#trying to go back to drawing daily or near daily. trying.

[adelle-ein]

more outfits for anihal please

[pucksandpower]

In Another Life

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: in which two soulmates are destined to always find each other only to be torn apart lifetime after lifetime after lifetime … until finally, they’re not (aka the reincarnation AU)

Rome, 79 AD

The bustling streets of Rome pulse with life as you make your way through the crowded forum. The scent of fresh bread and roasted meat wafts through the air, mingling with the chatter of merchants and citizens going about their daily business. You adjust your stola, the flowing garment feeling unusually constricting today as you hurry towards the Temple of Venus.

“Watch where you’re going!” A gruff voice shouts as you accidentally bump into a burly man carrying an amphora.

“My apologies,” you mutter, quickening your pace. Your heart races, not from the near-collision, but from anticipation. You’re running late for your clandestine meeting with Charles, the young patrician who has captured your heart.

As you approach the temple, you spot him pacing nervously at the base of the steps. His toga gleams white in the afternoon sun and his usually perfectly coiffed hair is slightly disheveled, as if he’s been running his hands through it anxiously.

“There you are!” Charles exclaims as you draw near. His face breaks into a relieved smile, and he reaches for your hands. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come.”

You can’t help but return his smile, your earlier stress melting away. “As if I could stay away,” you tease, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. “Though I must say, your choice of meeting place is rather bold. The Temple of Venus? Are you trying to tell me something?”

He laughs, a warm, rich sound that never fails to make your heart skip a beat. “Perhaps I’m simply hoping the goddess will smile upon us,” he replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “After all, we could use all the divine favor we can get.”

Your smile falters slightly at his words, reality creeping back in. “Have you spoken with your father?” You ask, unable to keep the worry from your voice.

Charles’ expression grows serious. “I have,” he says, leading you to a secluded corner of the temple grounds. “He’s ... not pleased, to say the least. He still insists on the marriage to Claudia.”

You feel a pang in your chest at the mention of Charles’ intended bride. “And what did you tell him?”

“The truth,” Charles replies firmly. “That my heart belongs to you and I won’t marry another.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “Charles,” you whisper, “you know the consequences-”

He cuts you off, cupping your face in his hands. “I don’t care about the consequences. I love you, Y/N. I won’t let my father’s ambitions or society’s expectations keep us apart.”

You lean into his touch, torn between elation and fear. “But your family, your position ... you’d lose everything.”

“Not everything,” Charles insists. “I’d have you. That’s all that matters.”

You’re about to respond when a commotion near the temple entrance catches your attention. Your blood runs cold as you spot Charles’ father, Senator Leclerc, striding towards you, flanked by several burly slaves.

“Charles!” The senator bellows, his face contorted with rage. “Step away from that girl at once!”

Charles instinctively moves to shield you. ��Father, please,” he begins, but the senator cuts him off.

“Silence! You shame our family with this ... this dalliance. I won’t stand for it any longer.”

You feel Charles tense beside you. “It’s not a dalliance, Father. I love her.”

The senator’s face grows even redder. “Love? You know nothing of love, boy. You have a duty to your family, to Rome. I won’t let you throw it all away for some common girl.”

“She’s not common,” Charles argues, his voice rising. “She’s extraordinary, and I won’t let you or anyone speak ill of her.”

The tension in the air is palpable as father and son face off. You want to intervene, to de-escalate the situation, but you’re frozen in place, your heart pounding.

Suddenly, one of the senator’s slaves moves forward, reaching for Charles. Without thinking, you step between them. “Don’t touch him!” You cry out.

Everything happens in a blur. The slave’s hand connects with your shoulder, shoving you back. You stumble, your foot catching on the hem of your stola. Time seems to slow as you feel yourself falling, tumbling down the temple steps.

“Y/N!” Charles’ anguished cry is the last thing you hear before pain explodes through your body and the world goes dark.

You drift in and out of consciousness, aware of frantic voices and the sensation of being carried. Charles’ face swims into view, streaked with tears.

“Stay with me, love,” he pleads, his voice cracking. “Please, don’t leave me.”

You try to speak, to reassure him, but no words come. The pain is fading now, replaced by a strange numbness. You manage to lift a hand to Charles’ cheek, wanting to wipe away his tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I love you, Charles. In this life and the next.”

As darkness closes in, your last thought is a desperate hope that someday, somehow, you’ll find each other again.

Genoa, 1348

The acrid smell of smoke and death hangs heavy in the air as Charles makes his way through the narrow, winding streets. His eyes water, both from the stench and the unshed tears he’s been holding back for days. The plague has ravaged the city, leaving behind a trail of devastation and despair.

Charles pulls his cloth mask tighter over his nose and mouth, though he knows it’s likely futile. He’s a physician, one of the few brave — or foolish — enough to still tend to the sick. But today, he’s not seeking out patients. He’s searching for you.

“Y/N!” He calls out, his voice muffled by the mask. “Y/N, where are you?”

A nearby door creaks open, and a haggard face peers out. “Keep your voice down, fool,” the old woman hisses. “You’ll bring the afflicted running.”

Charles ignores her, pressing on. His heart races with each step, fear and hope warring within him. He hasn’t seen you in days, not since you left to care for your ailing aunt. The memory of your parting plays in his mind, as vivid as if it were happening now.

“I have to go,” you had said, your eyes filled with determination and fear. “She has no one else.”

He had tried to dissuade you. “It’s too dangerous. The plague-”

“I know the risks,” you’d cut him off. “But I can’t abandon her. You’d do the same if it were your family.”

He couldn’t argue with that. It was one of the things he loved most about you — your unwavering compassion, even in the face of danger.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he’d pleaded, pulling you close. “Promise me you’ll come back to me.”

You’d kissed him then, soft and sweet. “I promise. Nothing could keep me from you, my love. Not even death itself.”

Now, as he rounds another corner, Charles clings to that promise like a lifeline. “Y/N!” He calls again, desperation creeping into his voice.

Suddenly, he spots a familiar figure stumbling down the street. His heart leaps. “Y/N!”

You turn at the sound of his voice, and Charles feels his world tilt on its axis. Your face is pale, your eyes glassy with fever. As he watches in horror, you collapse to the ground.

“No, no, no,” Charles mutters, rushing to your side. He gathers you in his arms, his physician’s training warring with his lover’s panic. “Y/N, can you hear me? Open your eyes, love.”

Your eyelids flutter, and you manage a weak smile. “Charles,” you whisper. “You found me.”

“Of course I found you,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll always find you. Now, let’s get you home and take care of you.”

You shake your head slightly. “No, it’s too late. The plague-”

“Don’t say that,” Charles interrupts fiercely. “It’s not too late. I’m a physician, remember? I’ll cure you. I have to.”

Despite your condition, you manage a soft laugh. “My stubborn love. Always fighting the impossible.”

Charles lifts you gently, cradling you against his chest. “Nothing’s impossible when it comes to you,” he insists, starting the journey back to his home. “We’ve overcome so much already. Remember when we first met? You were convinced a lowly apprentice physician could never court a merchant’s daughter.”

You smile at the memory. “And you were determined to prove me wrong.”

“Which I did,” Charles says, a hint of his old cockiness creeping into his voice. “Rather spectacularly, if I recall correctly.”

“Mmm, yes,” you murmur. “That night under the stars, when you recited all those ridiculous poems ...”

Charles chuckles. “They weren’t ridiculous. They were romantic.”

“They were terrible,” you counter weakly. “But your heart was in the right place.”

As they near Charles’ home, your breathing becomes more labored. Fear claws at Charles’ chest, but he forces it down. “Stay with me, love,” he pleads. “We’re almost there.”

Once inside, Charles lays you gently on the bed. He works tirelessly, applying every treatment and remedy he knows. Hours blur together as he fights against the inevitable, refusing to give up hope.

But as night falls, he can no longer deny the truth. The plague is winning and he’s powerless to stop it.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “It’s time to let go.”

He shakes his head vehemently, tears streaming down his face. “No, I can’t. I won’t lose you again.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Again?”

Charles pauses, unsure where that thought came from. “I ... I don’t know. It just feels like I’ve lost you before, somehow.”

You manage a small smile. “Perhaps in another life,” you muse. “But in this one, we found each other. We loved. That’s what matters.”

“It’s not enough,” Charles insists, his voice breaking. “We were supposed to have more time. We were going to get married, have children, grow old together.”

“We’ll have that chance,” you say with surprising conviction. “If not in this life, then in the next. Our souls are bound, Charles. I feel it. This isn’t the end for us.”

Charles wants to believe you, but the grief is overwhelming. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know our love,” you reply, reaching up to touch his face. “It’s stronger than death, stronger than time itself. We’ll find each other again, my love. I promise.”

As your hand falls away, your eyes close for the last time. Charles pulls you close, his body wracked with sobs. “I’ll find you,” he vows through his tears. “In this life or the next, I’ll always find you.”

Days pass in a haze of grief and determination. Charles throws himself into treating the sick with renewed vigor, heedless of the risk to himself. And when the telltale symptoms begin to appear — the fever, the chills, the aching limbs — he faces them without fear.

As he lies in his sickbed, Charles’ thoughts are only of you. “I’m coming, my love,” he whispers to the empty room. “Wait for me.”

His last conscious thought is a fervent hope that somehow, somewhere, you’ll be reunited once more.

Paris, 1789

The streets of Paris echo with the sound of angry voices and marching feet as Charles makes his way through the city’s winding alleys. His heart races, not from the exertion of his hurried pace, but from the fear of what’s to come. The revolution has begun in earnest, and his world is crumbling around him.

“Charles!” Your voice cuts through the chaos, and he turns to see you running towards him, your skirts hiked up to allow for faster movement. “Thank God I found you. We have to go, now!”

He grabs your hand, pulling you into a shadowy doorway. “Y/N, what are you doing here? It’s not safe!”

You cup his face in your hands, your eyes blazing with determination. “I couldn’t leave without you. The mob is heading for your family’s estate. We need to get you out of the city.”

Charles feels a rush of love for you, even as fear grips his heart. You, a baker’s daughter, risking everything to save him. “And what of you? Your family?”

“They’re safe,” you assure him. “Papa closed the bakery and they’ve gone to stay with relatives in the countryside. But you ... Charles, they’ll kill you if they find you.”

He knows you’re right. His family name, once a source of pride, is now a death sentence. “Where can we go?” He asks, his mind racing.

“I have a plan,” you say, tugging him back into the street. “There’s a farmer who owes my father a favor. He’s agreed to hide us until we can secure passage to England.”

As you hurry through the streets, the sounds of the mob grow louder. Charles can’t help but look back, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he’s leaving behind.

“Charles, focus,” you urge, squeezing his hand. “We’re almost there.”

Suddenly, a group of revolutionaries rounds the corner ahead of you. Their eyes lock onto Charles, recognition dawning on their faces.

“Aristocrat!” One of them shouts, pointing an accusing finger. “Seize him!”

“Run!” Charles yells, pulling you in the opposite direction. You flee hand-in-hand, weaving through the narrow streets as shouts and footsteps echo behind you.

“This way,” you pant, yanking him down an alley. “I know a shortcut.”

You lead him through a maze of backstreets, the angry voices growing fainter. Just as Charles begins to hope you’ve lost them, you emerge onto a main road … and straight into the path of another group of revolutionaries.

“Halt!” A burly man with a tricolor sash shouts, leveling a musket at Charles.

Charles pushes you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Please,” he says, raising his hands. “We mean no harm. We’re just trying to leave the city.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “You’re Leclerc’s boy, aren’t you? The one who’s been helping nobles escape?”

Charles feels you stiffen behind him. He’d kept his activities secret, even from you, to keep you safe. But now ...

“Yes,” he admits, straightening his spine. “I’ve been helping innocent people escape persecution. If that’s a crime, then I’m guilty.”

The man’s face twists with rage. “Traitor to the revolution!” He spits. “You’ll pay for your crimes against the people!”

As the man raises his musket, time seems to slow. Charles is acutely aware of your rapid breathing behind him, of the sweat beading on his brow, of the hammering of his heart.

“No!” You cry out, trying to push past Charles. “Please, he’s a good man! He’s helped people, saved lives!”

“Y/N, don’t,” Charles pleads, holding you back. He turns to face you, drinking in the sight of your face, committing every detail to memory. “I love you,” he says softly. “In this life and the next.”

The words trigger a flash of memory — or is it déjà vu? Charles has a sudden feeling that he’s said those words before, in another time, another place.

The moment is shattered by the deafening crack of the musket firing. Charles feels a searing pain in his chest, and then he’s falling, the world tilting sideways.

“Charles!” You anguished scream seems to come from far away. He feels your arms around him, cradling his head in your lap. “No, no, no. Stay with me, my love. Please!”

Charles tries to speak, but only a wet cough comes out. He can taste blood in his mouth. The pain is fading now, replaced by a spreading numbness.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to whisper. “I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Tears stream down your face as you bend over him. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for. You’re a hero, Charles. My hero.”

He wants to tell you how much he loves you, how meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to him. But the darkness is closing in, and he can feel himself slipping away.

As his eyes flutter closed, Charles has a strange sensation of déjà vu. He sees flashes of other lives — ancient Rome, plague-ridden Genoa — where he loved you and lost you. Or did you lose him?

With his last breath, Charles makes a silent vow. Somehow, someway, he’ll find you again. In the next life, you’ll get it right. You have to.

The world fades to black, but Charles isn’t afraid. He knows this isn’t the end. It’s just another beginning.

You hold Charles’ lifeless body, your sobs echoing in the suddenly quiet street. The revolutionaries stand awkwardly, some looking ashamed, others defiant.

“What have you done?” You cry out, your voice raw with grief and anger. “He was a good man! He helped people!”

The man with the musket shifts uncomfortably. “He was an aristocrat,” he mutters, but there’s less conviction in his voice now.

You look up at him, your eyes blazing through your tears. “He was a human being,” you say fiercely. “And you murdered him.”

As the reality of what they’ve done sinks in, the crowd begins to disperse. You’re left alone with Charles, cradling his body in the middle of the street.

“I’ll find you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “In the next life, my love. I promise we’ll be together again.”

As night falls over Paris, you sit vigil over Charles’ body, your heart broken but your spirit undefeated. Somewhere deep inside, you know this isn’t the end of your story. It’s just another chapter in a love that spans lifetimes.

London, 1942

The steady tick of the clock on the mantle seems to echo through the small London flat as you pace anxiously, your eyes darting to the window every few seconds. The air raid sirens have been silent for days, but the tension in the city remains palpable. It’s been weeks since you’ve heard from Charles, and the knot of worry in your stomach grows tighter with each passing day.

A sharp knock at the door makes you jump. Your heart races as you rush to answer it, hope and fear warring within you. But instead of Charles’ warm smile, you’re met with the solemn face of his fellow RAF pilot, James.

“James,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. “What is it? What’s happened?”

James removes his cap, twisting it in his hands. “May I come in? I’m afraid I have some news about Charles.”

The world seems to tilt on its axis as you step back, allowing James to enter. You lead him to the small sitting room, your movements mechanical, as if you’re watching yourself from a distance.

“Please,” you say, gesturing to a chair. “Sit down and tell me everything.”

James perches on the edge of the armchair, his discomfort palpable. “There’s no easy way to say this. Charles’ plane was shot down over the Channel three days ago. We ... we haven’t found any survivors.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, driving the air from your lungs. “No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “No, that can’t be right. Charles is too good a pilot. He promised he’d come back to me.”

James leans forward, his eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Charles was one of the best pilots I’ve ever known, but the Jerries caught us by surprise. There was nothing he could do.”

You sink onto the sofa, your legs suddenly unable to support you. “Tell me what happened,” you demand, your voice stronger than you feel. “I need to know everything.”

James nods, taking a deep breath. “We were on a routine patrol over the Channel. Everything seemed quiet, and then suddenly the sky was full of Messerschmitts. They came out of nowhere, diving out of the sun.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair. “Charles ... he was incredible. He managed to take down two of them before they could even react. But there were just too many of them.”

