#the words take forever to breathe life into

[inkandtension]

Tie That Binds.

Minho adjusted his tie for the third time, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. Weddings were supposed to be joyous occasions, weren’t they? Celebrations of love, laughter, and promises of forever? Yet, here he was, standing in an impeccably tailored suit, about to marry a woman he barely knew, feeling anything but joyous. His reflection stared back at him, the crease between his brows deepening with every second. The tie felt like a noose.

“Stop sulking, hyung,” came Changbin’s teasing voice from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. “You look good. A real scholarly heartthrob.”

Minho shot him a glare that would have silenced most people. Changbin, however, was immune. “I’m not sulking,” Minho muttered under his breath, though even he didn’t believe the words. His fingers tugged at the tie again.

“You’re brooding, then,” Changbin replied cheerfully. “Brooding scholar. It’s a vibe.”

Minho sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. His mind wasn’t in the room; it was too busy turning over the absurdity of his situation. Years spent lecturing on logic, dissecting literature, and championing the idea of individual agency had somehow led him to this moment—a meticulously arranged marriage, orchestrated by his mother and some aunt whose face he couldn’t even remember.

“Can’t back out now,” Changbin added, pushing off the doorframe with a grin. “Unless you want to send all the guests home and deal with your mother’s wrath. And trust me, hyung, I’ll be the first to sell popcorn and watch that drama unfold.”

Minho shot him a flat look but said nothing. Changbin wasn’t wrong. Backing out wasn’t an option, not when the woman he was about to marry came with glowing recommendations. A surgeon, his mother had informed him with a delighted clap of her hands. Accomplished, brilliant, kind, and apparently drop-dead gorgeous. The perfect daughter-in-law material, in other words. His family had done everything short of hanging her résumé on the wall like a trophy.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing his blazer. As he shrugged it on, he couldn’t help but feel like he was stepping into a role he hadn’t auditioned for—a leading man in a play where the script had been written long before he entered the stage.

Y/N’s palms were sweating, and no amount of discreetly dabbing them with the edge of her dress seemed to help. She stood at the altar, her heart pounding in her chest, as the murmur of guests filled the room. Her eyes flitted to the door, waiting for Minho to appear.

For the past week, her life had been a whirlwind of surgeries, late-night meetings with wedding planners, and answering endless texts from her mother. It felt surreal, like she’d been thrown into someone else’s dream wedding—one she hadn’t exactly volunteered for.

“Why am I doing this?” she whispered to her best friend, who stood beside her in a pastel bridesmaid dress, looking far too amused for Y/N’s liking.

“Because your parents threatened to disown you if you didn’t at least try,” her friend whispered back with a barely-contained laugh.

Y/N rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. It was true. Despite all her achievements, she was still that shy little girl seeking her family’s approval. Being a world-class surgeon hadn’t changed that. The wedding might have been their idea, but here she was, going through with it because walking away felt too much like failure.

Her thoughts scattered like confetti the moment the doors opened. Minho stepped in, and everything else seemed to fade into the background. He was tall, lean, and devastatingly handsome. His black hair was styled to perfection, framing his sharp features. His suit hugged him like it had been crafted by someone who understood the definition of precision, and the air of quiet confidence he exuded was enough to make her breath hitch.

Her best friend let out a low whistle, leaning closer. “Okay, I take it back. If you don’t marry him, I might.”

“Shut up,” Y/N hissed.

Married life was... odd, to say the least.

Minho spent his days teaching university students, delving into the intricacies of Shakespeare and Kafka. Y/N spent hers in a hospital, saving lives and dealing with emergencies that left her too drained to care about trivial things like cooking or cleaning.

They had an unspoken routine:

Y/N would come home late, exhausted, and Minho would have dinner waiting for her.

Minho would stay up grading papers while she crashed on the couch, sometimes falling asleep mid-sentence while recounting her day.

They’d exchange polite “good mornings” and “have a nice days,” but deeper conversations were rare.

It wasn’t awkward, per se—just... unfamiliar.

Over the weeks that followed, something shifted.

Minho started texting her during the day, little things like, Don’t skip lunch, or Did you sleep last night?

Y/N found herself bringing home snacks for him, claiming she’d picked them up on a whim, though she’d actually spent way too much time in the store debating which ones he’d like.

They started watching movies together on weekends, bickering over genres. Minho preferred psychological dramas; Y/N loved rom-coms.

“You seriously think this is funny?” Minho groaned one night, watching the lead actor trip over a series of increasingly ridiculous obstacles.

“It’s hilarious,” Y/N shot back, laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Minho rolled his eyes but didn’t miss the way her laugh made his chest feel warm.

…

“You know,” Minho said, leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed, “I didn’t think married life would mean sharing my coffee stash with someone who performs literal surgeries before I even wake up.”

You glanced up from the stove, where you were stirring scrambled eggs for the both of you. "I didn’t think it’d mean coming home to someone who alphabetizes their bookshelf and gets irrationally angry when one book is out of place.”

“Touch my books again, and it’ll be war."

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile. “Good morning to you too, husband.”

The word still felt foreign. You’d been married for three months now, after a whirlwind of family introductions and a mutual agreement that, while neither of you believed in love at first sight, you could give companionship a chance. He was a literature professor, calm and composed with a sharp wit, and you were a surgeon, thriving on adrenaline and precision. Two opposites in every sense of the word, now sharing the same roof and calling it home.

“Don’t burn the eggs,” Minho teased as he set the table, placing his usual cup of black coffee at your spot.

“They’re perfect, thank you very much,” you replied, sliding the pan off the burner. “Unlike someone’s last attempt at cooking pasta.”

Minho feigned offense. “Excuse me, my pasta was avant-garde.”

“It was burnt.”

The morning ritual of trading barbs had quickly become your favorite part of this arrangement. Despite the awkwardness of the early days, you’d found a rhythm. You respected each other’s space, cheered each other on, and occasionally stole moments like this—warm and light, like the eggs you plated and brought to the table.

Minho sipped his coffee, glancing at you. “Long shift today?”

“Not too bad. Just six hours,” you said. “You?”

“Grading papers,” he said with a grimace. “Seventy essays on whether The Great Gatsby is a love story or a cautionary tale.”

“Ah, the joys of shaping young minds,” you teased.

Minho shook his head, but his smirk softened. He looked at you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “You’re really good at this, you know.”

“At what? Mocking you?”

“That too,” he admitted, “but I meant… this. Us.”

You froze, caught off guard. He wasn’t usually this candid. “I guess we’re both trying,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm.

“I’d say we’re succeeding,” Minho said, reaching out to steal a bite of your eggs with his fork. “Even if you do insist on putting ketchup on your eggs, like a heathen.”

“Hey!” you laughed, swatting his hand away.

The truth was, Minho had a knack for sneaking past your defenses. Whether it was his quiet attentiveness when you came home exhausted or the way he made sure to send you texts during your long shifts (“Don’t forget to eat. And drink water. And sleep. I’m grading your habits, 2/10 so far”), he was making it harder not to fall for him.

As you cleaned up the dishes together, Minho cleared his throat. “By the way, my department’s hosting a dinner next week. Spouses are invited.”

“Oh,” you said, your heart skipping a beat. “Am I—?”

“You’re coming,” he interrupted, looking at you like it wasn’t even a question. “I need someone to laugh at my jokes when my colleagues inevitably talk about Chaucer.”

You snorted. “You’re assuming your jokes will be funny.”

He leaned closer, his voice low. “I don’t need them to be funny. I just need you there.”

Your breath caught, but Minho had already turned away, heading to his study. “Have a good day at work, Dr. Ketchup.”

“Have fun with Gatsby, Professor Burnt Pasta,” you called after him, hiding your grin.

You stood in the kitchen for a moment, fingers brushing the counter where his hand had been seconds ago. Maybe this marriage wasn’t just about making it work. Maybe, just maybe, it could be something more.

(You couldn’t make it to the party, an emergency surgery happened, you apologised though, his colleagues were a bit too sad when you didn’t make it)

It was supposed to be a peaceful Sunday morning for Minho—his one precious day to lounge in sweatpants, sip coffee, and enjoy the rare luxury of a slow, uneventful routine. He had even entertained the idea of making you breakfast before you left for work, something simple yet thoughtful. But fate, as always, had other plans.

A sharp knock on the door disrupted his rare moment of domestic bliss. With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself away from the stove, glancing warily at the pan on low heat. As he shuffled to the door, half-asleep, he wondered who could possibly be bothering him on his sacred day off.

The door creaked open, revealing Felix, one of his students, standing there in all his youthful glory. A textbook was tucked under his arm, his expression bright and hopeful.

“Professor Lee!” Felix greeted, his tone unnaturally chipper for a Sunday.

Minho blinked slowly, still processing the intrusion. “Felix? What are you doing here?”

“You said you’d help with my essay on Sunday,” Felix reminded him, his tone tentative but insistent.

Minho racked his brain, piecing together fragmented memories from office hours. “Right…” he muttered, groaning internally. He vaguely remembered agreeing to it but hadn’t expected Felix, the popular, gossip-loving, poster-child of charm, to actually follow through. “Yeah, come in.”

As Felix stepped inside, his eyes scanned the space with open curiosity. It was his first time seeing his professor’s home, and it wasn’t what he expected. The cozy, lived-in atmosphere seemed at odds with Minho’s perpetually serious demeanor in class. His attention was quickly snagged by a pair of stylish, feminine glasses sitting on the coffee table. Girlfriend? Felix wondered, tilting his head.

Before he could dwell on the thought, the distinct sound of heels clicking against the floor made him freeze. A moment later, you emerged from the hallway, dressed sharply for work. Felix’s eyebrows shot up, his thoughts immediately scrambling for an explanation. You blinked, just as surprised to see someone new in the living room. “Oh,” you said, your tone polite but slightly off-guard. “Hi.”

Felix, now officially overwhelmed, managed to blurt out, “Hello”, he said, before his gaze flickered back to the coffee table, then to you, as he didn’t know how to address you.

No way, he thought, it’s the doctor who came on news for saving a K-pop idol, from almost death.

“Minho!” you called, turning your head toward the kitchen. “Is this one of your students?”

Felix, his curiosity reaching critical levels, edged closer to the source of your voice. Peeking into the kitchen, he found Minho by the stove, a pan in hand. Smoke curled lazily upward, and the sharp scent of burning food filled the air.

“Minho,” you said, stepping into the kitchen with an incredulous laugh, “are you burning food again?”

Minho startled, nearly dropping the pan. “I’m not burning it! I’m… enhancing the flavor,” he argued, his tone defensive.

“Enhancing?” you repeated with a laugh. “Minho, cooking is about creating something edible, not staging a kitchen fire. It’s amazing how often you mix those two up.”

“I was trying to make you something before you left for the hospital,” he muttered, clearly embarrassed but reluctant to admit defeat.

Your playful smile softened at his admission. Gently, you reached over to turn off the stove. “That’s sweet, but maybe stick to teaching literature instead of culinary experiments.”

Felix, lurking just out of sight, stared wide-eyed as you roasted him. The banter, the easy familiarity—it all added up. They’re married?

“Go sit down,” you told Minho, nudging him out of the kitchen. “I’ll make something quick before I leave.”

Minho grumbled under his breath but obeyed, brushing past Felix on his way back to the living room. Felix hurried to take a seat, trying to appear nonchalant, though his mind was racing.

When you passed through the room moments later, coffee in hand, you offered Felix a warm smile. “Nice meeting you. Don’t give him too hard of a time with your questions.”

Felix nodded mutely, watching you leave. The moment the door shut behind you, he turned to Minho, who had returned with two glasses of juice.

“Professor…” Felix began slowly, his voice thick with disbelief. “Is she your wife?”

Minho raised an eyebrow as he sipped his juice. “Yes. Why?”

Felix blinked rapidly, struggling to reconcile this new information. “No reason,” he mumbled, though his expression betrayed his shock.

Moments later, you returned to the hallway, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. Minho met you by the door, leaning casually against the frame.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll try,” you replied, a familiar warmth in your voice. You both knew it was a promise you likely wouldn’t keep.

Felix, still reeling from the day’s revelations, hovered awkwardly nearby. As you stepped outside, he called out suddenly, “Have a good day, Mrs. Lee!”

You froze, the unexpected title catching you off guard. It wasn’t unpleasant—just unfamiliar. Slowly, you turned, offering Felix a polite but flustered smile. “Uh… you too,” you managed before hurrying to your car.

Minho chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe as he watched you leave. “Mrs. Lee, huh?” he mused aloud, mostly to himself, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Felix, now thoroughly overwhelmed, buried his face in his hands. Sundays, he realised, were never as peaceful as they seemed.

Minho shook his head, walking back inside. “Come on, let’s get to your essay before you start narrating this like a drama.”

The next day at school, Felix did exactly that.

Felix leaned forward dramatically, hands splayed wide as he began recounting his Sunday adventure to a growing crowd of curious students in the cafeteria. His voice, filled with excitement, caught the attention of several nearby tables, each eager to hear more.

"Guys, listen up," he said, flashing a grin. "You won’t believe what I saw at Professor Lee’s house yesterday."

A few students glanced at each other, intrigued, as Felix's words hung in the air. He leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to keep everyone hanging on his every syllable. "So, I went to his place for some essay help, right? And the first thing I notice when I walk in is this super cozy vibe. You know, soft lighting, a hint of fresh coffee... real domestic bliss. But then—then, I spot these feminine glasses on the table."

Hyunjin, who had been lounging back in his chair, rolled his eyes. "What’s so weird about glasses?" he asked, unimpressed.

Felix raised a finger, signaling that this story was about to take a turn. "Wait for it. So, as I’m trying to figure out who’s glasses they are, out walks this stunning woman. She’s in full professional attire—like, the whole deal. She’s walking like, like a CEO walking into an important meeting. And guess what? She’s his wife. Dr. Y/N. The surgeon."

Hyunjin blinked, his expression shifting from indifference to shock. “His what?” he practically shouted, hands flying to cover his mouth as his eyes widened.

The murmurs of disbelief spread like wildfire among the crowd, each person leaning in a little closer, straining to catch every word.

"You’re making this up," Jisung said skeptically, shaking his head as he crossed his arms.

Felix smirked, leaning back in his seat with an air of triumph. "I’m not! They’re so romantic, it’s almost nauseating. I’m telling you, it’s like one of those cheesy rom-coms. He even tried to cook for her."

"Professor Lee? Cooking?" Hyunjin scoffed loudly, half-laughing in disbelief. "That man lives off convenience store meals. There's no way he was cooking anything decent."

Felix leaned in closer, lowering his voice for effect. The group went quiet, eager to hear the juicy detail. "He burned it," he said, his face full of mock sympathy.

The table erupted in laughter, the absurdity of the image painting a perfect picture in everyone's minds.

"But that’s not even the best part!" Felix exclaimed, practically bouncing in his seat. "No, no. The best part is how she roasted him. And I mean roasted him. And then, do you know what he said? He said he was trying to make something special for her before she left for work. I mean, come on—imagine that. Your husband burns breakfast out of love for you. Isn’t that just... romantic?"

Jisung couldn’t help himself and muttered, "That doesn’t sound romantic. That sounds tragic."

Felix ignored him, continuing with the fervor of someone who had just witnessed the most entertaining drama. "And the way they bantered? Oh my god, guys, it was like something out of a rom-com. She laughed at him, and he got all offended but secretly pleased—it was like watching this whole love story unfold before my eyes. You would think they had a love marriage, not some arranged one."

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued now. "Wait, they’re in an arranged marriage?" he asked, trying to wrap his mind around it.

Felix nodded solemnly, as if he were revealing some deep, hidden truth. "Yeah. But you’d never know. The way they looked at each other, the way they interacted—if I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were madly in love."

By now, half the cafeteria was hanging on Felix’s every word, the whole campus’s girls were there(for felix’s charm) of course.

And, as expected, the rumors began to spread like wildfire. What started as Felix’s casual recounting of a Sunday visit quickly turned into a full-fledged mystery. Everyone was dying to know more about Professor Lee’s mysterious wife—and, more importantly, if they could have a glimpse into this romance that Felix had so dramatically described.

…

Minho was halfway through grading essays in the faculty lounge when his colleague, Chan, approached him with a mischievous grin.

“Hey, Minho,” Chan started, plopping down in the seat across from him.

“What?” Minho asked without looking up.

“So… I heard some interesting things about you and your wife,” Chan said casually, his tone laced with amusement.

Minho froze, his pen hovering over a student’s paper, Felix’s. “What things?”

“Oh, nothing major,” Chan said, feigning innocence. “Just that you’re apparently head over heels for her, cooking her breakfast and all that. Burnt, of course.”

Minho’s eyes traveled through the paper in his hands and it clicked. “Felix.”

Chan laughed. “So it’s true?”

“Partially,” Minho muttered. “He came over to the house for essay help and caught us in the middle of a normal morning.”

“Normal?” Chan raised an eyebrow. “Apparently, you’re living in a K-drama.”

“Don’t start,” Minho groaned.

Chan grinned, leaning forward. “Come on, though. Is it true you tried to cook for her?”

Minho hesitated before muttering, “I might have… attempted.”

Chan burst out laughing. “Wow, you really are whipped. I didn’t think you had it in you, Minho.”

Minho shot him a glare. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not,” Chan said, smirking. “But, honestly, it’s nice to see you so… happy. You’re usually such a grump.”

Minho rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he picked up his pen and went back to grading(maybe unfairly) , pretending not to notice the smug look on Chan’s face.

As Chan got up to leave, he clapped Minho on the shoulder. “By the way, I think Felix might be your biggest fan now. Watch out, or he’ll start writing a romance novel about you two.”

Minho groaned, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Meanwhile, you were eating lunch with your colleagues, when a message from Minho popped up.

Minho: Felix told half the campus we’re madly in love. You: We’re not? Minho: That’s not the point. You: It’s not a bad rumor to have, Professor Lee. 😉

Minho stared at the screen, shaking his head. Felix might’ve been overly dramatic, but maybe the kid wasn’t entirely wrong.

[satorulovebot]

cursed seas chapter six | the lakes

pairing — satoru gojou x fem!reader

summary — all your life you’ve been taught to hate pirates and the sins they have committed against god. you've always strived to be a good citizen upholding the law and avoiding the lawless, but when you meet the infamous captain gojou, known to be dangerous and cunning, you realize that survival in this world often requires sacrifices. sometimes, that sacrifice is your sanity.

word count — 5.6k

warnings — nsfw (minors dni), explicit sexual content, fellatio, cunnilingus, explicit smut, profanity, alcohol consumption, heavy angst, age difference

notes — this is like my second time writing smut in like 2 years gimmie a break pls. anyways. hello to my cursed seas babies, don't worry i will never abandon my og child you can be assured its my first priority, unless i have writers block which unfortunately happened and thats why this chapter is short and why i SEVERELY dislike it. enjoy ;)

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

♪ the lakes — taylor swift

previous chap. you're on your own, kid | next chap. (coming coon)

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of your father's small, cozy home, casting warm light across the room as you silently folded the last of your clothing into a worn leather bag.

Your father sat at the table in the dining room, watching you with a pensive expression, his hands resting on his lap. It had been a few days since you returned to Elysport, and in that time, he had treated you like the little girl he had lost so many years ago. Considering your relationship over the last few years, the affection he had shown you was more than you had expected.

“Are you sure you want to go? There might be another way to find out what happened to your mother.” 

You paused, looking down at your packed bag before facing him. “Father I’m sure. There are things I need to know—about Mom. And I think this is the only way I will get any answers.”

He frowned, his brows furrowing. “Alright, but promise me something—promise me you’ll be safe.”

You nodded. “I promise,” you whispered.

He wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug. You didn't want to leave, not really. This small part of Elysport, your father’s home—it was a sanctuary compared to the madness of the ship you were about to return to. But you had made your choice and you knew that you couldn’t stay here forever.

“I’ll be back,” you said softly, “Soon.”

Your father smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be here, waiting.” 

