrio had an argument

“He’s in a bad mood.” “Did something happen?” “Was it an inmate?” “She left the fortress in a haste.” “Someone heard them arguing. She looked hysterical.” “Oh-oh. A fight?” “Shit, not again.”

The respect that Wriothesley earns himself stems from different kinds of people and different kinds of emotions. Some of them look up to him and his generosity while others are easily intimidated solely by his presence. Usually, the latter ones simply have not had the chance yet to get to know the Duke better. Otherwise they would realise that behind that cool and brutish exterior lies just a guy who likes order and tea. 

However, there is one specific circumstance that will have even Sigewinne lower her head when passing by his Grace’s office. 

“Do you know what they were arguing about?” The little Melusine has been asking around for a while now, looking for eyewitnesses, and writing down every piece of information as if she was solving a scandalous case. She knows very well that as rough as he may seem, Wriothesley is only human. A human madly, truly in love with none other than Fontaine’s top attorney with whom the Fortress of Meropide is in constant correspondence due to work related matters. 

Sigewinne nervously bites the top of her pen as she returns to her infirmary. The taste of plastic makes her grimace in disgust and look at the writing utensil with annoyance as if it had insulted her. She sighs.

It’s been a week since you hurried out of Wriothesley’s office, furiously stomping towards the elevator and staring down everyone and anyone who dared to cross your path. One week worth of missing documents that have not been sent in by you. One week worth of paperwork that has yet to be completed by Wriothesley. (Which is oddly ironic since that man has not left his office ever since your argument.)

Love will make the sanest person go mad, whether it’s in a good or a bad way. And so all Sigewinne can do right now is think about a way to make the both of you come back to your senses. But how? It’s not like either you or Wriothesley are at her beck and call, and will simply meet up just because she asked you so. Despite the emotional agony that you’re going through right now, you’re both way too stubborn for that.

Agony.

Unless…

~

“Where is he?!” Your voice echoes through the hall as you rush into Sigewinne’s infirmary. That was fast, she thinks. 

She almost feels a little bad when she notices the glimmer in your eyes and your laboured breathing. It’s for everyone’s sake, she reminds herself. 

“He should get here soon.” 

“B-But Neuvilette told me-” A poisoned tea. Those were the news that the Iudex had apparently received from one of the Melusines, and forwarded them to you. You don’t know all the details. You left your office as soon as you got to know that Wriothesley was currently unconscious due to a prisoner who had spiked his afternoon tea. 

Now you’re here, but he’s not and it’s making you even more agitated. “Sigewinne, where is he? Is he alright? Are you hiding something from me?”

“Y/n?” At first you feel his hands all over you before you even get to see him. Wriothesley delicately holds your head, turning it left and right before his hands move to your arms and then lower to your own hands. They’re shaking the slightest bit as he holds them up to his lips, pressing sweet kisses along your fingertips. His blood boils and he clenches his jaw at the simple thought of some low lives being the cause of your current state. 

It’s your turn to inspect him from head to toe now. His hair is a mess, all dishevelled while his pale skin makes you fear that he might just topple over any second. Your body moves before you know it, as you push him towards one of the few beds in the infirmary. “Wriothesley, shouldn’t you be in bed? When did you even wake up?” 

Wake… up? 

“Do you know if the potion will have any long term effects on you?” Despite having him right in front of you, obviously well and not on his deathbed, your heart still feels like it is about to burst from your ribcage. As soon as the news had reached you, you dropped everything. Any documents that you had to write and read through, any meetings with clients and other employees of the Palais Mermonia- 

None of them mattered anymore. All of a sudden, everything seemed so insignificant when there was the uncertainty if you’d ever be able to hear Wriothesley’s voice. Hear him sigh in tiredness before humming with the delight at the taste of his freshly brewed tea.

The simple thought of the possibility of him never waking up again, depriving you from the chance to get another glimpse of his breathtaking eyes. It was enough to get your tear ducts working and your eyes pricking as you hurried to see him as soon as possible.

“Archons, you should really lie down. You don’t look-”

Your mouth falls silent, because you can almost hear the screeching sound of the turning clockworks inside Wriothesley’s brain. It ends up worrying you even more. 

He scrutinises you, lets his gaze travel around the room only to notice that you’re alone now. Only you two. No Sigewinne. 

Sigewinne…

“You have not been attacked today, have you?” Deep blue eyes inspect your body again. Just to make sure, even though he more or less knows that all of this has to be a scheme. 

“No one robbed you? No treasure hoarders, right?” 

He watches your eyes widen, brows furrow before you shake your head. Of course. 

Why else would you believe that he’s comatose? Why else would he believe that you’ve been beaten to a pulp, and robbed off your most precious belongings? Why if not because of Sigewinne? 

“What’s wrong?” You ask cautiously, and you notice now too that one person is missing. 

And it’s only when Wriothesley explains to you that, in fact, there has never been tea nor poison, or at least not any kind of combination of those two. He has never been unconscious, and neither have you been hurt. But what did happen was that the both of you have been led on. Deceived.

And that by none other than the head nurse herself. 

“I can’t believe she pulled off something like that. You looked so awful, I actually thought you were sick.”

“Love, that’s because I was worried sick!” Wriothesley exclaims and exhales a huge breath when you bury your face in the crook of his neck. His arms open and instinctively wrap around you, fingers digging into your hips. And it feels good. So, so good because it’s been way too many days since you’ve held each other like this. 

And, god damn, did he miss it. 

A thought crosses his mind. How your last interaction had been a silly argument. Petty remarks and poisonous words spewed at each other, induced by nothing else but your egos. 

All of it is so insignificant now that you both are in each other’s embrace, and that you’re both fine and unharmed. 

So Wriothesley promises himself to apologise to you later, inhale your scent, brush his fingers through your hair all while showing you how much the few days that you have been apart affected him. Because none of those things should be taken for granted. Because another day with you is not promised but his love for you is.

But first. You both have a bone to pick with a certain Melusine. 

[seospicybin]

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE.

ROUND 2

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Related chapters: Round 1

Synopsis: Let's play two truths and a lie, and here goes the first thing about Minho: He is good in the kitchen. (10,3k words)

Author's note: I just thought that we need to play another round. Hope you had fun reading this x

Content warning: Infidelity.

Let's play another round of two truths and a lie where Minho shares three things about him and you have to guess which one is the lie.

Here goes the first thing about Minho: He is good in the kitchen.

That's the first thing Kim told you about Minho, he is good in the kitchen and that explains why you often find him in there, cooking meals or something his girlfriend, Kim, asked him to make, sometimes it's something as simple as fried rice to something as complex as beef wellington, he can do it all. In conclusion, his cooking skill is unquestionable.

Just like this morning, the first thing you see as you come out of your bedroom is Minho making something in the kitchen. Before he notices, you slowly tiptoe your way back to your bedroom and reach for the doorknob to—

"Morning!" Kim cheerily says as she comes out of her bedroom.

You instantly turn around on your feet and pretend that you've just come out of your bedroom. From her attire, you can tell that she's going for her morning run.

"Morning, Kim!" You say back with a smile, "Going for a run?"

"Yep. Minho is making pancakes," she answers as she ties her hair into a ponytail, "Have to burn some calories so I can eat more calories."

As a dancer, Kim diligently watches her weight but instead of getting on a rigorous diet, she prefers working out even though her job, dancing, is also working out, and she only spoils herself with a sweet treat on the weekend. She's heading to the kitchen to give Minho a quick peck on the lips and then puts her headphones on.

"I'll see you guys in a bit," she says before walking out the door.

Leaving you and Minho alone in the apartment is not a good idea but how can she know when you've been doing things behind her back?

Since he's already seen you, you may as well start your day, by going to the kitchen and getting yourself a cup of coffee, you just need to get the milk from the fridge, then you'll be out of Minho's way.

As you keep the fridge door open to put the milk back inside, Minho appears behind you and reaches for a carton of eggs from the fridge, his forearm brushes your waist as he retracts his hand.

You quickly step away and take the other end of the kitchen counter, stirring your coffee with a spoon while looking at the weather outside, at the sunlit clouds drifting across a clear blue sky.

"Can you hand me the sugar?" Minho points at the bowl of sugar in your reach.

"Sure," you say, picking it up and placing it on the kitchen counter next to him.

You're going to the other side of the kitchen counter and take a small sip of your coffee, you can sense the caffeine works to bring your brain to function. At the same time, your sense heightens that you know Minho is coming behind you to put the jar of sugar back into its place.

However, when he retracts his arm, his hand stays on your waist and it stays there, making you wonder what he's trying to do next so you turn your head to the side.

In the blink of an eye, Minho quickly captures your lips in a kiss and wraps his arms tightly around you. Your body is quick to respond to it but your brain is working at a sluggish pace.

By the time your brain catches up to it and tells you to stop, Minho already has his hand under your camisole and fondles at your breast.

"Minho..." you whine against his lips.

He breaks the kiss and stares into your eyes, "What?"

It's at the tip of your tongue and your mouth is open but no words coming out of it. Deep down, you know you want it and you don't want it to stop.

Instead of saying what you want out loud, you curve your arm around his neck and pull his head close for a kiss, picking it up and taking it up a notch.

With his free hand, Minho pushes your camisole upward, sending it hunched around your chest and exposing your breasts to the cool morning air.

He wastes no time to freely cup your breast in his hand and he likes how it fits him right, making him think that they were made just for him.

There's not much room for you to move with his arms firmly wrapped around you but when his hand glides down to cup your clothed sex, you start to push back against him and feel his bulge growing behind you.

Your common sense comes in ebbs and flows, and when it finally hits you, you suddenly pull his hand out of your shorts and break away from his hold.

"Kim will be back soon," you remind him with your voice tinted with concern.

Minho puts his hands on each side of your waist and makes you lean against the kitchen counter, "She won't be back for a while," he calmly says.

He then buries his mouth in the crook of your neck, peeling back the layers of worry off of you with every kiss he planted there.

All of a sudden, you find the guts to put your hands on his chest and push him a little too hard it sends him staggering a couple of steps to the back.

No matter how far you push him away, your body wants to be as close as possible to him. You find yourself walking back to him and taking your turn to corner him against the kitchen counter.

He's wearing this plain white t-shirt but gosh, it looks good on him and you like it even more when you can trace the muscles on his body through the fabric.

"But we don't know for sure," you say, leaning in for a kiss which he eagerly returns and makes him ask for more.

However, it's the grey sweatpants he's wearing that make you lose your mind a little. It's unclear whether it's the fabric or the color or the style of the pants that somehow accentuate the shape of his cock, or the way he walks around in the apartment in it and unaware of what it does to you.