You close your eyes, picturing Charles in the cockpit of his Spitfire, his face set with determination as he faced impossible odds. It’s an image that both comforts and devastates you.

“I saw his plane take a hit,” James continues, his voice rough with emotion. “He was trying to draw their fire away from the rest of us. The last thing I heard over the radio was him saying, ‘Tell Y/N I love her. In this life and the next.’”

A sob escapes you at those words, so achingly familiar. “He’s said that before,” you murmur, more to yourself than to James.

“I’m sorry?” James asks, leaning closer.

You shake your head, unsure how to explain the strange sense of déjà vu. “It’s nothing. Please, go on.”

James nods, though he looks at you curiously. “His plane went down fast after that. We searched for hours, but with the weather and the waves ...” He trails off, leaving the grim implication hanging in the air.

“So there’s still a chance?” You ask, clinging to a shred of hope. “If you didn’t find ... if there’s no body, he could still be out there, right?”

The pity in James’ eyes is almost unbearable. “Y/N, I know it’s hard to accept, but the chances of survival in those conditions ... it would take a miracle.”

You stand abruptly, pacing the small room. “Then I’ll believe in miracles,” you declare fiercely. “Charles is strong, and he’s a survivor. He wouldn’t leave me, not like this.”

James rises, reaching out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I understand. Charles spoke of you often, you know. He loved you more than anything in this world.”

“Loves,” you correct him sharply. “He loves me. Present tense.”

James nods, not arguing. “Of course. I’m sorry, I should go. Is there anything you need? Anyone I can call for you?”

You shake your head, suddenly desperate to be alone. “No, thank you. I just ... I need some time.”

As you show James out, he pauses at the door. “Charles was more than just my commanding officer. He was my friend. If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You manage a weak smile. “Thank you, James. That means a lot.”

As the door closes behind him, the flat seems to grow impossibly quiet. You lean against the wall, feeling as though you might shatter into a million pieces at any moment.

Your eyes fall on a framed photograph of Charles, taken just before he left for his last mission. His smile is radiant, his eyes full of life and love. You pick up the frame, tracing his features with a trembling finger.

“You promised,” you whisper to the image. “You promised you’d come back to me.”

A memory surfaces, unbidden. Charles, laughing as he spun you around in the park on your first date. “You know,” he had said, his eyes twinkling, “I have the strangest feeling I’ve known you forever.”

You had felt it too, that inexplicable sense of familiarity, of coming home. “Maybe we knew each other in a past life,” you had joked.

Charles had grown serious then, cupping your face in his hands. “If that’s true,” he had said softly, “then I’m certain I loved you just as much then as I do now.”

The memory is too much. Your knees buckle, and you sink to the floor, still clutching the photograph to your chest. Sobs wrack your body as the full weight of your loss crashes over you.

“Come back to me,” you plead between gasping breaths. “Please, Charles. Find me again. In this life or the next, just find me.”

As you kneel there, lost in your grief, a strange calm settles over you. Deep in your soul, you feel a certainty that this isn’t the end. Somehow, someway, you and Charles will find each other again.

You have to believe it. It’s the only thing that will get you through the long, dark nights ahead.

Berlin, 1961

The cold November air bites at Charles’ face as he paces along the western side of the Berlin Wall, his breath forming small clouds in the dim light of dawn. His eyes scan the imposing concrete barrier, searching for any sign of movement on the other side. He checks his watch for the hundredth time, willing the minutes to pass faster.

“Come on, Y/N,” he mutters under his breath. “Where are you?”

As if in answer to his plea, a small pebble arcs over the wall, landing at his feet. Charles’ heart leaps as he bends to retrieve it, unfolding the small piece of paper wrapped around it.

I’m here, the note reads in your familiar handwriting. Same spot. Be careful.

Charles moves quickly to a section of the wall where a drain pipe creates a small blind spot from the watchtowers. He pulls out a compact mirror, angling it to catch a glimpse of the other side.

“Y/N,” he whispers urgently. “Can you hear me?”

“Charles!” Your voice comes back, barely audible. “Thank God. I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

“I’ll always come for you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Are you alright? Did anyone follow you?”

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “I was careful. But Charles, we don’t have much time. They’re planning to move me to Moscow next week. This might be our last chance.”

Charles feels his stomach drop. “Moscow? No, we can’t let that happen. We have to get you out of there tonight.”

“How?” You ask, a note of desperation in your voice. “The security has been tightened since the last escape attempt. There are patrols everywhere.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair, his mind racing. “I have a contact in the American sector. He might be able to help. But Y/N, it’s risky. If we’re caught ...”

“I know,” you interrupt. “But I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t keep pretending to be loyal to a system I despise. And I can’t bear to be separated from you any longer.”

His heart swells at your words. “I feel the same way. Okay, listen carefully. Meet me back here at midnight. Wear dark clothes and bring only what you can carry in a small bag. I’ll have everything else ready on this side.”

“Midnight,” you repeat. “I’ll be here. Charles ... I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says softly. “More than you could ever know. Be safe, Y/N. I’ll see you soon.”

As Charles turns to leave, he’s struck by a sudden, overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He’s had this feeling before when talking to you, as if your souls have known each other across lifetimes. Shaking off the strange thought, he hurries away to set the plan in motion.

The hours crawl by as Charles makes preparations. He meets with his American contact, secures false documents, and plots the safest route to the western sector. As night falls, he returns to the wall, his nerves on edge.

Midnight comes and goes. Charles waits, every muscle tense, straining to hear any sound from the other side. Five minutes pass. Then ten.

“Y/N?” He whispers urgently. “Are you there?”

Silence answers him. Charles feels panic rising in his chest. Something’s wrong.

Suddenly, the night is shattered by the sound of shouting and dogs barking. Floodlights blaze to life on the eastern side of the wall.

“No,” Charles breathes, horror washing over him. “Y/N!”

He presses himself against the wall, desperate to hear something, anything. The chaos on the other side grows louder. Then, cutting through it all, he hears your voice.

“Charles!” You cry out. “Charles, help me!”

Without thinking, Charles begins to climb the wall, heedless of the danger. He has to get to you, has to save you.

“Stop right there!” A gruff voice shouts in German. Charles freezes, realizing he’s been spotted by a guard on the western side.

“Please,” Charles begs in German, “You don’t understand. There’s someone over there who needs help. I have to-”

His words are cut off by the sharp crack of gunfire from the eastern side. Charles’ blood runs cold.

“Y/N!” He screams, no longer caring who hears him. “Y/N, answer me!”

But there’s no response. The night falls eerily quiet, broken only by the sound of hurried orders being given in Russian.

Charles slumps against the wall, his mind refusing to accept what his heart already knows. You’re gone. He was too late.

Hours pass in a blur. Charles remains by the wall, numb with grief and shock. As dawn breaks, he hears someone approaching from the western side.

“Mr. Leclerc?” A voice says softly. It’s his American contact. “I’m so sorry. We ... we heard what happened.”

Charles looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow. “Tell me,” he says hoarsely.

The man sighs heavily. “She was caught trying to reach the wall. There was a struggle. The guards ... they didn’t hesitate to use lethal force.”

Each word is like a knife to Charles’ heart. “Did she suffer?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“It was quick,” the man assures him. “If it’s any consolation, our sources say her last words were about you. She said, ‘Tell Charles I’ll find him again. In this life or the next.’”

Charles closes his eyes, a single tear rolling down his cheek. Those words ... why do they sound so familiar?

“Mr. Leclerc,” the American says gently, “it’s not safe for you to stay here. We need to get you out of Berlin. There will be questions, investigations.”

But Charles barely hears him. His mind is reeling, flashes of memories — or are they dreams — flooding his consciousness. Ancient Rome, plague-ridden Genoa, revolutionary France, war-torn skies over the English Channel. In each scene, he sees your face, hears your voice promising to find each other again.

“This isn’t the end,” Charles murmurs, more to himself than to the confused American.

“I’m sorry?” The man asks.

Charles stands, a strange calm settling over him. “Nothing,” he says. “You’re right. We should go.”

As they walk away from the wall, Charles makes a silent vow. He will live, he will remember, and he will find you again. Somehow, somewhere, in another life, you will have your chance at happiness.

The Berlin Wall may have separated you in this life, but Charles is certain now that your souls are bound across lifetimes. And no wall, no war, no force on earth can keep you apart forever.

Abu Dhabi, 2025

The roar of engines fills the air as Charles crosses the finish line, clinching his first Formula 1 World Championship. The crowd erupts in cheers, but Charles barely hears them. His eyes scan the barriers, searching for one face among thousands.

As he brings his Ferrari to a stop, he sees you pushing through the throng of celebrating team members. Your eyes meet, and suddenly everything else fades away. Charles leaps from the car, not even bothering to remove his helmet as he runs towards you.

“We did it!” He shouts, sweeping you into his arms and spinning you around. “We actually did it!”

You laugh, tears of joy streaming down your face. “You did it, Charles! I’m so proud of you!”

He sets you down gently, finally removing his helmet. His hair is matted with sweat, his face flushed with exertion and excitement. To you, he’s never looked more handsome.

“No,” Charles says, cupping your face in his hands. “We did this together. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

Before you can respond, he pulls you into a passionate kiss. The world around you explodes with camera flashes and cheers, but neither of you notice. In this moment, you’re the only two people in the world.

As you finally break apart, Charles rests his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs. “In this life and-”

“And all the others,” you finish, a strange sense of déjà vu washing over you.

Charles pulls back slightly, his brow furrowed. “You feel it too, don’t you?” He asks. “Like we’ve said these words before?”

You nod, a bit dazed. “It’s strange. Sometimes when I look at you, I get flashes of ... I don’t know, other times, other places. But it’s always us, always together.”

A grin spreads across Charles’ face. “Maybe we’re soulmates,” he teases, but there’s a hint of seriousness in his eyes.

“Charles! Y/N!” A voice calls out. You turn to see Fred Vasseur approaching. “Sorry to interrupt, but Charles has to get weighed.”

Charles nods, then turns back to you. “Wait for me?” He asks.

You smile, giving him a quick kiss. “Always,” you promise.

As Charles is whisked away for obligations, you find yourself lost in thought. The strange feeling of familiarity, of a love that transcends time, has been with you since the day you met Charles. You’ve never mentioned it to him before, afraid he’d think you were crazy.

The podium ceremony is a blur of champagne and cheers. Charles’ radiant smile never wavers as he hoists the trophy, but his eyes keep finding you in the crowd. When it’s finally over, he makes a beeline for you, ignoring the clamoring reporters.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, taking your hand.

You raise an eyebrow. “What about the press conference? The team celebrations?”

Charles shakes his head. “They can wait. Right now, I just want to be with you.”

Hand-in-hand, you sneak away from the track, laughing like teenagers as you dodge team members and journalists. Charles leads you to his car and soon you’re speeding down the winding roads of the Emirati capital.

“Where are we going?” You ask, the wind whipping through your hair.

Charles grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You’ll see.”

As the sun begins to set, Charles pulls off onto a small dirt road. It leads to a secluded hilltop overlooking the valley below. The view is breathtaking, the entire landscape bathed in the warm glow of twilight.

“Charles,” you breathe, taking in the scene. “It’s beautiful.”

He comes to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Not as beautiful as you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your neck.

You turn in his arms, struck once again by the intensity of his gaze. “What are we doing here, Charles?”

He takes a deep breath, suddenly looking nervous. “Y/N, do you remember the day we met?”

You smile at the memory. “Of course. I was lost in the paddock and you offered to help me find my way.”

“The moment I saw you,” Charles says softly, “it was like ... like coming home. Like I’d been searching for you my whole life without even knowing it.”

Your heart races as he continues. “And ever since then, I’ve had these ... dreams, I guess. Flashes of other lives, other times. But always with you.”

“Charles,” you whisper, hardly daring to believe what you’re hearing. “I’ve had them too. I thought I was going crazy.”

He shakes his head, a look of wonder on his face. “Not crazy. Just ... connected. In a way I can’t fully explain.”

Charles takes your hands in his, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your skin. “I don’t know if it’s past lives or parallel universes or just some cosmic coincidence. But I do know this: in every life, in every version of reality, I love you. And I want to spend the rest of this life, and all the ones that come after, loving you.”

Your breath catches as Charles drops to one knee, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. “Y/N,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “will you marry me?”

Tears blur your vision as you nod emphatically. “Yes,” you manage to choke out. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you!”

Charles’ face breaks into a radiant smile as he slips the ring onto your finger. He stands, pulling you into a kiss that feels like coming home and embarking on a new adventure all at once.

As you break apart, both of you laughing and crying, a sense of rightness settles over you. Whatever strange connection you share, whatever cosmic forces have brought you together time and time again, you know that this — right here, right now — is where you’re meant to be.

“I love you,” you say, looking into Charles’ eyes. “In this life and all the others.”

“And I love you,” he replies, holding you close. “Always and forever.”

The future stretches out before you, full of promise and possibility. And though you don’t know what challenges it might bring, you’re certain of one thing: whatever comes, you’ll face it together.

Just as you always have, and always will.

[brailsthesmolgurl]

PUPPY LOVE?

Preview: You had always been the apple to their eyes. How would they express their affection towards you in highschool?

Warnings: I had to make it slight-slight-slight angsty hehe, teeth-rotting fluff for comfort for my beloved readers <3 btw readers and the boys are highschool kids in this one-shot so no suggestive or anything!

P.S: This idea came to me in the middle of the night and I knew I had to burn the midnight fuel to squeeze all of my brain juice for this piece :> Enjoyyy!

RAFAYEL

You lifted your head up when you heard a chair dragged against the tiled flooring. It came to a halt and down sat the lilac haired fellow, right in front of you, his chin propped on the back of his hand as he leaned down to look at you, a smirk hung on his thin lips. Rafayel. "Someone looked like they had a nightmare yesterday."

"It's none of your business." You furrowed your eyebrows, gaze turned towards the classroom door. More classmates are starting to walk in, greeting each other good mornings and immediately getting into their daily routines of catching up or gossiping. You, on the other hand, do not really belong to any 'gangs'. You find solace within your own bubble and occasionally, do hang out with your only friend, Tara.

The purple haired individual in front of you frowned, your answer unappealing to his taste. This young man sitting in front of you is the lucky charm of your school, and almost everyone dotes on him, headmaster, teachers and students alike. Both of his parents are renowned artists, comparable to Van Gogh and many other artists throughout history books and as expected, Rafayel inherited the same talent as his parents. Rich, handsome, charming and talented, he is basically a girl magnet.

"You do not have to be so rude you know." He stood up when he heard his name being called. Reaching into the pockets of his blazer, he took out two cheese sticks and placed it onto your table. "Here, have this. Your frown makes you look like a shriveled up prune. Some cheese sticks would probably do well for you." He chuckled teasingly and stepped out of your personal bubble, heading out of the classroom.

If glares could kill, you would probably be laying on the floor motionless by now. The cheese sticks that sat at your table were attracting unwanted attention from the girls in your class. You had absolutely no idea why Rafayel would always approach you. The attention you are receiving from him does not beat the attention other girls are getting as well, not that you cared but you just find it odd. A lone girl getting so much attention from the school's celebrity, what would the others think of it? Maybe he is just trying to be friendly. That always remains the reason to your question.

Here comes the other question. You do not think you like him, but why does your heart flutter whenever he is near you? Bidding you good morning and goodbye had became a part of a routine for the both of you. Why would your heartstrings tug whenever you find another girl initiating skinship with him? Why?

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Rinnnggggg. The bell rung, indicating the end of another school day. Students rushed out like ants out of the school premises, flooding the empty hallways. You packed your things, eyeing the time displayed by the clock. 3pm. It is the perfect time for you to go to the art room to practice some drawing. You may not be an artist like the talented Rafayel, but you still do have your own fascination towards drawing and sketching.

You walked in the direction opposite of the flow, passing through the crowd like a fish trying to swim upstream. As you were nearing the art room, someone knocked you over and you fell backwards, with your bagpack being your cushion as you landed back first onto the floor. You still winced upon impact. "Oh look, it's Rafy's pet." The girl that knocked you over crossed her arms, her blond curls tied up in a high ponytail. Oh, it's the school's flower girl, Jarianne, but you guessed it. She is nowhere carrying the aura of a flower.