With a final glance around the room, you hoisted your bag over your shoulder and headed for the door. 

Making your way through the streets of Elysport gave you time to think about what going back to Gojou’s ship meant. And it meant diving headfirst into a world of chaos once again and having to face him after everything that had happened.

And you didn't like that idea. 

The docks soon came into view and you could see the massive silhouette of Gojou’s ship towering above the rest. You hesitated as you stood at the pier's edge, watching crew members bustling about, preparing for the next leg of their journey. 

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and began walking toward the gangplank. You found him near the helm overseeing his ship as he usually would. When he spotted you approaching, his eyes widened briefly before narrowing in that familiar way that made your stomach twist.

“Back already?”

You set your bag down, taking a deep breath before answering. “I told you I’d be back last night.”

Gojou’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place. He looked at you for a moment before shrugging and turning his attention back to the crew.

"Well, you're just in time. We're setting sail soon. Grab your things and get ready." 

You waited for more—some snide comment, some half-hearted insult—but it never came. His voice lacked that usual bite and he avoided directly looking at you, which was strange in itself. 

It was strange, this new version of him—one that didn’t bark orders or throw insults your way at every opportunity. 

It was... comforting in a way.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of something bright—a familiar tuft of pink hair. Yuuji was perched high in the crow's nest, his energy impossible to miss, even from afar.  He instantly noticed you, his face lighting up as he waved enthusiastically, calling your name across the deck. You couldn’t help but smile, a warmth spreading through you at the sight of him. His energy was infectious and his kindness was a rare comfort. You lifted your hand in return, waving back.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself standing near the railing watching the waves lap against the side of the ship. You heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Captain Gojou approaching.

He leaned against the railing beside you, his gaze fixed on the horizon. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching between the two of you like a taught wire.

“You won’t ask why I let you back so easily?” 

You glanced at him, surprised by the question. “I figured you just wanted to get rid of me as soon as possible,” you said, your words laced with a hint of bitterness.

Gojou chuckled, though there was no real humor in it. “Yeah, well... maybe I’m not as heartless as you think.”

You raised an eyebrow, not sure if you believed him. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He winced at that, and for a moment, you thought he might snap back at you, but instead, he just sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not good at this... at any of this. You want to hate me, I get that. Hell, maybe I deserve it. But I’m trying, alright?” His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. The Gojou standing next to you wasn’t the arrogant, reckless captain you had grown accustomed to.

“I don’t hate you,” you said quietly. “But you make it really hard sometimes.”

Gojou let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m good at that.” He paused, his expression softening. “But I meant what I said. You did good back there. And... I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe the Gojou who you had kissed so desperately in that hotel room was not as far away as you thought. The waves lapped steadily against the ship’s hull, the sound calming as you stood in silence next to Gojou.

“About earlier,” he began. “When I left your room… I just—” He paused, seemingly frustrated, like he was trying to find the right words. “I didn’t mean to be such an ass.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden confession. “You always mean to be an ass.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But not like that. Not this time.”

You turned to face him, fully leaning against the railing. The fading evening light casting shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the pale strands of his hair that moved gently with the breeze. When you looked at him, you didn’t see the infamous captain you had grown to know—he looked… tired. 

“It’s not like you to apologize. What’s going on?”

He frowned, his gaze dropping to the deck below, his hand absently drumming against the wooden railing. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “It’s just… you’ve been different. This whole situation has been different.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he began slowly, as if testing each word before saying it, “I don’t know why I keep pushing you away when I don’t want to.”

Your heart fluttered at his confession. He wasn’t the type to open up easily—especially about things like this. And for him to admit that he didn’t want to push you away… it was almost too much to process.

“But you do,” you pointed out, your voice barely above a whisper. “You push me away every chance you get.”

He let out a long sigh, his head dropping for a moment before he straightened, running a hand through his hair. “I know. It’s just… easier, I guess.” His gaze finally met yours, and the sincerity in his blue eyes was enough to take your breath away. “I’ve lost a lot of people. Crew, friends, family.” His voice grew quieter. “It’s easier not to get attached.”

“And me?” you asked softly, your voice barely above the sound of the waves. “Am I just another person to lose?”

Gojou hesitated, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t want you to be.”

This wasn’t just the arrogant, reckless captain speaking—this was Satoru, the man behind the mask. And the way he looked at you in that moment, like he was finally seeing you for the first time, sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could say anything more, Gojou spoke again, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “You’re really leaving your father for this?” he asked, his eyes flicking to your bag.

You nodded. “I need to know the truth about what happened to my mother. And… I need to find that treasure and be with the map.”

A shadow crossed his face at the mention of the map, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the horizon, his jaw clenched tight. You knew he didn’t like talking about the map—it was the one thing that seemed to come between the two of you time and time again.

“I’ll take you back onboard. But I need you to understand something.” He turned to face you fully now, his expression serious. “This isn’t a game. Whatever you’re getting yourself into with Sukuna, it’s dangerous. It's more dangerous than you realize. I don’t trust him or whatever he is up to.”

Sukuna. 

That must have been the man with the pink hair you were talking to in the marketplace. You didn’t expect Gojou to know who he was, or at least know him enough to have that look on his face.

“I know,” you said quietly, meeting his gaze. “But I have to do this.”

Then, slowly, Gojou nodded, as if finally accepting your decision. “Fine,” he said, his voice resigned. “But if anything happens, I’ll kill Sukuna myself.”

Without another word, Gojou turned and began walking back toward the ship, his usual swagger returning with each step. You followed, your heart pounding in your chest, the thought of what lay ahead heavy on your mind.

Captain Gojou leaned against the ship's railing, gazing out at the ocean and the small port where they’d docked. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and workers from the docks were beginning to head home. His crew had grown restless after days without a break, so he’d ordered a stop at a quieter port for some shore leave. But he hadn’t been completely honest about why he gave the order—it was mostly for the map. He wanted a chance to study it carefully and had recently decided they would soon start the journey it promised, especially now that you had rejoined them. The treasure it led to was dangerous, and he knew he’d need a solid plan if he, you, and his crew were going to make it out alive.

After a moment of contemplation, he looked over his shoulder and spotted you coming up from below deck. He grinned, giving you a casual wave. “Looks like everyone’s scattered,” he said. “You wanna go for a walk?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Uh, sure. But what’s the reason?”

“Because I asked you nicely, Y/N.”

“Fine, I could use some fresh air anyway. Your ship’s unnaturally stuffy.”

Before the two of you departed the ship, Gojou made his way to his captain’s quarters to stow the map away safely. You assumed it was for security reasons, considering how much of a pain in the ass he’d been when trying to take it from you. After he returned, you both took off your shoes and walked down the gangplank together, stepping into the shallow water and heading down the beach toward the port town. Gojou’s ship was too large to fit in the small port, so he’d had to anchor it a little way off the coast. It was a bit of a hassle, but you didn’t mind.

You and Gojou had made it halfway down the beach before he broke the silence. "You know, I wasn't born a pirate."

You turned to him, surprised by his revelation. "Really? I wouldn't have guessed. Although, now that I think about it, you seem like a child who was spoiled far more than he should have been."

He gave a small shrug. "Pretty much. When I was a child, I ran away from home. I had met a young pirate, the same age as me, and he showed me another side of life. The place where I grew up felt like a prison and I wanted out."

"Oh. What happened?" you asked quietly.

"My family… my family had high expectations for me. They expected me to marry another girl from a rich family, a girl I had never met, a girl I didn't love. They expected me to be the head of the family when my father died and live up to the Gojou family legacy. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I left in the middle of the night. No one came looking, either.” His voice softened. “Guess they were happy to be rid of me.”

"Was it hard to live like that?"

"I stole for a little while, I had no name, no ship, and barely any money. After a few months to a year, I was able to make a living for myself and I never looked back."

“You never went back? Not even to see how your family is doing?”

"No, my father was a bastard and could have given two shits about how his own family felt about him. I actually spent some time living in Saltstone Port when I was eighteen, it wasn't too bad. You used to live there, right?"

Wait how did he know that?

"Anyway, we're almost there, do you wanna find a bar? Since you know, you like drinking."

“Who said I like drinking?”

“I did,” he said with a smirk.

And that's how the two of you found yourself in a dimly lit corner of a booth, ordering round after round as a way to “unwind” as Gojou said. Somehow, unwinding meant downing enough drinks to make the room spin. 

“To—” He paused, squinting at you. “To us, and to making it through yet another day without you murdering me,” he toasted, raising his mug with a smirk. You clinked your glass against his as you sipped, feeling the warmth of the alcohol seep into your veins. As the alcohol loosened you up, you began telling Captain Gojou things you shouldn’t have, things you probably won’t remember in the morning.

As the night went on, the two of you began inching closer and closer to each other. At some point, he’d moved his arm around your shoulders, and you’d stopped noticing, letting yourself melt into his warmth.

“Y’know,” he slurred, eyes glassy as he looked at you. “I always thought I was fine alone.”

You tilted your head, blinking slowly as you tried to focus on his face, which kept swimming in and out of view. “That so?” you mumbled, giggling as you took another sip of your drink. “Thought you liked being all ‘mysterious and distant,’ Captain.”

“I… I dunno.”

Your heart did a funny little skip, and you glanced up at him, your gaze meeting his. “Maybe it’s the drinks talking,” he muttered.  “Or maybe it’s just…you make things… less lonely.”

Gojou,” you started, but before you could finish, he leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead in a clumsy, affectionate gesture.

“I like having you around,” he mumbled. His gaze flicked down to the empty glasses on the table. “But we should… get back to the ship, yeah?”

You could barely remember the journey back to the ship. When you made it back to his ship, you stumbled towards his captain’s quarters, exhausted from your night out. As you reached his bed, you tugged on your shirt, frowning. “Ugh, I can’t sleep in this. It’s filthy.” The fabric was sticky and wrinkled, and the thought of crawling into bed with it on was almost unbearable.

Gojou chuckled, leaning against the doorframe with a lopsided grin. “You’re a bit of a handful, you know that?”

Ignoring his teasing, you started to strip off your clothes, too tired and too drunk to care about modesty. You caught the faintest widening of his eyes before he quickly looked away, a strange sort of awkwardness flashing over his face.

“Better than being boring,” you retorted, your voice muffled as you ducked under the covers, the warmth of the bed wrapping around you. The soft linens felt heavenly, and you sank into them with a sigh, your eyes already drifting shut.

“Goodnight, Gojou,” you murmured, barely managing to keep your eyes open as you watched him from beneath half-closed lids.

“Goodnight,” he said softly. He hesitated, his hand resting on the doorframe for a moment longer, before he finally slipped out of the room, leaving you to the gentle lull of sleep.

When morning came, the sunlight filtered softly through the small window. You stretched, blinking sleepily as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. The memory of the previous night came flooding back, and as you shifted beneath the covers, you became very aware that you were still bare under the blanket. You stifled a groan, recalling your insistence on sleeping without your filthy clothes, and your face flushed with embarrassment. At least Gojou had seemed too out of it to really care.

Quickly, you climbed out of bed, searching the room until you found your discarded clothes from the night before. You tugged them on hastily, smoothing out the wrinkles and trying to compose yourself as best you could.

You stepped out onto the deck, the salty morning air filling your lungs as you glanced around. You wanted to ask him something, and to ask him that something you needed to find him first. You managed to find him perched on a higher part of the deck. Noticing your footsteps, he turned around and before he could speak you opened your mouth first.

“I need a bath.”

The words left your mouth with a bluntness that surprised even you. You were covered in grime from the ship and smelled like salt from the sea, it made every inch of your skin itch for a proper soak. After days of being at sea, all you wanted to do was feel clean.

“Well, this place doesn’t exactly have the best facilities for that,” he said, surveying the streets. “But… I might know a spot.”

You tilted your head. “Not exactly helpful, Captain.”

“Follow me, then. It’s a bit of a walk, but if you’re willing, I’ll show you a river that’s a hell of a lot nicer than any of the baths in town.”

You and Gojou made your way out of the port city and through winding paths that eventually opened up to a dense forest just beyond the edge of town. Gojou was quiet as he guided you through the bush towards the spot, glancing back at you every now and then.

The two of you reached a clearing where the trees parted to reveal a serene river winding through the open land. The water sparkled underneath the sun, so crystal clear and inviting it nearly hurt to look at.

“Not bad, huh?” Gojou said, standing beside you.

“It’s… beautiful.”

Gojou shrugged, feigning indifference. “It’ll do the job. Go on.”

Your gaze looked to him as he leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk. “What, you think I’m just going to strip down right here?” you teased.

“Not my fault if you can’t handle a little river bath. Besides, who’s gonna see?”

With a deep breath, you started to peel off your outer layers, feeling the rough fabric leave your skin before carefully folding it on a rock nearby. You kept your eyes trained on the river, trying to ignore that he was sneaking glances, but you secretly didn’t mind. You turned to meet his gaze before turning your back to him, realizing how close the two of you actually were.

Once you shimmied out of the rest of your clothes, you waded into the river, the chill of the water sending goosebumps through your body. You went deeper into the water, washing away the grime and heat of the day. When you turned back, you saw that Gojou hadn't moved from his spot; he simply watched from where he stood.

“You know, the water’s plenty big enough for two,” you called out to him, splashing in his direction with a grin. “Or are you too scared of a little cold?”

Something mischievous sparkled in his eyes. You think I’m scared of a little cold water?”

He began unbuckling his belt with a smirk, tugging his shirt over his head and dropping it onto the ground. His toned frame caught the sunlight, the faint scars scattered across his torso telling stories he rarely spoke of. “Let’s see who’ll be begging to get out first,” he teased.

Your eyes trailed down his body as he began walking into the water. When your eyes made it toward his pelvis before you had to stop yourself from going any lower, reminding yourself it was indecent.

“It's as warm as the sea,” you teased, floating on your back and letting the gentle current carry you.

“No, but it’s a hell of a lot quieter.”

The two of you were naked, but you didn’t seem to mind, and neither did he.

“So, where did you learn to be so comfortable in the water?” he asked, kicking lazily as he floated beside you.

“My father,” you replied, glancing up at the canopy of leaves overhead. “He used to bring me to rivers like this when I was a kid. Said it was the best way to wash away the world for a while.”

Gojou nodded thoughtfully, his eyes studying you. “Smart man.”

​​You chuckled, meeting his gaze again. “He is. Sometimes I wonder if I’m disappointing him by being… here.” You gestured around you. “Running off to play pirate with people that are hardly respectable.”

“You’re not disappointing anyone,” he murmured, the words so soft you almost missed them. “And, honestly, I think it’s brave. Not many would have the guts to do what you’ve done.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Gojou continued to float nearby as sunlight filtered through the trees overhead. He didn't try to hide the way his eyes roamed over your body, and you could feel he was growing bolder by the minute.

"You know, you clean up real nice," he muttered, his voice lower than usual.

You let out a small chuckle, feeling your cheeks warm under his intense stare. "I could say the same for you."

Silence enveloped the two of you as he drifted closer, standing up when he got close to you. You were in a shallow part of the water, which made the water about waist height. It was unfortunate that it was the only thing that covered his lower half because it was see-through. His fingers came up to brush your arm, lingering for a moment too long, the feeling sending a shiver down your spine.

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you two, standing so close that you could feel his warm breath fan your face. His hand drifted to your waist, feeling the soft, plush skin before sliding his hand around your back as his other hand came up to trace along your jaw. When you leaned in, you found yourself tilting your head up, your lips parting instinctively.

The kiss was soft at first, testing the waters in a way the two of you had only done once before. But then the kiss deepened, his fingers tightening on your waist as if he was afraid to let go. You let yourself melt into him, your own hands finding their way to his broad shoulders as you traced the muscles there, losing yourself in the kiss.

Gojou shifted the two of you, pressing you gently against the smooth edge of a nearby rock. One hand braced himself beside you against the rock with the other made its way down your backside.

His lips trailed along your jawline, sending sparks throughout your body, and when he kissed you again, it was like he was claiming something he had not dared touch before.

The kiss slowed as both of you caught your breath, still tangled in each other's arms as you steadied yourselves. Gojou's lips hovered near yours, his expression filled with desire.

"Hey," he murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “If you're up for it… we don’t have to stay out here." His fingers traced gentle circles against your back. “There’s places in town. Places a bit more... private.”

You felt your pulse quicken and your heart race at his suggestion. “Yeah... let’s go.”

Neither of you wasted another second. Hands fumbling, you slipped back into your clothes, laughter and shared glances filling the space between you. Gojou helped you fasten a few buttons that wouldn’t cooperate. Once dressed, the two of you scrambled over rocks and brush, the cool evening air sharp against your skin after your bath—but in the heat of the moment, you hardly noticed.

You made your way back the way you came, with Satoru practically dragging you through town, looking for somewhere that wouldn’t ask too many questions. The sky was now dark, and the nightlife of the port had begun. Finally, he stopped in front of a modest hotel along a quiet street, breathing heavily from his excitement.

“Here,” he said.

You both hurried inside, catching the attention of the older man at the front desk. His eyebrow lifted as he eyed the two of you, taking in your windswept appearance and the clear look of anticipation you both wore. He sighed, passing you a key with a knowing look. “Just… keep it down, eh?”

A mischievous laugh escaped Gojou as he snagged the key and tossed you a wink. “No promises."

The two of you dashed up the narrow staircase, careful not to trip in your haste. When you finally found the room, Gojou fumbled with the key, his hands practically trembling as he tried to unlock the door. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of him—a pirate captain, renowned for his cool composure, completely undone by anticipation.

“Need some help?" you teased, biting back a grin.

“Hey, keep that up and I might reconsider,” he shot back.

After fumbling with the key for a while, he finally managed to get it inside the lock and unlock the door. The room wasn't much, with only a small bed, a few chairs, and a vanity to decorate it, but it would do.

The two of you stumbled inside the room kissing fervently as he closed the door with his foot. You walked backward, leading him to the small bed in the center of the room.

“You're so beautiful to me,” he spoke in a hushed voice.

Your fingers reach up to his collar, gently pulling him down and pressing your lips to his in a passionate kiss. Nothing prevented you from him when your fingers began to work on the already half-undone buttons of his shirt with slow and deliberate movements.

You continued your path to the bed and before long you felt the back of your legs hit the bed and you fell backwards on the plush cushions. The desire was mutual, you could see it in his eyes, and there was an urgent need to be closer on a level beyond words. Satoru moved his hands up and down your sides, caressing the curve of your back and touching the delicate skin of your waist.

He broke the kiss before moving down to your bust, removing the layers of your clothing to reveal your supple breasts. His pupils were fully blown completely covering his cerulean eyes, wanting to submit to his carnal desires. He leaned down kissing you once more, feeling the slopes of your breasts pressed against his chest in your lip-locking exchange.

You sat up before flipping the two of you over so you could be on top, a wave of confidence overtaking you. You slowly kissed down his body before reaching his trousers and undoing the ties of his breeches. Before you knew it, you were crawling off of his lap and laying on your stomach between his legs.

To be completely honest, you had never pleasured yourself before, let alone a man.

Your eyes widened as you pulled off his breeches, releasing his aching member that revealed a size that was proportional to his height.

"Sweetheart—ngh! Don't tease me like that."

You looked up at him with those beautiful doe eyes he had dreamed about, and he thinks he somehow got harder.

"But what if I want to?"

"Ah fuck, please sweetheart? I'm so hard already," he whined.

"Um, I don't really know how to do this… so please forgive me."

You had a friend back in Elysport who was a courtesan for the wealthy, often having sex with married men for money. You never judged her, as she was a friend, but she had taught you a couple of things including how to give a man a hand job, but you had never thought you would need to use it, not in a situation like this with a man like him.

Satoru looked down at you, and awaiting your next move he decided to wrap a hand around his cock.

"Fuck sweetheart," he moaned. "You don't know how many times I dreamed of doing this with you."

Something inside you awakened when he said that—something bold, you decided to replace his hand with your mouth. His deep and guttural moans were enough to encourage you to keep going and take his entire length.