You quietly pull his sweatpants low enough to let his member free out of its confine and without looking, your hand knows what it's looking for and immediately wrap your hand around it, slowly stroking it.

"For all we know, she may be back in a few minutes," you say against his lips.

Minho is engrossed in how you're slowly stroking his cock as you speak, it takes him a while to respond to your question.

"She won't," he assures you, pulling you close by the waist and putting his hand between your legs, rubbing your clit through your shorts.

"She's been gone for fifteen minutes now," you say before he has your lips locked with his again.

"Then we just have to make it quick," he simply resolves, lifting you by the waist, and swiftly, he turns around on his feet to sit you on the counter.

As a dancer, he is trained to lift his partner and he does it seamlessly as if he's lifting a piece of paper. Well, he has the muscles to prove his years-long dance training.

"Minho, we can't," you say as he leans in to kiss your neck.

Instead of stopping him from coming at your breasts, you hold them up for him so he can take them into his mouth.

He sucks on the flesh hard that you wince in pain and he lets go with a satisfied grin, "we definitely can," he coyly disagrees.

"What I'm saying is—" you pause as he parts your legs open, sending you leaning to the back and you quickly prop a hand to support you.

Minho tugs his hands at the elastic band of your pajama shorts and thinking of taking it off of you, you scramble to stop him.

"Just put it to the side," you tell him.

He obeys your words, putting the shorts along with your underwear to the side. He delightfully sighs at the sight of your heating core and he uses his fingers to feel how wet you are for him.

"I can't stop when you're this wet for me," he mutters as he swipes your lips with his fingers coated with your essence, then shoves it into his mouth next.

Feeling challenged to do the same, you lick your lips and get a taste of you on your tongue, you taste so sinfully sweet as the kiss he's about to plant on you.

While his lips keep you busy with kisses, Minho aligns his cock with your entrance, he rubs his tip between your folds then with a slow push, he starts to enter you.

The kiss breaks as the two of you shift your focus on how his cock pushing its way inside you. You spread your legs as wide as possible and watch as his cock is slowly disappearing into you.

Minho curves his hands around you and then glides them down until his hands meet the curve of your ass, he pulls you close, seeking closeness as he's about to fully bottomed out inside you.

"And I can't stop when you feel this good," he says as he crashes his lips against yours again.

The room soon filled with your low moans combined with the sounds of his hips against the back of your thighs. His nails dig into the flesh as he steadily keeps your legs open for him.

Even with your brain clouded with pleasure, a slight of fear comes creeping up in you and makes you keep looking to the side, in the direction of the foyer, and the fact that Kim can come in any minute now.

"Minho," you breathlessly call in between your moans.

You continue talking when you have his attention by putting your hand on his neck, "We can't keep doing this to Kim."

"I know," he says with a small nod, "it's unfair to her."

And it's unfair how he tries to take your mind away from things by suddenly adding intensity to his thrusts and going as shallow as possible inside you.

"Uh-huh, it's unfair," you repeat your words, suddenly losing all the words in your head.

Minho pulls you even closer until you're sitting on the edge of the counter while keeping the pace steady, he lets go of your legs and wraps his arms around you instead. He looks down at his cock slipping in and out of you then when his eyes find you, he intensely stares into your eyes as if he dares you to try to stop him again.

The truth is you're just a human who tends to make the same mistakes and above all that, you're just a girl who wants what she wants and in this moment, you want nothing else but him.

The grip on his shoulder tightens as you come to your climax, your moans turn into breathless whines and you bury your head in his neck.

Yet Minho keeps going and chasing for his high as your walls pulsate and flutter around him, all of those stimulations combined with the fear that Kim may walk in on you and him doing it in the kitchen only arouses him more.

"Don't cum inside," you whisper into his ear.

Now that you said it, it only makes him want to do it and he plans on ignoring those words.

You crumple the front of his t-shirt in your hand and force him to look you in the eyes, "Minho, you can't cum inside," you warn again.

Hearing the urgency in your voice, Minho refrains from doing it and wisely follows your words.

"Where do you want it then?" He asks, suddenly getting curious about your answer.

"My mouth," you shortly answer because it's the only way to make sure to leave no trace of this abomination. No trace means you can pretend that this never happened.

Minho stops moving for a second, unsure if he heard you right. You put your hand on his neck and say again, "You can cum in my mouth."

What you said seems to trigger something inside of him that he continues thrusting into you harder and faster, not caring that you've just cum around him a while ago which only make you even more sensitive than before.

You let him have it because this is the only way you know that'll bring him closer to his release. Also, you don't know how long this has been going on but you know that you don't have much left before Kim comes back.

All of a sudden, Minho puts his arms around your waist and steadily hoists you against him. You immediately wrap your legs around him and your arms around his shoulders.

"Oh..." a raw groan escapes his mouth as he lets go just a little and feels his cock deepens inside you as you cling to him.

The two of you stay still like that for a moment, encased in endless pleasure and palpable desire for each other that it feels like the slightest movement would break the spell.

Sadly, time isn't on your side.

You slowly let go of your hold around him, forcing Minho to put you down gently until your feet touch the floor and eventually, he has to pull out of you, making you feel the sudden emptiness.

You kneel on the floor as he incessantly pumps his cock to keep the stimulation going. You can see his cock, all red and veiny inches away from your eyes as you offer your mouth for him to dump his load.

Seeing him from this point of view surely feels new to you but not less arousing, you can see his forehead wrinkled with how much he focuses on chasing his release.

The most arousing part is the way he's looking down on you, seeing how much you want his cum in your mouth and he's the only one who can give it to you.

"Wider," he murmurs through his gritted teeth.

Also added is the fact that he is someone's boyfriend, oh, everything about it is arousing you so much that your hand flies to your cunt, touching yourself as you obey his word. While maintaining eye contact with him, you open your mouth wider and stick your tongue out a little, waiting for him to shoot his load on you like a bitch in heat.

The second his cum spurts out of his tip and lands on you, you gasp at how hot it feels on your skin. You close your eyes and keep your mouth open as more of his cum gets on your tongue, your lips, and all over your mouth.

Using the tip of his sock, Minho smears his pearly white cum all over your lips, tempting you to put it into your mouth and of course, you cave into the temptation. You give his tip a few kitten licks before taking his length little by little, you compensate for the rest you can't take with your hand.

"Oh..." he delightfully sighs with his head thrown back.

To see him fully indulging in it and hearing him moaning on pleasure encourages you to keep going, sucking him hard and syncing it with the pumping of your hand around the base of his cock.

"Oh, yes, keep going," he mutters to you with his voice soft and sultry.

He puts his hand in your hair and tugs at it, using it to angle your head slightly to the back to provide him more depth as he gently pushes a little more of his cock into your mouth.

"Fu..." his profanity trails off and turns into a breathless moan as he slowly begins thrusting his cock in and out of you.

You're aware that he's using your mouth for his pleasure and you don't mind any of it, if anything, it makes you want to touch yourself more. You allow yourself to do just that, rubbing on your clothed clit as Minho is fucking your mouth.

"Mmh..." you moan with your mouth full of his hot, swollen flesh.

"Oh, you and your fucking mouth," he mutters with a low breath, his eyes intently watching how you're taking every thrust of his cock into your mouth.

For a split second, you forget about Kim until you hear the sound of the front door opening and then closing. You're about to pull out but Minho's grip on the back of your head forces you to remain still.

Your heart starts pounding inside your chest as you hear her footsteps coming closer and she stops just on the other side of the counter where you remain hidden on this side with her boyfriend's cock deep in your throat.

"Oh, it's so hot today," Kim says, still panting from running. You hear her pouring water into a glass and then the sounds of her heartily gulping it.

Minho remains calm and puts his free hand on the counter, "Yeah, you sweat a lot, honey," he says.

There's a low thud of what you assume coming from Kim putting her glass down, "And where are my pancakes?"

"I want it to be hot when you're having it," he simply answers.

"Well then, I'm going to wash my face, and my hands and I'll be ready for pancakes," Kim says.

You can only imagine how she smiles brightly at him when she said it, oblivious to the fact that her roommate is sucking her boyfriend's cock as she speaks.

"They better be good," she adds as she walks away.

You start to relax when you hear her footsteps receding, then you hear the sound of the door being opened and then closed after.

Minho finally lets go of his dead grip on the back of your head and you immediately pull out, a little too fast that you choke on your saliva, sending you into a coughing fit.

You rise from the floor, fixing your clothes as you head to the sink to wipe the mess on your mouth with the running water.

It has just sunken into you of what you did with Minho, the guilt hits you like a ton of brick and it tastes bitter on your tongue no matter how much you rinse it with water.

"Are you okay, babe?" Kim asks you as she comes into the kitchen.

Her presence makes you choke on water this time, you grab a bunch of tissues from the box and wipe your mouth with it.

"I'm okay," you answer, "I'm just choked on something."

Without looking, you can feel Minho's sly smirk from across the kitchen counter. It's best if you exclude yourself from this to avoid any slips out.

"Where are you going?" Kim asks you, she drags a stool and pats it, "Come sit and eat pancakes with me!"

"No, I have something—"

"What do you possibly need to do on a Sunday morning?" She asks with a pout.

"Come on, take a seat!" She says, excitedly patting the seat and inviting you to sit next to her.

If you persist on leaving, she'll only get suspicious of you so you relent, sitting on the stool next to her while holding your cup of coffee.

On the other hand, Minho did his part too well. He acts like nothing happened and successfully makes pancakes for both you and Kim.

"You want cream with that, honey?" He asks Kim but his eyes wander your way for a second.

"No, thank you," Kim politely refuses, "but I'll have the syrups."

Minho wastes no time to get it for her from the kitchen cabinet and gives it to her. He then takes a tube of whipped cream and gives it a shake.

"Extra cream for you then," he says to you as he places creams on top of your pancakes and flashes you a faint smirk that only you can see.

Unable to respond to it with words, you stab the pancakes with your fork and have a bite at it, hate to admit it but it tastes good.

Well then this makes the first statement a truth: Minho is indeed good in the kitchen.

-

This is it, you say in your head as the bell in your head goes ding!

The apartment may be much smaller than Kim's but it has everything you need, a bedroom, an adequate space to be called a living room, and a fully functioning kitchen. The only downside is it's a farther commute to work but the affordable rent makes up for it and that's the most important thing.

"Are you going to take it?" Gaspard asks as he floats through the crowd like a divine being among mortals.

"I have to take it," you answer while trying to keep up with his long strides, "It's the best offer."

"I think so too," he says, putting his arm around you so you don't stray away from him.

"Yeah?"

He nods, "Cause then you'll be living only a few blocks away from me."