Sighing, you pushed yourself off of your back, not even having the thought to fight back. "Know your place would you?" Jarianne spoke, studying her oval shaped painted nails. "Rafy might give you cheese sticks every once in a while, but that does not mean anything. Don't get your hopes up, okay sweetie?" Huffing a smile, the mean girl strutted off, leaving you calculating your next steps.

Shrouded with anger, you got up and made your way towards the art room. You are ready to splash some paint onto the canvas, wanting to express your anger in a much more 'healthier' form. She was right. Who are you to be engaged with Rafayel. Someone who is a loner like you should not be in any way associated with someone of such a high status like him. You are halfway at being disappointed at yourself until you slide the door opened and you saw Rafayel in the art room.

He looked ethereal, basked in the warm light of the sun in the midst of a cloudy afternoon, his lilac hair slightly tousled on his head. His back was facing you, but you could tell with the way his paintbrush moved across the canvas with grand gestures, he is painting yet another masterpiece. Part of his uniform, the dark blue blazer and white collared shirt was messily tossed onto one of the desks nearby, and he is left in his black t-shirt. Right when you are about to leave, his head snapped around and he caught sight of you standing in the doorway with beady eyes. "Finally, you're here." Framing himself to be waiting for you this whole time. Well, he was.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you." You consciously tucked a stray strand of your brunette curls behind your ear, your face immediately turning red when you realised that you may have taken a bit longer then usual to be staring at the young man. "I'm gonna go." You turned and immediately started jogging down the hallway.

"Wait! Wait!" Rafayel called out for you, yet, you did not bother to turn back. All you could hear was the sounds of chairs creaking and a loud thud, followed by hurried footsteps.

You turned a corner and slid yourself into an empty classroom to catch your breath. When you sat yourself down, the door slid right open and Rafayel presented himself, huffing and panting as he bent himself down to slow his breaths. You were shocked of course, that he would run down the halls for you. Jarianne's words rang through your head like an alarm and it filled you with more regrets.

"You should stop talking to me." You clenched your fist, standing up, getting ready to leave. "We are not friends to begin with, so we should keep it that way." When you walked past him, he gripped your wrist and you gasped in response. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Do you actually..." He took in a huge breath and straightened his posture, now eyes meeting yours. "Are you actually so naive?"

"Look, I don't know what you are trying to do Rafayel, but I am not interested in whatever you are going to say. Just leave me alone." You pulled your wrist out of his grip but it only prompted him to hold your wrist tighter. "Leave me be!"

You slipped, and he grabbed you by your waist, underestimating the strength of his before he stumbled backwards and you ended up pressing him against the wall. The both of you had the same expression, widened eyes and flushed cheeks. Tension immediately started pumping into the air, causing your body to tense up. "Are you upset?" He broke the silence between you two, leaning down closer to you to inspect your face. "I had never seen you getting so mad before."

MAYBE. JUST MAYBE. A part of you do like him, you liked that he would only greet you in the morning and when you leave home, you liked that he would offer to teach you art anytime you wish, you liked that sometimes he would ditch his friends just to come and sit with you during recess. But, Jarianne was right. You always have this part of you that refused to accept the fact that you do indeed, like Rafayel. Just like all of the other girls out there. It's just that you are nothing special at all. You will be regarded as any other fan girl of his.

Hesitation laced in your voice. "I just don't think someone like you should be spending time with someone like me Rafayel." Your gaze dropped, feet shuffled against the floor beneath, watching the dust particles flying up into the air.

He clicked his tongue, but remained still. "You have not answered my question. Why do you think I go out of my way to talk to you everyday hmm?" Your silence was met with the continuation of his thoughts. "That's because I like you, y/n."

Your breath hitched in your throat when he confessed to you and you nervously took a step back to put more space in between the both of you. "Don't." His arms snaked around your waist and he reeled you in, nose tips almost touching. It took you a while to only realise that Rafayel is red like a tomato, the confession of his happen to be genuine afterall. His blushing expression is a sight to behold. Just like in a watercolour painting, all of the colours are harmonised, his purplish, tousled soft curls that sat on top of his head framed the outline of his carved facial shape well, with scarlet red lightly dabbed across his pale cheeks, giving the illusion of his eyes sticking out like magenta gemstones on a iridescent rubicund-white marble complexion. "I really do like you y/n."

"Why?" That is the only question you can mutter out of your mouth. You sounded dumb for a second but you would like to find out what he deemed special about you.

You can sense his nervousness when his eyes started darting everywhere and his arms withdrew from your waist. "I...You're...Uhm..." He is clearly struggling with his words. "You are different. You do not find the need to please me or to catch my attention." His words were spoken slowly and precisely, calculated even. "I like you because of the way you are, y/n. You are not like the other girls. Sometimes, when I look at you, I wanted to sketch a drawing of you, but I couldn't, because that's how alluring you are to me. No drawings could achieve that."

The way he phrased his affection towards you, was nothing of confidence but only of his vulnerability. Five years throughout his secondary days, you always regarded him to be the embodiment of confidence, carrying himself well has always been a gestalt of his. But today, you do not find that in him, all you see is this young man stumbling over every single word, self-doubt equivalent to yours hinted in his tone. He does not see himself to be worthy of you, just like you do not think you are worthy to him. The thought of it ached your heart.

"Rafayel. I...I never knew you liked me." Reaching your hands up, you patted his shoulders awkwardly, not really knowing where to position your hands. "I thought you just wanted to tease me and push me around like a plaything."

"The audacity to say that." He scoffed, face scrunched up like a shriveled prune he had mentioned to you earlier. "I don't like keeping the people I like as pets or any derogatory words you may think of, you know?" The sight of you holding onto his shoulders, eyes widened made him smile, one of his hand lightly patting the top of your head. Rafayel notices the way your lips would wobble the slightest when you tried to alleviate your own anxiety, convincing him further that you do possess the same feelings as him. He only has to figure out how to make you believe that he is not messing with your feelings and how to not escalate this sweet moment into a dramatic and awkward mess. "I don't want you to be accusing me of something so lowly anymore, yeah? Promise me?"

"But... what would people say when they see..." You gestured between the two of you, head already coming up with all sorts of accusations that would be thrown towards the both of you. "Us together? I don't want to trouble you..."

"They can say anything, but we can treat it as nothing y/n." He ran his hand down to your cheek, cupping your small face in his palm now, your face slowly warming up in his palm. "In the end, I chose you. It is only right for them to be jealous." He smiled leisurely, confidence resurfacing again. "So, would you date me y/n?"

Gnawing onto your lip, you nodded your head and looked down. You had only seen this in romance shows, where lip kisses are supposed to happen after confessions do. But you felt his soft lips collided against your forehead and your heart released sparks of fire uncontrollably. You are screaming internally as if you had won the lottery. As he pulled back, you raised your head up to glance at his facial features. Rafayel is beaming, hand still placed on the side of your cheek. As if it was cued, he managed to answer your question before you could even ask. "I will not kiss your lips until you allow me to, yeah? I will always wait until you're ready, as I respect---"

Wrong question, but does not beat the fact it was relevant to what you were initially going to ask him. Something along the lines of ‘whether are we going in for the kiss’. You decided to act upon your decision. Closing the short distance between you two, you planted your lips onto his, swallowing his uncertainty to fuel your bravery for the upcoming challenges you will have to face for being Rafayel's girl.

ZAYNE

"So, for this experiment, find someone you can pair up with to write a report based on your findings." Miss Akko instructed, placing the chalk onto her large wooden desk and scanning the crowd for any blank slates. "If you have any questions, you can always come and find me for consultations."

You looked towards the guy sitting next to you, Zayne. Ballpoint pen held in between his long fingers, gliding swiftly against the paper to create a neat yet slanted handwriting. Altough the class had ended, you could tell that he is still very much in his zone, jotting down whatever the teacher had mentioned earlier. If he could record it, you believe that would be the most viable way for him to stay on top of his grades all of the time. His posture relaxed when the last bell of the day rung. "Hey." You called out to him and he turned his head to face you. "Would you like to pair up? For the experiment?"

You had paired up with him for a few times for chemistry class. Being with the smartest kid does earn you a few perks, but he is not much of a talker so sometimes doing assignments with him would result in a crow-cawing awkwardness. "Sure." He nodded his head once and started gathering his reading materials into a pile while standing up.

Zayne has always been a man of a few words. Nodding is his most useful reaction whenever you ask him of something that he is borderline interested in. But if he does not agree with you, then he shall give you the stare that would make you question yourself about the absence of an answer from him. "When do you plan to do---"

"I will see you after class tomorrow." He cut you off, zipping his bag up and pulling it over his broad shoulders effortlessly. "Remember to bring your brain." OOF, COLD. It most likely explains why nobody would usually pair up with Zayne. More like he just refuses to.

Zayne was best known for his good looks and big brain but other than that, he does not have an appealing personality that makes him desirable among girls. Good to admire from afar but not good to interact with. Ever heard of the trend 'He is a 10 but...' . Yeah, that is Zayne's title trend. Only to people who has been in close contact with him. Yeah, he could be a dick with how straightforward he is but you find it as an admirable trait of his. He stabs people with his words, with truths that nobody would dare to say and maybe, you do secretly like him for the way he is.

“Come on Zayne, it’s not like I don’t study or help out with the reports for the past few times.” You rebutted, palms faced upwards and eyebrows knitted closely together. Zayne stood in his spot, expressionless face hiding his amusement. “So I do have a brain!”

He turned towards the direction of the door and started making his way out, not without giving his last statement. “Says the one who can’t even score a decent C grade.” There you stood, in the empty classroom, choked onto the curse words that you were about to throw at him when you heard his statement but you are sure with his lanky legs, he would have been out of earshot by now.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

TAP TAP TAP TAP… Your footsteps echoed in the empty hallways, reverberating through the empty classrooms. You were late for the meeting with Zayne because you had forgotten to bring your lunch to school today so you ended up having to run down to the vending machine to grab some quick bites. The machine however, betrayed your trust, the ultimate cliche move anyone can think of putting into a filler clip for a movie, when the snack gets stuck during the retrieving period purely because of the vending machine error. You could have easily gotten in trouble if anyone were to spot you with your whole arm shoved into the machine just to grab the item you had literally paid for.

The door slammed open with force and you were greeted with the sight of Zayne in the classroom. With a girl bent halfway down right next to him. You recognised her immediately, the long blond hair with forest green eyes, milky pale skin with a smile that could make anyone faint upon seeing it. She is the school’s student president, Nyla. The both of them perked their heads up, reacting to the sound of the door being slammed opened only to see you standing in the doorway, face flushed from the heat, holding onto your snacks in your hand. “Hey y/n.” The student president grinned, her pearly whites nearly blinded you. “Do you mind giving us some time? We have some personal matters to settle.” Not only does she look pretty, she has a pleasing attitude too? Just great. Pursing your lips, you nodded and went out the same way you came in, sliding the door closed behind you in a more polite manner this time.

“I still can’t believe that you are working on an assignment with her.” Nyla huffed, pushing her hair back with her fingers as she bent down next to Zayne again, staring at his notebook. Nyla had initially wanted to meet up with Zayne regarding the discussion for the upcoming school festival that will be held but eventually, she turned it into her personal chat session with Zayne. “Is she a freeloader most of the time?”

“No.” Zayne replied. “She does her part as I do for mine.” Zayne, at this point had already caught note on what Nyla is trying to do. Provoking a conversation out of him when he is late for the initial assignment arrangement with you bothers him. “I think you had already gotten all of the answers you needed for the school festival.”

“But, I would like to get to know you too.” Nyla sat herself onto the side of his desk, manicured fingers fanned herself in an attempt to cool herself down. “Say, how about we try to go out for a little bit hmm?”

The raven haired young man did not even spared her a glance, eyes focused on his handwritings. “Zayne, come on. Smarty pants with a cute face like you dating me would be the talk of the school for weeks to come.” The pitch of her voice heightens at the end of her sentence and Zayne sighed in frustration. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and exhaled.

“I am not interested in being your pawn.” He glanced at her and her smile faltered, alongside her confidence. “Nor do I find the necessity to feed into the delusions of yours.” The indifference shown on his body language gave her the conclusion she did not expected from him. Her pretentious ‘girl-next-door’ attitude no longer on display. The anger of a spoiled child who gets whatever they want seeped through and she raised her palm, ready to land it onto his cheek but he caught it right before it touches his cheek. “I wouldn’t do it to someone who believes in gender equality.”

Nyla withdrew her hand, strings of curse words falling out of her lips as to save herself from embarrassment and she left the classroom. The young man sat in the room, staring at the new page he had just flipped over on his notebook and he noticed the drawing of a stick man next to the page number. The stick man appeared to be holding onto the number 6 like a hockey stick and the 0 being reimagined as a puck. His lips pulled into a small smile, flashing back to the time when you tried to be sneaky when he was out of the classroom during one of your past assignment pairings, conducting this tomfoolery on his notebook and quickly returning everything back to its original position. But he saw it all, from the crack of the door when he was about to enter the empty classroom. He finds your childlike behaviour amusing after all.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

“We are done talking.” You stared up, the blinding sunlight immediately getting shielded by Zayne’s opaque outline. You squinted your eyes narrower only to find that Zayne has his hand stretched out to you, given you are in a seated position. “We should get started on our assignment.” You took his hand and he pulled you up, the sheer size of his palm wrapped around your whole hand easily.

“Here.” You reached your hand into the pocket of your uniform and pulled out a small box of chocolate cookies. “This is for you. It fell out when I was trying to grapple for my sandwich.”

Zayne took the box into his hands, contemplating on the way you got it. “Did the vending machine got stuck again?” Your nod made him smiled a little. “If it gets stuck again next time, you can just ask me to get it for you.”

His sudden suggestion nearly made you choked on the last bite of your egg and cheese sandwich. It is hard to believe he would come out all of the way here to find you, let alone making small talk and telling you that you can ask him to solve your troubles whenever you please? But your dumb brain only believe that he was only trying to be helpful and he is merely thanking you for bringing him a snack. “So what did you guys talk about?” You could not help but to ask as the both of you slowed down your steps to be in sync with one another.

“She wanted me to go out on a date with her.” You were lucky you had finished your sandwich, or else this sentence would have sent you into full on choking mode. You did expect Nyla to ask him out to a certain extent given his popularity, but you were caught off guard that he was even willing to share the details about what had went on behind those closed doors earlier. “I told her that there is not a need to waste her time.”

Hm? You stopped in your footsteps and turned to look at him. “What do you mean?” Your lips had blurted out the sentence before your mind is in control and you swallowed the instant regret of the question. Zayne too, stopped in his footsteps and he looked at you, his hazel green orbs stood out more like a lush forest under the blazing sun above your head. When he took a step towards you, your heart lurched, eyes scanning the surroundings for anyone present.

“I already have someone on my mind.” Zayne closed the distance between the both of you. Within arms length, Zayne reached his right hand outwards and held your cheek. An immediate gasp could be heard, the pace of your heartbeat quickened, so as your breath. You could hear your own heartbeat in your head. It does not take a genius for one to unravel who he likes. You stood in front of him, drinking in his gaze that had softened for one of the very few times, and this time he did not snap his head away immediately. His thumb moved back and forth on your cheek, soothing the spreading redness that is a result of your realisation regarding his point.

Your eyes lit up and your jaw slacked, eyes frantically searching for a joke within his eyes but when you found no ill intention, you amounted to satisfy your curiosity. “Why…why me?”

His thumb slid down to your jawline, and stopped at your chin. Raising it up just enough for his eyes to be looking into yours and you gulped nervously when he closed the distance between the both of you. He smiled, lips tugged up slightly on both corners because all these while, he knew that the both of you have the same feelings for one another, but he just never really have the opportunity to be alone with you, till now. "You will find out soon enough." Leaning down, Zayne pressed his lips softly against yours to present his confession to you, stealing your first kiss away.