Your mouth is so warm and fuck babe was all you could hear him say. It gave you a confidence boost hearing his constant praise.

You continued until he suddenly tugged your hair, pulling you off his cock. Frowning, you looked at him wondering why he did that when he seemed to be enjoying it.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I was about to cum."

Disappointed you made your way back up his body, kissing him deeply once more. He flipped the two of you over so he was back on top, kissing your neck and feathering soft kisses around the bruised skin before moving down to your breasts. He alternated between both of them, giving them equal amounts of attention by biting and sucking at the flesh and biting at your nipple.

"S-Satoru," you moaned, arching your back to meet his chest, as he descended further and further own your body to where you needed him the most. On his way down, he muttered a "Lift your legs." before removing your soaked pair of panties that he threw somewhere in the room, not caring where they landed. He was quick to dive head-first into your sopping cunt, lapping at your entrance with his tongue, exploring your walls until you were softly moaning his name.

"Fuck you taste so sweet," you could hear his muffled voice from between your legs. He encircled his thumb on your sensitive bud before looking back at your slit, slightly spreading your lips apart to look at your weeping hole. He sat up, grabbing hold of his cock and rubbing it up and down your slit, teasing you to the point of tears.

"S-Satoru, Please!"

"Fuck. Good Girl," he muttered before sliding himself in.

“Ngh—! Y-You—aaah!” You could feel your body being dragged back and forth, your hips being jostled as he continued to sink himself into you.

He was insatiable, he couldn't get enough of the tightness of your cunt. He was moaning loudly from the feeling of your warm, velvet walls milking his cock. He continued to thrust inside you, sitting up with his hands on your hips, keeping you steady as he rammed his cock inside you.

"That's it, gotta stretch you out," he says. “You’re taking me so well,” he groans, burying his face in your neck.

"Satoru," you moan, your walls clenching around his length. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him closer as you feel the ends of his soft hair.

He knows what he's doing, and you can feel that smirk he always has on his lips but surprisingly, he peppers kisses on your neck before he pulls away.

"Can you get on all fours?" he asks, halting his thrusts.

Wanting to please him, you quickly get on all fours and he immediately presses you back down onto the mattress. He lifts your ass as you arch your back even more. He palms the flesh of your ass in his hands before entering you once more.

You gasp, clutching the sheets in your small hands. When Satoru notices this he moves to interlock your fingers, pressing his chest against your back to pound into you.

"Satoru, ah—" you whine.

"I know, I know," he grunts. You can feel your walls tightening around his thick cock "Fuck—so good." you moan.

“Gonna make you cum so hard.”

His balls slapping against your ass feels euphoric, leaving you breathless and wanting to reach your orgasm. A couple of more thrusts against your g-spot bring you the most incredible orgasm.

“Fuck Sweetheart, I’m close.”

It takes a few more thrusts before his movements become erratic and you feel his cock twitch inside you. You feel his sweaty forehead drop against your shoulder as you both struggle to catch your breath. After a few moments, he lifts his head off your shoulder and moves to lie next to you. You flip yourself on your side, eyes focused on the ship's wooden panels as your chest heaves.

You feel Satoru shift next to you, pressing his chest to your back as he wraps his arms around you.

“Thank you, baby. Thank you.”

© satorulovebot 2024 please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my work.

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[sasheemo]

When we collide

Chapter 11

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Chapter Summary: Agatha sneaks into your house, and an already risky plan takes an unexpected, and even riskier, turn.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I know this update took forever and I am so sorry, work and life in general have been crazy lately. Writing has been such a slow process, and finding the time to sit down and focus has been hella hard.

That said, I’m so grateful for your patience and support—it truly means the world to me. Every comment, like, and bit of encouragement keeps me motivated to push through, even when things feel overwhelming. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it.

Thank you for sticking with me through this journey. Your love for this story keeps me going 💜

It feels like you’ve been hiding in the shadows of your garden for hours. You have no idea how much time has passed or how long Agatha has been inside.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been waiting an eternity.

The night grows colder and heavier with each passing second, the chill creeps through your dress, your eyes fixed on the darkened windows above. The faint glow of the kitchen light spills onto the ground, a subtle but constant reminder of your mother’s presence inside.

You clench your hands into fists at your sides, trying to still the growing unease coiling in your chest. The plan had seemed straightforward at the time: get Agatha inside, have her pretend to be you, and wait for her to open the window. But now, as you stand in the biting cold, the enormity of the risks begins to gnaw at you.

Agatha doesn’t know your mother. Not the way you do. 

She doesn’t know the sharp edge to her voice, the way her words cut deeper than her glares. She doesn’t know the little tells, the moments when her mood shifts and it’s better to stay quiet than risk provoking her. And most importantly, Agatha doesn’t know the intricate, tense dance you’ve perfected over years of enduring her.

The weight of it all suddenly feels crushing. You shift uneasily, your breathing shallow as your thoughts spiral. What if your mother notices something’s off? What if Agatha hesitates or says the wrong thing? What if she tries to talk her way out of something and slips up? 

You bite down on your lip, forcing yourself to breathe slower, deeper. But the thoughts don’t stop. 

What if your mother catches her before she even reaches your room? What if she figures out the truth? What would she do - to Agatha, to you - if she realized the extent of this betrayal? Your mind conjures up a dozen worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

A sharp gust of wind pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you glance down instinctively at the small bundle of fur near your feet. The rabbit, Agatha’s rabbit, sits quietly in the shadows beside you, its nose twitching as it sniffs the night air. Its presence is steady, calm, almost indifferent to the storm raging in your head.

You crouch down slightly, your fingers brushing against the creature’s soft fur. It doesn’t flinch, simply shifts closer as if it senses your unease. There’s something grounding about the animal, something simple and reassuring. Agatha had brought it here with her, and for some reason, the thought that something she clearly cares for is by your side soothes the sharp edges of your panic.

You take another breath, steadier this time. The faint glow from the kitchen is still there, unchanging, and the stillness of the house seems both unnerving and hopeful. 

She’s inside. She’ll make it.

And then, finally, you hear the faint creak of the window above. 

Your head snaps up, your pulse quickening as you watch it ease open. Your own face peers out from the shadowed wooden frame, tense and searching the garden below. It takes you a second to remember that it’s actually Agatha.

The sight pulls at something strange in your chest. You know the spell you cast has served its purpose, that she’s safe now. That realization settles over you like a wave, and you exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

Closing your eyes, you draw on the lingering energy of the spell, your magic buzzing faintly under your skin. You picture her, not as a reflection of yourself, but as she truly is: darker, undeniably powerful, magnetic. With a flick of your wrist and a soft breath, you send the magic out, releasing it.

When you open your eyes, the figure leaning out of the window has changed. Her true form has returned: wild, dark hair framing her face, sharp cheekbones catching the faintest glow of the night.

Agatha’s gaze catches yours, steady and knowing, as if she’s fully aware of what you’ve just done. She tilts her head slightly in acknowledgment, a silent signal to come up. 

The tension in your chest doesn’t fully ease, but you let yourself glance at the towering tree at the center of the garden, its ancient branches stretching out in every direction like a great, unmoving sentinel. The bark is thick and weathered, furrowed with deep grooves that speak of countless seasons endured. 

Its lowest branches bow slightly under their own weight, but higher up, the limbs grow stronger, sprawling outward with a defiant strength. One of its largest branches curves close to your window, not enough to block the view from your room but near enough to serve as your path inside.

The tree has always been there, a quiet companion through your childhood. Back then, its lower limbs had felt like a sanctuary, their rough surfaces welcoming and steady beneath your hands. You’d scramble up effortlessly, laughing as you dangled your legs and let the world blur into your own imagined wilderness. 

But tonight, the tree looms above you, its branches no longer inviting but daunting, like a puzzle demanding perfect precision. Your gaze fixes on the thick branch that leads toward your window, and doubt creeps in uninvited.

You exhale, trying to calm the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. The branches look sturdy, thicker than they seemed when you were younger, but you know they’ll need to hold more than they ever have before.

You step closer to the tree as you prepare to hoist yourself up. But as you look upward, plotting your path, reality snaps into focus. 

One of your hands is clutching the rabbit, its small body shifting slightly against your palm, leaving the other useless for climbing. Both hands will be needed to grip the bark and the branches, to steady yourself as you ascend.

You can’t climb like this.

Your jaw tightens as you glance down at the animal, then over your shoulder at the satchel pulling against your back. The weight of both feels suddenly oppressive, a barrier between you and the safety of the window above.

Your breath is clouding in the cold air as you glance up at the towering tree again. For a moment, you stand frozen, your mind racing for a solution.

Then, an idea comes to you. Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all you’ve got, and it’ll have to do.

Kneeling carefully, you place the rabbit gently on the ground beneath the tree. 

“Stay.” you whisper softly, as the small creature sniffs the grass, its twitching nose brushing against a fallen leaf. You shrug the satchel off your back, unfastening the flap with fingers that tremble slightly from the cold.

You glance down at the contents of the bag and let out a soft sigh of relief. Agatha, it seems, is a light packer. There’s enough space, you think, and without hesitation, you scoop up the rabbit again, cradling its small body close for a moment. 

“Alright, you’re going in.” you whisper, angling the bag carefully to create a safe, snug space.

The rabbit shifts, its ears flicking in mild protest, but it doesn’t wriggle too much as you tuck it in among the folds of Agatha’s clothing. You adjust the fabric gently, making sure it’s secure, and offer a quiet, almost reassuring murmur. “See? Not so bad.”

You hope the familiar scent will keep it calm during the climb. For a moment, the faint smell reaches you as well - earthy yet sweet, rich and layered - and it stops you in your tracks. The briefest flicker of distraction pulls at you before you shake it off, focusing on closing the satchel and readying yourself for the climb.

You glance up at the window to check for any sign from Agatha, but what you see halts you. She’s leaning out of the darkened window, her features clear despite the shadows, and her expression… well, if looks could kill, you’d be flat on the ground.

Her glare is direct and unmistakable, her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It doesn’t take much to realize why. 

She’s staring straight at the satchel slung over your shoulder and the rabbit inside it. You’re frozen, caught mid-motion, her piercing gaze making you feel oddly small, like a child caught red-handed. Your irritation flares before you can stop it, the sharp edge of it cutting through your nerves. 

‘What exactly does she expect me to do?’ you think, sarcasm practically spilling over. ‘Carry it in my teeth?!’

You bite back a laugh at your own thoughts, the absurdity of the situation tugging at the corners of your mouth. You glance away from the window, shaking your head with a mix of annoyance and amusement. 

“As if she’d have a better idea.” you mutter quietly to yourself, the words more a release of tension than anything else.

The bark digs into your palms as you grip the trunk, pulling yourself up onto the first branch. It creaks faintly under your weight, but it holds, as it always has. Your breath comes slow and deliberate, each movement measured as you reach for the next handhold.

Even so, the awareness of Agatha’s eyes on you gnaws at the edge of your focus. Her gaze feels like a weight on your back, amplifying every misstep and every slight tremble in your limbs. The idea of her judging your clumsy climb, silently critiquing each slip of your footing, sends another wave of irritation coursing through you.

And yet… there’s something oddly reassuring about it too. As if her presence, no matter how frustrating, guarantees that someone will catch you if you fall. Not literally, of course, but the thought lingers, steadying you more than you’d care to admit.

You shift your weight carefully, reaching for the next branch. The satchel presses against your back, its weight a constant reminder of your responsibility, and of the sharp eyes above you. You resist the urge to glance up briefly, focusing instead on the climb.

You move cautiously, gripping the bark tightly as you climb higher. The tree groans faintly under your weight, and you freeze, holding your breath. 

The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness of the night, a sharp contrast to the quiet hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a moment, you glance toward the kitchen window, half-expecting to see your mother’s silhouette appear, but the glow remains steady, undisturbed.

You grit your teeth, focusing on your balance, careful to distribute your weight evenly. Every move feels agonizingly slow, the need for silence making each step a deliberate act of precision.

As you near the branch that curves toward your window, you reach out with one hand, your fingers brushing the rough bark. It’s close, close enough that you can almost imagine the feel of the window frame beneath your palm. 

But as you shift your weight to make the final stretch, your foot slips against the trunk, the bark giving way beneath your boot.

Your stomach lurches as your balance wavers, your free hand scrabbling desperately for a hold. The satchel shifts sharply, throwing you further off balance, and for a terrifying moment, you’re certain you’ll fall. Your breath catches in your throat, panic blooming in your chest.

From her vantage point at the window, Agatha tenses instantly. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, she shifts forward slightly in a reflexive, almost involuntary motion, as if she could somehow close the unbridgeable distance and reach you. Concern flickers across her face as her hands grip the windowsill tightly, knuckles paling with the pressure.

But then your hand finds purchase, gripping a knot in the bark just in time to steady yourself. 

You hang there for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears, your body frozen as the satchel settles back into place. The rabbit stirs faintly inside, and you murmur a soft reassurance under your breath, though it’s as much for yourself as for the animal.

The faint creak of the tree subsides, and the night seems to hold its breath along with you. You force yourself to exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening as you steady your footing once more. Carefully, you reach out again, this time gripping the branch firmly before pulling yourself up onto it.

The window is finally within reach, a threshold to safety. 

As you glance up, Agatha is there, her figure sharp and still against the faint shadows of the room. She’s waiting, her presence a silent promise that the plan is almost complete. The sight steadies you and, for the first time since the climb began, relief flickers at the edges of your thoughts, fragile but real.

As you near the window, Agatha leans out further, her gaze flicking to the satchel slung over your shoulder. She lifts a hand, gesturing for it with a slight wave of her fingers, her expression calm and maddeningly smug.

You pause, blinking at her. 

“Really?” you mutter under your breath, incredulity practically dripping from your tone. 

She tilts her head slightly, arching a single brow, her smugness somehow amplifying as she gestures again, clearly waiting.

For a moment, you consider ignoring her, but then you glance at the satchel. She has a point, giving her the bag would mean the rabbit is safer, and, without the extra weight on your back, you’ll have an easier time pulling yourself through the window.

With a dramatic sigh, you shrug the satchel off your shoulder, the strap sliding down your arm before you lift it toward her. She stretches downward, her fingers brushing the edge of the leather before she grips it firmly and pulls it from your grasp. 

For a moment, you watch her, half expecting her to disappear entirely now that the bag is secure in her hands.

And that’s exactly what she does. Agatha retreats, vanishing from the window’s edge with the satchel in tow. You roll your eyes, your mind instantly jumping to the conclusion that she’s probably fussing over the rabbit. 

The thought irritates and amuses you in equal measure, but you shake your head and steady yourself for the final push. 

The ledge is close, and with the satchel gone, the climb feels marginally easier. You stretch your arms upward, gripping the edge of the window frame as you shift your weight onto the thick branch beneath you. 

Carefully, you pull yourself higher, your knees brushing the frame as you begin to hoist yourself inside.

For a moment, it seems like you’ve done it. Your body halfway through the window, balance steady enough to keep going.

And then your foot catches on the edge of the frame.

The jolt sends you stumbling forward, your grip slipping as the momentum drags you into a clumsy, uncontrolled tumble.

Agatha moves instantly, appearing as if out of nowhere, her reflexes instinctive and precise.

You barely register the sudden shift before her silhouette is in front of you. One of her hands darts out, gripping your arm with surprising strength, but it’s not enough to counter the force of your fall. Her other hand slides to your waist, firm and steady, trying to catch you, but the momentum is too much.

There’s no time for either of you to adjust. The pull of gravity drags you forward, and you both tumble into the room in a chaotic, ungraceful heap. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you land tangled together. 

Agatha is half-sprawled over you, her weight pinning you to the floor, grounding and overwhelming all at once. The world seems to fade, narrowing to the soft rustle of leaves in the night and the rhythm of her breathing. 

Her face is unbearably close, so close that her breath brushes against your cheek, warm and uneven. Untamed hair spilling over her shoulder and grazing your arm, strands scattered haphazardly from the fall.

There’s a stillness to her expression, but the faint parting of her lips reveals a hitch in her breathing, as though the shock of the tumble hasn’t fully left her.

Both of her hands remain where they caught you, one curled tightly around your arm, the other pressed firmly against your waist. The heat of her touch burns through the fabric of your dress, rooting you in place even as your pulse races wildly.

Those sharp blue eyes, piercing even in the dim light, are locked on yours. The intensity of her gaze makes your breath catch, as if she’s not only seeing through you but searching for something at the same time.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Your chest tightens and your pulse hammers in your ears as the space between you feels impossibly thin, a fragile thread stretched taut and trembling. 

And then, fleetingly - so quickly you almost think you imagined it - her gaze drops, flickering to your lips. The motion is so subtle, so brief, that it vanishes almost as soon as it happens. But the imprint of it remains, sharp and electric, making you shudder.

Your mind scrambles for something, anything, to say, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare back at her, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to make sense of the moment.

The silence stretches, thick and almost suffocating, until Agatha breaks it. Her voice is low, threaded with dry amusement but carrying an almost daring undertone that sets your nerves alight. 

“Are you always this dramatic,” she murmurs, “or am I just special?”

The words pull you out of your daze, and your cheeks burn instantly, the heat rushing to your face. 

“I— I didn’t—” you stammer, scrambling to find words, but every coherent thought scatters.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips twitching as if she’s about to say something else, but instead, she pushes herself up abruptly. 

The cool night air rushes in as her warmth leaves, and you’re left on the floor, heart still pounding in your ears.

She brushes off her skirts with deliberate ease, her expression once again smug and composed, though there’s a flicker of tension in her movements. She extends a hand to you, her sharp gaze watching you carefully.

“Come on, get up.” she whispers, her tone calm but firm. “Your mother might have heard that.”

You glare up at her, your pride stinging, but you take her hand anyway, letting her pull you to your feet. Her grip is firm, steady, and as she helps you up, her fingers linger just a second too long before she steps back.

The sensation is fleeting but familiar, a ghost of what had happened only hours earlier by the lake. She’d done the same after you healed her burns, offering her hand with that same deliberate calm, as though her touch carried no weight. But it had lingered then too, just like now, and the memory ignites a warm spark in your chest. 

As you rise to your feet, your balance feels oddly unsteady, not from the fall but from the moment itself. You linger there, caught between embarrassment and something heavier. Your fingers twitch at your sides, as though still feeling the echo of her grip, and your gaze follows her as she moves away.

She crosses the room, moving toward the satchel she’d placed on the floor earlier and crouching down. 

You turn toward the window, reaching for the frame to shut it. The cool night air still drifts into the room, carrying the faint scent of the garden below. Your fingers curl around the wood, and just as you push it closed, a sound freezes you in place.

A creak. Faint, but unmistakable.

Your heart stops, and you glance at Agatha, who has gone still beside the satchel, her hand hovering over the flap. Her sharp eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you breathes.

Another creak follows, heavier this time, accompanied by the low groan of the wooden stairs shifting.

Panic flashes between you in a silent exchange, the weight of the moment sinking in with brutal clarity. Agatha straightens slowly, her hand dropping from the satchel as her gaze darts toward the door.

Well, shit. Your mother definitely heard.

[faithshouseofchaos]

Leaving it all Behind (LIAB) series

I’m going to be a father? — max verstappen x reader

Leaving it all behind series one shot part three

Word count — 591

Fluff

It started as a suspicion—a tiny inkling that maybe, just maybe, something was different. Y/N had been feeling off for a few days, small things that she would normally brush off as nothing. But today, as she glanced at the calendar, her heart skipped a beat. She was late.

Trying not to get ahead of herself, Y/N went to the pharmacy, her mind buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves as she picked up a pregnancy test. She hurried home, her hands trembling slightly as she set the test down on the bathroom counter. After what felt like an eternity, she glanced down at the result, her heart pounding.

A wave of joy and disbelief washed over her. She sat there in the quiet of the bathroom, staring at the test, a hand over her mouth as she processed the news. She was going to be a mom, and Max… he was going to be a dad.