"Oh? You know what? I change my mind," you jokingly say, turning around to walk in the opposite direction.

"Hey!" He holds you back and steers you to the right way by the shoulders, "No turning back now!'

About a week ago, you made it very clear to Gaspard that you want to stay as good friends with him but it's easy to tell that he still believes this can be more than that. That leads you to act careful around him because you're scared that he's mistaken it for something else.

"Aren't you going to invite me upstairs?" He playfully asks as you both stand outside the apartment building.

"Better luck next time," You joke back with a gentle push on his chest.

"Not even for a can of beer?" He sweetly blinks his eyes at you in the hope that will be enough to persuade you.

"Just one!" You cave in because he's been helping you with the apartment hunting and you've been walking around since this afternoon until the day turns dark.

"Just one," he repeats your words in agreement.

"Promise?"

"Promise!"

The apartment is empty because Kim and Minho are out on a date which makes it a convenient time to enjoy a cold drink after a day's hard work.

"Where's Kim?" Gaspard asks as you join him on the sofa.

"I think they're going to the movies or something," you mindless answer, you couldn't care less about what they're doing on a date.

The two of you get quiet after taking a long gulp of beer and gasp at how refreshing it is like you didn't just have it with dinner earlier.

"I reckon you're going to break the news to Kim soon?" Gaspard asks as he leans back on the sofa with his head turned at you.

"Well... yeah," you meekly answer and it reminds you how of you're not ready for that part yet.

"How do you think she'll react?" He asks as he secretly puts his arm around your shoulders.

"I don't know," you sigh, then take a sip of your beer, "I just hope that she knows that the reason has nothing to do with her."

"What's the reason then?" Gaspard asks for the first time and seems to be genuinely curious about the answer.

It feels like you're trapped by your own words, you know the reason but you can't tell him or anyone for that matter.

"Because I want to live close to you," you decide to risk getting it mistaken for something else instead of letting him in on the answer.

With the hand around your shoulders, Gaspard easily pulls you close until you're sitting elbow to elbow and bumping knees with him on the sofa.

"Have I told you you looked beautiful today?" He seduces you as he's brushing your hair to the side.

"Not enough," you jokingly answer.

Gaspard leans in to whisper it to you right into your ear, "You're so beautiful," he mutters then kisses on the cheek.

"Thank you," you sweetly say with a smile.

Catching you off guard, he places one more kiss on the other cheek and pulls away with a big smile on his face. Well, you've done your part to spare him from the disappointment so it's not your fault that he puts himself back on the track for it.

"You promised it was going to be just one beer," you scold him along with a sassy eye roll.

"And I'm not finished with my beer yet," he cleverly answers.

The front door flies open and Kim comes into sight, finding you and Gaspard snuggling close together on the sofa. She smiles at you and puts down her bag on the dining table.

"What do we have here?" She asks with a sly smile.

"Nothing. We're just drinking beers," you calmly answer while quietly putting a safe space between you and Gaspard on the sofa.

"Yeah, I'm just here for one beer," Gaspard says, emphasizing the amount of beer with a sly grin flashed your way.

"And he'll leave soon," you add, returning the sly grin to him.

Taking this as a sign to give you privacy so you can break the news to Kim, Gaspard says, "And I'm leaving."

"No. Stay," Kim says as she sits on the sofa next to you.

"I can only bother you this much, Kim," he jokingly says and comes at you for a hug, "I'll see my way out."

"Thanks for today," you say as you hug him back.

You wait until Gaspard leaves to talk to Kim about what you did today and that you'll be moving out of the apartment soon. You finish your beer to fuel your courage and quietly exhale air to calm yourself down.

"Kim, I need to talk to you about something," you start.

Kim brushes her long dark hair and rests it on her shoulder like a waterfall, "Mmh? What is it?" She asks.

Now, that you have her attention and no one else is here except for the two of you, this is the right time to tell her. You open your mouth and plan to just give it to her all at once until Minho comes through the front door.

"Where do you want me to put it?" He asks Kim, showing the plastic bag he's carrying in his hand.

"Can you put them in the fridge for me, honey?" Kim answers.

"Sure," he shortly answers, going to the kitchen to do what Kim asked him to do.

"I ran out of my fiber drinks," she says, explaining what she made Minho bought for her.

"Ah, I see..." you meekly respond, losing every word you've been carefully arranging in your head so you abort the plan to tell her about the apartment situation.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" She asks with a soft smile on her face, making you feel even more disheartened to tell her.

"Oh, I..." you feel tempted to just let it all out but your eyes keep uneasily glancing at Minho and you don't want him there to hear it.

"I forgot what I'm trying to say to you. Sorry," you lie and add a foolish laugh to convince her.

Kim seems to buy it as she cracks a laugh and gently slaps your knee, "You silly!"

"I'll tell you once I remember it," you say to her.

Or more like, when Minho isn't around.

-

Two days have passed with Kim is still oblivious that you'll be moving out of the apartment soon.

You always missed each other's timing, when you had the time, Kim was in a hurry to go to the academy and when she was alone at home, you were working late that night. It's like a mysterious force trying to hold you back from telling her the truth.

When you came home from work tonight, you found Kim eating dinner alone in the kitchen. To make sure that Minho isn't around or coming unannounced like usual, you simply ask why she is by herself when her boyfriend always drives her home and usually stays to have dinner together.

"Minho's car broke down so I took a taxi home," Kim answers with a low sigh.

"Oh, that's upsetting," you keep your expression in check as you say it, not risking Kim catching you turn his misfortune into an opportunity.

"It's about time he sends his car to the shop anyway," Kim says.

It's unethical to interrupt her in the middle of her dinner so you carefully pick your timing and wait until she's done with her dinner to talk.

You grab a can of juice from the fridge and take a seat next to her, "Kim, can I talk to you about something?" you hesitantly say.

"Sure, babe," she says, putting down her glass of water then stacks her hands together on the dining table, "What is it?"

"A week ago, I found a suitable apartment not far from Gaspard's. It's not as big as this..." you gulp air to be able to continue talking, "It's in a nice neighborhood and the rent is affordable so I'm thinking of moving in there."

A moment passes in silence as Kim processes your words, her fingers wrapped around the bottom of her glass and tapping at it.

"You want to move out?" She asks as the glints in her eyes slightly dim.

"Yes," you hesitantly say.

"I reckon it's about time that I get my own place," you hurriedly add the number one reason why you want to move out so she doesn't think that it has anything to do with her.

"It's not because of me, right?" She meekly asks.

"No," you answer without a beat, "I love being your roommate but you know... I can't stay here forever. I eventually have to move out."

"Nonsense! You definitely can stay here forever," Kim remarks as she grabs your hand on your lap.

You put your hand on hers and softly smile at her, "I'd love to but..."

You can't keep living with her knowing you've been betraying her and the guilt is eating you alive from the inside as you speak? You continue in your head.

"It's either now or later, it's something that I have to do," you settle on a reasonable answer.

"That's true," Kim weakly says, looking a little taken aback by your announcement.

"I'm sorry if this is so sudden. I didn't mean to keep it this long, we were so busy these past few days that I only got the chance to tell you now," you explain with utmost sincerity.

Kim nods and puts on a smile for you, "it's okay. I understand."

Your heart is getting heavy the more you talk, you'd better end it before the guilt gets to you and you're giving it the chance to crawl out of you. You grab your purse, rummaging through the content for the envelope you've been putting aside and planning to give to Kim.

"This is for this month's rent," you hand the envelope straight into her hand.

She folds it in half and puts the envelope back into your hand, "Take it. You need it for moving and buying stuff for your new apartment.

"No, Kim. I can't. It's yours!" You forcefully put it back into her hand but she balls her hand into a fist.

"Consider this as an early housewarming gift," she insists, holding your hand down to make you stop giving the envelope back to her.

"Kim, no... I shouldn't—" You sigh in defeat, having no other way to make her accept your money.

"I'm going to miss you," Kim's voice cracks, and the next thing you know, she's hugging you so tightly that you can feel how much she meant her words.

"Oh, Kim, you can't get rid of me yet," you playfully say to lighten up the mood, "at least, for the next three weeks."

This is why you have to move out soon, Kim is too kind and all you do in return is use her kindness to fool her and stab her in the back, you've been treating her like a shit friend, and you feel sick have to keep doing that to her.

-

This is statement number two: Minho knows that he's the reason why.

There's this gut feeling that something is going to happen. This could be just a reaction to the change you'll face soon, new apartment, new neighborhood, there'll be no Kim, and the realization that you'll do everything on your own at that point.

It's scary and exciting, you feel a little bit of both at times. One thing that always lingers inside you is this slight fear that Minho possibly knows he's the reason why you decide to move out.

A week went by and you can safely assume that Kim must have told Minho about the apartment situation. You swear you're not expecting anything at all from Minho, but he's been strangely normal and taciturn which only confirms that something is actually off about him.

You should be taking this as an advantage because then you wouldn't have to interact with him and fewer interactions lead to you making fewer mistakes with him.

Work has been keeping you busy too that you haven't had the chance to pack your things. When you come home late tonight, Kim is already sleeping and you don't want to bother her by the sound of you shoving your things into boxes.

Well, you still have a week left anyway to sort your things out and you're tired from work, you hurriedly make your way to the bathroom for a quick shower.

In the midst of it, you hear the knocking on the door and your first thought is that Kim must be in urgency to use the bathroom.

"Kim?" You call but there's no answer

You turn off the shower and put on a bathrobe, you carefully walk as water drips down your body and hair to open the door.

"Is that you..." your words trail off as you see who's coming into the bathroom and it's not Kim.

There was no sign that Minho was in the apartment when you walked in because you could tell from the sight of his shoes in the foyer or his bag that sits in the living room so unless he has the ability to become invisible, it means that he came just now to the apartment.

Gosh! You tried so hard to avoid temptation and now it's coming to get you. You're clutching your bathrobe together and head to the door.

"You can use the bathroom," you say without looking at him.

He grabs you by the elbow to stop you from leaving, he pulls you hard enough that your body crashes against him, then wraps his arms around you.

"I heard you're moving out," he says.

You break away from his hold and put his hands away from you, "not your business," you say.

Minho is quick to catch your hands by the wrist then he folds them together behind your back, making you unable to move as he leans in to kiss you.

You turn your head to the side, not letting him kiss you but instead of doing that, he steers your body to the back until your back meets the bathroom sink.

"Is it because of me?" He asks.

You scoff and make a mocking smirk at him, "Not everything is about you, Minho," you say, daringly staring into his dark brown eyes.