XAVIER

The countdown in your head never fails you. When the minute hand hits 12 on the clock, the bell rung, the teacher looked up from the book he was holding, glasses slid down his nose slightly as he realised his class period had came to an end. "Remember your homework kids. I will see you next week." He announced as the students all got up in sync, bowing and thanking the teacher for his teaching efforts.

As you landed your bum back onto your chair, you heard someone calling your name and your head turned towards the source of the sound. The blond bloke named Xavier sauntered over to you, his eyelids still half closed. "Hey, you going over for the fencing extracurricular later?"

"Yeah I am. Why?" You asked him nonchalantly, all while clearing your items off of the table and placing them into your bagpack. When you do not hear his response, your hands rested on your bag and you looked up at him, squinting your eyes. "Wait. You plan to skip it don't you?"

Xavier's eyes widened and his light eyebrows arched upwards. "What, no. I just..." His right hand reached up to rub the nape of his neck. "I just thought we could walk there together if you'd like."

Sighing in relief you smiled and nodded, pulling your bagpack over your back. You had forgotten to arrange the books you have to bring today hence the load of your bag became a deadweight and it nearly sent you rolling onto the ground. Xavier caught you on time before your face gets planted onto the tiled ground. "Careful. Here, let me help."

"Thanks." The blond young man easily took your bagpack off of your back, slinging it over the side of his shoulder that has his messenger bag hung onto. With the weight of fingerpads pressed against your arm, you flushed red when you realised that he had not released his hold on you. Catching your sight, he trailed it down to your arm and he released his grip, equally embarassed at how long the skinship lasted.

Truth is, you and Xavier are somewhat at the level of best friends. The both of you share the same classes and same taste for food, alongside same extra curricular activities. But recently, you started feeling more and more abashed around him. You would consciously want to look good in front of him; either it be tucking your hair behind your ears, chuckling gently instead of laughing like a troll, ironing your clothes to make it look pressed and neat. You are like becoming a whole different person just for him. But it is not necessarily for the bad.

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

Clank, Clink, Clank Clank. The sounds of the blades grinding against one another created screeches and clinking, which are not the right music for the ears. You sat a couple of meters away from the mat, eyeing Xavier clad in the metallic polyester jacket that is overlain with a thin, interwoven steel strands in between to provide him protection. Lamés is the right term for the protective gear on his torso. Gasps and mutters could be heard echoing in the huge hall, judgements and commentaries thrown around as the showdown between Xavier and his opponent has been relatively entertaining.

The whole nine minutes, both of the fencers has been extremely aggressive, parrying and lunging against one another whenever an opening is spotted. The race to land 15 touches on the opponent make it an extremely fast and deft sport. The both of them had equated to 14 touches each and this last touch would determine the winner. The referee stood in middle, arms raised midway to insinuate the start of the tie-breaker round. "Pret? Allez!"

The blades then ensued, waving in the air. "Halt." It was called out in two seconds and both of the opponents backed up, standing still in their spots. Your heartbeat thumped, the last you saw was the both of their blades touched both of their respective opponent's foil. It is hard to determine who is the winner. The referee was seen walking over to Xavier and he spoke. "Parrying then riposte, point-in-line is perfect and that forward extension of yours is worth the risk." He grabbed Xavier's arm and raised it, everyone in the hall cheered as Xavier removed his headgear and grinned, eyes landing onto you.

You smiled back, proud that he had manage to win the competition. You stood up when he walked off of the platform, wanting to congratulate him but Chiara beat you to it. "Xavier! You did so well!" The girl bounced over, her curls bounced to her footsteps' rhythm as well. "Oh my god, that was such a fight."

"Thanks." Xavier smiled and she grabbed him by his neck, throwing herself into his arms and you were stunned at her boldness. Xavier however, did not seem fazed as his arms raised up to pat her back. Chiara may just be an amiable individual but your mind abnegated that possibility and only opened its chamber doors to jealousy.

In a disconsolate, nervous manner, you turned and proceeded to walk out of the hall. Your heart thumped hard against your chest like booming speakers in an EDM concert. It also caused a lump to form in your throat. It hurts. Something about her just greeting and hugging him so casually made her wonder why did he never told you about his girlfriend before? He is already mysterious enough but at this point, it felt like a betrayal to you. But then again, he does not owe you that favour to tell you about his dating life if he does not wish to say anything.

Finding a cosy corner next to the herb garden that belonged to the Plant Society, you sat down at the side of the curb and amused yourself with the view of butterflies twirling around blooming flower petals. Amongst the weeds, Magnolia blossoms are most of the denizens found within the small patch of ground. Time passed by, perhaps around a couple of minutes and you heard hurried footsteps in the background but you were too engrossed with the butterfly landing onto a magnolia's carpels that you did not bother to turn around.

"Y/n." Xavier called out. "I had been searching everywhere for you." You turned your head slowly, stopping with only half of your face visible to him. "Did you noticed me winning just now?" "Yeah I did." You pushed yourself off of the curb, dusting the dirt off of your dark skirt and you faced him, gaze catching his chest rather than his cerulean orbs. "In fact, I saw Chiara went up to hug you." Your pout although not shown, it was obvious to Xavier. You are jealous.

He stepped forward and wrapped his lanky arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You were bewildered. In his arms, feeling his warmth spreading to your body and his scent swathed you, he smells like clean sheets and a bubble bath. Perhaps from his change of clothes. "I'm sorry." He spoke, breath batting against the nape of your neck. "I should have rejected her hug right then and there."

"It's okay Xavier, I didn't know you have a girlfriend." You were quick to address your hesitation, ready to take a step back from him but his hold around you tightened, not allowing you to leave his arms.

"She isn't. She isn't my girlfriend, y/n." He slowly pulled back, arms now moved to rest on your shoulder. For a moment, a gleam of wary was ready to surface but Xavier was quick to put out that emotion of his. "I don't think of her anything more than a friend. Unlike you."

Confusion clouded you like a misty apparition above your head. "What about me?" Your index finger pointed towards yourself. "What do you mean by 'unlike me'."

"I like you." His gaze unwavering, genuine intentions full on display. "I had liked you for a very long time y/n." Your jaw dropped to the ground almost instantly. You were not expecting this to happen at all but look at how fate has presented itself. Xavier smiled, his angelic smile akin to his divine features. He would have been mistaken to be an angel if you did not know that the halo around his head is the sun peeking out from the back of his head. “And I think I would very much like you to be my girlfriend instead of her.”

Your eyelids blinked rapidly, eyelashes just a few more blinks away to cool down the redness in your cheeks. As a reflex, your hands flew up to your mouth to mask your excitement, your lips probably pulled into a grin that stretches to both ears. “I…I…” Your stammering further betrayed your feelings and Xavier leaned down, supple hands held onto your wrist and he pulled your hands down, finally being able to see your shyful expression.

“Seeing you like this makes me very happy y/n.” He cupped your cheeks softly, tediously brushing the pads of his thumb across your cheek and he leaned in, planting a kiss onto your lips to officially make you his girlfriend.

Hope this fluff makes your day my lovelies! <3

[strangerstilinski]

𝙞𝙩 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙖 𝙠𝙞𝙨𝙨

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

word count: 2.5k warnings: none really, fluffy ending, steve is kind of a dick, mention of alcohol, gender neutral reader (pls let me know if i missed anything) based on that scene in tasm where peter spins gwen around to kiss her — with just a dash of enemies to lovers

It should go without saying that Steve Harrington is the bane of your goddamned existence. If the two of you aren't at each other's throats, it typically just means that you're both doing your best to pretend the other doesn't even exist.

And, sure, maybe it drives you a little bit insane that he seems to get along just fine with every person in your friend group except for you. It was like you pushed buttons that Steve wasn't even aware he had.

Nancy finds the whole thing amusing, says that Steve's clearly so in love with you that he doesn't know how to handle it. Eddie swears that Steve looks at you with hearts in his eyes, though any time you've caught his stare those ‘hearts’ tended to look a whole lot more like daggers. Argyle and Robin both insist that love and hate tread a very thin line, and eventually, a little push will have the two of you stumbling head over heels into each other's waiting arms. Johnathan tends to stay out of it, but then, he doesn't really need to say anything, because you've seen that look he gives you when he catches you looking a little too long at the moles dotted along the length of Steve's throat, or that stubborn lock of hair that tumbles over his brow bone, or the way his tongue pokes out and his eyes narrow cutely when he's concentrating-

You hate it. You hate Steve. Even now, you swear you hate him, regardless of the way you shamelessly ogle the curve of his bicep when he reaches across the back of the sofa to drape his arm loosely behind Robin's shoulders. You've accepted it. At this point, allowing yourself to admire his stupidly handsome physique was merely reparations for being forced to put up with him on a near-daily basis. Compensation for the never-ending bad attitude that he seemed to direct solely at you.

“Does anyone hear that?” Steve's voice speaks louder than your own suddenly, effectively cutting you off even though you'd been in the middle of a sentence. His eyes meet yours for just a brief second before his gaze is moving elsewhere, “It's like, this annoying buzzing sound?” He's sitting up a little straighter following his interruption, brows drawing together like he's listening intently for something.

His sudden line of questioning has thoroughly derailed your train of thought. The longwinded story you'd been regaling to the group about a customer at work is cut short, the words dissolving on your tongue as your try to work out what on earth Steve is referring to. Until his interruption, you hadn't heard anything.

“What are you even talking abou-”

“There!” He cuts you off once more, “There it is again! Did you hear that, Robs?” The fingers he nudges into his best friend's ribs makes her squirm away with a deep laugh.

You huff, “Are you seriously implying that I'm the-”

“God, you guys 're hearing that, right?” Steve interrupts with an irritatingly pleased grin on his face, “Like nails on a chalkboard-”

Though Robin's laughter isn't actually directed at you, your face burns hotly anyway. A pity-filled smile graces her lips when she meets your gaze after escaping the wrath of Steve's tickling, and his chuckles of amusement only serve to make you grind your teeth together in irritation.

“Real mature, dickhead.” You snap, snatching up the beer you'd set down on the coffee table when Eddie had actually asked you about your day a few minutes before. “I was in the middle of a story.”

“Yeah, no offense, honey, but I'm not sure any of us were that invested hearing you drone on about the ‘big tip’ some douchebag with a hand tattoo left you.” Steve grumbled with a roll of his eyes, “If your stories weren't so boring, maybe we wouldn't all be sitting here hoping for a hole in the earth to open up under us just so we don't have to keep listening to-”

“Steve. C'mon man-” Eddie tries, though his voice is drowned out by your own.

“Jesus, do you have to be such an asshole all the time?” You snap in Steve's direction.

“I'm just saying,” Steve shrugs, “Probably the only reason he left such a big tip was because pulled the wrong bill out of his wallet, alright? It sure as hell wasn't 'cause of your shining personality.”

“What, and just because you're a jackass, that means no man could ever possibly find me appealing?” You bite back.

“Yeah, well, your pretty face doesn't quite make up for your constant need for attention.”

“My need for attention?” You scoff incredilously, beer slamming back down onto the tabletop in front of you. The rest of your friends seem to fade even further into the background, the rest mist of your rage yet again blinding you to anything that isn't Steve fucking Harrington. “You're the one who can't stand when the focus is on me for ten fucking seconds.”

“So what, if I don't care that some prick hit on you at work-” Steve argues, “Sue me. If that makes me an asshole-”

“It does, as a matter of fact,” You interrupt easily, “Because I'm constantly listening to you whine about your conquest of the week, except I'm able to do so without acting like such a fucking-”

“Careful,” Steve hums, cocky little smirk reemerging on his lips, “You're sounding a little jealous, there, honey.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“'S my house,” He returns just as quickly, “How 'bout you fuck off.”

The blood in your veins is full of fire. Your face is burning with rage and your eyes prickle traitorously with frustrated tears, because that customer from your story? He'd been the highlight of your god-awful day. The rest of it had been a fucking disaster.

You'd slipped on freshly mopped floors and dropped an entire table's drink orders. Subsequently, you'd been forced to finish your shift with sticky, soda pop-soaked socks that squelched wetly in your shoes with every step. Your boss had given you shit for the whole mess, even though it was one of your coworkers who had failed to put out the wet floor sign in the first place. You'd proceeded to burn yourself on a hotplate, twice. And then, after all that, you'd had little choice but to take an ice-cold shower before heading over to Steve's house, because the hot water heater in your decrepit apartment building was apparently broken. Again.

“Y'know what?” You grumble in defeat, “Fine.”

You're already rising to your feet, wiping the palms of your hands down your jeans to dry the lingering condensation from your half-finished beer. You blink furiously to push back the tears that had been pooling at your waterline, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of your own emotional state.

“Wha-” Steve is watching you with something like concern in his eyes now, “Wh-Where're you goin'?”

“I'm leaving,” You announce, gaze steadfastly avoiding where Steve has removed his arm from around Robin's shoulders so he can sit at the edge of the couch, as if he's planning to rise to his own feet at any moment. “I, um. I'll talk to you guys later.”

There are scattered protests from everyone, but you don't bear them any mind. You're already turning on your heel and moving toward the entryway with hurried steps. The front door slams shut behind you before you've even gotten your jacket all the way on. You've still got one arm struggling to find the hole of your sleeve when you hear the door swing back open behind you.

“Hey! Wait up.”

You're not sure why, but Steve's voice makes you slow where you've begun to move down the driveway, though you don't turn around to face him. He calls out to you again as he finally catches up with you. He all but throws himself into your path and at the risk of running straight into him, your steps finally come to a stop.

“C'mon, honey. Wait, wait, wait-”

You blow out a frustrated breath, your arms crossing over your chest like that might somehow put up a physical barrier between the two of you.

“I really don't want to do this with you, Harrington. Alright?” An air of defeat laces your words, one hand coming up to rub at the headache that's begun to pulse between your brows, “Just.. Not tonight.”

You move to step around him and the heel of your boots click against the pavement once, twice. But then something hooks into the belt loop on your jeans and you're tugged back. You nearly lose your footing at the unexpected shift in momentum, knees wobbling unsteadily for just a moment before you're twirled back around to face him and then your palms are meeting a firm chest.

The adrenaline has your brain whiting out for just a moment, any and all thoughts screeching to a halt. Warmth seeps into your palms from beneath the thin cotton of Steve's tshirt. The racing of your own heart in your ears drowns out the distant sound of laughter and the opening trailers of a movie rental coming from back inside the house. Your eyes are level with Steve's chin, your wide gaze locked on his lips as they quirk up at one corner with his gentle smirk. You're still standing pigeon-toed between his own larger feet, a little off balance but held firmly in place by the wide hand splayed across your waist.

“I'm sorry.” Steve says quietly — unexpectedly earnest.

It's only been a second or two since he dragged you back into his space, and to your surprise, his head dips, just a fraction. Steve brushes his nose against your own, a gentle stroke that sends butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. The cool mint clinging to his breath fans out over your face, smelling of the gum he's always chewing and smacking obnoxiously, but the scent this close is intoxicating. The hand he brings up to cradle your jaw is intoxicating. The loose flap of leather on his watch that tickles at the side of your throat. The way he's leaning in-

The passion he kisses you with, from the moment your lips touch, is intoxicating. It's all-encompassing. You can't think, and you're not entirely sure you're even breathing, but Steve's lips are moving in unhurried synchronization with your own. Your knees are weak. You're gripping the material of his shirt in your fists just for something to hold onto, but Steve' arm is curled tight around the curve in your spine now to hold you steady.

His tongue brushes warmly against your lips, licking softly at the seam of your mouth like he's asking for permission. The desperate sound that crawls up your throat at just that quick brush of his tongue nestles in the depths of Steve's brain where he files it away for later. He hitches his arm even tighter at your waist, pulling your stomachs flush until your chest heaves against his own.

Your head is a little fuzzy when you separate long enough for you to take a breath, and you're gasping almost comically in an effort to fill your lungs. Steve's quiet chuckle meets your ears, his hand sliding back from your jaw to cup the nape of your neck.

“You kissed me.”

The words fall from your lips in a whisper of disbelief. Your eyes are still closed, lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks. You’re terrified if you open them even a crack, the entire scene will suddenly fade away around you like some kind of dream. The airy cadence of your voice is partially due to your surprise, but also thanks to the far-too-easy grace with which you've been spun and manhandled and swept entirely off your feet.