Once the initial shock faded, a giddy excitement bubbled up inside her. She wanted to tell Max in a way that would be meaningful—a moment they’d remember forever. She thought of the garage, where Max spent most of his time. She knew exactly how she wanted to tell him.

The next day, after Max left for work, Y/N headed to a local store and bought a tiny pair of baby shoes—a pair of soft, cream-colored booties that seemed perfect for the moment. When she got home, she carefully tucked the booties into a small gift box, sealing it with a note that read, “Can’t wait to meet you, Daddy.” She placed it on the passenger seat of Max’s truck, knowing he’d find it at the end of the day.

That evening, Max came home with a look of confusion, holding the small box in his hand. Y/N watched him closely, biting her lip to contain her excitement as he opened it. The moment his eyes landed on the tiny shoes, he froze. His gaze flickered to her, a mix of surprise and awe on his face.

“Y/N… are you serious?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes filling with happy tears as she moved closer. “I found out yesterday. We’re going to be parents, Max.”

Max’s expression softened as the news sank in. A wide smile broke across his face, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. She could feel his heart racing, his breaths quick and filled with emotion as he tried to process what this meant for them.

“We’re… we’re really doing this,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “A family. Our family.”

Y/N laughed, her arms wrapping around his neck as she held him close. “Yes, our family. Can you believe it?”

Max pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes shining with love and gratitude. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I swear I’ll be the best dad I can be.”

They spent the rest of the evening talking, dreaming about their future as parents, and wondering who their child would take after. Max, who was usually so tough and guarded, couldn’t stop smiling, his hand drifting to her stomach with a gentle reverence that made Y/N’s heart melt.

In that moment, in the quiet of their little home, they felt more than just love—they felt a sense of wholeness, a new beginning, as they looked forward to the life they were about to welcome into their world.

[persphonesorchid]

Echoes Of Nebula - MYG

Summary: Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, a part of each other, one and the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

Warning(s): I don't think there's any, but let me know if I've missed! Any mistakes are my own, I proofread this one (1) time 😭

Masterlist

Notes: Eep, hello! Here's this lil thing I've been working on! Also, Yoongi and Mc didn't end on bad terms, their separation was somewhat mutual and they're all good :)). Feedback is always appreciated and encouraged! Enjoy!

“Make sure to eat, okay?” 

Snow swirls along the train tracks, following a gust as a train pulls into the station.  There’s the bustle of people getting on and some getting off, bundled up warmly against the winter air. Some are going to see their families, some are taking a break from theirs. Some of them are stepping onto the train to never step foot in this town again. Some of them are just starting the first day of their adult lives. 

Min Yoongi? He’s moving to Seoul.  

Your hands tuck the ends of his scarf securely into his sweater, staring at him like you’re trying to memorize his face. Your tears make tracks against your cheeks and dry quickly in the cold.  

Min Yoongi is breaking up with his girlfriend.  

“Eat on time. And I don’t mean ramyeon because you’re too lazy to cook.” You sniffle, and Yoongi wipes under your eyes with his thumbs. His glove has a hole in it. Not that it matters much right now, he’s trying to get you to stop crying. “Sleep on time, not when the sun’s coming up.”  

Min Yoongi is trying not to cry.  

“Okay.” He holds you still because he’s trying to memorize your face. He’s got pictures, even the silly ones that he took and promised to delete, but they won’t compare. “I’m sorry.” 

He must’ve apologised for the millionth time. He doesn’t know what else to say.  

You nod, smile — sadly, tears on your waterline — and, “I understand.” for the millionth time.  

He’s moving to Seoul, a long way away from Daegu.  

A mixtape he made for shits and giggles took off and pulled him with it, and he has no choice but to follow. Your life is in this little town like a ship in a bottle and like a captain you’ll go down with it. You can’t follow.  

You both talked about it for days, compromising, bargaining, but in the end, your lives are going separate ways.  

Stars either explode or implode when they die, and Yoongi feel like the star you’re both made of has finally reached its end. It’s imploding, folding in on itself and pulling everything with it.  

He has five minutes left to take you in, how the tears shine in your eyes despite his efforts, the string of the necklace he won you at a fair peeking from behind your scarf. The way you smile and your eyes squint, the way he could feel the chill of your hands through his gloves.  

He wants to stay right here in this moment and never leave if it meant he could take you in for five minutes till eternity.  

“Remember to...” His throat feels raw, but it’s because of the cold and definitely not because he’s crying. The lump in his throat makes it hard to swallow. He looks somewhere above your head to give himself a second, things like these are always hard for him. “Remember to dress for the weather.”  

He squeezes your hands, takes a breath that he almost chokes on, and looks back at you. “Don’t skip meals. Get warm when you feel cold. Always carry an umbrella in July.”  

Sometime later, Yoongi will wonder if the things he reminded you to do made much sense, if they mattered at all. Wonders if you’d actually remember. The umbrella one is really important; you always forget.  

He sat where he could see you when his five minutes were up and eternity never came. Waving from behind a glass and missing the warmth of you and the sound of your voice. He watches you wipe your tears and smile big and you walk alongside the train when it pulls off and then you run, and then, Yoongi could no longer see you.  

Min Yoongi broke up with his girlfriend and left her in the middle of winter chasing a train.  

July is always rainy. 

And every time it rains, Min Yoongi remembers the love he left in winter. He wonders if you remember to carry an umbrella. It’s been five years; he wonders if you remember him at all. 

He watches the rain splash into puddles and listens to the patter against his umbrella. Seoul bustles on, indifferent to the weather, its crowds meandering through the mid-summer downpour. Despite the season’s warmth, a stray breeze slips past his collar and reminds him of colder days. He’s grateful his gloves no longer have holes. 

He walks along the sidewalk, carried by the crowd’s flow without much thought.  

There’s not much that he wishes for anymore, not much he can wish for when he’s got everything. He lives in a high rise, works at the top music production company. Sometimes it’s a bit hard being the most sought-after producer in Seoul. Life has been good; he can’t complain. That mixtape opened doors he thought he’d be knocking on forever, and he’s worked hard to keep them open. 

Min Yoongi doesn’t need much of anything else. 

But on days like this, when the wind is just a little chilly and the sky’s opened up and crying, he misses you. 

Sometimes he looks back on that day and feel guilt. He knows it was just as hard for you as it was for him, the pain in your eyes that you smiled through. 

For a while, he’d call you every night and update you, made sure that you were doing well. For a while, he’d keep up with you and made sure that you’re doing well. For a while, he’d call you every now and then, see if you’re doing well.  

For a while, it had been a while and life, and then five years slinked on by.  

Yoongi sighs, and there’s guilt in it. He got busy, as one gets being a producer in Seoul with a shit ton of expectations. He’s changed phones over the years, lost your contact, and he got busy. 

Of course, he’s dated — mostly blind dates his friends set him up on — and he’s tried his best to push forward. There’s no point living in the past, he’s sure you’ve moved on and on by now. Sometimes he’s fine, and sometimes he’s back on that train station platform, wishing he’d begged you to come with him. 

It would’ve been the selfish thing. It wouldn’t have been fair to you had he done that. When he got to Seoul, he’d buried himself so deep into his work he barely found himself. He would’ve dragged you out here, made you give up everything just to sit on the side-lines.  

He misses you sometimes, anyways. He’s forgotten the sound of your laugh, but he still remembers the way your nose scrunches when you do. He’s forgotten the scent of your favourite perfume, but he remembers the way you lit up when he saved up and bought you a bottle forever ago. 

Min Yoongi wonders if you remember him at all. 

As Yoongi turns the corner, his umbrella catches a gust of wind and flips inside out. He fights with it for a moment before giving up, letting the rain soak his hair and the front of his jacket and jeans. He can’t help but laugh at the irony, standing there drenched, remembering the countless times he reminded you to carry an umbrella. 

In the distance, he spots a small café and decides to seek shelter. The bell above the door jingles as he enters, and the warm, cozy atmosphere wraps around him like a comforting hug. He shakes off his umbrella – finally pulling it back down – and steps up to the counter, ordering a hot coffee to chase away the chill. 

As he waits, his eyes wander around the café, taking in the rustic décor and the soft hum of conversation. A bulletin board on the wall catches his attention, filled with flyers and photos. His gaze lands on a familiar face, and his heart skips a beat. 

It’s you. Your photo, smiling brightly, pinned among various advertisements and announcements. You’re standing next to a large canvas, looking proud. He steps closer, reading the caption beneath your picture: “Local Artist Exhibition - Featuring Works by ________.” 

Yoongi’s mind races as he takes in the information. You’re here in Seoul, and you’ve been showcasing your art. A mix of emotions floods through him—relief, excitement, and a twinge of nervousness. He jots down the address of the gallery from the flyer without much thought and leaves without his coffee. 

As Yoongi steps out into the rain, a million thoughts swirl through his mind, each one more turbulent than the last. He wonders why you never sought him out. Seoul is vast, but you’d known he was here, making waves in the music scene. Did you ever think about him? Did you ever miss him? 

The realization hits him hard: he never knew you were doing art before he left. In all your conversations, all your late-night talks and shared dreams, you never mentioned a passion for painting. He feels a pang of guilt. Had he been so wrapped up in his own ambitions that he failed to notice yours? The thought stings, and he can't shake the feeling that he should have been there for your journey, supporting you the way you always supported him. 

The gallery isn’t far, and soon he’s standing in front of it, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, the sound of soft music and hushed voices greeting him. There’s quite a bit of people mingling about in quiet discussion, taking photos of the art mounted on the walls under ambient lighting. 

Inside the gallery, he feels out of place. The walls, adorned with your art, are a testament to a part of your life he knows nothing about. Each piece is beautiful, but they also serve as a painful reminder of how much he’s missed. He wonders how many late nights you spent creating these, how many times you might have needed someone to share your successes and frustrations with. 

Yoongi wanders through the gallery, the sound of soft music and hushed voices creating a backdrop to his thoughts. The rain outside has left him feeling introspective, and as he takes in the various pieces of art, he feels a strange mix of pride and sadness seeing how far you’ve come. 

Each painting tells a story, each one a glimpse into your life over the past five years, a life he wasn’t a part of. 

His gaze is drawn to a large canvas on the far wall. The colours are bold and dramatic, the brushstrokes chaotic and full of emotion. As he steps closer, he realizes with a jolt that the scene depicted is achingly familiar: a train station, snow swirling in the air, and two figures standing close together, wrapped in scarves and winter coats. 

His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the details. The style is unmistakably expressionist, the exaggerated forms and vibrant colours capturing the raw emotion of that day. The figures are abstract, but he knows them instantly: one is you, and the other is him. 

He remembers the way you tucked his scarf into his sweater, the tears that made tracks down your cheeks, and the way you both tried to memorize each other in those final moments. The painting captures all of it, the pain and the love, the sorrow and the hope. 

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat as he stares at the piece. It’s a testament to your skill as an artist. He wonders how long you carried the weight of that moment, how many times you revisited it in your mind to create this masterpiece. He’s overwhelmed by a wave of emotions: regret, longing, and a deep, unspoken connection. 

The title of the painting, written on a small plaque beside it, reads “Departure.” It’s fitting, he thinks, for the moment it captures, but also for the way it marks the beginning of your separate journeys. 

As he stands there, lost in thought, he hears your voice nearby, and for a moment, he simply stands there. Your words meld together and he isn’t hearing much of what you’re saying, just the sound.  His heart pounds against his ribs as your laugh — it sparks a memory and adds sound to the ones that were muted — bounces off the walls and around in his head.  

He turns and sees you, in a corner, your back to him talking to a taller man, discussing a point of space where you’re standing. The sight of you, so vibrant and alive, sends a mixture of relief and nervousness fluttering around in Yoongi’s tummy.   

Gathering his courage, he takes a step forward, then another, until he’s standing just a few feet away. You turn and startle, staring at him like he’s a ghost. There’s a brief moment of surprise — he gets it — and then you blink. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, and turning to the man next to you, you smile gently. “Taehyung...Can you give us a moment?”  

The guy looks between you both for a second with a raised brow before he’s gone, walking off to some other part of the gallery. Yoongi’s mind is too occupied taking in the sight of you to wonder what that man’s presence may mean. 

“Hi,” he replies, his voice soft and filled with all the words he’s wanted to say for years. Despite this, he doesn’t actually know what to say, he didn’t actually think this far ahead. He glances back at the painting of the train station platform, then back at you. “I saw your painting.” 

You follow his gaze and nod, your smile tinged with a hint of sadness. “It was a significant moment for me. For both of us, I think.” 

It’s a lot awkward, with him just standing there, not sure what to do with himself. You look the same, though now your hair is styled professionally and not the frizzy, wind swept mess it was when he last saw you.  

There’s so much he wants to say but he feel like he doesn’t have enough words, or the right ones, so he takes it easy. “I saw a flyer...in a café. Um... It’s amazing...your work.”  

“Thank you,” you say, your eyes reflecting a mixture of pride, nostalgia and a certain sadness. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s... good to see you.” 

The conversation goes slowly, awkwardly. There are long pauses and nervous laughter, each of you trying to bridge the gap of five years with small talk about your art and his music. 

“You’ve done well,” he says, gesturing to the paintings around you both. “I didn’t even know you were into art.” 

You smile, the same just barely there sad smile from earlier. “It was something I started after you left. It helped me cope.” 

“Oh...” His heart aches at the thought of you turning to art just to fill the void he left behind. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You shake your head and shrug. “We both had our paths to follow. It’s just... life.” 

He nods, but the guilt lingers. Life had taken you both in different directions, but he can’t help but wonder what might have been different if he had stayed, or if he had at least tried to stay in touch better. 

Min Yoongi is an idiot and he’s always told himself so. He’s an idiot and he sucks at this sort of thing. 

As the gallery starts to empty out, Yoongi looks at you, the rain pattering gently against the windows. There’s a part of him that wants to apologize, to make up for all the lost time, but he knows it’s not that simple. 

“Do you have time for a coffee?” he asks, hope and uncertainty mingling in his eyes. 

Your smile is a little hesitant, but you nod, “Sure.” 

You excuse yourself to grab your jacket and an umbrella — you remembered, he smiles privately —, and then you talk to the man from earlier for a minute before Yoongi follows you out of the gallery and onto the wet street.  

The walk is quiet, filled with the awkwardness of five years’ worth of missed everything’s, and Yoongi holds tight to the handle of his umbrella. There’s a confidence to your step as you weave your way through the crowd, head straight forward and not looking down at your feet like he remembers. 

You’re not the girl he left on that platform five years ago just as he’s not the guy that left you there.  

You walk back to the cafe he’d come from, and he realises that you’re probably a regular here. The barista behind the counter greets you with a smile and asks if you’re having your usual. You order a coffee and Yoongi asks the girl behind the counter to reheat the one he bought earlier, and the barista’s eyes dart between you both. 

You lead him to a cozy corner table after the order was called, and as you settle in, the conversation starts up slowly again. 

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Yoongi asks first, his voice a little hesitant, not sure if he’s allowed to ask.  

“Almost three years now,” you reply, looking down at your coffee cup, the tiniest furrow between your brows. “It took a while, but I got settled.” 

Yoongi takes a moment to observe you, trying to reconcile the person in front of him with the memories he’s held onto for the past five years. You don’t look much different, your hair’s in an up-do, your cheeks are a little fuller, but that’s as much as he notices.  

The silence that rings between you both is louder than the other customers in the cafe. Yoongi can only imagine what this scene looks like to others; two people who are barely looking at each other, like awkward strangers forced to share a space.  

His coffee is still hot, and it burns his tongue when he sips at it, but at least it’s given him a distraction. He steals glances at you, watching the way your eyes comb the cafe and avoid his gaze.  

Unfortunately, Yoongi is naught but a man, and there’s a nagging sound at the back of his brain. It grows louder until he fidgets, the nerves of his free hand feel like they’re dancing and he takes a breath. He looks down at his coffee cup, glances at you and then back to the cup. Then, he asks a question that made him want to crawl out of his skin.  

“So...that guy back at your gallery seemed nice...”  

He knows it’s been five years, and a lot can change in that time.  As toxic as it may sound, the thought of you moving on with someone else stirs a mix of emotions in him. 

He knows he has no right to be upset if you’ve found happiness with someone else. It’s not his business anymore, not after all this time.   

Still, the fear is there. He doesn’t want to admit how much it hurts to think of you with someone else. He can’t deny the pang of jealousy at the thought, but he tries his best to ignore it. He has no claim over you. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found that with someone, then he’s happy.  

He sighs inwardly, pushing the thoughts aside. He wants to focus on the present, on the fact that you’re sitting in front of him right now. Whatever happens, he’s happy to be here, he hopes he can be a part of your life again of you let him, even if it’s only as a friend. He doesn’t want to ruin this, whatever it turns out to be. 

You stare at him for a moment and Yoongi can’t tell what you’re thinking, “He is...he’s got an eye for art.”  

Yoongi nods slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He hums softly, and now it’s his turn to pretend you’re not looking; he finds interest in the light fixtures above.   

His next question sits on his tongue trying to pry past his teeth. He feels like a kid trying to find the right moment to ask his parents if he could go play outside. There’s a nervous churning in his tummy that isn’t at all pleasant. How does one ask their ex of five years if they’re seeing someone?  

Yoongi imagines they’d just ask, out of curiosity, and get it out of the way. He could play it well. Maybe lean back into his seat and appear more casual before he says the stupid words. Maybe he could stop staring at the lights like a damn moth, and act like a being with a fully developed frontal lobe.  

“Are you two...close? Or...you know...” He waves a hand and then lays it on the table. The sound of his ring knocking against it is kind of jarring, but it gives Yoongi an opportunity to look away again. 

You make a quiet sound, and Yoongi finally meets your gaze. There’s amusement in your eyes, it’s obvious you’ve figured him out already — he wasn’t exactly being subtle. Which is unfortunate, because now Yoongi could feel embarrassment tapping on his shoulder. 

You say nothing of it, even though he knows you want to. He could feel it.  

“As close as business partners can be, I suppose.” You say, and Yoongi can see the beginning of a smile as you lift your coffee to hide it.  

“Right...Sorry.” Yoongi says sheepishly, though, a weight lifts off his chest. As he looks at you, he notices something that makes his heart skip a beat.  

You’re still wearing the necklace he got you all those years ago, the one he won for you at the fair. The twine that the little pendant hangs on looks worn, fraying a bit at some points, but you’re wearing it.  

You kept it. 

He clears his throat, the words he’s been holding back spilling out. “I’m sorry I lost touch. I got so busy, and then it felt like too much time had passed to reconnect. I lost your contact, and… I didn’t know how to find you again.” 

You nod, your fingers brushing over the necklace like you sensed his gaze on it. “It’s okay. Life happened, for both of us.” 

“But why didn’t you seek me out when you got to Seoul?” Yoongi asks, his voice soft, devoid of accusation; genuinely curious. 

“I thought it would be for the best,” you say, equally as soft, staring into your coffee as though it would give you the words you’re looking for. “So much time had passed, and I didn’t want to disrupt your life. You were doing well.”  

You look so sad when you say it that it almost breaks Yoongi’s heart.  

“You know I wouldn’t have...” He wouldn’t have turned you away.  

“I know, I just...” You sigh, your eyes dart somewhere to his left, and then back at him, “...I really missed you.”  

Yoongi wants to reach out and take your hand so he does. Your fingers are warm from the coffee, squeezing his own, and tears beads at your waterline.  

“I missed you too.” His gaze is soft and he knows it, but he doesn’t care because its you. You’re still you and he’s still him, and he misses you and the girl he left on that platform.  

You’re both still made of the same star. It’s imploded but still glowing, and your necklace pendant catches the above head light.  

His finger brushes over your knuckles, he stares at them, the shape and colour and all the little things about them that makes them a part of you. All that with his heart in his throat because he wants to ask something.  

“Do you think…” His voice is barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the wrong volume might shatter whatever delicate thread holds this moment together. “Do you think there’s a chance… that we could try again?” 