Catching you off guard, Minho crashes his lips against you and you hate that you instinctively return his kiss. He pulls away for a bit then plants his lips on yours again, deeper and hungrier than before.

Getting a moment of clarity, you pull away from the kiss and keep your head turned away from him, "We can't keep doing this to Kim," you remark.

He leans in close until his face is only inches away from yours, "So you admit that it's because of me?"

There's no way of denying it anymore so you may as well just admit it, "You made me do this and I don't—"

He cuts you off with a kiss and you have to pull your head back hard enough to break it, "I hate myself for it and I hate you for making me keep doing this to Kim," you bravely tell him right to his face.

He leans in even closer so that you can see the dark orbs of his eyes, "Tell that to me once again," he dares you.

This is the time to break away from this cycle that shackles you with guilt, you should stop now before all this guilt weighs you down and drown you further.

"I hate you, Minho," you unequivocally tell him with unwavering eyes.

Minho intensely stares into your eyes to see if your words match what you're feeling inside. His eyes flick down to your lips, tempted to lean in for another but when his lips make contact with yours, he changes his mind.

He lets go of his hold on you all at once and then takes a step back, exiting the room and leaving you untethered for good.

-

It seems like what you've said to him has done it because Minho acts like you're not even there whenever you're in the same space with him and this morning, you find yourself in the kitchen with him just quietly minding your own business.

This is good, right? That means there'll be no more mistakes, no more betraying Kim and you can start being a good friend again. The best thing of all, you get to move out of the apartment on a good note.

"Hey, you're not working late tonight, right?" Kim asks as you're enjoying your morning coffee.

"I hope not," you say, putting down your half-eaten toast on the plate, "Cause I have lots to do tomorrow."

Kim nods and pours herself a glass of orange juice, "Since this will be your last night in an apartment, I'm hoping that we can have dinner together," she says with a smile.

She walks up to Minho and places her hand on the small of his back, "Minho will be cooking, of course, and I'll get a nice bottle of wine for—"

You quickly swallow your food to refuse the idea, "Oh, no, Kim, please, I don't feel good—"

She clicks her tongue at you and shakes her head, "No, you can't say no. I'll be waiting for you to come home whether you like it or not," she insists.

Maybe it's coming from the fact that she comes from a privileged family, Kim can be quite adamant about certain things, especially when she wants something, in one way or another, she has to get it.

The whole time at work, you're debating whether to make an excuse to avoid attending dinner or just gladly accept Kim's kind gesture and come to the dinner, the latter is what a good friend would do, right?

On the way home, you purposely missed the trains a couple of times before finally getting in. You're dreading it because Minho is cooking dinner and that means he'll be there for it, and this is worse than doing things behind Kim's back because you have to act innocent in front of her.

At the door of the apartment, you take a few deep breaths with your hand holding the doorknob. You console yourself with the thought that you'll only have to endure it for one more night and all this will disappear tomorrow.

"I'm home," you announce your arrival and try your best to sound cheerful as you make your way inside.

As expected, Kim is sitting at the dining table with Minho and it seems like they started without you as you see the glasses of wine.

"Oh, there you are!" Kim claps her hands together in delight.

"I'm sorry. The train was delayed for almost an hour," you make up an excuse for your tardiness while putting down your bag on the kitchen counter and head to the kitchen sink to wash your hands.

"I hope you don't mind that we almost finished the first bottle without you," Kim says.

"I don't mind at all," you say as you dry your hand with a napkin.

As you take a seat at the dining table, Minho gets up his seat and heads to the kitchen. You can't tell if that's intentional or not, but you remind yourself to not give an ounce of care to whatever he's doing.

"Minho only needs to reheat the sauce and dinner will be ready," Kim says as she fills your glass with red wine and the aphrodisiac smell wafting around in the room.

"Thank you," You smile in gratitude and take a small sip of it.

"So, how was work?"

"Dreadful," you shortly answer and reward yourself with another sip.

Kim cracks a laugh and something about it gives you the impression that she's rather a little intoxicated already.

"I'm sorry that I can't help you move out tomorrow," she says as she pours more wine into her glass which you deem is not a smart move.

"That's more than fine," you respond, "I heard from Gaspard you guys have started practicing for the winter show."

"Oh, yeah..." she softly says and then gets lost in her words for a second.

"We're doing The Nutcracker, again," she says with a dramatic pause.

"That sounds fun!" You nicely respond.

"You should come on the opening day, I'll send the ticket," she enthusiastically says and sips her wine.

"Only if you come to my little housewarming party," you meekly say even though you're not sure you know how to throw a party of any kind.

"That's a deal!" She says, clinking her glass of wine with you to seal the deal.

The mouthwatering smell has taken over the room as Minho serves the food on the table, he's cooking pasta and a big steak to share which he has sliced, showing off the perfect level of cooking doneness.

"This is delicious, honey," Kim praises after taking a bite of it, she then turns to look at you, "What do you think?"

"This is really good," you compliment because, despite everything, you can't deny that he's a good cook which also reminds you to thank him for it.

"Thank you for cooking dinner, Minho," you say even though his name feels dry and strange on your tongue.

He only nods and doesn't say anything but put more food on Kim's plate, and you can't lie that you feel a little dejected by his lack of reaction.

The dinner would be a big awkward moment if Kim wasn't leading ninety percent of the conversation on the table but as the night goes on and more wine dawned in, Kim starts to slur her words and mindlessly rambles about random things all at once. It gets to the point that she accidentally knocks things off, first it was her glass of wine and then, a pitcher of water that is now flooding the dining table.

"Kim, I think it's time for bed," you kindly say.

She brushes her hair away and sniffles, "But it's your last night here."

"We'll still be seeing each other tomorrow," you console her.

She cracks a smile and then snorts, "That's right."

Minho is quick to offer himself to carry her to bed but before she comes into his arms, Kim crashes herself into you and hugs you so tightly.

"You're the best roommate I've ever had," she mumbles with her head buried in your neck.

You put your arms around her to return her hug and gently pat her back, "That's so sweet of you, Kim."

"And I'm not saying that because you're the only roommate I've ever had, I genuinely love having you here," she says, pausing to inhale air.

"it's going to be so weird coming home and you're not here," she adds with a sniffle.

You can't bring yourself to check whether she's crying or not because if she does, there's a big chance you'll cry too. Instead, you look at Minho to let him know this is why you can't hurt her anymore.

All of a sudden, Kim breaks away from the hug and runs to Minho, she lets him take her to the bedroom. You watch as they get inside and close the door behind them.

After cleaning up the dining table and doing the dishes, you can finally go to your bedroom, being with yourself for the first time after a long, eventful day.

The room is bare since you have packed everything into boxes and you're standing there wondering how your life fits in those boxes. It gets you all sentimental as you feel like you're going on a new path in life.

The moment gets interrupted as you notice through the reflection in the mirror that Minho is coming into your room. Before you can stop him, he barges in and crashes his body against yours, lips instantly locked with yours as if they're two opposites of the magnet.

"Minho..." you sadly whine against his lips.

When you look into his eyes though, you just can't find it in you to resist him anymore so you give in and let tonight be another mistake.

Just one more mistake, you tell yourself.

-

Minho likes it when you're saying one thing but your body does the opposite. He's holding you close from behind and his hand is down south, fingers playing with your clit before he pushes one digit inside you, making you shut your legs together in reaction.

"We can't do this," you mutter against his lips.

He's expecting you to say that at one point but not this early in the night and not when he's just started. He presses his mouth into your ear and whispers, "Fight back harder if you don't want this."

There are so many ways for you to tell him off, you can break away from his hold, you can push him away and close the door right on his face but you do want this, he can see in the mirror how you liked being touched all over and how you like two fingers instead of one inside you.

"Oh..." you shakily moan as he enters two digits into you now.

Minho can feel it blooming under his touch and how wet you are for him, how your body wants more of him despite all of your efforts to stop him.

And you know what? He wants you just as much if not more.

He starts undressing you, taking every piece of clothing off of you as eager as a child unwrapping his Christmas present, and then gently, he lays you down on the end of the bed.

You look up at him with your eyes wide and flickering with desire, "Let's stop here, I let you—"

There you go with your empty warning again, he shuts you off with a kiss, "There's no way I can hold back," he says to you.

Impatient, he rips open his shirt and tosses it aside before kneeling at the end of the bed to indulge in your pool of arousal. Your moans begin to fill the room and in the mirror, he can see you try to muffle it by covering your mouth with your hand.

Minho can't get over how wet you are for him and he wants to keep it that way as he has lots of things he wants to do to you.

He gets up from the floor and quickly gets rid of his jeans next, then wastes no time to walk up to you. He takes your legs by the ankles, lifting them and holding them close to his chest, and then slowly, he parts them open.

Oh, the sight of your wet flushed cunt will never cease to arouse him. His head gets dizzy just from looking at it and it starts spinning as you put your hand around his cock.

"Fuck!" He curses under his breath as you bring his cock and rub it between your folds, making him more impatient to be inside you.

His patience wears thin and he puts his focus on aligning it with your entrance.

"Minho, I told you we can't— oh..." you loudly moan as you feel his cock penetrates you and stop talking as he pushes the rest in a painstakingly slow motion to make sure you feel every inch of his length stretching you.

"Doesn't this feel way too good?" He says as he deeply stares into your eyes.

He doesn't need to hear you say it, he knows because you feel too good around him too. He is steadily holding your legs on each side of his waist as he starts thrusting into you.

Minho can't decide whether he should watch his cock slipping in and out of you or watch how much you're enjoying it, quietly moaning while tugging your fingers between your teeth.

One thing he knows what to do is to make this last as long as possible, he stops when he knows you're closing in on your high.

"Oh," you sigh as he pulls out of you and swiftly, turns you over on the bed.

Now, he has you lying on your stomach and he grips your waist, raising it a little higher to give him just the right angle to enter you from behind.

You whine as you feel him full again and he's lowering himself on top of you, he's propping his elbow against the mattress to not put his whole weight on you.

Minho puts his hand around your neck and slightly tilts your head to the back to land a kiss on your lips. He can feel the blood rushing in your veins with his hand wrapped around your neck.

"Minho, let's stop this already," you whine.

Despite his cock buried deep inside you, you still find it in you to try to stop him. He kisses you hard and deep as if he's trying to strip all of your senses away.

"Shut up!" He tells you, "You don't even want to stop."

From the way you close your mouth is enough to tell him that you have no response to that but he knows now that he needs to fuck all these worries out of you.

Minho does all of that, he's fucking you with all his might, he watches how your face contorted in pleasure, how your hands are crumpling the sheet under you as he picks up the pace.

"Minho..." you breathlessly call.