“I did,” Steve agrees just as quietly, “I did do that.”

His forehead meets your own as your eyes flutter open and he simply holds you there for a moment, nose dragging across your cheek before he presses another quick kiss to your lips. His head tilts, thumb stroking soft over the side of your throat before his mouth finds yours again, and again. These kisses are different — Casual and tender, sweet and unhurried. Like he's kissing you just because he can.

“You-” Is all you manage to get out before your words are silenced by his lips slotting between your own, but you carry on with barely a pause as you click apart once again, “Y'r still doing it.”

“Mhm.” He hums easily, the sound rumbling beneath your hands on his chest.

“Why-”

Kiss.

“Are you-”

Kiss.

“Kissing me?”

Steve's breath mingles hotly with your own in the narrow breadth of space between your parted lips, “D'you want me to stop?”

“No, no, I- Hell no.”

And there's that perfect smile of his. Straight teeth make an appearance as his lips quirk up at the corner, a breathy spearmint scented laugh that sounds a little too relieved for the casual coolness that he's clearly trying to give off. His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but no words seem to come. Lips parted, throat bobbing as he swallows around the heavy silence weighing down his tongue.

He looks so pretty like this, you think. The streetlight light at the end of his driveway catches in his brown eyes, caramel sparking with flecks of gold and green that you've never noticed before, but you're sure you'll never be able to forget the sight of it now. You're still sharing breaths, faces so close that you can't avoid watching the way his full lashes blink at you dumbly. As if he isn't the one who spun you around and pulled you close and effortlessly gave you the best kiss of your entire life. As if, maybe, he didn't quite expect to make it this far, and now he's at a loss for how to proceed.

You release his shirt from your fist, the fabric crinkled and stretched with how tight you'd been gripping it, only to slide your hand up the back of his neck. The tip of his nose catches the bottom of your own, lips brushing faintly while your hand finds a new home in his hair. The soft strands tangle between your fingers when you give it a gentle tug and push up on your toes to draw yourself impossibly closer.

“If I'd known kissing you was all it took to get you to shut up, Harrington, I would've done it ages ago.” Your quip lacks its usual bite, but it breaks the silence between you, and it also seems to break Steve out of whatever spell he'd fallen under.

His tongue pokes out to wet his lips as he searches for an appropriate response, “Maybe we'll just have to keep kissing then.”

You find yourself swaying just a little on your feet at the way his eyes flick slow back and forth between your own, “Yeah.. Yeah, Maybe we will.”

When his lips descend on your own again, it's ages before he lets you back up for a decent breath of air, and even then he parts from you with obvious reluctance. You're both breathing heavy, lips a little swollen and shining wetly. Steve's expression has a warmth that you realize you've never actually seen directed at you before. Steve smiles at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and suddenly all you can think about is what Eddie has said a hundred times over.

It's like there are hearts in his eyes.

[heartfeltchris]

𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . you and chris decide to chill at your house, a daily occurrence as you guys are close friends. however, a hangout session that was supposed to just involve smoking and listening to music has an unexpected twist.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: drug use, mature language, making out, dom!chris, inexperienced!reader ( read at your own risk )

— my first time publishing a piece of writing on here, kinda scared. but enjoy! i chose to go for something without smut for my first work but trust me, it’s coming soon.

“fuck that’s strong,” you breathe out, leaning on the headboard of your bed as chris sits opposite you. your legs are draped over his while he’s, resting his back on the wall.

i’m in love when we are smoking that la-la-la-la-la

i’m in love when we are smoking that la-la-la-la-la

chris chuckles quietly, taking the j from your hand and placing it between his lips. you watch how effortlessly he sucks in the smoke, holding it in his mouth for a couple seconds before pulling it into his lungs. his other hand casually falls to your thigh, drawing circles.

i’m in love when we are smoking that la-la-la-la-la

i’m in love when we are smoking that la-la-la-la-la

at first you don’t react since this isn’t the first time chris has been extra touchy with you. obviously you don’t mind it; you guys have been friends for years as well as his brothers and the weed you’re smoking may be clouding your judgement. but examining his perfect bone structure as his jaw tenses, you can’t help but feel slight attraction towards him.

I'm in love when we are smoking that la-la-la-la-la

I'm in love when we are smoking that la-la-la-la-la

he’s basically like your dorky older brother and it sucks that he looks so fucking good right now. his hair peeks out under his beanie while his eyes become slightly glossy, visible as he slowly glances at you. “fuck…” he drags out his words, placing the joint in the conveniently placed ashtray. “you look like shit,” chris teases and you roll your eyes, kicking his leg.

I'm in love when we are smoking that la-la-la-la-la

I'm in love when we are smoking that la-la-la-la-la

you put your hand out, gesturing for him to pass it back to you, and he does. you take the j between your fingertips, placing it between your lips drenched in lip gloss. as your attention is glued to the pictures of yourself and the triplets decorating your pink walls, you don’t even realize chris’ eyes tracing your collar bone, his gaze continuing. his gaze then falls to your chest, a small amount of cleavage exposed due to the vest you’re wearing. see, you don’t feel the need to cover up around chris since you guys are close and he even feels slightly dirty staring at you in such a way.

do what you want

i’m telling you

let me into your heart

your head whips around to face the boy sitting near you, narrowing your eyes as you follow his stare to your chest. “ew, you perv. my eyes are up here,” you tease him and he mentally slaps himself in the face. but you examine his facial expression, noticing how he doesn’t even care that you caught him.

can’t stand it, backhanded

they wanna see us falling apart

“my bad,” he mutters, being slightly respectful. chris slowly glides his tongue across his bottom lip, trying to restrain himself from saying something he’ll probably regret later. “don’t you think it’s crazy how we’ve never kissed before?” chris randomly questions and your eyes widen.

you know that I love you

so let me into you, woo

you place the j back in the ashtray, shrugging but also leaning back. yes, you may smoke regularly but you’re just as inexperienced as someone who doesn’t. you haven’t even had your first kiss yet and you’re eighteen which is slightly embarrassing to you.

let me into your heart

do you really love me?

i’ma get you, girl, ah

“yeah…” you lie, assuming that chris is just trying to make fun of you and your lack of sexual experiences. “it’s weird, i guess. since we’ve been friends for so long.”

this is the end of us

sleeping with the moon and the stars

chris places his hand on your thigh, slowly nodding as he intensely stares at you. you can tell he has something to say, and you’re anticipating a question that you think he’s about to ask. “you don’t want any practice? i’m always here, you know,” he says with a shit-eating grin, making you purse your lips.

i know where you've been, oh

you can see us far then near

kissing chris wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. the only negative part of it is that chris is a player to say the least. he regularly talks to girls and you only know this because he literally tells you whenever he does something with a girl, only because you would understand how she feels. so obviously, that means that kissing him wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

let me into your heart

oh, this ain't no bullshit

you sigh, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. ‘it’s only a kiss’, you repeat to yourself. chris watches your every move, noticing how you seem hesitant at first. but one part of you is also yearning for his lips to be on yours.

i really love you, girl

oh, oh god

you shuffle around on your bed, crawling towards chris and sitting right next to him. “just practice?” you ask for reassurance and he nods his head.

girl, you really got a hold on me

so this isn't just puppy love

“i’ll guide you,” he mumbles, his eyes red from the amount of weed he smoked. you clear your throat, watching as he places one of your hands on his hardening cock. “sorry, you cool with that?” he questions and you slowly nod. chris then places the other one on his jaw.

girl, you really got a hold on me

so this isn't just puppy love, oh

his hand easily reaches for your throat, resting it for extra support as if he’s done this a million time, which he probably has. chris leans in slowly, grazing his lips against yours, you feeling his breath against them. ultimately, he closes the distance and you feel your heart hammer against your ribcage.

i’m in love when we are smoking that (woo, ooh)

oh my god, i

the kiss is slow and sensual at first, your body getting used to this odd feeling of butterflies fluttering around. it’s like a whole zoo breaks out in your stomach, feeling as his hand falls to your waist, pulling you closer towards him.

let me in

girl, you really got a hold, woo

you’re strongly enjoying what he’s doing, feeling every sort of positive emotion possible. chris tilts his head, maintaining his lips on yours. you melt at his touch, speeding up to try and figure out the perfect speed. he pulls away for a second, “slower,” he whispers and you nod.

your hand remains on his clothed dick, feeling it twitch as you continue to kiss. you’re not sure if it’s caused by the weed or you, but whichever one it is you don’t mind. as you continue to kiss, chris feels an urge to do something else. he pulls away, his icy blue eyes full of hunger as he places sloppy, wet kisses on you neck.

he pushes you down gently, still peppering kisses all over your skin. your breath hitches as you feel his lips latch onto your neck, sucking harshly and occasionally biting — you whimpering at his touch. you’re unsure on what he’s trying to do, enjoying it nonetheless. your hands reach to grab the back of his head, strongly tugging at his brunette hair.

chris groans on your skin, sending vibrations in your body and you ultimately know that’s his weakness. chris then moves slightly, diving into the other side of your neck. you part your lips, squeezing your eyes shut at the sensational feeling of sharing this moment with christopher sturniolo.

but eventually he pulls away, admiring his work. you open his eyes, watching as he pants while his eyes flicker between the two dark marks on both sides of your neck. it hurts slightly, but the pleasure from chris and the his actions was enough to distract you from it.

you lean up, watching the grin grow on his face. “not bad for your first time,” he jokes and you roll your eyes.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 — something a little casual for my first tumblr post. more to come soon! reminder that my inbox is open for requests. 🍓🐇

tags ( @bugeyedgrl )

[jaysgirlx]

JASON TODD AS MY BOYFRIEND HCS. smthing like how we mettt, our dynamic, and other cute things sosjsjsjwo. I need him biblically, spiritually, and physically. LOVEE YOUUU

Jason Todd Boyfriend Headcanons for my bestie Ani!!

— You met Jason at a bookstore, you'd spotted him there multiple times wandering through the classics section. So of course you went back multiple times hoping you'd be able to talk to him except he managed to approach you first. He's towering over you from behind, and you think he's going a grab a book off the shelf but instead, his hand points to a book that you hadn't seen before, Wuthering Heights, "try this sweetheart, it's a favorite of mine" and before you could even ask him his name he walks away like a smug bastard.

— The next time you see him there, you tell him how much you loved the book and while you're busy rambling you notice him smiling and he goes, "you're cute when you ramble". After a couple more times of seeing others at the bookstore, a bit of flirting, and plenty of book recommendations Jason finally asks you out.

— The two of have the greatest dynamic, you contrast each other so well that your conversations go on forever. Jason could always find something to say to whatever argument you had ready.

— Jason still loves that you ramble, even though he occasionally has to shut you up with a kiss so that you can catch your breath. He warns you about it but you don't listen cause you like it (ani is reallyyyy into this stuff guys).

— Jason slightly regrets giving you his real phone number instead of a burner because all you do is tag him in tiktoks and comment "we should do this" or "this reminded me of you". He complains about it to you but he screatly loves it and uses it as date planning material so he gives you exactly what you want.

— Jason isn't used to pda and physical touch but he loves it when you stroke his cheek and kiss any part of his face. He hasn't received any physical intimacy in a long time and he's scared of asking you to do more because he doesn't want to be needy. He eventually ends up asking you and of course, you shower him with affection in private. You kiss each of his scars while he on the other hand, finds himself kissing and ducking your neck with his hands always rubbing your hips. You got him addicted to not just your touch but how you how bodies felt up against each other.

— When you take your random naps he sits down near you and watches you, not in a creepy way but in an "I can't lose you" kind of way. He gets worried that you'll just disappear when he isn't looking because he can barely fathom how he managed to make you his.

— The two of you read books together even though your tastes differ a bit and he loves taking you to this old cafe where he always buys you whatever treat you want.

— Your relationship is very private for all the right reasons, drawing attention to Jason would be dangerous for both of you and he wasn't ready to risk it.

— Since Jason can't take you to fancy restaurants or famous places that could get him spotted he tries his hardest to be around as much as possible. You know he's the Red Hood but there's a silent agreement between you two not to talk about it.

— Jason agrees to hear your daily girl drama and do your nails but only if you watch his favorite old movies with him. Turns out he loves The Notebook and that's why he's scared of meeting your parents.

— Jason loves sleeping together every night you can, and he doesn't mean sexually he just means cuddling to sleep. Jason feels the closest to you when he's holding you because it reminds him that you chose to be here with him when you don't need to have to be.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Two

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.6k

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The hum of the fluorescent lights above you is almost hypnotic. Each keystroke on your keyboard feels heavier than the last. Your eyes drift to the corner of your screen, where the clock ticks agonizingly slowly. 5:17 PM. You stifle a yawn, fighting the drowsiness creeping in.

"Hey, you alright?" Kate’s voice snaps you back to reality. Her cubicle is adjacent to yours, and she peers over the divider with a concerned look.

"Yeah, just tired," you reply, rubbing your eyes. "Got that neurologist appointment today."

"Still having those...episodes?" Her eyebrows knit together in worry.

"Yeah." You glance back at your monitor, pretending to focus on the spreadsheet in front of you. "Hoping they can figure out what's going on."

She nods sympathetically before retreating behind her partition. The hum of office chatter and clattering keyboards fills the air again. You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head. The movement does little to shake off the heavy blanket of fatigue draped over you.

5:23 PM. Time crawls as you fight to keep your eyelids from drooping. The anticipation of your appointment mingles with a lingering curiosity about Morpheus.

"Don't forget to log those hours," Dave from accounting calls out as he passes by your desk, clutching a stack of reports.

"Got it," you respond automatically, though you're not sure if you’ll remember once he’s gone.

You glance at the clock again. 5:25 PM. The minutes seem to stretch into eternity when you're counting down to something important—or trying not to fall asleep at your desk.

A soft buzz from your phone draws your attention away from the screen. A reminder for your appointment flashes up: 6:30 PM at Dr. Rosen's office.

You gather your things slowly, double-checking that you’ve saved all necessary files and logged out properly. The process feels routine but surreal, like you're going through motions disconnected from reality.

5:30 PM now. You stand and sling your bag over your shoulder, nodding goodbye to Kate as she gives you an encouraging smile.

“Good luck,” she says quietly.

“Thanks,” you reply with a weak smile before heading toward the exit.

The cool air outside hits you like a wake-up call, momentarily shaking off some of the exhaustion. You make your way to the parking lot, thoughts drifting back to Morpheus and what answers Dr. Rosen might provide today.

But for now, all that matters is getting there without drifting off into another unwanted slumber. You arrive at Dr. Rosen’s office a little early, the waiting room is sparsely populated. It is a later appointment. The receptionist greets you with a polite smile as you check in. “Please have a seat. Dr. Rosen will see you shortly.”

You nod and find a chair near the window, the dim light of early evening casting long shadows across the room. The hum of a nearby aquarium and the soft murmur of other patients’ conversations create a soothing backdrop, but you fight to stay awake.

The door to Dr. Rosen’s office opens, and a nurse calls your name. You stand, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety as you follow her into the examination room.

“Dr. Rosen will be with you in just a moment,” the nurse says, closing the door behind her.

You sit on the examination table, your legs dangling over the edge. The room is sterile and brightly lit, a stark contrast to the dim, dreamlike world you’ve grown accustomed to. You fidget with your hands, waiting for the neurologist who has become a lifeline in your struggle with narcolepsy. Ignoring your support in the Dreaming.

A knock on the door precedes Dr. Rosen’s entrance. He’s a tall man with kind eyes and a reassuring presence. “Good evening,” he says warmly, taking a seat on the stool opposite you. “How have you been?”

“Tired,” you admit with a tired smile. “But that’s nothing new.”

Dr. Rosen adjusts his glasses, scanning through your file with a furrowed brow. "I see you've tried several treatments already," he notes, glancing up at you. "Any changes?"

You shake your head, the weight of frustration pressing down on you. "Nothing's worked so far. I still have the episodes, and they're getting worse."

He nods thoughtfully, setting the file aside. "Describe these episodes again for me. Any new symptoms?"