You stare at him, your eyes wide, and he feels the subtle pressure of your fingers in his. He knows it’s a lot to ask,  but the longing, the sense that maybe something beautiful can still be salvaged from the pieces, presses him to keep going. 

Hope catches on the glint of your necklace pendant, and he clings to it. 

“I don’t expect anything to happen right away. I just… I want to be in your life again, even if we start slow. No pressure, just… what feels right.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, and then a soft smile curves your lips, almost as if you’ve been waiting for him to say something like this.  

“We could try,” you murmur, the words tentative but filled with the same cautious hope Yoongi feels. 

And from there, the pace is unhurried. You both ease into each other’s lives like rivers that find their way back to the same stream.  

Some days Yoongi feels like he’s been whacked on the head with a giant stick. Anyone could tell by looking at him, when he’s got that stupid look on his face. Like he’s seen a goddess and she spared him a glance. He feels like he’s dreaming, and the last five years without you seem to blur.  

He starts small, a text here and there; good morning and good night. Even if he’s busy he’d keep up with you, except when his work demands his focus. There are some days when you’d disappear, and Yoongi understands when you explain you’ve been in your studio for hours.  

Your gallery isn’t far from his work, and as much as he could he’d go see you. He finds himself drawn to small gestures—bringing you lunch or a cup of coffee, or sometimes a sweet he thinks you might like. Each time he steps into the gallery with something for you, he feels a warmth settle in his chest. 

It’s an excuse, he knows, to see you smile, to watch you light up at the thoughtfulness of it. And each time you look at him with that gentle, appreciative gaze, he feels his hope grow a little stronger. 

You’d tell him all about your creative process, how you’d spin and weave what’s in your head onto a canvas. He’d listen attentively because he’s interested and he owes it to you. All those nights spent burning the midnight oil, steeping in his frustrations; you were there. You’d listen to him rant and cry when things weren’t working out the way he wanted. 

He owed you much more than that.  

He feels like he has to learn you all over again, which, in a sense, he does. Even if the bases of you are the same, there’s new facets. Little shards that fit into the mirror that reflects you, some pieces are a little dusty and worn with time and others are new and shiny. Yoongi has to take his time cleaning the old ones to see them again, and get used to the new ones that twinkle his eyes.  

He invites you to his place for dinner, something simple and easy, and the conversation flows a lot better than it had a month before.  

There’s no awkward sentences that cut off somewhere in the middle. Yoongi knows what to do with his hands and he has a better time looking you in the eye now. He feels a lot like he did back then, like a school boy taking his crush to meet his parents. His hands are a little sweaty, but the food is good and your eyes sparkle like they did back then, too.  

You seem so sure, like you’re not worried one bit. Like you knew you’d meet him again and you’d be here in this moment; sipping on white wine – something new he’s learned – and chucking over stories set in the past.  

The day he let a pet name slip was the day Yoongi wished a chasm would open up and swallow him. He had his excuse ready; the clock’s pushing one in the morning; he’s tired. The truth? It’s so easy to slip back into old ways, like nothing changed at all.  

Like a smouldering fire in a hearth. It’s not quite out yet, and if you throw some sticks in there, they’ll catch.  

After a while, on some sunny evening, Yoongi invited you to his studio. 

“This is where I spend most of my time.” And he means that, letting you into his studio. There’s a blanket tossed haphazardly on the black couch that lines the wall near the door.  

There’s day old take away coffee cups that never made it to the bin, cluttered in a designated spot. The bin he meant to empty is overflowing with scraps of paper and crushed takeout containers. That’s as far as the clutter goes. Though, Yoongi’s embarrassed now – he prides himself on keeping tidy. He wasn’t thinking when he asked you over, didn’t expect you to agree either.  

So now he’s clearing up his desk and tying a knot on the waste bag. You make yourself comfortable on his couch like you’ve been there before, throwing the blanket over your lap as your eyes dart about to take everything in.  

You’re impressed, he could tell by the gleam in your eyes and your little down turned smile. He’s come a long way from his old computer and MIDI.  

“Its nice, cosy. Beats camping out in your bedroom.” You smile and Yoongi chuckles, nodding.  

“Damn right.” He agrees, but he wouldn’t trade in those days for anything. Truthfully, he’s been here for three days, only going home to shower. Inspiration on an all time high and he’s just been riding the wave, you’ve been his muse for the past month. It isn’t the first time, at moments over the years gone you’d float into his mind like a mirage, and he’d get stuck on you.  

He’s grateful for the break, though, there’s nothing much to do and he doesn’t want to bore you with rambling about what he’s working on. So he orders something, and lets a movie play on his laptop.  

The clock ticks softly in the corner, its sound nearly drowned out by the hum of the desk lamp — he should really get that replaced. You’re still curled up on his couch despite the hour, the blanket pooled around your legs, your eyes scanning a painting on the wall he doesn’t remember hanging. 

“It’s peaceful here,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, like you’re speaking directly to the heart of the room—and to him. 

Yoongi glances up from the cluttered desk he’d been half-heartedly straightening; resorting his things because he can’t sit still. He watches the way you seem to belong in his space, your presence settling into the corners he never realized were empty. The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. 

“You think so?” he asks, moving to lean against the edge of the desk. He crosses his arms, the soft light from the lamp catching on the fine lines of his face. “I always thought it was too chaotic.” 

You turn your head, your gaze locking onto his. “Chaos can be beautiful. It just takes the right eyes to see it.” 

The words settle between you, their weight both gentle and profound. Yoongi feels something inside him shift—a small piece of armour finally cracking and falling away. 

He takes a step toward you, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression tentative. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” 

You sit up a little straighter, tilting your head. “What is it?” 

“Would you…” He hesitates, his fingers brushing against the edge of a USB drive in his pocket—the same drive that holds the tracks he’s been working on for weeks. “Would you let me write something for you? About you?” 

Your surprise shows in the slight widening of your eyes, followed quickly by a soft, warm smile. “You already do that, don’t you?” 

Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment. “Maybe,” he admits, with a small smile that meant more than he could say. “But this time, I want you to know it’s for you. No hiding it in metaphors or beats no one else understands. Just…you.” 

You rise from the couch, the blanket slipping to the side as you close the small distance between you. Standing so close, Yoongi count all the things that make you you.  

“Okay,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his. “But only if you let me paint something for you, too.” 

Yoongi takes your hand because he wants to, and his fingers make home in the spaces between yours. It feels like déjà vu and an epiphany all at once: five years ago you were this close and he was saying goodbye. His gloves had holes. Today...he’s saying hello again, and it feels like no time had gone by. And he kisses you now because he didn’t kiss you then, and you sigh into it like you’ve been waiting a lifetime.  

Some people say that soulmates are made of the same star, apart of each other, one in the same. Stars don’t live forever, Yoongi found, but they do burn forever.  

Tagging: @hoseoksluna @xpeachesncream @amon-rei @allhobbitstoisengard @euphoricfilter @madbutgloriouspond

[i2rizz]

We Fell In Love in October

Fandom: Blue lock

Characters: Chigiri x reader

------------‐---------------------------------------

The crisp autumn air nipped at your cheeks as you walked through the park, the leaves crunching under your boots. The world was painted in hues of red, orange, and gold, and despite the chill in the air, you felt warm. Maybe it was the way the sun filtered through the trees, casting everything in a golden glow. Or maybe it was the way Chigiri Hyoma walked beside you, his hand brushing yours with every step.

You glanced at him, your heart fluttering when you caught him smiling softly at the trees overhead. His long, red-pinkish hair fell in waves over his shoulders, catching the light like something out of a dream.

“Why are you staring?” he teased, not even looking at you but clearly aware of your gaze.

“Because you’re pretty,” you replied, grinning when his cheeks flushed a light pink that rivaled his hair.

You hadn’t expected to fall for Chigiri, not like this. You’d met during the summer, at a mutual friend’s party, where he’d spent most of the evening sitting alone on the porch, sipping a soda and watching the stars. You’d joined him out of sheer curiosity, and before you knew it, the two of you had spent hours talking about everything and nothing.

By the time autumn rolled around, you were inseparable. There was something easy about being with him, like the two of you existed in your own little world.

“Let’s sit here,” Chigiri said, gesturing to a bench under a massive oak tree. The ground was covered in fallen leaves, their vibrant colors contrasting against the dark wood of the bench.

You sat beside him, pulling your coat tighter around you as the wind picked up. He noticed and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders without a word.

“You’ll freeze,” you protested, but he just shook his head.

“I’ll be fine. You, on the other hand, are terrible at hiding when you’re cold.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “Guess I’m lucky to have you, then.”

He hummed in agreement, resting his head on top of yours. The silence between you was comfortable, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the distant laughter of children playing.

“Do you ever think about how we got here?” you asked after a while, your voice soft.

Chigiri lifted his head to look at you, his expression curious. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Just…how we met, how quickly we became close. It feels like it was meant to happen, you know?”

He considered your words for a moment before nodding. “I get that. Sometimes it feels like you’ve been in my life forever.”

There was a vulnerability in his voice that made your chest tighten. You reached out, threading your fingers through his, and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m glad we met,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” he replied, his lips curving into a soft smile that made your heart skip a beat.

As the sun began to set, casting the park in shades of pink and purple, Chigiri turned to you with a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Want to do something stupid?” he asked, already standing and tugging you to your feet.

“What kind of stupid?” you asked, laughing as he led you toward the pile of leaves under the oak tree.

Without answering, he let go of your hand and jumped into the pile, sending leaves flying everywhere. You stared at him in disbelief before bursting into laughter.

“Hyoma, you’re such a child,” you teased, but he just grinned up at you from the pile of leaves.

“Come on, live a little,” he said, holding out his hand.

You hesitated for only a moment before taking it, letting him pull you into the pile with him. The two of you ended up tangled together, leaves clinging to your hair and clothes as you laughed like kids.

“This is ridiculous,” you said, trying to catch your breath.

“And yet, you’re smiling,” he pointed out, his own grin softening into something more genuine. “You’re beautiful when you smile, you know that?”

Your laughter faded, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest as he leaned closer. His eyes searched yours for a moment before he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was as gentle as the falling leaves.

When the two of you finally pulled apart, Chigiri rested his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool air.

“You know,” he said, his voice soft, “I think I’m falling for you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled, brushing a stray leaf from his hair.

“I think I’m falling for you, too.”

And as the two of you lay there, surrounded by the colors of autumn and the fading light of the day, you realized there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Because falling in love with Chigiri Hyoma felt as natural as the changing of the seasons, as inevitable as the leaves falling from the trees.

------------‐---------------------------------------

[celesteablack]

You know, I always cry about how I don’t have my childhood friends with me anymore. It’s a bittersweet ache, like missing a part of myself that I can never get back. But somehow, in the middle of mourning that loss, I often forget to truly appreciate the friends I found when my life was falling apart.

These aren’t the friends who’ve known me since I was a carefree kid. They’re the ones who showed up when I was at my lowest, when everything felt like it was slipping through my fingers, and I didn’t even know how to catch my breath. They’re the ones who stood by me when I was spiraling, lost in a whirlwind of everything and nothing all at once.

They didn’t just watch me break; they held me through it. They gave me a space to fall apart and, somehow, helped me piece myself back together without ever making me feel ashamed of my cracks. They stayed when staying wasn’t easy. They believed in me when I couldn’t believe in myself, and their presence gave me a reason to hold on, even when I wanted to let go.

These friends, these angels in disguise, deserve all my gratitude, and yet, I don’t think I say it enough. So, here’s to them. Here’s to the people who didn’t know me in my brightest moments but still chose to stick around in my darkest ones. And no matter where life takes us, I’ll forever carry your kindness in my heart.

Thank you for being kind to me when I couldn’t be kind to myself. For loving me when I struggled to love who I was. You gave me grace and patience, and that meant more than words can ever express.

[nowthisis-dark]

The air between us thickens as I lean closer, my breath warm against your skin, but it is no simple breath. No, I breathe words. Words that twist and coil like serpents, ancient and venomous, curling into the hollow spaces of your soul. My lips hover just above the curve of your neck, the delicate pulse beneath your skin a rhythmic reminder of the life I will steal from you.

My voice is a whisper, but it vibrates through your bones, cold and familiar. "You can’t escape me," I breathe, letting the words sink deep into the marrow of your existence. They are not poems of love, no. These are the words of loss, of the shadows that never leave, of the darkness that lurks in the corners of your mind when you think you're safe. The words creep under your skin, weaving their way into your thoughts, making your pulse quicken, your breath shallow. You’ll never forget me now. You’ll never forget the poems I wrote inside your veins.

The ink I speak drips like poison. I feel your shudder against my touch, but it only excites me further. The words take root, feeding on your fear, your trembling. "Listen closely," I murmur, "for this poem is yours now. You are the elegy. The dark that haunts every syllable."

Your neck tightens, as if the weight of my words is too much for your fragile body to bear. The scent of fear clings to you like perfume, and I savor it. "I’ll be with you always," I whisper, drawing closer still. My breath spills against your skin once more, the final verse,your doom,finding its way into your ear. The darkness wraps around you, devouring the light from within, and you can feel it, can't you? The poem I’ve breathed into your neck, the curse that will haunt you long after I’ve gone.

The pulse beneath your skin falters for a moment, the final stanza settling in your soul. And though you don’t see me, I am always with you now. Every whisper of wind, every flicker of shadow, will carry the verses I wrote into your flesh. Forever.

~K

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

dead or alive? (sirius & regulus)

a/n: a little black brothers angst! still debating whether or not i like it, but sharing it anyways. heads up for reg not doing too hot.

‘Regulus?’

It is 04:00am and dark. Sirius is sat with his back against the bathroom door in his brother’s flat. His phone lies discarded on the floor, the bright screen of his messages with Barty acting as a torch in the early morning shadows.

‘Regulus?’ he repeats, voice quiet and thin. It sounds less like a name and more like a hope, feebler than he wants it to. He clears his throat abruptly and gives it another shot.

‘Listen,’ he says, attempting to bargain with the nothingness. ‘I’m not asking you to come out here and have a nice little chinwag about your feelings or any of that idiocy. I’m not a therapist, and I’m not going to force you to tell me about any of the shit you’re going through right now, promise. I just need to know that you’re okay.’ Sirius’ eyes flick down to the Whatsapp messages at his feet. He rubs his face roughly with his palm and gazes bitterly at the ceiling.

‘The things Barty’s been telling me are fucking scary, you know that? You’ve got to know that. Just knock or something. Come on.’ The clock down the hall cuts through the silence with a few jarringly loud ticks. It is 04:02am.

‘Fuck’s sake, Reg,’ he swears, exasperated. ‘Open the bloody door.’

‘You can’t hide in there forever. Aren’t you freezing? I’m freezing. Why don’t you ever put the heating on? I know you can afford it.’

‘I swear to God, this is getting ridiculous now. I know you’re there. I can see your damn shadow.’ Sirius’ long pale fingers tie themselves into knots over and over as he fidgets. More agonising silence.

‘Regulus.’ The door remains shut, and the shadow behind it remains unspeaking. It is 04:05am.

‘Should I get someone else here? Is it just me that you don’t want to talk to, is that it? If I got Evan or Remus or, shit, literally anyone else, would you speak to them?’ Desperation is beginning to crawl out of Sirius’ throat, mangling his words into raw, strained sounds that chase after each other quicker than they ought to.

‘Come on. You haven’t got vocal cords for nothing, you are aware of that right? Just say something. Just let me hear your voice, and then I’ll go away and never bother you again, yeah? Just let me know you’re alive. Please, Reg.’

‘You’re my little brother, you know. You’re still my little brother. I know you hate me, a-and I hated you too, for… longer than I should have, and growing up was pretty shite - I think we both understand that now. You know, I’ll always feel guilty for leaving you. I swear, there hasn’t been a single day where the guilt hasn’t eaten me alive, James could tell you. So you’ve every right to hate me. Really, you do. You could hate me for your whole entire life and I’d get it, seriously, I would get it! But you’re my little fucking brother, Reggie. C’mon. Just do this one thing for me, this time. I need to know my little brother’s okay. I need to know he’s here with me and not… not dead on the fucking floor. Give me that much.’

It is 04:12am when the handle turns. Sirius isn’t expecting it at all - he’s aching and exhausted and terrified and too used to silence. He jumps when he hears it, turns wide, shining eyes towards the sound with unsure anticipation. There’s a few moments of clumsy shuffling, and then the door is opening inwards onto a dull gloom that clings to the tiling and old-fashioned sink with unrelenting intensity. It is very quiet. For one terrible moment Sirius thinks, irrationally, that maybe Regulus isn’t there. That he’d been sitting in the hallway for the past twelve minutes begging thin air and the ghost of who used to breathe it. But then the shadows are shifting, taking on form and contour, becoming something more familiar. Regulus crawls out from behind the door with shaky breaths, and lets himself be lit by the phone on the floor in all his wretched vulnerability.

Sirius doesn’t move, at first. He just stares at his brother. Sees his grey eyes reflected back at him in a slightly younger yet equally pained mirror image. Sees those eyes flicker and move and relishes in the aliveness of them. Sees a not dead brother. Then it processes somehow, and he’s pulling that wonderful, infuriating, not dead brother hastily and instinctively towards him with both arms, and holding him, and crying without realising it. Regulus lets it happen. He collapses into the hug.

[txrully]

BEHIND THE WALLS

it started with a story.

a simple tale, told by the fire, whispered in fear.

the world beyond the kingdom’s walls is dangerous. monsters lurk in the shadows, and they show no mercy.

you were only a child when you first heard it. a princess, young and curious, but obedient. you clung to the safety of the walls, never questioning the stories. not until the years stretched on, and the walls felt more like a cage.

you tried to find meaning in the rituals of court life, in the etiquette lessons and the silken gowns, but it all blurred together.

until one day, they told you about your engagement.

you didn’t even know his name. a prince from a neighboring kingdom, chosen for diplomacy, for power. your role was to smile and obey, to trade your freedom for the kingdom’s stability.

but deep inside, something cracked.

the sun was sinking low, its orange glow stretching shadows across the castle’s cold stone walls.

you stood on the balcony, staring out at the forest beyond the kingdom. the trees whispered secrets you couldn’t hear, their leaves shimmering like promises of something greater.

"this is your duty," they told you. "for the good of the kingdom."

but what about you?

the thought consumed you as the day faded into night.

and then, when the moon rose, you ran.

the woods were colder than you expected, the air sharp and biting against your skin.

branches clawed at your dress as you pushed through, your breath ragged. your slippers slipped on the mossy ground, but you didn’t stop.

you didn’t know where you were going. only that you couldn’t stay.

the stories echoed in your mind: the monster beyond the walls, the warnings, the fear. but what was worse—staying trapped in the castle forever, or taking your chances out here?

the answer seemed clear.

until you saw the eyes.

they pierced through the darkness, impossibly bright, glowing like twin stars in the night. they stopped you in your tracks, your heart hammering against your ribs.

and then, the monster stepped into the light.

"you shouldn’t be here," he said, his voice low and calm, like the whisper of a storm.

he was tall, impossibly so, his silver hair catching the moonlight. his eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and his presence was suffocating.

"who are you?" you managed, though your voice wavered.

he tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "who do you think i am?"

the answer was obvious. the monster. the one from the stories.

"you..." your voice caught. "you’re going to kill me, aren’t you?"

his lips curled into a smirk, though his gaze softened. "if i wanted to, you wouldn’t have had the chance to ask that question."

you swallowed hard, your instincts screaming at you to run. but your legs refused to move.

"then what do you want?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

his smile faded, replaced by something almost solemn. "you came here searching for something, didn’t you?"

your breath hitched. "how do you know that?"

"because no one comes out here without a reason."

his words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, you realized how silent the forest was. no birds, no rustling leaves. just the sound of your own breathing and the steady beat of your heart.

"i don’t know what i’m looking for," you admitted, the truth spilling out before you could stop it.

he studied you for a moment, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. then he extended a hand.