Before you can say anything to stop him again, he grabs your chin and makes you see your reflection in the mirror, "Look at that!"

He waits until you open your eyes and see yourself in the mirror as he asks you, "Does it look like you want me to stop?"

Fucking you good isn't enough, he needs to fuck you hard enough that you forget everything else except for this moment where only you and him exist in this sinful tryst.

"If you keep going, I'm going to come," you whine between your moans.

Minho takes that as a sign that he's heading the right way but rather than adding speed to his thrusts, he slows down his pace and allows himself to melt onto you, putting his body on yours, placing kisses all over your shoulder and neck until his lips find their way back to yours.

There's no way he's finishing this without seeing your face when it's everything he wanted the most from it, seeing how fucked out you are that you can't find words to say.

After turning you over on the bed, he takes a moment to let his eyes lust over your body and then he runs his hand all over you, feeling your soft skin under his fingertips. He's using his mouth next to suck on your breasts and his tongue to play with your nipples.

All these times, he's been good by not doing it but the urge to mark you is getting unbearable so he does it, sucking on your ample flesh hard enough that he knows it's going to leave a mark.

"Ow..." you yelp in pain but it comes out as a mewl as you try to keep your noises on the low.

Minho settles himself between your legs, burying his head once again in your wetness to prepare you for what comes next. You're whining and moaning, sometimes, it's a mix of both and it's resounding in the room.

He starts to believe that you forgot about his girlfriend sleeping in the bedroom across the room, he puts it to the test by sucking on your clit which earned a loud moan for you. He's right, you forgot about it until a while later, and you hurriedly cover your mouth with the back of your hand.

He gets impatient all over again when it comes to entering you, he can only hold himself back so much and his self-control is wearing thin. He's lowly groaning as he pushes himself back into you, feeling your tight walls welcoming him.

"How are you feel so good every damn time, mmh?" He asks in disbelief with a rough kiss on your lips.

The sex feels so much better than the previous and if he could, he is just wanting to keep doing it with you because it doesn't feel like with other people, including his girlfriend of almost three years.

He watches as your eyes fluttering open and shut, and breathless moans spilling out of your parted mouth, overwhelmed by what he's doing to you.

"Look at you! Making lewd moans for me," he mutters with an intense gaze directed toward you.

He brushes your hair away from your face and kisses your open mouth, "Aren't you supposed to hate me?"

You lick your lips and look at him through your half-shut eyes, "I hate— oh..."

He launches his cock deeper inside you, not letting you finish your sentence, and keeps the intensity of his thrusts to distract you.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" You manage to repeatedly say and Minho roughly thrusts into you every time you say it.

"That doesn't sound convincing," he mockingly says, pretending like it doesn't affect him when in fact, it does.

"I hate you and I hate your guts," you say with your body shaking from how hard he's fucking you and your breasts jiggling along to it.

The hate somehow encourages him to keep going, he's letting go of himself and letting his body take care of the rest. He doesn't need to worry about you, he knows you are on the brink of—

"Oh, my—" You let out a broken moan as you reach your climax

Minho keeps moving to chase his high, his nails digging into the flesh on your thighs as he's going impossibly fast, ramming himself into you until he too, finally reaches his high.

Even though he's high in unadulterated pleasure and his brain is foggy because of it, he knows his way to your kiss, he slowly puts himself on top of you and softly places his lips on yours. There's something intimate about this, it feels pure and raw, it's just you and him locked in a chaste kiss.

However, when you break from the kiss, you look at him and say for the umpteenth time, "I hate you, Minho."

Isn't it tiring to lie? Isn't it tiring to keep hiding? But sure, you can say things that go against what you're feeling and betray your own heart as much as you want but Minho isn't one to do that kind of thing.

He holds the side of your face and fiercely looks back into your eyes as he calmly says, "That's too bad because I like you."

-

That makes it the third statement: Minho likes you.

If the other two are the truth then that makes this a lie, right? But, oh well, why bother figuring it out when you've already moved on from that part of life?

It takes a month to adjust to your new apartment and discover some places around your neighborhood like a regular cafe to visit when you need your caffeine fix and a bakery that sells this delicious bagel when you need a breakfast to-go.

There's no denying that you miss Kim from time to time and it feels a little lonely when you come home from work, and that's why you're excited for tonight, you're having the housewarming party that has been postponed twice because Kim got tied with her practice schedule.

Swear to God! You're just excited to meet her again and not at the possibility that you'll meet her boyfriend again.

Since you doubt your skill in cooking, you decide to order some food from Gaspard's recommendations and he also comes early to help set the table.

"You're chipper than usual," he comments as he cleans the table with a cloth.

"Am I? I feel exceptionally normal," you playfully respond.

When the doorbell rings, your heart palpation and you can't even bring yourself to peek through the peephole, you take a deep breath and turn the knob.

"Hi, my darling!" Kim gasps the second you open the door for her and you both exchange a quick, warm hug.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind me bringing a plus one," she adds, opening the door wider to let someone else in.

The excitement fills you to the brim that you feel like you're about to combust but it deflates in a second when you see that she's bringing someone else.

"You remember Astrid?" Kim asks.

You hide your disappointment and put on a smile, "I believe we met at the party," you vaguely remember her from her dirty blonde hair and Kim's fellow dancer.

"Yes, exactly that Astrid," she says as she shakes your hand.

"Please, come in!" You politely say, making a way for your guests to come inside your small apartment.

Gaspard appears to welcome Kim and gives her a quick hug, as if he heard your thoughts, he asks, "I thought you'd be with Minho."

"His car broke down again," Kim sighs as she takes off her coat, "I already told him so many times to buy a new one instead of sending his car to the shop."

This is so infuriating. No matter how much you convince yourself that you don't care about Minho, reality slaps you with the truth. You've been under the illusion that this distance will help you diminish this feeling but you do care, you care a lot.

The party went well or that's what you guessed, you were out of it most of the time, your body was here but your mind was going all over the place.

"You're so quiet," Gaspard comments again as he helps you clean up after Kim and Astrid leave.

"I'm just... sad," you honestly admit but decide to lie about the details, "Soon you'll be leaving too and I'm alone again."

Gaspard slyly smiles at you and leans the side of his body against the wall, "I mean, I can stay with you," he offers.

You scoff and put the dirty glasses into the sink, "Well, then you won't be missing me tomorrow," you say with a pout.

He sighs as he takes your subtle rejection with an open heart, "Are we still on for Sunday brunch?"

"Why? Do you need to cancel?" You jokingly say.

He bumps his shoulder with you as he joins in the kitchen sink to help you with the dishes, "Your treat!"

"Sure. My treat!" You agree with a bump into his shoulder.

A little after eleven, Gaspard left the apartment too with a long hug and a kiss on your cheek. You're going back inside to tidy up a few things while draining the wine from the leftover dinner, chugging it straight from the bottle.

It feels rewarding that you finish the wine by the time you're done cleaning the kitchen and now, you're tired enough to not think of anything else and ready for bed.

As you're about to change out of your dress, you hear the doorbell rings and your first thought is it's Gaspard, because he's done it before and he's shooting his shot for the umpteenth time. You're holding yourself back from laughing and head to the door to open it, unlocking it without checking it through the peephole first.

"What? Do you miss me already?" You jokingly say as you pull open the door.

"Yes," Minho answers without a beat as he's standing in front of you, making your heart race inside your chest and waking the kaleidoscope of butterflies as they start to flutter around in your stomach.

The first thing that comes to your head is what he said to you that night. Minho likes you and you still can't determine this one statement, well, it seems like you need to play another round to know if it's a lie or a truth.

-

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[ickie]

♡ … TIO \ MV1 & CL16  …

pairing … max verstappen x reader x charles leclerc summary … you, max, n charles all get freaky... it really is just porn w no plot i cannot lie ... 1500+ words warnings … nsfw !!!!! pls only read if you're 18+. oral (m recieving), light spanking, dom/sub undertones, max gets off on others people pleasure hehe notes … this shit is so far from being proofread i am so sorry y'all... i feel like this is some of the worst smut i've ever written lowkey but it's okay, i just wanted to put out something that wasn't the story of us related ! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated & fill out this form to be added to my taglist ! much love <3

your hips swayed against the body behind you, sweat beading along your hairline as you moved to the beat of the song. head tilting onto the shoulder behind you, you placed a chaste kiss to charles’ jawline, grinning as his hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you more firmly against him. your eyes shut as you let him move your body, a wide smile taking over your features as you got lost in the pull that charles seemed to have on you.

as your eyes opened, they met ones with a piercing shade of blue holding something in them that you couldn’t quite read. “he’s looking, charlie.” you giggled, hoping the brunette was able to hear you over the sound of the music.

charles’ head tilted up, making eye contact with his rival turned friend, one of his eyebrows quirking up as they stared each other down. you watched the exchange, feeling the adrenaline begin to pool in the pit of your stomach. max stood up at the bar, swiftly moving himself between the sea of bodies that separated him from you and charles.

“hi, maxie…” you grinned as he finally made his way to the two of you, his expression remaining unreadable. “i missed you.” you hummed, your arms making their way over his shoulders as you pulled him closer, sandwiching yourself between the two males.

“is that so?” he wasn’t looking at you, his eyes locked on charles as they seemed to communicate without even speaking.

you hummed, pushing up on your tiptoes so you could place a kiss to the corner of his mouth, giggling as you finally got his attention on you. max moved out of your grasp while charles pulled away from you, causing a pout to take over your glossed lips. “i think it’s time to leave,” the monegasque said, one of his hands finding its way to the small of your back to push you along.

“i don’t want to-” you started, eyebrows furrowing before you saw the look the two were giving you, knowing that the three of you leaving wasn’t up for debate. you huffed before crossing your arms over your chest, eyes rolling as you moved with the two of them.

the car ride to charles’s apartment was tense, you have been delegated to the back seat as the two men sat in the front, barely acting like they knew you were there. but the moment the three of you were alone, it was a completely different scene.

before charles had even been able to shut the door, max pushed you up against the wall in the foyer, plush lips finding their home in your mouth. kissing max was addicting, the way he took the lead with one of his hands threaded in your hair to keep you where he wanted you – he kissed like it was the last thing he was going to do, and it kept you craving more. his free hand trailed to your ass, kneading the flesh in his hand as you gasped into the kiss. max pulled away, nipping at your bottom lip as he did.

your eyes met the dark green of charles’, clearly not having any complaints about watching the show that you and max had just happily put on for him. “bedroom?” it was a simple question, but you quickly obliged. you didn’t miss the way charles pulled max in for a quick kiss, causing you cheeks to heat up even more than they already were.

inside the bedroom, charles couldn’t keep his hands off of you. “let’s get this dress of, mon ange.” he hummed as he kissed down your neck, deft fingers pulling at the zipper of your dress. max helped push it down your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet.

you grinned as the two men looked at your naked body, trying to suppress a giggle at the fact that you hadn’t been wearing any undergarments at all. “mon ange…” charles groaned, his head tilting back.