You take a deep breath, trying to recall the most recent occurrences. "It's like I just...slip away. One minute I'm here, and the next I'm in this dream world. It feels real, like I'm living a second life."

Dr. Rosen's eyes narrow slightly, a mixture of curiosity and concern. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "This dream world—can you describe it? What does it look like? Feel like?"

You hesitate, searching for the right words. "It's...different every time. Sometimes it's a vast city with towering buildings, other times it's a dense forest or a desolate wasteland. But it always feels vivid, more real than any dream I've ever had. I can touch things, smell the air, even feel pain."

Dr. Rosen nods slowly, taking in your words. "And these episodes—they happen without warning?"

"Yes," you reply, frustration creeping into your voice. "I could be in the middle of a conversation or working on something important, and suddenly I'm gone."

He scribbles a few notes on his pad, the scratch of pen on paper filling the silence. "Have you noticed any patterns? Specific triggers that might cause these episodes?"

You shake your head. "No patterns that I can see. They just...happen."

He sets his pad down and looks at you intently. "We might need to explore some new avenues for treatment," he says thoughtfully. "There are advanced tests we can run to get a better understanding of what's happening in your brain during these episodes."

"Like what?" You ask, both hopeful and apprehensive.

"An overnight sleep study would be a good start," he explains. "We'd monitor your brain activity while you sleep and see if we can identify any abnormalities or triggers."

You nod slowly, considering the idea. "Anything that could help," you say quietly.

Dr. Rosen smiles reassuringly. "We'll figure this out," he says firmly. "In the meantime, try to keep a detailed journal of your episodes—what you're doing before they happen, how long they last, anything you can remember about the dream world."

"Okay," you agree, feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time in a while.

He stands and offers his hand. "We'll schedule the sleep study as soon as possible," he says as you shake his hand.

You thank him and make your way back to the waiting room, feeling slightly lighter despite the uncertainty that still looms over you.

As you step outside into the cool evening air once more, you can't help but wonder what answers await in the depths of your own mind—and what mysteries still lie within the world of dreams.

For now, though, all you can do is take one step at a time and hope that Dr. Rosen's expertise will lead you to the answers you've been seeking for so long. You only hope that the treatment doesn't take away the friends you've made in the Dreaming.

The Dreaming has undergone a remarkable transformation. The once barren and broken realm is now vibrant and full of life, the colors brighter and more vivid than you ever remember. Flowers bloom in technicolor splendor, the sky is a brilliant azure, and the air is filled with the sounds of laughter and music. You step through the familiar meadow, your heart swelling with happiness as you take in the renewed beauty around you.

As you walk, you can hardly believe your eyes. The decay and desolation that once plagued this realm have vanished, replaced by a lush, thriving landscape. Your footsteps are light on the soft grass, the path ahead leading you towards the heart of the Dreaming—the grand palace where Morpheus resides.

Entering the palace, you marvel at the pristine marble floors and the intricate stained glass windows, now restored to their former glory. The atmosphere is warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the cold, desolate halls you had grown used to. You make your way towards the throne room, eager to see the one who made all of this possible.

As you approach the grand doors, they swing open, and you step inside. Morpheus stands at the center of the room, his presence commanding yet serene. His silver-blue eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features.

“Welcome,” he says, his voice deep and resonant, but not entirely friendly. “What brings you here today?”

You smile, unable to contain your joy. “I wanted to see the Dreaming. It’s beautiful. I can’t believe how much it’s changed.”

Morpheus’s gaze remains intense, his expression guarded. “Indeed, it has. But what I wish to know is what you are doing here. Why have you come?”

Before you can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the tension. “Ah, there they are!” Cain’s voice booms as he and Abel enter the room, their faces lighting up with recognition.

“Hello, dear friend!” Abel says, hurrying over to you. “We were just talking about you.”

Morpheus raises an eyebrow, his suspicion deepening. “You know this mortal?”

“Of course!” Cain replies with a rare grin. “They've been visiting us for years.”

“Practically family,” Abel adds, beaming.

You feel a rush of gratitude for their support. At least someone would stand up for your presence. “It’s true. I’ve been coming here for as long as I can remember.”

Morpheus’s eyes narrow slightly. “And yet, I do not understand why you have been granted such access to the Dreaming.”

Before you can answer, Lucienne appears, her presence calm and reassuring. “My lord,” she says, bowing slightly. "You have nothing to worry about their presence. I can confirm, they have been visiting our realm since early childhood. They pose no threat." Threat? Why would he consider you a threat!?

You watch as Morpheus considers Lucienne's words, his expression softening slightly. "Very well," he says at last. "But I must warn you, the Dreaming is not a place for mortals to linger. You must be careful."

His warning hangs heavy in the air, but you can't help but feel a sense of relief. At least he didn't banish me. Morpheus’ gaze settles on you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, his silver-blue eyes never leaving your face. You can sense his discomfort with your presence, but you also detect a hint of intrigue—as if he respects your courage (Or foolishness?) for venturing into his realm time and time again.

As the evening wears on, you find yourself growing more and more tired. The Dreaming's magic is powerful and intoxicating, but it also drains your energy like nothing else. You excuse yourself from the gathering, thanking Cain and Abel for their hospitality before finding a bench to lay down. You close your eyes to get some rest.

The transition between worlds is jarring—one moment you're surrounded by vibrant colors and ethereal beauty, the next you're back in your mundane office cubicle. The contrast is stark and disorienting, leaving you feeling both exhilarated and exhausted at once.

You log off your computer and gather your things, ready to head home for the night. As you leave the office building behind, you can't help but feel a prickle of longing for the Dreaming—a place where you can forget about deadlines and appointments and simply exist in a world of wonder and possibility. Without narcolepsy.

But as much as you love visiting Morpheus' realm, there's no denying that it comes with its own set of risks—risks that are becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Maybe it's time to start exploring other avenues, you think to yourself as you make your way home through the darkened streets. Maybe it's time to find a different kind of escape.

Cain and Abel flank you, their enthusiasm contagious. Cain’s hand clasps your shoulder, guiding you through the grand palace doors and out into the village. Abel chatters excitedly about all the new developments.

“We have so much to show you!” Abel’s eyes sparkle with excitement.

The village is a tapestry of bustling life and vibrant colors. Cobblestone streets wind between quaint houses with flower boxes in every window. Laughter and music float on the breeze. It’s hard to believe this was once a desolate place.

“There!” Cain points toward a charming little bakery nestled between a bookshop and a toy store. The sign above the door reads “Delightful Dreams.”

“You have to try their pastries,” Abel insists, practically bouncing on his feet.

You step inside, and the scent of freshly baked bread and sweet confections envelops you. The interior is warm and inviting, with wooden beams and cozy nooks filled with plush chairs.

Cain gestures toward a display case filled with an array of treats. “Pick whatever you like. It’s on us.”

You scan the options, finally settling on a delicate pastry dusted with powdered sugar. Abel grabs a similar one, while Cain opts for a hearty slice of pie.

You find a table near the window, sunlight streaming in and casting playful patterns on the wooden surface. As you bite into your pastry, the flavors explode in your mouth—a perfect blend of sweetness and buttery richness.

Abel grins at you between bites. “Isn’t it amazing? This place is like a dream come true.”

Cain nods in agreement, savoring his pie. “It’s been a long time coming, but worth every moment.”

You giggle at Cain’s surprisingly upbeat mood, the atmosphere light and joyful. For a moment, all your worries melt away, replaced by the simple pleasure of good food and good company.

Out of nowhere, the bakery fades away. Your eyes snap open to find yourself back at your desk at work. The familiar hum of fluorescent lights overhead greets you once more.

Kate peers over the divider again, concern etched on her face. “Hey, are you okay?”

You blink, disoriented but managing a weak smile. “Yeah… just drifted off for a second.”

She frowns slightly but nods. “Well, make sure you get some rest tonight.”

You nod back absently, your mind still lingering in that vibrant village with Cain and Abel as you return to your spreadsheet. You glance at the spreadsheet, but the numbers blur. The dream lingers, and you feel the weight of it pulling you back. You try to shake it off, but your mind keeps drifting. The contrast between the vibrant Dreaming and your dull office is stark.

Kate’s voice snaps you back. "Hey, focus. Deadline's coming up. Don’t want Karen jumping on your case.”

You nod, forcing yourself to concentrate. You manage to input a few numbers before your eyes grow heavy again. The room starts to waver.

A sharp sound jolts you—an email notification. You open it to find a message from Dr. Rosen's office: "Sleep study scheduled for Friday night."

Relief washes over you. Maybe this will finally provide some answers.

The day drags on, and you fight to stay awake. As soon as the clock hits five, you gather your things and head home. The streets are a blur of lights and shadows as you make your way through the city.

At home, you collapse onto your bed without even changing out of your work clothes. Sleep takes you quickly.

Date Published: 7/17/24

Last Edit: 7/17/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[moodyhaaze]

just me ranting about s*lmare again,,, sigh

it’s kind of getting on my nerves seeing people getting mad at others for pointing out s*lmare’s shitty behavior. like, i get that people may not want to see negativity about the games/devs but acting like people aren’t allowed to be negative is a whole different thing.

look. i’m not trying to be seen as the like “ultimate s*lmare hater™︎” or anything (or maybe i am), but i’m just going to compile a quick and nowhere near exhaustive list for everybody so they understand why i and so many other fans are still so mad. because quite frankly i’m sick of people crying on twitter that i’m “just being mean” when what i’m really doing is calling a spade a spade.

for an ENTIRE YEAR before nightbringer was released, devs never told anybody that a new game was coming out. everybody grinded for an ENTIRE YEAR because we were kept under the impression that a new season was coming to OG only to be told “haha we’re going to make you pretty much redo the whole story again (but in the past :O !!!) only after which you’ll get a conclusion for OG :)” [the end of lesson 80 of OG literally said coming soon until AFTER nightflop was announced.]

devs waited until a reddit ama to even tell us that a new game was coming, but only when asked by a fan who’s question subsequently got buried in all the other responses. the only reason anybody else saw it is because it was screenshotted and posted to twitter and in its own post on reddit. no official announcement was made prior. the first official announcement we got was like a week or two before nightflop was released.

they keep pushing out terrible quality events back to back just to milk money from fans even though the vast majority of fans have said they don’t like back to back events because the quality of them are horrendous. most players would rather have fewer events with better writing then to have constant shit ones.

never told us that daily chats were ending in OG. we only knew this was happening because someone sent a ticket to the devs and it was then screenshotted and posted to twitter.

s*lmare has proved time and time again that they only care about whales. they’ve proven this by paywalling a lot of features in Nightbringer. and before anyone drops in with “but they give us more devil points in battles >:(“ shut up. haven’t you noticed the increase in need to spend devil points? whether for character outfits, sprite outfits, level up sales (that they’ve made more frequent by making leveling up easier), ap sales, etc… they’ve only given you more DP so you’ll spend more DP.

they literally shoved an ad down our throats as many times as they could (in NB) by putting it on the HOME. SCREEN. as well as making it one of the first things you see when you boot up the app and in the side news thing. they didn’t do anything about it until fans complains relentlessly for WEEKS.

they took away the 10x free pulls for HDD 4 (which is OG’s birthday NOT Nightflop’s). they have always done the free pulls since the games inception. they did this so that fans are more likely to use they’re own vouchers or pay irl money for the cards they want.

they lowered nightmare drops EVEN LOWER to force players to draw more if they want certain cards (this goes back to putting players in a position to use irl money to buy devil points for nightmare summons if they want certain cards).

wanderers whereabouts and fabsnap are lazy and unnecessary and from what i understand, most people barely fool with it. the models are cheap and horrendous. (i get it’s a mobile game and the graphics are not going to be like PS5 level, but come on.)

they took away birthday events without an announcement. people were saving AP and demon vouchers for their favorite boys’ birthday events only to instead be given ONLY a birthday nightmare with a pity OF 200. they also stopped doing birthday events before asmo’s 2023 bday, leaving him as the only brother without a prince card. never mind the fact that they’ve paywalled birthday items in wanderer’s whereabouts for $3.99 (usd).

they changed some devil grams (in OG) to please a loud minority of players that didn’t like having to kiss the brothers in the devilgrams. in a game about dating and kissing demons. they pandered to a small (but quite loud) minority of players BITCHING that they didn’t want to kiss the brothers. in a game about dating demons.

they’ve infantilized the game and lowered the age rating (to 12+) to make it more accessible to younger audiences which has significantly lowered the quality of the writing. this is a game about demons !! they are not child friendly and they don’t need to be written as such. a game about dating and romancing demons is a kids game now.

i want to express very sincerely that i absolutely adore obey me. i have for the past four years. (you should see my collection of luci merch LOL). it’s the first franchise i have devoted myself to so strongly. i just really hate s*lmare and how they keep getting greedier while offering NOTHING to fans but lukewarm content and constant money pandering. this franchise means a lot to me, and i know that rings true for most of the players, and it hurts to see it going down the drain like this considering it is so special to me. i love this community (except when people are crying over misinterpreting criticisms against s*lmare/devs as personal attacks) and i love what everybody creates. it’s all so so very special to me and it’s important that we all understand this. these games and franchise could be something so very special. it started out so different (in a good way!) than almost all other otomes i’ve played, but now it’s getting left in the dust because a multimillion dollar company is more worried about how to milk an extra $3.99 from their fans than they are making quality content that fans would be WILLING to pay for, instead of locking content behind paywalls.

i wish nightbringer was never a thing. the story they wanted to make could have easily been a 1-2 season arc in OG. but instead we were forced to essentially play the same game over again, just in a different setting and time, and pretty much be told that the time we’ve spent grinding and leveling up our cards and getting through all the battles in OG was wasted. all for a new game that nickels and dimes players while offering shit in return.

solmare was proven that they have no intention of being transparent with fans. that they only want to milk whatever money they can from us. it’s created a lot of distrust and aversion in the community. and believe me, after all this, and even after obey me is run through and isn’t a cash cow for them anymore, i’ll never play another fucking solmare game ever again.

❤︎ it’ll always be ‘one master to rule them all.’

[pinecipitation]

Hiii could you possibly do like..smiling friends with a reader that’s on their period headcanons?

I GOT U BRUH TRUST ‼️

SMILING FRIENDS X GN!READER (with fem aligned anatomy, if you bleed then this you shall read‼️

word count: around 500

content warning: nothing I think

credit to @kryloxen for the what size joke in charlies bc they’re the funniest bitch I know

PIM: prioritizes treats and food

- he’s got sisters, he knows a thing or two because he’s seen a thing or two

- will be very understanding and empathetic, out of anyone he’d be the nicest

- would probably know ur week is coming before YOU know, and is prepared as usual

- I’m a huge candidate of baker pim, I believe he’d bake sweets and remake your favorite desserts just so you always have a sweet treat around

- he has enough knowledge on products to be able to pick up stuff in stores for you, but if he has to talk to an employee he’d stutter and blush a little, but my god he’s getting u ur damn tampons

- again, super into sweets and treats, will come back from the store with bags of anything you want and crave, he’s a very sweet boy

CHARLIE: prioritizes comfort and warmth

- “ayo i’m at the pad aisle what size pussy you wear?” hurry up he’s getting weird stares

- you’re always more than welcome to wear his oversized clothes and hoodies, he actually subliminally encourages you to but seeing you lounge around in his stuff makes him feel like he’s helping

- heated blankets, multiple blankets and pillows, hoodies, HIM even, everything about charlie’s home and charlie himself is warm, cuddly, and comfortable

- will ask a thousand times a day if you’re cold, if you’re hot, if you’re lying about not being hot, and is often on standby with either a warm drink or a cold glass

- always overuses the same “wings? wtf is it gonna take off” joke on pads

- jokes around too much to a point where it almost aggravates you, but at the end of the day, if he sees you start to get annoyed he will always offer himself as a cuddle buddy and offer couch time and a movie

ALAN: prioritizes peace and meds

- medicine cabinet stock full of any pain or sleep pills always, you’ve never had to make him go to the store at 11pm for anything

- like pim, will also know your week is coming sooner than you do

- always has meals and hydration prepared for you, is extremely into making sure you get every vitamin and protein your body needs in these trying times. like seriously he has a full water bottle that he needs you to finish daily

- is not afraid to yell at his upstairs neighbors to shut up, or a kid on the street to stop screaming. he values you and would rather die than overstimulate you even indirectly

- will always draw nice baths and include your favorite scents, again I see him as a huge hygiene person so trust he’s got that bath and body works set of whatever smell u smelled once and liked

- loves quiet time where you both are near each other but just sit on your phones respectively or watch a show on low volume in the background of something else. it’s like allowing yourself to do what you want, but still be near the other person

GLEP: prioritizes za

- would say ew and then offer you weed

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Twenty-Six

TW: choking, noncon, dark shit, Julian

You’d be a liar, if you said you weren’t floating on a little cloud, as you go about your duties at the hospital. You’re smiling stupidly to yourself for no reason at all–and it’s all Tom Ludlow’s fault, of course. 