"come with me."

you hesitated, the warnings flashing through your mind once more. but there was something in his voice, in his gaze, that made you pause.

and against all logic, you reached out and took his hand.

the world shifted around you.

the forest melted away, replaced by a landscape that felt like something out of a dream.

the sky was a kaleidoscope of colors, shifting and shimmering like liquid light. the ground beneath your feet glowed faintly, the grass soft and warm.

creatures roamed freely—some small and delicate, others massive and intimidating. their eyes glimmered with intelligence, their movements fluid and graceful.

"where are we?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"my home," he replied simply.

you turned to him, your chest tightening with a mix of awe and fear. "why did you bring me here?"

he met your gaze, his expression unreadable. "because you don’t belong behind those walls."

his words struck something deep within you, a truth you hadn’t been ready to face.

"you killed them, didn’t you?" you asked, your voice trembling. "the people who tried to cross the walls?"

his expression darkened, his eyes losing some of their glow. "yes."

your heart sank. "why?"

"because they came to destroy this place," he said, his voice cold and distant. "humans feared what they couldn’t control. they wanted to claim it, to tear it apart."

you looked around, at the beauty that surrounded you, and you understood. but that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

"am i safe here?" you asked quietly.

his gaze softened, and he stepped closer. "as long as you’re with me."

days turned into weeks.

you explored his world, its wonders and its dangers. the creatures you once feared became familiar, their curious eyes following you wherever you went.

and through it all, he was there.

he showed you the hidden corners of his world, the places even the bravest creatures wouldn’t dare go. he told you stories of the land’s history, of its beauty and its pain.

and slowly, the fear you felt toward him began to fade.

he wasn’t the monster they told you about.

but he wasn’t just a man, either.

one night, you found yourself by the lake, its surface shimmering like a mirror.

he sat beside you, his silver hair glowing in the moonlight.

"do you miss it?" he asked, breaking the silence.

you didn’t have to ask what he meant. "sometimes," you admitted. "but it wasn’t really home. not anymore."

he nodded, his gaze distant. "humans have a way of destroying their own homes."

"not all of them," you said softly.

he turned to you, his glowing eyes meeting yours. "no," he agreed. "not all of them."

the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. it was filled with something unspoken, something that neither of you were ready to name.

and as you stared into the shimmering water, you realized that you didn’t need to.

you were home.

❒ GOJO SATORU, suguru geto, EREN JEAGER, armin arlert, LEVI ACKERMAN, sakunosuke oda, OSAMU DAZAI, tomioka giyuu + your fav!

© 𝘁𝘅𝗿𝘂𝗹𝗹𝘆 :: 2024

p.s. this was greatly inspired by the song "lily - alan walker" ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ

[bottomlouisficfest]

We hope you’ve enjoyed the last couple of weeks of fics from the Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2024! Every two weeks, we’re compiling all of the fics from that period into one roundup post so they’re easy to find for anyone looking to catch up on fics they missed. Enjoy these amazing fics and give them the love they deserve!

--

One Last Time

A fic by smittenwithlouis on AO3 | @smittenwithlouis on Tumblr | @smittenwlouis on Twitter

24k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

“I mean it, Harry, this is the last time,” Louis breathes out as Harry kisses down his neck. “Sure,” Harry mumbles into his heated skin. The action makes Louis shudder. He hates how good it feels. He knows he should be revolted. Disgusted. But god does it feel so damn good. Or: Louis is a werewolf, and Harry is a vampire. They’re supposed to hate each other, but they’re too busy fucking to care.

--

Wolves, I hear them calling for you

A fic by DaxitaIsDaydreaming on AO3 | @DaxitasDaydrmng on Twitter

18k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

"Don't growl at me, little cherry. You know I care about you and I have the right and obligation to distrust any alpha, beta, or omega who approaches you." As soon as those words reached his ears, he blushed like a tomato. Did he really just growl? Like, actually growl? He was losing his mind. "You know I hate being treated like a naive person who doesn't know what they're doing," he lied. He loved being overprotected by the alpha. There was a small (big) charm in feeling small and delicate. Besides how sexy Harry looked with his protective aura radiating from his pores. Wait... What? Did he just think his best friend, almost brother, of his entire life was sexy? No. NO. N- His internal struggle was interrupted when he felt himself being enveloped by the alpha's huge arms. He had pulled him into his body with such ease that his blush grew. Louis could feel his face burning with embarrassment. "You look so beautiful all red like a cherry. My little cherry," he heard him murmur, his husky voice traveling from his eardrum to his brain and settling in his heart. Or Harry was in love with Louis, but the omega definitely didn't see him that way. Or maybe he did.

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Total distraction

A fic by SwimmingInAChampagneSea on AO3 | @mmmmmmariiaa on Twitter

58k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

He saw tanned skin and someone walking with a sway of their hips. They had a tray in one hand and were treating the beach as their runway. Harry was mesmerised by the person getting nearer and nearer. The person approaching was wearing indecently short and tight white shorts. Harry could hardly tear his eyes away from that whole situation. "My eyes are up here, you know," a velvety soft voice said. Harry was immediately horrified and quickly made eye contact with the person speaking. He could feel the blush rushing to his cheeks and was immensely happy that he was wearing sunglasses that provided just a bit of refuge from those piercing blue eyes he suddenly found himself looking into. OR the one where Love On Tour just finished and Harry finds himself being shipped off to Mykonos for three weeks alone. He expects to spend them bored and lonely until Louis comes sashaying down the beach and changes his life forever... or at least for the next three weeks.

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Eyes full of stars, heart full of sins

A fic by saturdaysilvers on AO3 | @saturdaysilver on Tumblr | @saturdaysilvers on Twitter

5k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

As their soul-tying ceremony approaches, Louis reminisces about his relationship with Harry, how they fell in love amidst the war, and how an uncertain foundation still led them to undeniable love.

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i know your love’s not real

A fic by softruins on AO3 | @diazstark on Twitter

68k | Mature | Tumblr post | Twitter post

With a simple bet that could’ve given him his ticket out of this town, Louis finds that taking the virginity of the nerdy alpha came with lots of difficulties and consequences. One being his lack of patience, the other being a broken heart.

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In The Spotlight, In His Arms

A fic by Ashisinlove on AO3 | @ashisinlove28 on Twitter

20k | Not Rated | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 128: Popstar Harry Styles and uni student Louis. Harry accidentally goes live on Instagram and his phone captures Louis sleeping peacefully. That’s how he introduces Louis as his boyfriend to the world. The world falls in love with Louis Tomlinson but will everyone really? Slight angst, insecure Louis, but lots of fluff and Louis is so easy to fall in love with.

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from underneath your glow

A fic by outropeace on AO3 | @outropeace on Tumblr | @outropeaces on Twitter

53k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

With years of bitter experience and a tuition debt that would outlast three generations, Louis did what anyone in his position would; he developed an almost flawless five-step system for scamming alphas. Step One: Find the target. The scummier the alpha, the better. Step Two: Find the target’s soulmate mark. This part could take either a day or sometimes months of stalking every single social media the target have. Patience is key. Step Three: After learning about their hobbies and activities, mold your personality to the target. There’s nothing more irresistible to alphas than to date their mirror. Step Four (and the most important one): Plan the exit route. This will mostly depend on the target. There are alphas who’d pay to make a soulmate disappear from their lives forever, but some took a little more work. The trick? Simple, break their little fantasy. Show them traits they wouldn’t stand. If they like red, suddenly you are all about blue. If they like going out, you start craving nights in. Speak your mind freely—honestly, they hate that. Becoming clingy or basically having any type of need outside theirs also helps a lot. Step Five: Disappear.  

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Always Yours

A fic by heartbreakwthr on AO3 | @heart_breakwthr on Twitter

8k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

Prompt 89: Jealous and Possessive Harry when someone new arrives in their group and has a crush on Louis.

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Midnight Doesn't Last Forever

A fic by mandylynn4 on AO3 | @mandylynn4 on Tumblr | @MirandaSch93519 on Twitter

64k | Explicit | Tumblr post | Twitter post

When Harry learns that his beloved grandfather has passed away, he also discovers that he's inherited the lake house that he so fondly remembers from childhood. However, it comes with a stipulation - he must be legally married before he can take possession of it. Enter his best friend, Louis, who is an accident-prone freelancer who has a desperate need for health insurance. All seems to be going well with the plan until Louis finds himself in an unfortunate accident that robs him of his memories of Harry and their marriage of convenience.

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[unproduciblesmackdown]

take 4: the tension (gulf spanned with incomplete, continuously crumbling bridges) between the perspective of oneself as the Deservingly Epic Winner Protagonist Person who dares to be Out Of Line versus the need to actually completely stay in line within this b/c it hinges on being in harmony with the preexisting hierarchies which will supposedly reward the "merit" of this Actor. while everyone whose existence is Inferior, according to the hierarchies, is defined by being Out Of Line, which these same people resent & respond to, also Staying In Line with the hierarchy, by trying to reinforce the dynamics of these inferior / superior groupings. "everything pathologized about the inferior groups / rejected as what's Wrong with their existence so as to "cause" these dynamics is "take 4" b/c this is from me trying to write about winston quant kid 2 billions like holy shit a series operating on this logic huh, giving this unvarnished expression of this perspective b/c it's assuming (& requiring...) we all have it. winston is constantly responded to as Guy Who's Out Of Line. the "superior" parties who hate him & get to have him as their punching bag / hit with the butt of the joke / at least ignored & excluded, but taken advantage of, but who all have to Stay In Line, how's that going for them even when it comes to the writing, where characters can't do anything if it's too disruptive of the In Universe hierarchy, unless it's a finale zone for a permissable shakeup, where ppl insulating/supporting each other being a bit Out Of Line is not a problem b/c they individually recognize each other's transcendently True worthiness in thee objective hierarchy we all assume exists, but definitely can never disrupt the out of universe hierarchy, e.g. the show decides wendy is the true hero, b/c she deserves to be. taylor has to hire back dollar bill & stand back while wags & wendy take the lead & the spotlight & hate the autistic guy they hired & show up so the Winner, who was written into the show with nothing to do but tell taylor they're not quite as good as wendy & then provide a vagina amidst otherwise being an Everyemployee who fails to even differentiate from an Axe Cap style everyemployee, can announce their winningness detached from anything that actually happened ever.

counterpart to winston's departure needing an audience of people to stand there & stay in line, which on that side of the same coin meant punishing his Out Of Lineness that doesn't even act like anyone bothered to think of [this is one particular preexisting guy. you thought he liked scifi once before you lost interest in even suggesting he has interests, though, will roland likes scifi, will roland wore his own open buttonup as quant kid 2 that'd define the Look, will roland happened to have the facial hair just kept for production b/c who would care, will roland brought the entire je ne sais quoi acting interpretation that made quant kid 2 go from "out of line guy we kill once" to "out of line guy we keep around to kill all thee time until finale 'haha but seriously though' material means pushing him out of the way in s6 & then s7 alike" like hmm] like everyone just spitballed "annoying things! cringe loser things! things that would never happen to me, a deserving winner!!" & put it in as easter eggs as though that would even make sense, much less [you have no other priority?] but like. rian's sendoff didn't do any better for acting like she's a specific character who's said & done things we're meant to remember & have thought about then & now. taylor didn't get to have resolution with philip. they Had to have resolution with wendy that, again, has nothing to do with any/everything prior, except perhaps to contradict it. this is what anyone got for Staying In Line like superior winners. the autistic [annoying arrogant inferior undeserving etc] Out Of Lineness that would be so supposedly admired instead seen as pure Other shit that's projected upon ppl so as to Reject it thusly. couldn't be me!! i'm a winner who will always have Superior ranking in the hierarchy & treated accordingly!!! i Must be!!!! like i must Kill people who seem to be disrupting this, even by acting like a person who assumes they're equal to me despite being Different. there all along like wow winston existing Out Of Line is so powerful. he can harmonize with & support taylor so well b/c they're introduced as being so Out Of Line, up to the inevitable point of breaking out & starting their own thing entirely!!! but while it's like, okay yeah, you Have to reel them back in by thwarting them b/c otherwise they break so far from central men's orbit they exit the series or you have to put Them at the center (imagine...) (plus! the role winston plays in them getting as close to this as they ever can be!) but then in the end taylor's just shortchanged b/c when it comes time to take down a central man as thee main thing all season, series finale style, they should be knocking it out in a few episodes with sacker & philip. instead we focus on wendy given the helm & fucking around all season. after disposing of winston b/c who even needs him for anything, this is Stay In Line times, and to do that we can do nothing w/autistic people but hate them & punish them for being undeserving. but don't worry b/c he doesn't get to be so Out Of Line as to easily cause problems for them & thwart them, b/c he just doesn't. taylor waits around on wendy & tells her she's the best b/c they just do. we are all in line on all of this ourselves so whew, there's no Disruption to notice if that key Alignment is maintained. rian was never holding herself Above winston if we just really tentatively suggest she doesn't think that she was, while letting every double standard at play be acted out. rian being "out of line" was that she wasn't being aggressive enough about any of her Superiority, b/c if you didn't leave bruising then nothing was That Bad; cue the assaults and boundary violations Reserved for the inferior losers as fun times & nothing anyone is beholden to with Consequences, we don't even make the viewer stick with the consequences of how it affects the target a second too long, lest you start to think it's Drama & not Jokes.

anyways it's all about the [categorization as inferior Other based on an assumed Hierarchy = inherently defined as Out Of Line] all "why get a formal diagnosis from a professional who doesn't know what to look for when at age 5 my peers went 'something's wrong with this one' & acted 'accordingly'" like even when people "know" what's Wrong with someone to make them the odd one out / "incompatible" w/what makes others exist Right, it's time to interpret everything else about them as "backing that up" no matter what, certainly no matter if it involves theoretically Valued concepts, b/c it's all first & foremost Staying In Line with the hierarchy, where the correct way to do things is: if you Can push someone else into greater vulnerability while you're established as Insulated, you Do. tl;dr winston inherently continuously Out Of Line; being "superior" requires an ultimate (&/or also quite Immediate. especially when it comes to "simple" matters already "correctly" arranged in the supposed Objective Hierarchy, like: winston's "objectively" inferiority (autistic swag)) Staying In Line. and what comes of it. all the most engaging & complex shit when people get to not actually stay in line. the power of it if taylor & tmc & allies didn't have to ultimately be shoved into Staying In Line even when it means wendy is the best & oh who cares about taylor & philip when wags is around etc etc. if winston being someone Out Of Line was seen as relevant & not an easy nonstop joke. while a quant who is so In Line as to correctly personally abuse him even more than others are doing is so ""out of line"" as to decide she's already gotten everything she wants & may as well live the dream now, b/c she's not an aggressive man, one has to suppose, same diff as wendy getting to believe she's Better than everyone & is nobly in charge of orchestrating their fates when she Means & Knows so well, & is somehow pitted against prince being this same figure but without having to confront that fact. he's mean! or whatever. he's talking about killing people & wendy isn't so that sorts it out forever. "abuse your local autists; it's funny & their fault & consequenceless b/c they're not real people" is also harmonious with all our ideas. edgy rulebreaking bold independent Out of Line heroes completely in accord w/the established hierarchies. & those whose existence threatening peership disrupts it who are written off losers who could never upend those heroes' goings on. everyone Actually being peers is unimagineable, not as a figure of speech. we do not imagine it, what are you even talking about. now for the Merited Hierarchy to be acted out as arranged, which is fun, god i wish that were me. Independent Agents ascending it only!! & people who Cheat to get in like loser nerds w/their math, b/c they can't Deserve it. now to keep insisting that everyone else could just be On My Level if they tried, while also responding violently if it seems like weirdos / ppl who aren't Supposed to be here are infringing on my level (the only violence is physical strikes that made contact, & perhaps killed you)

anyways just another installment of [fake fans haunted by billions, & other things which are in real life, such as the fictional series billions] musings i have to excise at all b/c [this was take 4]. winston Out Of Line. superior correct winners who have to Stay In Line at related great costs despite the supposed associated wins of that. his autistic swag. knowing ppl Are different autism style b/c they're "out of line." encountering irl autistic people without realizing it & repeatedly writing "this nerd guy is just So annoying ugh!! he's just like weird & doing everything wrong for no reason & won't just Be Normal or Shut Up & Go Away!! but at least his intractible arrogant cluelessness also means we have fun punishing & taking advantage of him" Type butt of jokes into things. those cringe loser Insistently Annoying Weirdo nerds who we all find insufferable & punish, we all know them, inherent Inferior Other Out Of Line that they are. now it's a Guy we all hate & enjoy seeing suffer & Understand as a less deserving less [person] just dropped into the periphery of this fiction. he will easily be thwarted from an alliance with the [person designed to be Out of Line in a way that Is considered Legitimate] that would let them shatter the limits of the series in 5 sec which we're also holding them back by the scruff of the neck to prevent anyways while pushing forward ppl supposed to be even More correct b/c uh um they're a little more Normal, & perhaps even Women, who are innately more caring & gentle. there they go hurting those around them as much as they can, with nothing stopping them at all, but they're using their inside voices & not issuing physical threats so that's what i'm talking about. that is heroic, vs the villainous efforts to navigate life as though everyone will respect them as a fellow person which Autists egregiously pull, to which you can do anything you want to Reject this. maybe even decide you wanna personally use them. isn't that nice of you. no, we don't know what to do with the "this guy won't stop acting like he gets to think he's a person" but eventually send him away after the dozen trampled boundaries to punish him for fun b/c what else was the point of him? anyways don't worry i saw the autistic swag. the nonbinary swag it didn't even know was there. the nonbinary swag it knew was there but held back by the scruff of the neck b/c all billions' most engaging, potential filled characters are the ones Held Back b/c they're threatening too much [out of line] / their out of Lineness must be contained; vs everyone perfectly in line who keeps being pushed in front of them no matter what b/c uhhh.

let's go Out of Line gang. continual inevitable Disruption of the norm(tm). like even just standing there vs "oh immediately i fucking Hate this guy." billions where anyone considers winston for 5 sec would also shatter apart. taylor would be too powerful even more than they already are if they didn't have to stay wendy's sidekick no matter what. rian who didn't have to come back from the hiatus even more "right" than they presumably intended her to always be (bound to thee hierachy / actually always Staying In Line. if she's out of it, psych, actually that was just a correction of the "objective" hierarchal order waiting to reconfigure itself around the situation). standing around waiting like okay but the payoff that Could happen....okay still time though lol....well here we are

the fundamentalness of the Out Of Lineness. quantessential....send post

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Elf lover who researches immortality to make sure you, his human wife would never die. Unfortunately, he spends most of your lifetime with his nose buried in a book, and misses out on so much.

When he realizes you’ve become old and gray in the blink of an eye… he’s heart broken. You’re in pain, he couldn’t burden you with an eternity of this. If only he had spent more time with you, given you his all instead of researching something that might not even be real.

When you die, he’s inconsolable. You were everything to him. His love, his life, the very air he breathes, and without you he feels like he’s suffocating.

One day he learns about reincarnation, and that’s when he begins searching for you. You had always said the bond you shared would last forever, and god he hoped it was true.

When he found you, all he could feel was… impatient and upset. You were a newborn, unable to do anything but cry, feed, and sleep.

He let you be, making sure to come back when you were an adult. All he wanted was to be in your presence, to feel your warmth and soft touch again.

Part of him knew there was a chance some man would ask for your hand in marriage before he could return… but he held on to the words you said.

“I’ll always love you… not even death can change that.”

Although you didn’t remember your past life, you still felt a strange sensation in your chest when you met him for the first time. He had been watching you the past few years, scaring away potential suitors and making sure you were safe, but this was your first meeting with him.

He was gentle, kind, and attentive. When his hand brushed against yours, there was a spark that made your body feel like it was on fire.

It didn’t take long for marriage to come up after he started courting you. He wanted you back as soon as possible. Despite being an elf that would live forever, the two decades he spent apart from you felt like centuries. Time slowed down with your absence, and he couldn’t bear being apart from you any longer.