“dirty, dirty girl.” max shook his head, pushing you towards the bed while your cheeks flamed with heat.

with where you were on the bed, you got a prime seat watching the way charles and max worked together. their lips were entangled in a deep kiss, max’s hands working the buttons of charles’ shirt while charles palmed max through his jeans. you bit at your bottom lip, not wanting to interrupt what the two of them had going on.

the two parted so they could rid themselves of the rest of their clothes before beginning their descent on you. max pulled you towards the end of the bed, causing you to let out a little squeal. “on your hands and knees, schatz.” you followed the command with no pushback, your head towards to foot of the bed.

charles stepped in front of you, his hand working slowly over his dick before he tapped the tip against your lips. your lip parted, your eyes on his as he pushed his way into your mouth. at the same time, max moved onto the bed behind you before he landed a hard smack against one of your ass cheeks, causing you to jerk into charles’ dick.

a groan came from charles, his hand threading into your hair. he wasn’t pushing you, but the pressure of his hand was a nice presence to have. one of max’s fingers trailed down from the curve of your ass to your pussy, barely letting his finger ghost over your entrance before he came down on your clit, rubbing circles on the bundle of nerves.

you moaned onto charles causing him to buck forward, you pulled away with a gasp, tears pooling in your eyes as you looked up at him. “you’re doing so well for us, mon ange… always such a good girl, aren’t you?” one of his hands caressed your jaw before he stepped away, causing you to whine at the loss of contact.

you felt the bed dip, your head turning behind you to look. charles was slotting himself behind you, two of his fingers spreading along your pussy. he groaned at the wetness that was gathered there, lifting his fingers up towards max who willingly took them in his mouth, sucking all of your wetness off of charles’ fingers. “always taste so good…” the dutchman groaned, one of his hands resting against the curve of your ass.

charles grabbed at your hips, pulling you towards the head of the bed so there was room for max to sit in front of you. “please, charlie… need you so bad,” you whined as he ran the tip of his dick along your folds, before he slowly pushed in.

your head hung between your shoulders, moaning at the stretch of him finally entering you. he moved slowly, letting you adjust the size of him before he fully bottomed out. a gasp passed your lips as you felt his hands grab at your stomach, pushing your body up so your back was to his chest – baring your front for max. the blonde’s lips were on yours almost instantly, charles’ fingers tweaking at your nipples while you and max continued to make out. he was breathing in all the moans and gasps you were letting out before he trailed the kisses down to your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive flesh. you were almost positive you were going to have marks by the morning.

you took one of your shaking hands, spitting into your palm before you took max in your hand working your palm over the tip of his dick and then beginning to move your hand with the speed of charles’ thrusts. “i want you to feel good, too…” you gasped; your head knocking back against charles’ shoulder.

max groaned into the curve where your shoulder and neck met, his hips meeting your hand as your eyes screwed shut. “’m close, i’m going to-” your words were cut short by the feeling of fingers pressing circles over your clit, the feeling of tightness erupting in your belly as you let out a gasp, body trembling with the force of your orgasm.

charles quickly pulled out, as you felt the warmth of his cum spread across your lower back and ass while max came across your chest. since charles was no longer holding you up, you slumped forward against max, your head resting against his shoulder as you took in a couple of deep breaths, body still shaking with the aftereffects of your orgasm.

you could faintly feel charles move, hearing the ensuite light turning on and the sound of a sink running. he came back with a wet rag, wiping it along your back before him and max moved you to lay on your back. max wiped at your chest, pressing a light kiss to your lips as your eyes fluttered shut.

“you did so good for us, liefje.” max murmured, moving your body so your head was resting against a pillow.

“max… if you don’t come and cuddle me right now,” you grumbled, smiling as you felt his body slot itself behind you.

charles came back into the room – when he left, you weren’t quite too sure – with a couple glasses of water before mumbling something about hating being the little spoon. a quiet giggle came from you before he entered the bed, your arm wrapping itself around his middle and pulling him closer. as you pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, you mumbled a quiet i love you, before doing the same with max – his kiss being put to his knuckles.

[shytastemakerthing]

Hey there! Maybe this is an odd request but I was wondering if you could do a list or maybe write a few characters of your choice on who would find piercings or body mods most attractive vs who wouldn't? For example I have my tongue and angel fangs done, dye my hair constantly, and I plan on getting a cherry blossom tattoo on my back. Would the Pomefiore house turn their nose at that?? Would it be against the rules at Heartslabyul? Or are there characters that you think would immediately crush on someone who looked like that? If not feel free to ignore, but I was just wondering if I could get your take on this!

A/N: The amount of ideas that I have for this should be criminal XD. But for the sake of not turning this into one massive essay, we'll just cover the basics for each boy. Enjoy!

TW: None

Note: Ortho is strictly PLATONIC

Riddle: He isn't completely against piercings or tattoos, but given how he was raised, his mother certainly beat it into his head that such things were not okay and destroyed one's body. He's been working on that a bit. Certainly would like the single lobe piercings the most, especially if they were rose or flower themed. Tattoos? Yeah, that will take much more getting used to.

Trey: Look at this man and tell me he isn't into that. All he asks is that you take proper care of them. Will absolutely go with you to choose out more. He isn't fully opposed to tattoos, he just doesn't like that caused you pain throughout. But seeing the after makes it worth it

Cater: More of a piercings guy. Absolutely gets you more, whether it be from deals he gets, from his sisters, or he was scrolling and saw an add. Wants all the pictures. Not a fan of tattoos surprisingly. Would be more into the temporary ones or even henna

Ace: Heavily into both. Man looks at you and is fighting the heart eyes. There's just something so attractive about them that tickles his brain just right. If you were to get some kind of a small heart tattoo somewhere, much like the drawing he has under his eye, the ego boost would be insane.

Deuce: Slightly more into tattoos than the piercings. It's a serious thing, permanent in many cases, and it's a long and sometimes painful process. He admires the dedication. Often traces any that you have and 100% goes with you if you want to get another one

Leona: The man has a tattoo. Certainly more of a tattoo guy. Not to say he doesn't like piercings, he just feels like they would easily get in the way or pulled that makes them a bother. Now, tattoos? You're speaking his language. The moment you mention you want a new one, he's taking you to where he has gotten his, only the best is what you get, willing to spend as much as needed. After all, if you want a good tattoo, you must be willing to pay. 1000% find tattoos attractive

Ruggie: Not the biggest on either tbh. Mostly because they cost so much money and as someone who grew up not having much of it, would rather keep what he has than spend it on these.

Jack: Not a tattoo guy. Piercings are hot or miss for him. Depends on what they are and where. He loves seeing little moon or wolf earrings on you, something simple

Azul: Honestly, more of a tattoo guy. The permanence of them is what gets him. Being 100% positive that you want thing on your body for the rest of your life. Absolute game over if you get anything octopus related, he's ascended then and there. Man is so red, stumbling over his words, his brain shuts down. Absolutely traces it whenever it's just the two of you... yes, it has sometimes led to more.. heated moments

Jade: Absolutely a piercings guy. Doesn't matter where, he loves them and if you happen to get a set of moray eel ones or mushrooms for the ears, no one knows where both of you vanished too. Finds them more attractive than he would like to admit. Also goes with you if you want more

Floyd: It's about 50/50 for him, he likes both, leans more towards tattoos, though. Another tracer. Kisses them all of the time, gives little nibbles..... you got one of a moray (where is up to you), he's never been more attracted to you than in this moment. Also, no one knows where you guys went after that... he just wants... further examination

Kalim: Honestly a tattoo guy. Another who will fund when you want more. What you want, you get, and can honestly go a bit overboard, but he just wants to make sure you are happy with what you have! Has more wholesome intentions than the rest when he traces them

Jamil: Not the biggest fan of either. More of a henna tattoo guy if you want them. Will absolutely do them himself, the man is a natural. Plus, it's an intimate moment for the both of you and he enjoys the atmosphere

Vil: Surprisingly a piercing guy. He finds them attractive on you, especially when you pair them well with whatever you are wearing for the day. He can't explain it, but there is just something about a lip piercing that draws him in. His eyes are often drawn to your lips as it is anyways, the piercing isn't helping. If you have a tattoo somewhere hidden, that only he gets to see (may not be the biggest fan of them but knowing he is the only one to ever see it sends this man on a trip), sends a shudder down his spine

Rook: VERY much into both. Both send his brain in a million different directions. Traces them, kisses them, helps you change the piercings. intentions are not always the most pure, but that's the fun of it. Takes you for more, even recommends more bold piercings and offers options for tattoos

Epel: Piercing guy. More so, he just likes them. Likes how they look or would shine. Just more of a pleasant thing he likes to see. Gets you little apple studs to put in your ears.

Idia: Honestly? He leans either way.But anything that relates to his interests or pomegranates (if you know, you know), and the man is a goner. Hair is entirely pink as he tries to avert his gaze. Funds more for you all of the time, he has the money for it and he loves to spoil you. Absolutely traces tattoos while you are asleep. If you're awake? Will absolutely lead to heated moments

Ortho: Helps you make sure that new tattoos and piercings are kept nice and clean! We can't have you getting any infections. He doesn't want anything happening to his best friend, after all! If you are looking for something new for your piercings, will have the best shops available with the best metals to use.

Malleus: Surprisingly, a tattoo guy. If you get a dragon, he is gone.... and so are you. Congrats, you're married now. Just the thought that you are willing to sit there for hours under a needle piercing your skin brings a new sort of admiration. Starts with pure intentions, but instincts get the best of him

Lilia: Piercing guy all the way, he loves them. Recommends all different types and styles. Bats are the most common that he finds for you. Intentions are nowhere near being pure most of the time, knowing him. Especially with a lip or tongue piercing, kisses you all of the time

Silver: Surprisingly big into both of them. Again, it's the permanence of them, something that he loves. Like Epel, just enjoys the meaning they may have and how they would look on you.

Sebek: HEAR ME OUT! Big on both of them all of the way, especially piercings. Again, some of it is a dedication thing for him, but there is just something about a tongue piercing that riles him up a bit, most because the way that it feels during more intimate moments that you would both have with one another. Tattoos are a dedication that he admires all the way. You have one croc related and he is a goner

Have a wonderful day/night!