Later, when you’re sort of able to think clearly, you marvel at the way that man let you have your way without actually getting mad about it. You weren’t really sure what you were getting into, as you snapped the cuff into place. And maybe you’re still not sure who actually manipulated who. 

Maybe it doesn’t matter. 

All’s well that ends well…and that ended very fucking well, if you don’t say so yourself. 

You’d actually almost managed to forget about Doctor Julian for a little while. That is, until you hear a crisp click click outside the door when you’re getting something out of a supply closet and you jump three vertical feet in the air.

Ok, maybe not that high, but your soul certainly attempts to leave your fucking body. 

When you whirl to confront him–he’s gone. 

Bastard. 

Then several cases come in one after the other. Two gunshot wounds, a stabbing, a car accident, a gnarly burn. You are too busy to think about anything else but saving lives. 

Looking back, Julian undoubtedly banked on that, near the end of your shift. You are exhausted, and covered in grime, and hungry too because you missed out on your sandwich. It turns out that man can move stealthily as a cat, sneaking up without a sound behind you, until it’s too late and he’s bundled you into the lab, which sadly is rarely if ever occupied. 

You struggle, of course, to little avail. The way he bares his teeth as he pins your arms behind you betrays his enjoyment of this little ambush–too fucking much. His mouth crashes over yours, a punishing kiss that clashes teeth and bruises lips. He draws away just as you try to bite down on his wicked tongue. 

“Get off of me,” you snarl, though even now you're conscious of drawing attention, keeping your voice down. 

“Just wanted a little preview of our weekend festivities. Are you looking forward to it as much as I am?”

“No.”

Too late, you realize that’s exactly the answer he wanted. You can tell by his pleased smirk. He doesn’t want you to enjoy this at all. It would absolutely take the fun out of it for him. He makes it seem easy, to hold both of your wrists together in one of his large hands, his other lifting to brush away a stray lock of hair from your face. In any other circumstance the touch could have almost seemed tender–but you are a lamb in the jaws of a wolf, and you begin to tremble in his grasp. 

They do this–abusers. They lull you with some nugget of sweetness, put you off guard so that the violence is even more satisfying when they strike. It’s strange in a way, to compare this outwardly dignified man to the handsome redneck who used to knock you around back in Kansas. But really they are just two sides of the same fucking coin. 

You should fight back. Knee him in the groin, or maybe try out a headbutt. But your limbs seem to have forgotten how to function–and Julian has that little piece of damning lead in a baggie that could completely upend Tom Ludlow’s world. 

He feels it, as you remember that, the fight leaking from your bones.  “I’m proud of you, y/n. Someday, you won’t fight me at all.” 

You’re smart enough not to tell him this will not be an ongoing thing. Once you have that piece of evidence in your hands…you are gone. Maybe you’ll have to switch to a different hospital. Anything, not to have to deal with this asshole on a daily basis. 

Or, you could tell Tom, and this motherfucker will be unalived faster than you can say workplace harassment. Ok, maybe that’s not a good option, but it feels good to think about at this moment, when you are helpless in this monster’s clutches.

His touch migrates to your jaw, squeezing just this side of too hard. “I’m feeling…peckish, y/n. I think I’d like a little amuse bouche to tide me over until Saturday.”

Your heart drops to your feet.

“Amuse bouche? Who do you think you are, the Marquis de Sade?”

“Funny you should mention him. I think he had some very interesting ideas.”

“Julian…we’re at work.”

He just smirks, that cold glint in his eyes like a bared blade. 

“I think you mean to say, ‘Yes, Doctor.’”

You glare at him, and he waits, squeezing your wrists in his vice of a grip uncomfortably. 

“If you break my hands you will be in so much fucking trouble.”

He only finds your threat amusing at best. “Useful thing about being a doctor. I am well versed in the limits of the human body.” He squeezes harder, and you gasp. It makes his eyes shine like a kid outside the gates of Disneyland.

“How’s this for a limit? If you mark me up, Tom will come after you. He sees me naked every day.” You’re not sure if it's a good thing you mention this, but in the heat of the moment your protector’s name spills from your lips, invoked like your household saint. And you will admit, it feels good, to see Julian’s eyes darken at the mention of your intimacy with Tom.

“I think you're forgetting who holds the cards here to your boyfriend’s future. You had better come up with some good lies for Saturday, because I intend to leave my marks all over this beautiful skin.” He lets go of your wrists, but only to run his hands over your forearms, raising gooseflesh as he goes.

“How’s it feel to be a fucking creep?” You ask, genuinely, actually curious about the answer, trying not to give any reaction to his fingers teasing higher up your arms, putting every single nerve on high alert. 

His hand envelops your throat, fingers pressing against the sides and closing just enough to make it hard to breathe. “Please, go on,” he nods, looking down at you with a snarling grin. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction. You let him choke you in varying degrees and intensities and angles, saying nothing while he works at your throat like a he’s learning an instrument; what makes you cry, what makes your eyes roll back in your head, what makes you sputter and cough and gasp for the sweet air he’s depriving you of. 

Maybe you wish he would just strangle you to completion, instead of torturing you like this. Every time he lets you breathe it just makes the next instance of his huge hand around your throat that much worse. 

“Beg me to stop,” he hums against your ear, snaking tongue flicking at your soft dangling skin. 

You do. You beg, sweetly even. You beg for breath, which is something you never thought you’d have to do again after the freeing age of 18…and then after the horribly abusive first ex. 

But here you are. 

[worriedvision]

Hiding your wounds - Tighnari

Part 2 of this fic! Gender neutral reader, for context part 1 is important to read - part 1 is short.

This does mention deteriorating health, if you don't deal well with descriptive mentions of sickness don't read. Keep in mind some bits in here won't be fully accurate to the condition, but this is a fanfic so if you're getting your health information from this that would be concerning lol!

No happy ending.

--

When you close your eyes, you're able to reflect not on your poor judgement of a Fatui agent undercover, but on the fight you had endured. All the lunches, all the near misses with the blades, it was a miracle you were able to fight alone without having a vision - even if you did have a vision, that would have still been difficult.

But what you really begin to fixate on as you try to sleep is the pain that's writhing in your body. You didn't need a medical degree to know this was not a normal pain, this wasn't going to just go away with time, but when you think back on what started the fight you know better than to go to Tighnari for advise on treatment. He would likely still treat you, however there was a chance he would think you were mocking Collei.

So, you keep it to yourself. You cover up more than usual, people assuming you were just being dramatic as Tighnari dished out duties for everyone. You knew better than to draw attention to yourself while you figure out a way you could treat the condition of your body yourself, but unfortunately things deteriorated.

Whenever people got closer, or happened to approach you from behind, you'd flinch in response. People assume you were just mocking Collei - which was nothing close to the truth. Truth be told, you were easily scared by any possible person that could be a Fatui agent - you were in no position to fight.

To make your condition worse, you were struggling to keep food down. You could feel exactly where your food was going whenever you successfully swallowed the meal, digesting this. Nobody seems to notice your lack of eating, which tells you that people were buying your mask.

Unfortunately, this proved to be your downfall.

When you landed up passing out in the open, the Forest Rangers were under the assumption you were part of the Fatui, and you had to take a nap after sorting out the next plan.

Alhaitham landed up seeing you during a workout - a daily run of his - when he almost tripped over you. You were starting to wake up, sending the person being dangerously close. You don't have the energy to bolt away, pathetically begging the man not to hurt you. As he steps closer to inspect you, you whimper out as you raise your arms to cover your face, only to realise he was concerned for your wellbeing when your shirt rides high enough to show the visual signs you were hiding.

"Please let me check over you." Alhaitham requests, you nodding as you have no other real voice as he begins to check other areas - your torso, your neck, your limbs - and when you land up throwing up red he knows you need to be seen urgently. Knowing Tighnari was the closest help, he picks you up as you apologise for throwing up on him.

He doesn't acknowledge your comment, not because he doesn't like you but because he's focused on getting you to Tighnari as soon as possible.

--

Tighnari was about to go to sleep when he hears someone rudely open the doors without knocking. Before he can scold the person for a lack of manners, Alhaitham shuts him up real quick by placing you on the patients bed.

"Treat your patient." Alhaitham orders, lifting your shirt just enough to show some of the extent of your condition.

Unfortunately, Tighnari knew it was too late. Just one look at you explained a lot of the actions you had carried out through the month after the attack. You were showing very obvious signs of deteriorating, and upon reflection he didn't realise how many people had fought you. The fact you aren't able to eat your usual food, the fact you flinched whenever someone got too close to you or sneaked up on you, the clothes you wore changing.

It was too late to provide care for you to recover. All he could do now was provide palliative care, and even then he didn't know if he could provide any comfort.

[ataleofcrowns]

New Chapter Released!

Hello again! Hope your winter has gone well ❄️

With the public release of this new chapter we’re setting up the Crown's daily routine as a monarch, while romance and courtly intrigue continue to build:

Diverging paths depending on your love interest, including scenes from your main LIs point of view! R and A accompany the Crown, but what are D and X up to in the meantime?

While the Crown becomes used to ruling, each LI experiences a shocking revelation in their main route, one that will cascade into future chapters

The Crown continues to grow and learn, being tutored in various subjects to increase their knowledge

Tutoring is not merely in theory: the Crown enjoys physical training, as well. Choose your favorite weapon and shape future fight scenes!

The Imperial Court is finally taking shape. Choose certain positions, receive political proposals, even form an alliance, if you have the points...

A few additional changes made to the game overall:

The codex page for the Crescent Blades has been added, including character art! It should be unlocked for all saves that are past Chapter 1

Changed various lore related names, mainly the ones referring to the Major Spirits, in order to better reference the Zoroastrian inspirations that Arsur's religion is based on

Darkened the background color further to be friendlier on the eyes. Some day, I'll add a proper dark mode, but that day is not today haha

Edited the Arsurian Calendar to match with the new background color, and also corrected the start and end dates of the months!

IMPORTANT: It's highly recommended to replay the entirety of CH9 before getting to CH10. CH9 has some changes relating to LI relationship stats, so if you don't go back to play through those, you risk relationship flavor text messing up in CH10. Such as a high relationship being described as a low relationship, things of that nature.

Thank you for all your patience and support, I hope you enjoy the new chapter with the nearing end of this winter 💖

For those that are unfamiliar with the game

A Tale of Crowns is a high fantasy romance story, told in the form of a text-based interactive novel with choice mechanics. The setting is inspired by Kurdish culture as well as other historical settings in the Middle East such as Ancient Persia, but it also draws heavily from other cultures and countries in the region.

Your character is native to Arsur, a vast empire overseen by a single ruler known as the Crown. Unlike traditional monarchies, however, the title is not inherited through blood. Whenever the Crown dies, their famed golden eyes pass on to the one chosen by the Spirits of this world to be the new Crown. In this story, your MC takes on that role.

There are four different love interests to choose from, whose genders will be customized to suit the preferences of your Crown. You can find more info about them on the blog page!

Also note that this current version of the game is safe for those 16 years and older.

Like the premise so far? Play it and give it a try! The entire game is free!

If you enjoyed the game, please reblog! Share it with your friends! Recognition and reader interaction is just about the only thing I get in return for creating it ❤️

[nayatarot777]

Quick Messages From Spirit • 3-Card-Pull

If you’d like a personal 6-card-pull, then feel free to purchase one through my Etsy shop! Full email/audio readings can be found on this pinned post here. I’m trying to slowly move the method of purchasing my readings to a much more structured and easy-to-use platform that showcases reviews, breakdowns of my readings, etc - all in one place. Many thanks! 🫶🏾

• Pile One •

9 of Swords

Queen of Swords

King of Swords

You’re in deep mental turmoil because of a deep imbalance between your masculine and feminine mind. There are many ideas, thoughts, and opinions that you’re swaying to and from extremes with. What you need to work on right now is that you need to find a way out of this mental limbo that you’re in. You’re only experiencing this because you’re refusing to trust your own judgements so, in a way, you’re causing this mental turmoil for yourself. You need to gain clarity and what you actually think and stick to it. Don’t flip flop and don’t go back on your personal opinions and beliefs. Write down your opinions if you need to and act on them. Speak your truths once you figure out what your truths are.

• Pile Two •

8 of Wands

Death

The Lovers

This energy is either representative of the recent past, present, or near future.

There’s something here about very fast movement towards a permanent ending of something. Most likely a connection to someone else (a romantic relationship more than anything, but it can definitely be a deep platonic relationship too). I’m feeling an ending that you did not see coming. However, every death moment is followed by a rebirth, and what’s rebirthing itself is some form of true and genuine love. Specifically for yourself. This shocking communication has the purpose of pushing you into an ending that was going to happen inevitably. The Grim Reaper just came through and sped up the process so that you didn’t waste any unnecessary time drawing this out. This connection to this person was energetically dead already. The actual death of the connection just hadn’t manifested into reality yet. This was a push from the universe to really get the ball rolling in your life again, although it may not feel like it.

• Pile Three •

Page of Pentacles

Justice

10 of Cups

You’ve been in a time period of learning how to manage something in relation to your practical world - money, your daily routine, self-care, etc. The truth about your life in general seems to be setting in, and I feel like you’re realising that what you thought would make you happy is only going to give you a false sense of happiness. There’s a completion to some type of hopes and wishes that you have - not necessarily because you’ve achieved them, but because your perspective on them is changing. You’re really looking at the earthly things that you’ve been lead to believe will make you happy and you’re seeing that they’re less significant in comparison to other things. To other things that’ll truly align with who you are truly and in actuality. This seems to be an awakening of your higher mind in relation to what life has to offer - which is way more than what can be seen and felt.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Yandere Hanzo Hasashi MK11 with a crush

As a yandere with a crush, he would be completely fixated on the target of his affection. Obsessing over you 24\7, he can't stop thinking about you. He'd go to any lengths to keep you safe and happy. He'd be incredibly jealous of anyone who dared to spend time with you or even dare to be close to you. He'd want you all for himself. Every fiber within him would scream to make you his.

He would be clingy, constantly asking for attention, and always wanting to be around you. He would be incredibly attentive and protective. He’d memorize every small detail about you. Anyone who dared to hurt you or make you sad better pray they aren’t within his reach. If you were his, he would make sure you were marked and branded only by him, so anyone who looked at you knew, who you belonged to.

He'd constantly want to be around you. He'd look for excuses to be next to you, hold your hand, or any other physical contact. He'd spend all his time gathering information about you, learning everything, and I do mean everything you like and don't like. He'd memorize every detail of your personality. He'd keep any and every reminder you gave him, lockets, hairpins, or any other item. Anything.

He'd follow you everywhere, watching your every move. He'd memorize your daily schedule and routine just so he can know what you're doing and where you're going. He'd be protective, sometimes overly so, he'd want to be near you, all the time, just to make sure, nothing bad happened to you. He'd do anything you ask of him. Anything, as long as it makes you happy. He wouldn't even need to have you love him, he'd do all this, with or without your feelings.

He would give you as many gifts as you could ask for. From small little gifts to extravagant ones. He'd listen to you whenever you spoke as if it was God's will. He'd cook for you, clean, and do anything you’d ask for he'd be extremely clingy, constantly wanting to be near you, holding you and kissing you, being intimate with you all the time. He'd get jealous whenever another person would spend time with you. He'd hate everyone that wasn’t him, basically.