After marrying you, he finally felt at peace. Getting to see you underneath him, mewling in pleasure as he held onto your hips and fucked into you was nothing short of ecstasy. He hadn’t taken another woman the entire time he had been waiting for you, and it felt nice to feel the warmth of your cunt after being lonely for so long.

He spent most of his days holding you, his hands tracing your soft sides and belly, moving down your thighs and then between them.

Finally, he got a second chance, and this time he would cherish you with everything he had.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads

[poisonf0rest]

The Best Dreams Come in Threes

♱⋅── rafayel x reader x xavier

♱⋅── about: Rafayel and Xavier have always been there for you. One is your fire, your passion, the twin flame to your temper. The other is your light, a guiding beacon, your twin star. So when you have a nightmare, they take it upon themselves to comfort and remind you of their unconditional devotion. Even if it does lead to competition every now and then.

♱⋅── word count: 7.5k (mf...)

♱⋅── warnings: mdni, smut, it's just nasty, threesome, jealousy, somnophilia, oral, pussydrunk boys, breeding kink, double penetration, slight spoilers

♱⋅── a/n: apologies to the two random strangers on the plane that I sat next to when the idea of this fic possessed me. I really, really hope you didn't read anything I was frantically writing down in the midst of me finishing my work report cause that shit was nasty.

art credit and inspiration due to the wonderful @/sakimenz

Lonely star, who do you shine for?

The weight of all your pasts- of all your futures- the guilt and pride you carry will only cause you to collapse, and all that will be left will be an all-consuming black hole. 

Your desperation won’t bring your sun back. 

Lonely king, don’t you know a kingdom devoid of life is a crown devoid of purpose?

You were the fire that left them, and all you have to show for the betrayal is a drowned memory and a heart wrenched from your chest, a broken promise and a forgotten story. 

You’ve changed with each lifetime, but you’ll forever be at the mercy of fate. 

And you? You’re the very curse that haunts them. 

Claws, so cold they burn, emerge from the darkness before piercing through flesh, tearing through muscle and bone as they dig into your ribcage, dragging you down into the shadows. Drowning, falling. You’re spiraling through lifetimes of failure, lifetimes of pain both your own and not, all while the claws dig closer and closer to your heart, clutching the muscle like a songbird in a cage. 

It’s the price, the price you must pay for all this pain you’ve caused, for dooming a star and killing a god. 

The clawed hand wraps around your heart, the piercing into the fluttering pulse faster and faster until—

You wake up crying. 

A hot trail of tears slides into the pillows, and a sniffle rakes through your body, the sudden movement causing a subtle disturbance to the two forms still sound asleep on either side of you. 

Funny, you can’t remember a thing, but there’s a painful throb in your chest. You’ll take another dose of your heart medicine in the morning. 

But for now, your bedroom is still dulled by the pale blue moonlight filtering through the curtains, and you’re in no hurry to get out of the warm covers and their embrace. 

The nightmares have become routine at this point. You never remember what they are, but you wake up with a sense of fear and dread, as though you can feel the pain all over again. It’s best not to think too much about it.

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you inhale shakily one last time, trying to shake off the looming feeling when the arm around your waist shifts, tugging lightly at your loose sleep shirt before slipping under to massage the skin beneath. You let out a soft sigh, a light shudder going through your body as the gentle hands work away the tension.

“The same?” Rafayel’s words are slurred with sleep and concern, hot breath dancing along the crook of your neck as he props himself up on his elbow. You nod.

Rafayel makes a small, displeased noise before his other arm pulls you closer, his bare chest now flush against your back. The sudden movement forces Xavier, who was once tucked against your shoulder, further away, grumbling at the loss even in his sleep.

His face scrunches, brows furrowed together before the corners of his lips turn downward, and he blindly reaches for you. He eventually finds the curve of your waist, and his hand tightens on the fabric of your shirt as it slides in above Rafayel’s.

A huff, and Xavier buries his face back into your chest, his warm breath tickling you. And then, gentle snores— you should've known better than to think that would be enough to wake him.

Rafayel, still pressed firmly against your back, begins to move, propping his body up just enough to look you in the eyes as he wipes a stray tear from your cheek. "Wanna talk about it, cutie?"

“I… I think you were there, both of you. But it felt lonely, painful.”

Rafayel's face contorts into a worried expression, his hand moves down your cheek, cupping your jaw, and you lean into his warm caress with a sigh.

You place a kiss on his palm. "It's okay, just a scary dream. Nothing real. Nothing to worry about." You repeat it, more to yourself than Rafayel, but his arms wrap around you anyway.

And yet Rafayel looks at you with a deep furrow in his brow, a seriousness you’ve almost never seen on him.

You give him a questioning look, but his lips press to yours in a searing kiss, stealing the air from your lungs. He pulls away only for a second, whispering sweet nothings against your skin before returning his lips to yours, the hand cradling your face slipping down to rest on your hip.

He kisses you softly, gently. First pressing a trail of light, chaste kisses along your jaw, the corners of your mouth, and nose, then moving back to your lips. “We’ll never leave you. We’d tear through every universe, every destiny to get back to you.”

Strange, how Rafayel says it with all the reverence of a vow. 

You want to tease him for the sudden declaration, for making all this fuss over a stupid dream, but you never have the opportunity, not when Rafayel's signature smirk settles back onto his lips. 

His hand slides down to your thighs, fingers teasing around the band of your sleep shorts, toying, pressing, but never crossing the self-imposed boundary of your clothes. “Unless, you’d prefer it if I proved it to you?”

“Rafayel,” you warn, hoping your narrowed glare would dissuade him.

Of course the man only seems to take that as a challenge, smile widening as you flinch at the cold touch creeping under your shirt. One palm traces up your ribcage, long, nimble fingers rubbing circles against your skin until he brushes the underside of your breast. 

You shudder, hissing out another string of curses before turning around so your back is to Rafayel. 

Really, you should know better than to think that alone would be enough, and a hot trail of kisses now joins his wandering hands down your shoulder blade. They start innocent enough, sweet, lingering touches along the hem of your shirt, but that quickly changes when Rafayel’s arm under your shirt practically yanks it up, sucking wet, messy kisses into the bare curves of your chest.

Each nip against your sensitive flesh forces the possibility of sleep further and further away, and you resort to distracting yourself with the motionless silhouette of Xavier. Petting through his hair, your rhythm is jolted every time Rafayel decides to leave a mark, nails pulling through Xavier’s locks as you bite your lip on a moan.

You don't miss the curve of his smirk against your skin, and the next kiss is accompanied by a bite, hard enough to elicit a sharp gasp that stirs Xavier. Tense, you scan the blonde's face, but he's nothing if not a heavy sleeper, and he nuzzles further into your touch, still unconscious as his head tucks under yours.

You don't get to sigh in relief. Instead, a whine builds in your throat, the wet heat of Rafayel's teeth tugging on the strap of your underwear as he fists your sleep shorts down.

"Rafayel, stop it,” you hiss as his hot breath hits the already embarrassingly damp center of your underwear.

His smile grows, lips brushing against your clothed core as he tilts his head. “Hmm? But you don’t sound like you want me to stop. And she certainly doesn’t sound like it either.” Two fingers dip under the band, and he parts your cunt with a lewd click.

Your face flushes in embarrassment, refusing to acknowledge just how easily your body gives in to them. One hand leaves Xavier, roughly fisting into Rafayel’s curls as he groans from the sharp pressure. “That’s because you and Xavier refused to wear protection!” 

The accusation earns a hushed laugh, his shoulders shaking against the insides of your thighs. It would have been innocent, the same contagious sort of smile gracing Rafayel’s face, if not the shadows cast across his face in the dark, teeth gleaming like fangs as he traces his tongue up the entire length of your clothed cunt. 

"M’sorry, we thought you'd enjoy the mess," he says, words muffled over your thighs, nose practically buried in between. "How can I make it up to you, cutie?”

You don’t get a chance to respond, not when Rafayel’s tongue dives into your clothed cunt, moaning against the soaked fabric as you gasp and force him closer by his hair. To muffle his sounds, you tell yourself. A pathetic lie considering how much louder he gets now, nose grinding up against your clit as his tongue tries to press into your fluttering cunt even with the barrier of cloth in between. 

God, he’s addicted, and it doesn’t take long until Rafayel’s spit and your slick soak through your underwear, the near-translucent fabric sticking to your lips as the bare minimum friction nearly drives you insane. 

“Say it,” Rafayel whines, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Please, just tell me how badly you want me. Tell me, and I’ll do anything you ask.”

Like he wouldn’t already.

But how could you ever deny him when he begs so sweetly? 

Your palm cups his face, watching his near-wrecked expression and flushed skin tremble beneath your fingers.  “I’m yours, Rafayel.”

And the fabric is ripped into pieces. 

Refusing to even breathe, Rafayel places an opened-mouth kiss on your cunt, lapping up your slick with the most satisfied moan. He doesn't waste any time, not while your confession coated his mind with the sweetest type of intoxication, eating you out like he was depraved.

He might as well have been with how he moans, hips grinding desperately against the edge of the mattress, his not-entirely human tongue curling in and out of you as it writhes with terrifying accuracy against your walls.

It feels too good to be ashamed of the noises you make, gasping and crying out until you slam your palm over your mouth, biting down hard as the other claws into Rafayel’s hair. You can barely control yourself, half fighting to squirm away from the overwhelming pleasure, half rocking your hips up and down his face as you jerk him closer. 

“Mhm, greedy.” Fucked-out, broken little grunts leave his throat before his words are muffled into your cunt, not baring to part for even a breath. “Pull on it, please. Harder.” 

You tug Rafayel’s hair almost in vengeance when he purposefully kisses away from where you need him most, licking and sucking obscenely into your thighs just to hear your frustrated cries even over your hand. 

He loved being used like this, so long as it was you. 

So long as it was him that turned you into such a beautiful, pathetic mess. 

It's not long until Rafayel pulls you close to the edge, nose pressing against your clit while thrusting his tongue into you, eyes rolling back from the taste and from the thought of your tight heat fluttering around his cock instead. 

And then, he stops, pulling away and leaving you gasping into the tear-stained pillow.

You bite back a sob, releasing only a choked little noise that has Rafayel's eyes flicking up to your face, the soft, concerned look in his eyes melting into something far more dangerous.

With viciously dilated pupils and your slick dripping from his mouth, Rafayel stares you down as every inch the dangerous siren the legends claimed him to be. He smiles, tongue raking over his teeth as though he couldn’t get enough of your taste, and you swear you’d let him eat your heart and soul. Gods, you’d let him eat you whole. 

You realize you must have made a sound, because Rafayel hushes you, pressing quick kisses to your knee. "Aw, what happened to being quiet? Aren't you afraid we'll wake the poor sleeping bunny?" 

At the mention of your other partner, you turn to where Xavier’s nuzzling his face further into your side, each warm breath damp against your feverish skin, still lost to the realm of dreams.

Not that Rafayel allows your attention to turn away from himself for too long. 

He leans over Xavier, the hand that wasn’t supporting his weight cupping your face, and his lips are crashing into yours with all the viciousness of a summer seastorm. Your lips part, and Rafeyel fucks his tongue into your mouth the same he did your pussy, wet and desperate, the taste of yourself enough to make you dizzy. 

"Tell me,” Rafayel’s tone dips into something darker, kissing down your throat and stomach as he eyes Xavier. “Who’s the better lover?" 

Xavier's fingers flex, the tips brushing against the curve of your breast as he sleeps, and Rafayel's smile is almost predatory.

"D-don't ask stupid questions you dumb fish," your voice cracks as Rafayel's mouth ghosts over your cunt, teeth bared to your thigh, threatening to bite. "I chose you both."

The confession, as expected, doesn't please him. If anything, he seems overly offended, pouting and huffing a cold breath of air right against your aching core. The chill makes you squirm, trying to force him back to your center with the grip you have on his hair.

"No. Nope. That's not an answer."

"Raf–"

His name breaks off in a moan, sound ripped from your throat as Rafayel's thumb starts rubbing firm circles around your neglected clit. He doesn't relent, the pressure too much, too quick, your body already trembling from the pleasure Rafayel knows how to torture you with.

Only, it seems that all your sudden noise and movement have finally begun to affect Xavier. Not enough to wake him, but enough that you can hear his breathing become heavier, following your every twitch and buck from Rafayel’s onslaught as his body begins to grind into yours.

Mumbling into your neck, Xavier’s hand tightens around your waist before slipping under your shirt to palm your breasts, squeezing and kneading until the touch has you keening.

Xavier's still fast asleep, nonsensical words slurred against your skin, and yet his body is now far from it. His erection is thick and heavy against your hips, grinding desperately into your warmth almost in time to Rafayel’s ministrations, whimpering under his breath with every forceful thrust. 

Rafayel notices too, his gaze drifting up to the blond. You can't see his face, already busied between your legs once more, but a pleased hum vibrates through his entire body, fingers finally slipping into your cunt as he curls them just right, your back arching off the sheets with a silent scream. 

Xavier whines at your sudden thrashing, tugging you closer and unknowingly forcing you immobile and at complete mercy to Rafayel’s unfairly skilled fingers. "Mhm, so warm. Please, m’want to..." Another needy, slow grind against you follows his sleepy request. 

"Rafayel," you choke out a muffled plea, but his eyes only narrow, taking a breath as his free hand grabs at Xavier's ass, the touch just light enough to tease and make him rut harder against you.

"What is it, cutie? Don't pretend like you don't want more, not when your pretty pussy's drooling for his cock. She’s so needy, am I not enough?”

Rafayel rests his head on the inside of your thigh, fingers thrusting roughly into that sweet spongy spot inside you just as his other hand wraps around the base of Xavier's cock through his boxers, thumbing over the pre-cum staining the dark fabric. 

You're forced to bite down on the pillow beneath your head to stop the desperate cry tearing itself out of your throat. "This isn’t- ah- isn’t right."

"Isn't it? You’re dripping and the little bunny’s still asleep, yet look how desperate he is, rutting against you." Rafayel's voice dips, a raspy edge from his throat still fucking into you making it even more sinful, slurping everything you give him around his fingers before it drips down his wrist and into a puddle below. A huff, “I should get rewarded with how much effort I’m putting in.”

You cry out, legs trembling as his thumb begins its relentless attack on your clit, tracing mindless circles just random enough to keep you on edge. You're close, and Rafayel can feel it.

Xavier isn’t faring much better, whimpering a string of incoherent pleas into the crook of your neck as his hips keep rocking into the fist around him. He doesn't take his mouth away from the skin of your shoulder, biting down on it as he cums, shuddering and whimpering as the mess splatters down Rafayel's knuckles and onto your thighs. 

“You’re next. If you won’t be honest with me, I’ll make your body is.” Rafayel’s taunt is the last coherent thing you remember before you come. Hard. His words ring against your skull as his fingers pump into you faster, and the pressure against your clit becomes almost unbearable, and you're falling apart, crying and thrashing, the only thing keeping you grounded is the feeling of Rafayel's weight and the scent of Xavier's strawberry shampoo, and then—

Rafayel finally shuts up to let you ride his face through your high, letting you use him as your thighs lock around his head, grinding desperately as though he were no more than a toy. No chance of breathing, no chance of escape. 

Not that he could care less, not as long as he could keep his lips around your gushing cunt, humming and sucking into your release as cum sprays over his tongue and down his chin. Gods, he could never get enough of this.

You're still shaking through your orgasm, pliant and stupid from the dizzying pleasure, that you don't notice the rustle of sheets until a second pair of hands slide down your thighs. 

"You’re doing this without me?" 

Xavier’s voice is a whisper, husky from sleep and his orgasm as he presses a kiss right below your ear, fingers squeezing rougher against your breasts.

"S-sorry. Didn't want to wake you," you try, biting back a gasp when his thumb flicks over a nipple. Rough. Mean. 

Rafayel snorts. "I think it's a bit too late for that.” A glare at Xavier over your leg, showing off your cum still dripping from his lips and fingers. ”Besides, I didn't need you."

You want to argue, really, but then Xavier is grabbing a fistful of your hair, tugging just hard enough to push your head back, coaxing a moan from your throat as he marks down your neck with kisses intending to bruise. He’s pouting, grabbing your jaw as he forces your gaze away from Rafayel, nipping your bottom lip until you surrender to his drowsy advances.

“Why…” Another kiss before Xavier's licking desperately into your mouth, “Why didn't you wake me?"

The question comes out a little breathless, almost petulant, eyes hooded and dark as he looks over the mess Rafayel has made of you. He can't tear his eyes away, watching Rafayel even as he kisses you. His fingers flick over your nipple again, twisting and pinching until you're shaking, your thighs squeezing Rafayel's face, all while Xavier watches.

Said man only smiles, all smug arrogance. "Didn't you hear her, Xav? She said she didn't want to wake you, so don't blame me."

Rafayel drags a wet, open-mouthed kiss over your cunt, the overstimulation making you break the kiss with a gasp.

"Liar." Xavier's voice trembles, and you can't tell if he's referring to Rafayel's words, or the way he's staring longingly at Rafayel's lips now, still slick with your release. "You just wanted her all to yourself."

He doesn't bother giving Rafayel a chance to retort, taking the punishment out on you as he dips his head underneath your folded-up shirt, groaning as his hot tongue rolls over your nipple, sucking at the stiff peak as his hand continues to assault the other. The onslaught has you whimpering, pushing and clawing against Xavier’s shoulder to try and fight him off as he refuses to let go for even a moment. 

Rafayel's not one to be ignored, not when he has the advantage, and his tongue is back to fucking into your cunt with no reprieve, a cruel smirk on his face as you writhe and beg for their mercy.

Your hips roll, torn between pleasure and oversensitivity, unable to escape either of the men. It's overwhelming. Too much, too quickly, you only just came and you're already getting dragged back.

"Ah! Stop, I'm already mhm—"

You're interrupted by Xavier's tongue slipping into your mouth, a filthy, lazy slide that makes you grind up into Rafayel's tongue. It's like he doesn't even need to breathe, the wet, sloppy sounds of him eating you out drowned out only by the sound of Xavier kissing you senseless, pausing just to nip and suck at your breasts as though he'll get rewarded if he just tries hard enough. 

"You want him to stop? Is the mermaid not enough to satisfy you, princess?" Xavier taunts, lips brushing against your ear as his hips push up, grinding his cock against your thigh. "If that's the case, perhaps we should switch. I can give you exactly what you want, remember?"

“Shut up, I’m the one making her cum.”

“Only cause I wasn’t awake yet.”

“You snooze, you lose. Whose fault is that? Oh ya, yours.” 

They're at each other's throats yet again, practically clawing and snapping at each other, and you're helpless to try and intervene when they take their faux anger out on your poor abused body. 

You can't think, can't focus, can't do anything but shake and pant and sob into the pillow, their combined weight on top of you, forcing your pleasure higher and higher. 

“Xav—" He cuts you off with a kiss. 

“Shh, just take it."

You can't even tell who’s sloppier anymore- Xavier fucking your mouth with his tongue or Rafayel still eating you through your second orgasm, the sudden hit of it thundering down your body. 

“You look so pretty when you come," Xavier moans into your lips, his eyes half-lidded and glazed, hand coming up to stroke your cheek as he watches you, a sharp contrast to the other still rolling against your swollen nipple, loving the way you jerk into his touch. Then a glare to the man below. "My turn.”

Your body is still trembling, Rafayel's merciless fingers not allowing you to come down from your high, aftershocks of hypersensitivity crashing down your spine as every muscle spasms. No more. No more, please. You can’t possibly come again. 

You don't realize you’re begging out loud, not until Xavier shushes you with another bruising kiss. 

But it doesn't seem like Rafayel has any plans on stopping, not until Xavier’s hand skims down your thighs and yanks him up by the chain of his necklace. 

Rafayel growls as he's practically forced off your weeping cunt, eyes bleary and unfocused as he fights the blond's grip. And god, he looks absolutely wrecked, spit and cum dripping from his mouth and chin, connecting his lips to your pussy in sticky wet strands before they break, and you feel the unmistakable bulge of his cock straining against his soaked boxers. 