[kurogxrix]

Fallin’ For Ya

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

IN WHICH Bucky finds himself standing in front of your door with a bouquet of roses, wondering when he’s ever allowed his stone-cold mafia heart to fall in love with you .

WC: 2k

Warnings: FLUFF, suggestive innuendos, mentions of violence, nervous Bucky.

Being part of the mafia had led Bucky to abandon things a younger version of himself had once dreamt of. Nothing was easy about the violence and constant crashing that was now a normal part of his daily routine, which was why now, it had Bucky wondering why and when had he ever allowed things to get this way.

By the time he’d fully emerged himself in this type of lifestyle, he’d sworn that he’d never get affiliated with any women. To keep himself and them safe, he’d said. The only women he’d had during these years had been there solely to satisfy needs, romance never really had a place in his relations. Now, as he stood right in front of your front door, feet tucked neatly in the perimeters of your ‘welcome’ mat, he knew that he was done for. 

He’d met you months ago in some fancy restaurant downtown, somehow hanging in one that wasn’t in his own branch of businesses. You’d been a waitress there, the only one amongst the endless list of waiters. Just to your luck, you’d been assigned the table in the VIP lounge, and to your horror, you were met face-to-face with the city’s renowned mob. You wondered what he’d been doing here when he probably owned half of the business in the city. For all you knew, this restaurant wasn’t one of his branches, but it could as well be if he’d wished for it. 

Trying to pretend like you weren’t about to shit yourself shitless, you’d entered the room with a masked confidence that had Bucky grinning behind his glass of whisky. He’d approached you that night, pretended to be interested in the cocktail you’d been assembling for one of his mates behind the bar, wondering why you were doing all of this when all you were was a simple waitress.

You couldn’t tell what had taken you that night, and why you’d decided to strike a conversation with New York's most dicey mafia boss, but you had nevertheless. You’d told him how they practically had you doing everything here whilst the rest of the crew just lazed around, how your pay was just quite enough to afford some shitty apartment a few blocks from here despite’s the restaurants reputation. 

Conversation flowed easily from there on, and anyone with eyes could see that Bucky had taken a liking to you instantly, even going as far as offering you a spot as a worker of his own. You’d work in one of his bars, or one of his own restaurants and you’d get paid above what he believed was a decent amount. You’d refused at first, afraid of what consequences could evolve from linking yourself with the mafia.

He didn’t let that discourage him, and before you even knew it, the mob boss had become one of your favourite visitors at the restaurant, even when it was just him coming to meet you in the alley beside the establishment after your shift. You’d grown fond of the man, despite his reputation, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see some romantic undertone to your newfound friendship.

Back at your door, Bucky looked like he did most of the time, clad in his dark suit with his hair neatly slicked back with an unhealthy amount of gel that he somehow always managed to pull off. Minus the few days where he’d be drenched in blood, crimson droplets ruining the crisp white fabric of his shirt just as it tainted his hands. The occasional bruises and black eyes were also kept at bay, much to Bucky’s relief.

He couldn’t quite stand still, unlike the calm and reserved man that’d be present even in the most  disastrous situations. Bucky never had any issues putting a front on before, so why the fuck was it so hard to do so now? 

He had a feeling that it had something to do with the fact that he had rung your doorbell about a minute ago, and the shuffling that he could hear inside was getting louder and louder by the second. Perhaps it was because of that comical large bouquet that he so happened to have laying in his arms. It was so big that he had had a few issues squeezing it past the tight corridors of your apartment complex, but nothing to worry about.

Bucky was suddenly hit with an unexpected

feeling of discomfiture, still unaware of why his palms felt so sweaty. It was nearly 1 in the morning as the dim lights of the corridors attempted to illuminate him pathetically. The mob boss shuffled nervously on his feet, wondering if he should make a run for it while he still had time. 

‘Yes, run like a coward’ a strange voice resounded in the back of his mind, and the thought had him sucking in his breath and planting his feet back firmly on the mat. The door suddenly bustling open left him short of time for anymore unwanted thoughts to resurface, and instead, he snapped his eyes towards the opening of the apartment, where in return he met your own gaze. 

It didn’t take a genius for him to notice that something was different with you, only by looking at your eyes. Your eyelashes were laying lower, lighter and absent of the pigmented paste you’d always have coating them. Then his eyes drifted further down your face, noting the confused look you had plastered on. Your bare face greeted him, free of the makeup he’d always see you in when you were outside of the comfort of your little home. 

Your home, if he could even call it that. It looked like a studio at best, and he’d be damned trying to understand how you were able to live in such a cramped place. The concept of money wasn't necessarily something that boys who grew up rich understood, especially not when he harboured a mansion in a nice neighbourhood with body guards patrolling his house day and night. 

“James? Can I help you?” the sound of your voice, as angelic as he found it, had been drowned somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind as he took you in fully. The huge assortment of flowers shifted in his arms as he did so on his feet, eyes roaming the way your hair was down and unkept, large and baggy sweatpants adorning the legs he’d usually see solely in short pencil skirts while you worked the day and evening off. 

Your arms were spread out, hands holding each side of the door frame as you leaned your

body weight onto them, waiting for an answer from the seemingly baffled mob boss. Baby blue eyes drifted down to your torso, where your usually blouse-clad chest was now wrapped solely in a thin tank top that served you as a sleep shirt. The straps were tiny, and the sight of your bare shoulders made him feel like a man in the Victorian era catching sight of an ankle for the first time. 

Against his own will, his eyes remained trained on your chest for longer than he’d liked to admit. You’d probably kick him in disgust if you knew of the sinful images that were running wildly through Bucky’s mind at the moment, and all that took was you in an excuse of a top, and a little bit of untamed imagination on his part. It was hard to keep on pretending like he didn’t feel for you in the way he’d been trying to keep at bay, especially now that he was face to face with you, and his mind would not

give him a break. 

Admisdt everything, Bucky had the sudden realisation that seeing you so comfortable and out of your work customary attire raised an unwanted feeling of domesticity inside of him that brewed and threatened to explode. He didn’t mind seeing you bare faced, clad in oversized garments that most likely did little justice to the body you hid beneath. 

In fact he knew he was screwed by the way his heart raced with the need to see you in such a way more often, like something he’d crave for at the end of each gruelling day of work. He knew he couldn’t afford to wish for it, yet his heart ached at the lack.  

“Hey, are you okay?” The concern in your voice had Bucky snapping back to reality, a shudder running down his back at the ungodly thoughts he’d just had of you. Suddenly aware of how idiotic he looked standing there idly with a humorous bouquet in his hands, he knew he had to justify his presence before you freaked out and just closed the door on him. 

“Just passing by, checking how you were.” he shrugged, acting as nonchalant as he could with his heart beating so fast at the simple sight of you. Bucky still felt tense, awkward as he stood in the cramped hallway, wishing he’d thought twice before going to the florist and heading here with no second thought. 

You’d seemed to have noticed his discomfort, stepping away from the door slightly as you nodded softly towards the opening behind you. “Come in, we can talk there.” you offered, ever so the kind being. 

Bucky had noticed the way your eyes had been switching from the array of roses in his hands and back to his gaze as you spoke to him, trying to act like you weren’t dying to know if he’d gotten them for you. 

He gathered the courage that he never guessed he should have to as the man that he was, before extending an arm to you. It took him all but a solid minute to gather up the courage he didn’t know he’d have to gather, before extending an arm to you, the beautiful arrangement of flowers standing now right before your face. 

“I’ve uhm…i’ve brought these for you.” he muttered.

Words couldn’t start to express the way Bucky felt the second he saw that smile raise up on your lips, one that you reserved for shy moments like these. He couldn’t help the way the corner of his own tilted up into a grin, your joy was infectious. He felt the air getting stuck in his airway as you tilted your head slightly to the side, muttering a shy ‘thank you’ before grabbing the bouquet with both hands. 

Bucky rejoiced in the way the bouquet dwarfed you, looking absolutely silly beside the arrangement that most likely measured thrice the size of your head. He’d wondered now that he was standing before your home, of how and where you’d even store the flowers, but that didn’t matter. He’d buy you a whole mansion now if you’d asked him, even if it was just to fit the flowers. 

Bucky watched as you started walking back in, but not without turning your head back and signalling him to enter after you. Then, you’d made your way inside without a second look at the flustered man at your doorstep. 

He wasn’t sure how the night was going to go, if he’d wake up tomorrow to his suit scattered across the wooden flooring of your home, or if the night would end young and he’d see himself driving back home in just a few hours. Either way, the mafia boss just couldn’t quite seem to care, because as long as he’d get to spend the moment with you, he’d be rejoiced.

You, the woman who’d managed to incrust herself in the tiny crevices of his hardened heart without having to do much but be herself. He’d realised then, making his way into your home as he shrugged his suit jacket off of his now relaxed shoulders, that he was truly, falling for you. 

-

short and sweet just like me. lol. Anyways hope y’all liked it😚

[reiderwriter]

Unfair We're Not Somewhere

Chapter Eight of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With a little bit of help from someone who could relate a little bit too closely to your situation, Y/N tries to come clean. Tries.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy symptoms/ general pregnancy things, unsub mentions, plot.

A/N: Chapter Eight! I'm so excited for where the rest of this series is going to go, though I do feel like people are going to be a bit annoyed by this one lmao. Let me know your thoughts in the comments below or in an ask! Don't be too mad...

Masterlist || Add yourself to the tag list

You sat quietly in the clinic as you waited for the pharmacist to fill your prescription - a simple pregnancy multivitamin that was supposed to help your food go down, make your hair shinier, and fix all your problems.

You wondered if the bottle could tell Spencer you were pregnant. You wondered if it could make him magically okay with that and prepare him for fatherhood, too. 

Your phone buzzed, and you surfaced from the field of thoughts you'd been lost in as you checked it. 

“Outside,” an unknown number had sent. You took that as your queue, stood up, and left the clinic, trying your best to avoid looking back at the small boy Spencer had been playing with. 

You weren't sure if you were going to have a boy or a girl yet. You didn't mind either, though you'd always envisioned yourself with a big enough family that you assumed at least one of each was inevitable. Though even you had to admit how stereotypically nuclear that was, and how only 18% of the country was living that was lying anyway. 

You shoved psychology from your head for a few minutes and let yourself breathe.

“Y/N!” JJ signalled from the driver's side of her still running SUV. She waved slightly, and you smiled politely as you quickly paced around to the side of her vehicle and got in. 

“Hi,” you said, unsure if you should introduce yourself or not. She'd been in the office the day you'd been taken into custody (protection), but you still had yet to speak to her. She'd been exempt from protective duty so far due to her status as a senior field agent and the fact that she had two kids and a husband at home waiting for her. 