Xavier yanks him forward, pulling the necklace chain until he crashes his lips onto Rafayel's, all teeth and tongue, desperate to get a taste of your cum from his mouth. It's filthy, and Rafayel is the first to give in, still drunk off your taste and now Xavier's too.

"Mhm, you taste like her," Xavier whispers, pulling him closer until their bodies are pressed together, his mouth still moving against Rafayel's swollen, parted lips.

"Ya?" Rafayel’s grin is predatory, all fang and sin. "You wanna try too, don’t you? Give in then, bunny, lie down for us.”

"I don't take orders from you." 

Xavier scowls against Rafayel's lips, but you can feel his resolve breaking, his arm trembling where it rests against your thigh. 

"No, you take them from her, and she asked us so, so nicely to make her come. You wouldn't dare deny her that, would you?”

The Lemurian is nothing if not dangerously persistent, one hand coaxing Xavier backward so gently you don’t think he realizes how easily he’s falling, the other clawing down his abs as Rafayel bites against the erratic thud of Xavier’s pulse. Sharp and bruising, a silent promise for what to come. "Or do you wanna eat her out like I did? Have her ride your face while I fuck into her poor, desperate cunt? I can't decide, there are so many options."

“No.” It’s more a plea than a demand. Xavier's voice shakes with need, and you watch, dizzy and panting, as Rafayel's fingers slip underneath the waistband of Xavier's boxers. His fingers, still dripping with your cum, brush down the length of his cock, thumb circling the sensitive head and smearing the copious amount of pre-cum leaking from it. “You had y-your turn.” 

He can hardly finish his objection, not when Rafayel’s thumb comes up to abuse his leaking slit, Xavier’s words slurring into a desperate whine as he practically collapses back onto his elbows. Immediately, Rafayel is atop him.

"A competition, then." Rafayel leans down to whisper into Xavier's ear, but the words are purposefully teased out loud enough for you to hear, “But you lose if you cum first, and I get to fuck her.”

It's a low blow, a challenge he knows Xavier can't turn down. 

A challenge that somehow has you poised once again as the torment and the reward.

And it's true, because the second the words register, the blond's eyes shoot open, and his cock jerks violently against Rafeyel’s palm, a broken sound leaving his lips as his eyes lock back onto yours with all the promise of a starving hunter.

"Deal.”

Xavier doesn't allow the agreement to go without a price. Something snaps, the bedroom flickering with a sudden darkness as all the light vanishes. 

One moment, you’re lying against the bed, and the next Xavier manhandles you to your knees, one hand forcing your arms behind your back as he tugs you against him, the other pinning Rafayel to the mattress.

Rafayel’s the very picture of smug sin, the feral expression far more genuine, less threatening and much more amused as he nestles further into the pillows, one arm tucked lazily behind his head. 

Cold fingers dance up your hips, and Rafayel drags your bare cunt over his thighs and onto his lap, a pleased sigh escaping his lips as you're pinned deliciously between his cock and Xavier's sculpted back.

"So needy, little bunny."

"Shut up. I'm not the one who's leaking."

Rafayel snorts, and before the two can start fighting again, you're leaning forward, a hand resting against Rafayel's abs as you cup his erection through his boxers. And when he moans you believe every myth, every fairytale singing the doom of sailors to a siren song, because every sound he gives you is addictive and sweet enough that you’d drown to hear it again. 

Pulling Rafayel's cock out from his boxers, you’re stunned yet again by the slightly non-human beauty of it, heavy and thick in your palm, the flushed, ruddy tip already drooling precum as you thumb at it in vengeance. You know Xavier's watching from the way his own cock twitches against your back, hands digging bruises into your hips. Then, the warmth at your back disappears. 

Instead, a pair of hands drag your ass up, forcing you into a deep arch as you scramble for purchase against Rafayel’s thigh and the bed below.

“Closer.” Xavier’s hand laces into your hair as he pushes your head down, forcing your mouth to nuzzle against the base of Rafayel's cock. 

The movement pulls a gasp from both of you, your hot breath teasing the sensitive skin of Rafayel's shaft and forcing a shudder from his entire body. 

Seeing the two of you completely at his mercy does terrible, horrible things to Xavier, and his fingers dig bruises into your hips as it takes him everything not to forgo the competition and fuck you right there. 

"Good girl,” he hums, voice trembling as his grip tightens against your hair, giving you a harsh glare when you whine and squirm in his hold. "Now open."

You can't bring yourself to say no, not when the sight of Rafayel's eyes rolling back the second you do makes your stomach clench. His cock twitches against you as you lick at the copious amounts of cum leaking from his tip, then obediently wrap your lips around him.

With a smile that would have you shaking, Xavier leans down, barely able to continue guiding your head as he’s entranced with the mess between your legs, licking up the slick dripping down your thighs as he sucks against the delicate flesh, marking right over the sensitive bruises Rafayel had only just left behind. 

 “This- hah-” Rafayel curses under his breath, the single word breaking off into a moan, the sound muffled by his palm as his chest heaves. “This is hardly fair.”

But his complaints feel half-hearted, not with the way he’s already rutting into your mouth, Xavier’s iron grip keeping you in place as Rafayel thrusts himself into your mouth in one breath. You yield pathetically quick, flattening your tongue against the slick underside of his cock, another stream of pre-cum flooding your mouth as you nearly choke on it all, unable to pull off to even take a breath as Xavier guides your head up and down in a steady rhythm that has Rafayel falling apart. 

It’s cruel, but you can't help each pathetic moan that gets muffed onto Rafayel’s cock, the vibrations forcing his back to arch off the bed, head rolling back as it thuds against the pillows, Adam's apple bobbing as he gulps in shallow breaths.

You almost wish he would let you see his eyes, but then you'd miss the view of his chest, every muscle tight and twitching under his skin, the mesmerizing sight now blurry from the tears forming in your eyes. You can't resist reaching up, dragging your nails down his abs, watching his body jerk against every new line of red.

"Please,” you're not sure if the broken whimper belonged to Rafayel or yourself. “Please, I can't wait anymore, wanna feel you— fuck— wanna fill you up again, please let me cum." It's like just the very thought has Rafayel keening, his hips jerking up into your hot mouth with reckless abandon as Xavier forces your spine up into a deeper arch.

You're nearly bent in half, the new angle leaving no part of you hidden from Xavier's hungry gaze as he watches you practically drool over Rafayel’s cock, lips meeting his pelvis as he breaches your throat. 

Xavier’s going to win. He needs to win. 

The thought makes him frantic, tongue fucking past the tight resistance of your cunt, his hand sliding up to tease at your clit. He won't be the one to finish first, not this time. Not when he's wanted nothing more than to feel your cunt gushing around him ever since Rafayel woke him up, ever since the two of you had the audacity to start this without him.

Rafayel can’t last much longer, especially not when you bring one shaking hand down to massage his swollen balls, hardly in control of your own movements as you feel dizzy on the addictive combination from the lack of oxygen and pleasure as Xavier begins to eat you out like a man starved. 

The room’s filled with the sounds of each slick, messy movement, whimpers from the man beneath you and breathless pleas from the one behind, bed rattling with every thrust. 

And yet you’re still so painfully empty. So, so, empty as your cunt flutters around Xavier’s tongue before he relents to kiss your clit once more, dragging a dissatisfied whine from you as you fight yourself off Rafayel’s cock. 

"F-fuck me. Please," A sob, and you feel both Rafayel and Xavier shudder. "It’s not enough. Want your cocks inside me, wanna cum on it. Need it, please-"

Oh, and when you beg like that, they should have known they never would have stood a chance.

"Shit."

"Ah, please-"

It's a blur. A rush of hands, of pleasure and pain, all of it colliding and dragging you to the edge. The room spins, the ceiling above you falling until the familiar, comforting feeling of slick muscle embraces you, grounding you as you focus on the erratic heartbeat between each ragged exhale. 

You're still sandwiched between them, lying on Rafayel as Xavier's weight drapes across your back, head propped up on the former's chest as you stare blearily at his silver pendant, unable to move. You're not even sure if you can, not with the way Xavier's still gripping the backs of your thighs, spreading you open as he forces one leg higher up.

Then, the blunt head of his cock grinds between your folds.

Xavier’s pressing his forehead against your back, wrapping his arms around you before biting into the crook of your neck. "You mean it? You’ll let us come inside again?"

Rafayel laughs, a raspy sound still raw from his orgasm. "Well, we both lost. Now what, bunny? We can't just leave her like this, poor thing is trembling." 

"Mhm,” Xavier forces you up, “We both fuck her then."

His words only make you whimper, body jerking uselessly against Xavier's grip. His hands lift you as Rafayel flips you around so you're now facing the blond, flinching violently as his cock brushes your swollen clit, any semblance of protest quelled as Xavier pulls you into another messy kiss. 

It’s demanding, Xavier mumbling achingly sweet praises into your open mouth as he begins to press you down, faster, harsher, forcing you onto Rafayel’s lap in a reverse cowgirl as you slide down slowly, taking inch by inch of Rafayel’s throbbing cock. There’s hardly any blue left in Xavier’s blow-out pupils, too mesmerized by the slick mess you’re gushing down their thighs. And just when you begin to squirm, impatient and desperate, Xavier slows their pace even more.

"Shhh, we need to make sure you'll be able to take both of us."

Rafayel's hand is wrapped around your waist, thumb rubbing small circles into your stomach, and if it weren't for Xavier's arms locked around you, holding you upright, you would have collapsed the second Rafayel pressed into the spot his fingers had found.

"Look at you," he purrs, a low sound that has you gasping. "So pretty when you’re needy. Can you feel me?"

It's hard not to. Everywhere feels warm, and every slow thrust, no matter how gentle, has a small burst of ecstasy building in your stomach, a wave crashing higher and higher as the two of them slowly fuck you full. Just as you’re nearly seated all the way onto Rafayel’s length, Xavier’s palms come up to the back of your knees, folding them up and forcing you backward until you’re practically lying prone atop of Rafayel.

Your head lolls uselessly against Rafayel's neck, gasping at the force of the new position,  and you're not sure if it's the tears in your eyes or the overwhelming pressure against your walls as they stretch around his cock that's making the world so blurry. Xavier soon follows you down, pressing you closer into Rafayel’s chest as his lips trail your jaw, your neck, your sucking against every sensitive spot behind your ears until you're distracted from the pain.

"You're doing so good, princess. Just a little more."

The sudden onslaught of pressure of both of you atop him has Rafayel flinching, and he hisses out a pained moan, hips jerking up into the slick heat of your pussy, and it's only Xavier's grip that keeps the two of you from slipping off.

"Hah- hurry up-" Rafayel's eyes are glassy, his head tipped back and face twisted in pleasure. 

Strings of incoherent pleas are whispered against your ear, Rafayel marking up the left side of your neck while Xavier’s still busy with the right, that is, until Xavier switches sides, biting right over Rafayel’s marks until he’s pulled up into a desperate kiss.

The wet sounds of their lips are filthy and obscene, each hot breath and moan brushing past your ear as you writhe, pressed between them. Rafayel's cock is already swelling, twitching against the fluttering walls of your pussy, unwilling to fully pull out, settling to just grinding up in slow, cruel thrusts before something in him snaps and he switches to pounding against your abused walls.

Every time you think you’ll finally come Rafayel switches pace, the obscene slap of skin on skin muffled only by your sobs and their kissing. 

You’re close, so so fucking close you feel your muscles begin to shake. Xavier only pushes you down further, every angle a new cruelty, smothering you between them, rendering you unable to do anything but take it.

Again, Rafayel slows, and you slur curses down at him as your thighs tremble from overstimulation, shaking violently until you feel something grab your calf. Xavier massages the quivering muscle, gentle until he’s suddenly pressing your knee higher and higher, going until it’s pinned to the mattress up against your head.

And now Rafayel is hitting impossibly deeper, abusing your poor g-spot with each thrust. 

Xavier kisses your ankle, then calf, making his way up your leg until he can nip at your inner thighs now folded over his shoulder. And then you feel the pressure of his cock at your already full entrance. Xavier’s hand dips down between your bodies, trying to bully himself in alongside Rafayel, but his cock slides past your navel, slick and covered in your combined cum. 

"No, no no, not gonna fit- ah- Xavier!"

Your words break off into a wail as he tries again, grinding closer so you’re tightly cradled between the two, Xavier leaning fully atop you both. A snarl grits through his jaw when his cock slips past again, readjusting you so your legs fall apart wider, the burn in your thighs turning delicious and overwhelming, pussy weeping around Rafayel’s cock as Xavier’s swollen, leaking head bumps against your clit. 

Xavier watches the mess, every thrust and messy squirt of cum, brows furrowed and flushed a deep red, as he whines into your shoulder, "Please- can't stop- please let me fuck you too, you'll look so pretty with both of us filling you up, taking us so good- don’t make me stop."

He’s reduced to babbling against your neck, biting down hard enough to bleed when your cunt finally yields to him too, cockhead bumping into Rafayel’s as he slowly pushes in inch and inch, trembling from the combined pleasure of your walls and the violent throbbing of every vein now grinding together.

It's too much, it’s not enough, the stretch and the friction and the pressure leaving you fucked stupid, hands scrambling for purchase. Rafayel grunts when your nails drag across his thighs, his own hands coming to latch onto your wrists, pinning them above his head, forcing you motionless between them.

You can do nothing but sob, tears streaming down your face as your entire body convulses. And when they finally, finally bottom out together, the world goes white.

"Shh, you're alright," Rafayel soothes, although his voice is trembling, the sound broken as he tries to catch his breath. "Doing so well for us, cutie, so perfect."

Xavier growls, his hands grabbing the headboard. He's barely holding on, not with the way Rafayel's cock twitches against his own, your hot walls clenched tightly around the two of them as you beg.

"Please, can't- too much, more, I need-"

There's a broken sob, and then Xavier’s slamming his hips forward, fucking into you with a brutality he usually saves for Rafayel, the force sending the three of you rocking against the mattress, headboard splintering under the strength of his grip. The other leaves to thumb at your nipples, lips following suit as he rambles, drunk off your pussy, "These would look s'pretty filled, even more sensitive. Bet you'd let us milk you, fill you up even more."

"And here, you'll feel us here too, won't you?" A hand moves lower- whose you no longer are coherent enough to care- brushing over the swell of your abdomen, the slight bulge appearing and disappearing where both of them are thrusting violently into you. "Be a waste not to. Imagine it, a painted mess filled with us.”

And you are. You can't think about anything else, not with the way they're stuffing you full— every time Rafayel's cock would settle near your g-spot Xavier’s would ram back in, forcing the former up against your cervix before pulling out entirely, repeating the vicious rhythm as the pain bled into pleasure. 

Tears stream down the side of your face, room spinning into dizziness until all that remains are the burning trails of their touch, the only things keeping you grounded. 

Rafayel's sucking into your shoulder, biting the sweat-slicked flesh, and you can feel his hips begin to stutter underneath you, already reaching his high despite Xavier still pounding into you with the same intensity, desperate to catch up.

The moment Xavier feels Rafayel's release, it's over. Your back arches up against him, convulsing against their hold, your abused walls clenching down so tightly that you’re practically begging for them to come inside, sucking them in deeper and deeper until it’s impossible for them not to follow.

It's a violent orgasm, hot squirt of your cum drenching Xavier’s abs, the intensity of it causing Rafayel’s vision to white out too, unable to hear the desperate sounds of your moans, not when his blood is rushing past his ears.

Then, the world comes crashing back.

Rafayel’s panting, still thrusting weakly into the slick, tight heat as he emptied himself inside you, the sheer overload of it gushing down your legs and onto the sheets. 

"Ah- Xavier," you whine, the sound muffled into his chest as Xavier continues to chase after his high, too lost in his late orgasm to pull out.

The overstimulation is torture, your body twitching and trembling with every sloppy thrust. The moment he finally pulls out, the mess follows, thick, white rivets leaking down your thighs, the sheer volume near damn concerning had you the capacity to focus on it.

Rafayel laughs, fingers swirling through the cum as though painting your thighs, "That's not going to be easy to clean up."

"S'gonna look pretty. Messy. Full." Xavier murmurs, still pinning the both of you beneath him as he collapses in exhaustion, fingers dancing over the small swell in your stomach. Pressing lightly, he watches in fascination as their mixed cum gushes out faster, and you whimper, gripping his wrists to stop before they get any more ideas. 

You're not sure what's worse, the fact that they're both still hard and the way they're looking at you, or the fact that their words have your exhausted body already trying to recover, a shiver running through your sore muscles as the room's cool air brushes over the slick, sticky mess between your thighs.

"You're both so disgusting," you groan, the words coming out slurred and barely audible. 

"You love it."

"Yeah," Xavier's agreement is soft and almost hesitant. "You love us."

"Yes, I love both of you. Now get the fuck off of me." A shove, your shaking arm barely affecting Xavier as he finally relents, a small smile on his lips as he rolls the three of you down into the bed, resting on your sides. 

The muscles in your thighs scream in relief as they’re finally placed down, every inch of your body sore and marked up in one way or another, every visible bruise and bite getting pampered in faux apologies by the two men snuggling up next to you.

It’s a tangle of limbs, Xavier already claiming your chest again as he nuzzles into your breasts while Rafayel simply curls himself around your back. A hand there, an arm there, and a little more muffled bickering. Yet you all fit together, and sleep comes easy now. 

And the nightmares never return. 

[bellisima-writes]

Posting for no reason in particular except fanfic authors live on comments.

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And if you’ve ever left me a comment on one of my fics know I’ve likely catalogued it into my long-term memory. I’ll never let it go.

AO3 Comments are SO SO SOOOOOOO important because you can only leave Kudos ONCE. You add to the hit count ONCE (every 24 hours).

So whenever someone updates their fic, the ONLY way an author knows who their regular readers are is if they comment on each chapter. And we WANT to know who's still reading.

Believe it or not, some of us think about the name that pops up constantly in the comments and go "omg I can't wait to see what they think of THIS SPECIFIC SCENE cuz I KNOW they'll say something about it!!!"

[cat-mentality]

I'm honestly betting Forever wants to kill an egg, like my man is talking about cooking too much for my taste

I think the angst of this would be top-tier, especially with the islanders having just gotten their eggs back, and the debates around how to keep the eggs safe these days (like bbh & bagi on the cookie issue, and phil & tubbo on how to protect the eggs from forever). And I think it would bring back some of the horror element of the storytelling that's been dulled a bit by the inside glimpses we get into the federation (with the way we feel more sympathy for them now, instead of fear). Tensions would be way more heightened and I feel like thats when ccs have the best storytelling!! I'm so down for this arc

Absolutely!!!!!!!!! If this is the path Forever wants to take with this arc i will be down bad for him because it will be such a amazing twist to the story and it will create so much conflict that it will be impossible to ignore it and from a meta perspective all the eggs have two lives again so it wouldn't even be a perma death.

I think it would so so interesting to see how such a act would afect the relationship between the Islanders because even if it's not Forever in control of his body, at the end of the day would it matter to others? (Would it matter to Forever himself? Would they need to trust the blade into his chest when he would gladly push himself into it?), Tubbo has already made his opinion pretty clear on what he thinks need to be done, and i do believe Fit would back him up, what would bring some nice interactions between the morning crew because i don't think Pac would turn his back to Forever.

This would be Forever's breaking point i think, the one thing that will break him to the point he wouldn't be able to hide anymore.

Forever, the president they all should be able to trust.

Forever, who loves the eggs so very dearly.

Forever, who has done the most to make sure all the children have a safety net.

Forever, who has put others above himself over and over again.

Forever, who for the second time became a prisoner inside his own body, hurting those he loves.

Forever, becoming the very thing he loathes the most.

Don't get me wrong we would be in the fucking trenches defending both the possessed cubito AND cc Forever, since people are still on his ass about the incident with Leo (like others didn't do fucking worse), and depending on who is the victim it will be hell, but honestly? I hope he goes for it.