You were sad she was the anomaly in the BAU, the only one with someone waiting on her. 

“I'm Y/N,” you said, still unsure if you should hold out a hand or not. You hadn't made the best impression on most of Spencer's colleagues, and while you didn't think there was much point in trying, you still couldn't bring yourself to be intentionally blasé. 

“I know, you're all we've been talking about for weeks,” the woman laughed, pulling out of the clinic car park and smiling at you. 

“Oh, right. Case. Of course, I've heard you probably know more about me than I know about myself.” 

“We have a profile, sure, but that's not what I meant.” 

You nodded awkwardly and stared out the window for a second, the sky darkening slightly as it prepared to rain. 

You drove for a few minutes before JJ spoke up again. 

“I don't know if Emily told you, but it's actually my day off today,” she said, turning off into a cul-de-sac you'd never seen before. 

“Oh, oh my god, I'm so sorry. I could've just got a taxi or something or just… gotten over myself. You didn't have to-” 

“Yes, I did,” she looked at you for a second, cocking her head to the side in a gesture that said, ‘and you know why.’ It was a look only a friend would give, and you felt an instant connection with her. 

How had Spencer found so many wonderful, big-hearted women to surround himself with, and how could you get in on it? 

You supposed, by letting him get you pregnant, you'd probably found a cheat code for whatever the answer might have been. 

“Anyway, it's my day off, so I promised my boys a fun day at home with mommy. We're doing finger painting and macaroni art. I hope you don't mind getting messy.” 

“Wha-? Me? Oh. No, not at all,” you tried to seem nonchalant, but your heart suddenly beat faster now that you were faced with this unexpected opportunity. As a lecturer, you'd been surrounded by kids professionally for years now. 18 to 21 year old kids. The kind that already had defined morals, world views, and, secretly, alcohol tolerances. The last time you'd encountered any kind of child younger than 18 was when you yourself were under 18.

The joys of toiling away at a doctorate for the better half of your adult life. You knew how to talk to professors and scholars. You were absolutely scared shitless of interacting with a kid. 

“H-How old are they?” You asked, trying to sound polite but falling somewhere between anxious and terrified with a simple stutter. 

“Well, Henry is turning 8 in November, and Michael is just about 22 months. He's just about talking, which is as fun as you can expect.” 

Her voice was tired, but there was genuine affection there, love for her kids and pride. You wondered if your voice would change if you'd suddenly begin speaking like that, too, about something other than a paper submitted to a journal or a job opportunity. 

She pulled into a street parking space and turned off the engine as two bright haired little boys came bouncing up the path of their garden to greet her, stopping at the gate. 

“Mommy! Michael got glitter on the carpet, and Daddy said we shouldn't tell you.” 

“And you have no sense of loyalty when a pretty face comes around, do you?”

Hopping out of the car, you heard JJ's husband drawl as she greeted him with a kiss. She'd probably only taken half an hour to pick you up, but they were still greeting each other so warmly. For a second, you wondered what that would be like before you remembered throwing yourself into Spencer's arms the night before. Your face heated as you stood awkwardly at the side of the car, trying not to cradle your stomach as you watched the family interact. 

Would your baby ever get that tall? Would it have brown eyes like Spencer, or one's more similar to your own? His hair was curly. Maybe your baby would get hair that waved like his, too. 

After all, JJ's kids seemed like perfect compromises between her and her husband. Other people's kids didn't, though. You wondered a lot of things before JJ gestured you over again. 

“Henry, Michael, this is Aunt Y/N. She's going to do those crafts with us today - after we've locked away the glitter and thrown away the key.” 

You laughed as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pushed you forward into the chaos of two kids under ten. 

You were a little startled as the smaller one - Michael - grabbed your hand. He had a pacifier in his mouth, though he was probably outgrowing it, and he stared up at you with big, wide eyes, blinking and sizing you up as he toddled along beside you. 

Your heart grew three sizes, and you felt sorry for ever being afraid of interacting with the kids. 

JJ whispered to her husband quickly as you entered the LaMontagne household, and he greeted you quickly. 

“So you're Spencer's lady friend. It's nice to meet you. It's nice that you're real. Honestly, I was getting a little-” 

A look from JJ cut him off, though he did still seem a bit confused. 

“I'm sorry, am I under the wrong impression? JJ said you were pregnant with Spencer's baby, y'all aren't…” 

“Oh my god-” you whispered, suddenly panicking again but whispering just in case. You weren't sure if the pair was religious, and though you certainly weren't, it probably wasn't the best time to blaspheme. You needed as much god as existed in the world. 

“So, does everyone know?” You asked JJ, trying to keep your voice bright and calm, so Michael didn't take too much of an interest and grow frustrated by hushed tones. You knew enough about child development and psychology, it translated over, right? 

“Everyone who's observant. Luke noticed the pregnancy vitamins in your bag, Tara was talking about your mood swings in the office the other day. I guess you told Emily earlier, and I have two kids.” 

You nodded at the answer. 

“And Spencer?” 

“You haven't told him yet?” JJ asked, slightly surprised. 

“If I told him, you'd know.” 

“Well, you're right on that. He's not the most easy-going during pregnancy,” JJ laughed and steered you into the living space, where your de facto art studio had been set up for the day, along with the offending glitter bomb. 

“Really? You thought you could keep that a secret?” 

“Well, of anyone was going to find it, it was going to be my beautiful, smart, funny, profiler Wife,” Will said, giving her a small peck on the cheek as she rolled her eyes at him. “I'm clocking in now. Call me if you need anything.” 

You waved him off, and sat down with the kids. 

JJ started the craft and then planned your hasty escape as the two boys were enraptured by making the perfect macaroni necklace, dusting it in objectively too much glitter as they proudly created their art. 

In the kitchen, she handed you a mug, and you sipped it quietly as she began again. 

“So, you're not dating?” 

“Nope.”

“And he doesn't know you're pregnant?” 

“No.” You took another sip and shifted from one foot to the other. 

You knew what was coming next. It was what you'd gotten next from Emily, from Penelope, from yourself when you'd thought about it for longer than ten seconds. You needed to tell him. 

“Okay. What's your next move?” 

You were so shocked you almost splashed the hot tea over the mug you held, close to burning yourself as you turned to face her. 

“I… what?” 

“Well, what's your next move? You're what, five months along? You're not going to be able to hide it for much longer. And you have to think about maternity leave, your hospital stay, and names, and who's going to drive you to the hospital. And obviously, how you're going to pay the hospital fee, and then custody and child support.”

“Oh god…” 

“And you also have to sort your relationship out with Spencer. So where are you starting?” 

It wasn't a question that didn't have an answer. JJ was staring at you, waiting for one as you opened and closed your mouth, head suddenly so empty you almost forgot what you were talking about. 

“He doesn't like me,” you suddenly blurted and wished you hadn't, face crumpling as you physically cringed at your own words. 

“Y/N, he was telling us about your toothbrush yesterday. Part of the office has a theory that he made up this case as a reason to get closer to you.” 

Again, you felt the heat blossom on tour skin as you looked away, taking another sip. 

“We don't do anything but argue.” 

“You do at least one other thing,” JJ said, hands on her hips as she confronted you. 

“No, that doesn't count. We were still arguing while we were doing…that.” 

“TMI,” she groaned as you fanned yourself. “Y/N, I know for a fact that Spencer is at least half in love with you. If you're absolutely sure you don't feel the same way, you need to at least let him down easy.”

“I…. I don't know. He's infuriating sometimes, but then he's so smart and annoying. But he's pretty great at comforting me. And the, uh, the other stuff, that was good, too.” 

“Don't need to-” 

“Like really good. Like, I'm not surprised I ended up pregnant practically first time good-” 

“Back on topic, please!” JJ whisper shouted, throwing her hands up as you zipped your mouth shut.

“You like him,” she said. 

You sighed and finally gave in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I like him.” 

“Great. What next?” 

“Next, I tell him I'm pregnant and make him hate me for a while.” 

She patted you on the back and poised you another mug of tea before leading you back over to the kids and sitting beside them at the table. 

“We can plan something later. For now, macaroni art is calling.”

You weren't sure if it was the stern, practical pep-talk from JJ or the little tiny grasp of your hand from Michael. Maybe it was even Henry's goodbye of ‘see you soon, Auntie Y/N’ that had you suddenly invigorated, but you suddenly kicked yourself into gear. 

The pregnancy wasn't going to put itself on pause while you worked up the courage to tell Spencer about it. You had to do it. 

JJ dropped you off at home at 6 p.m., knowing that Spencer would be back at the apartment shortly. 

“You're sure you don't need me to stay up there with you? The commute can get a bit long this time of night, Spencer could be anywhere between 15 and 45 minutes.”

“No, I think… I think I need some time to think about how I'm going to do this. I need some alone time.”

She nodded quietly and sent you off after calling Spencer and giving him an update on your whereabouts. 

You paced the apartment wondering what the best option was. 

You could go for the bookshelf again, though it was still organised into your first message. You'd not moved a book in that stack at all, and surprisingly, neither had Spencer. 

Running into your room, you grabbed the pair of baby shoes you'd thrown into your bag from your apartment. Maybe if you left them on the shelf next to the books…? 

You put them there and frowned, wondering if he'd be able to see them from the door when he walked in. He was so used to the surroundings of his house that he really didn't check for irregularities. 

You moved them to the coffee table. Then you wondered if you should just hand them to him when he walked in. 

“Spencer. I am..pregnant,” you practised, looking into the bathroom mirror as you tried to force a smile. 

“Spencer. We're pregnant. No, not a chance,” you sighed. 

“Spencer, I have a parasite growing in me. I've had it for five months now, and then I'll have it for another four and hopefully a long time after that as well.” 

That one was mostly a joke. Mostly. 

“Spencer, I… We're going to have a baby.” You looked down at your bump again and decided that was probably your best option. It wasn't a state. It wasn't a condition or a parasite. It was a baby. 

You rubbed your stomach again and looked up, wiping away tears from the corner of your eye as you composed yourself again. 

The doorbell rang, and your heart race picked up. It was time. Spencer was home, and you were going to tell him. 

Suddenly, you were filled with excitement, with happiness. You ran to the door, stepping on the sofa to get there quicker as you ran to pull it open. 

Maybe it was the pregnancy brain fog, but you forgot where you were. 

Spencer Reid lived in this apartment. He didn't need to knock on the door or ring the doorbell. He'd never done it before. But you'd already swung the door open quickly, and you were so relaxed and ready for it to be him that when a hand extended and covered your mouth with a cloth, thick with a scent that had your body protesting, you could do nothing but crumple to the floor with your hands cradling yourself, protecting the life growing within you. 

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