He'd be very obsessive with you, always wanting to be with you, and make sure that you’re safe. He would constantly think of you wherever he was, he’d have drawings/photos of you hidden in his room so when he felt lonely, he'd look at them. He would kill anyone that would do you any harm. Without hesitation.

Let’s see…he would probably keep a lock of your hair in a box under his bed. He’d want to hear your voice whenever he was alone, he'd probably save voicemails of yours, and keep them in his pocket. He'd probably watch you sleep at night without you knowing.

He could act out, or have angry outbursts to get your attention, he’d also try to impress you with his feats. As in, he'd want to show you how skilled and strong he was whenever he got the chance.

If anything, the most important thing that he'd crave is your affection and reassurance, he'd probably beg for it.

He'd be very touchy, wanting to hold your hand and constantly be near you, he'd probably randomly come up behind you, and place his chin on your shoulder, and his arms around your waist, wrapping them around you and pulling you close to him. He'd probably play with your hair and kiss the nape of your neck.

He’d compliment you, calling you sweet names like “darling”, “dear” or “sweetheart”. He’d call you other names like “pretty”, “beautiful”, and “lovely.” He’d probably find any excuse to touch you, brushing your hair or your cheek, and he’d definitely get very close to you whenever you were talking, and probably make sure to keep eye contact. He’d play with your hands as well.

He’d tease you a lot, and he’d probably find it very entertaining. He’d probably stand close to you, or pin you against a wall to tease you more often than not. He’d probably lean in close to your ear to whisper something to make you flustered, and then, he would pull back to watch your reaction with a smirk on his face.

He’d make sure to look his best for you, he’d wear clothes that you like, and he’d also make sure he smelled nice, wanting to look good and smell good for you. He’d want to spend as much time with you as possible, and if you let him, he’d probably follow you to every place you go, just for some time together. He’d definitely shower you with gifts as well.

He’d probably try and act as if he’s asking you out as friends, asking you to hang out, just “as friends”. He’d constantly be suggesting things you can do together all alone with just the two of you. “It’ll be just us two.” He’d say, “We could go do something for the day, alone.” It’d be very obvious, it’d almost seem like he doesn’t want anyone else joining you, almost like he’s asking for a date.

[itgirlgyu]

fallen over, choi beomgyu.

🥥 ﹒ ! (＞人＜;)ᶻz ﹒★ beomgyu x fem!reader.

ꜝ ওফ্ফো  ! WC1072. ₍synopsis: during a sunny evening, whilst running away from your daily existential crisis you understand the importance of exercise. and,

sort of acquaint yourself with a charming fellow with kind of slippery fingers, and the prettiest face you've ever seen.

✫ this is dedicated to my best friend @itz-yerin i hope you like it baby!!!

"Don't mind me guys," you choked out despite trying your best to conceal the fact that your lungs were desperate for a steady source of air going in and out consistently, and letting you know that the lifestyle you had chosen for yourself all this while might be the case of being eaten alive if a zombie apocalypse did end up occurring in the near future.

"Go ahead," you were too focused on making sure your nostrils weren't flaring more than usual than speaking in coherent sentences, "Go!"

Your best friend, albeit initially confused but upon noticing and analysing the hunched over cycle posture and the sweat dripping off your body like a waterfall, had taken her befuddled, and slightly concerned boyfriend for a lap, or four while found a nearby bench to sit down to recollect your breath and think over how to expand your lifespan by a few more years.

Battling the urge to completely abandon the cycle onto the street, you lugged it with you as you crawled to the section with the grass, and collapsed beside the fallen torture device. The exhaustion gradually evaporates off your body like dewdrops under the scorching gaze of sunshine in the mornings of june, as a stealthy serenity sneaks in amidst the chaos of your surroundings, transforming all the clamour into a state of halcyon white noise.

You closed your eyes, allowing the gentle breeze to graze your heated cheeks, adorning you with the fragrances of all the florals it has been carrying. The sunshine played hide and seek with the clouds, drawing an array of inane shapes on your face like a toddler, tickling you with its sparkling mischief.

It felt good; it felt fine, despite the concerns that had kept you awake all night. It felt like you were alive in the moment and that's all that mattered. The blades of grass prickling your back, the June sun showering you with its rays and clouds coming to your aid. The warm gust of wind consoling you as well as the slight droplets of ice cold rain—ice cold rain?

You opened your eyes to uncover the mystery behind the whiplash of the capricious weather but to further push into a frenzy of perplexity, the clear blue yonder mocked you as it boasted an expanse devoid of any dark clouds—but the fog cleared up, and the reason behind the sudden downpour was someone's passionate participation in a topic you couldn't quite over hear. The sugary droplet falling off your cheek, and onto the green blades, only to be replaced with a few more similar ones when the conversation took another swift swerve increasing the ferocity of the words coming out of your assailant's mouth—so fast you were even a lip reader would have to suffer.

A few droplets were already a hassle as they dried off on your cheeks leaving a very sticky residue, but you had to seriously draw the line when the entirety of the popsicle slipped from his fingers and hit you right on your face. Before you could even process the piece of ice that was stuck on your face, you heard the man gasp, followed by another gasp from the person he was arguing with, both of them rushing over to make sure you don't sue—except the other one ran to another direction for some reason.

You should be sitting up by now and giving them an earful and but for some reasons, you couldn't—one of the major one being the fact the twenty minutes you actually enjoyed cycling, and the other half an hour you forced yourself to continue transforming itself into a bothersome back pain, and secondly it was quite amusing your main assailant's slightly long shag hair moving up and down from this angle. Removing the popsicle from your cheek, you tried to sit yourself up.

"Are you okay?!" You attacker crouched down to meet you at your current height. His concerned laced eyes analysed your face before fumbling with his jeans pocket to get his handkerchief out, offering it to you, "I am so sorry for this."

You touched your cheek before accepting the handkerchief to dab it onto your cheek softly putting on a show for him—except water and a good few seconds of rubbing the syrupy consistency wasn't leaving your face. You knew that, he knew that, but the world depends on such unspoken courtesies.

"It's alright." You assured him meekly, focusing more of your energy to get yourself off the ground so you don't seem like a brat—despite it taking a little more that what it takes other people, as in like seconds, you were at least able to get your ass off the ground for a few inches when you noticed the concerned expression glazing over his pretty face, "I was cycling for a few hours so my legs just gave out," you lied.

He nodded and extended his hands for you to take, "I am Beomgyu," He introduced himself, and you gave him your name in return.

"I am sorry for what happened! I promise I will buy you a good cleanser of your-" Before the beautiful man, whose name you had just learned to be Beomgyu, could finish his benevolent promise to take care of any arising skin issues you may face, his friend whom you had deemed to have abandoned his friend in need, came running as though he had something important to announce—conveniently missing the laid out bike on the ground and as a result crashing into Beomgyu's back who in a sick game of domino had fallen over you before he could even process what had hit him.

You cursed under your breath when you clearly heard a few of your spine break, with the added weight of two men laid out on top of you earning the questionable looks from every passerby. You couldn't even complain if you wanted to after all it was your own fault leaving it laid out instead of just properly putting it away on standing.

"I went to go get wet tissue for the blunder you created," The top part of the stack, the runaway friend, groaned while wiggling his way out of the giant dog pile.

"And you couldn't announce it, Taehyun?!" The one directly on top of your stomach croaked before turning to look at you, "I'll pick up a tab of your chiropractor I promise."

COPYRIGHTS RESERVED TO ITGIRLGYU 23'. FEEDBACKS AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! PERM' TAGLIST: @impureperhaps @full-sunnies @ox1-lovesick @jisungsdaydreamer @wonioml @1921choi @forever-in-the-sky2 @gyuletters

[ninapi]

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺╚══ Wind Pillar ╝

Premise: Days in the life of the Shinazugawa household Pt.2. This is based on my previous story (link here).

Word Count: 3003

Note: This was requested by the lovely @dancingnewcat, "Shinazugawa household scenario when they ask where babies come from + when they hear 'noises' from their parents room and get confused and ask them about it." 🫶🏻

Warning: This might be an obvious warning but anyways, Suggestive content. Just a bit, no smut. It’s more funny than anything- 👀

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sanemi’s children were all very well disciplined, his father reinforced the importance of a routine in each of them from a very early age and they wouldn’t dare to question their father. They all knew when to follow orders and knew it was on their best interest.

However, the one rule they all disliked very much was how early they had to go to bed.

It was no secret to anyone that this family worked a lot. They had a lot of mouths to feed, being consistent was important to say the least. And the field work was as exhausting as demanding. To you and Sanemi made perfect sense for the children to go to bed after a nice warm bath and a delicious home cooked dinner, they needed to rest to grow strong.

But to them it was nothing but a nuisance. Yes, they were tired, but they didn’t have much free time to read or play and would like to use some of that time off to do so.

While the youngest toddler would be the one to protest the most, Remi was the first one to fall asleep every day, even before Senri did. Sanehiko and Genma were a completely different story.

Genma liked to draw, and he was actually pretty good at it. His mother made a sketch book for him and that’s his biggest treasure. He stays up for an extra couple of hours at night trying to draw whatever that caught his eye that day. Today that was a caterpillar wiggling near his favorite tomato plant.

Sanehiko on the other hand loved to read. You were very insistent in teaching your eldest how to read and write, while Genma wasn’t the best, Sanehiko really enjoyed reading and would constantly reread your books, using his down time at night to do so.

They waited all day to get this freeing moment, it was their favorite time of the day. And it was very much so as well for their parents.

Sanemi was the most hardworking person you’ve ever met, thankfully he was your husband. But this also meant your time together wasn’t as abundant as you would like, even if you did everything together. He was very overprotective, and you were constantly pregnant, so he would make you rest inside and do minor jobs around the house while he would break his back outside in the fields with your eldest children. It was a rewarding feeling, having someone to treasure you this much, to worry this much about his family. You were a very lucky woman, that much you’re aware of.

This time of the day was Sanemi’s favorite too, very much like his sons, he waited all day for this very moment. The moment to have his beloved beautiful wife in his arms. If he was being honest, it’s all he thinks about all day. He craves the softness of your curves, the warmth of your chest, your soft caresses, and kisses. According to Uzui, he was lovesick. And he most definitely was, even if he’s been with you for over ten years now.

To him you were the definition of perfection, he could just stare at you all day and never get bored, it was even better than killing demons, a feeling like no other.

And nighttime was your time off. Your kids were in bed, your youngest child was now sleeping through the entire night without waking up much, your room was a peaceful little bubble where your love would bloom every night.

Sanemi was lovesick, yes.

But he was still a man.

And this man has needs.

Daily needs.

Tonight, you were particularly tired, Sae was not like any of your previous babies, this girl had an appetite, even taking care of your daily home tasks was difficult with her constantly asking for milk, you even had to miss the outings to the market every other day because of how drained you were.

Tonight, was one of those nights.

“She reminds me of you when we just met.” you were laying on your side, tucked cozily to your husband’s chest.

“What why me? She has your face, not mine.” he was scowling down at you, he loved his child, but she was truly feral when it came to food, he wasn’t like that at all.

“Well not really her, but my breasts are as sore as they were when we…well when we made Sanehiko.” your flustered self made Sanemi laugh loudly, he was particularly proud of himself back then, leaving you pregnant was well intended, he was the only child that was actually planned, he was dying to stuff you full with his child, there was nothing he wanted more in the world.

“She’s my daughter after all. Do you want a little massage? You know I’m good with my hands.” That was a very tempting offer, even just laying on your side was painful, they were full of milk and sensitive due to the continuous sucking of your daughter.

“Hmmm…you are indeed…if you aren’t too tired, I would have to accept that offer.” his hands were experts in the art of disrobing his lovely wife, within seconds your sore assets had been freed from confinement and were being diligently caressed by your skillful husband.

It felt good, you could feel all the pressure knotting on the top part of your breasts due to their heaviness leave in an instant, making you hum quietly in delight.

He was being as careful as possible as to not cause the milk to come out, but they were so full it was an impossible task, the sight of your bouncy, delectable and leaking breasts never failed to turn him on to his highest, you were just so gorgeous, he could just eat you all up every day.

His arousal was now obviously pressing onto one of your thighs, making you very much aware of what this would end up as, you were tired but never too tired for your man.

“Nemi…” a mewl louder than intended left your lips as one of his hands was replaced by his hungry mouth, your mind was going blank, your body craving more and more of his.

You are normally very careful to not let your voice go wild; your kids were right next door. But there were days you couldn’t even differentiate how loud you were, being so full of your husband in more than one way drowned all your senses.

Little Genma was leaning against the wall that divided both rooms, still up and trying to get his tomatoes as round as the real ones when he heard something, making him get up instantly, startling his older brother.

“What is it Genma? Need me to take you to the toilet?”

“Nii-chan, I heard something.” his eyes were wide opened, confused, worried, he didn’t know what to think.

“Something like what-“ before Genma could even reply to his brother, Sanehiko could hear one of his father’s feral growl-like grunts echoing throughout the house.

“Oh, I see. We are probably having another sibling soon then.” he went back into his futon, turning on his side as to cover his idle ear and be able to focus on his reading.

Genma was speechless, even more confused than ever. He could swear he heard his lovely mother, most likely in pain and now his father sounded somewhat dangerous. Was it ok for him to stay in his room? Should he not go and make sure his mother was fine?

“Don’t even think about going to check on her, Genma. Father would have your head on a plate for that.” the glare his older brother was giving him meant troubles, but he was so very worried for his mother’s well being, he had to do something.

“Go to sleep now, you can finish your drawing tomorrow. Trust me, mother will be fine.” he knew how attached his little brother was to his mother, every time he heard her make the slightest sound of discomfort he would run over to see if he could help her in any way, Sanehiko could see the desperate look on his little brother’s face.

“Come here, you can sleep with me tonight.” moving aside, he set his book down and brought his baby brother safely by his side, covering one of his little ears with his hand to make sure the toddler couldn’t hear anything else that could aggravate him further.

It was a rare occasion, you both really tried hard to conceal every littlest sound of pleasure for the sake of your children, no matter how much Sanemi loved your lovely cries of love, your children were first. But Sanehiko noticed that not long after it happens every time, his mother would start getting rounder, another sibling arriving later. He was a clever boy even without knowing much about the subject.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As soon as Genma heard you in the kitchen the next morning, he ran over to you, lifting both of your arms up and checking every inch of you, making sure you were ok.

“Good morning my love, did you have a nice sleep?” he just nodded in disinterest. Once he finished verifying his mother was in one piece, the hateful glare he shut his father made him choke on his tea.

“What is that look supposed to mean young man?” he knew angering his father was a bad idea, but he couldn’t even sleep properly thinking of what could all that mean.

“Father, how do you make babies?” the pan you were holding fell on the kitchen floor spilling all its content. You were not expecting to have this talk so soon, at least not with Genma.

“Why do you care? Want one? I have a couple I could let you borrow.” Sanemi was trying to stir the child away from his question as a way to lower the amount of stress radiating from you at the moment.

“I heard you being mean with mother last night and nii-chan said you were making babies. I want an explanation. Does it hurt you, mother? If so, please don’t make any more.” Your husband came to your rescue as you almost fainted at the newly gained information.

Your son heard you.

Your baby boy, the light of your eyes, heard you moaning your husband’s name.

You felt awful, disgusted with your own self. How to explain this to a five-year-old?

“Ugh, it does hurt but only when they come out and I am never mean to your mother, you should know that.” and he wasn't, if there was someone that knew this to be true were his children. He could never even get angry at you, he would get angry at them, but he would rather get hurt himself than do any potential harm to his dear love.

“Then why was she crying in pain last night? Don’t think I didn’t hear it! And I heard you too, father. Being all mean!”

“I did no such thing. How do you know it was me? Maybe it was a wolf, we live up a mountain after all, that’s our every day. And the painful cry you heard, wasn’t it a deer? Remember we heard one the other day that sounded just like a crying woman? That was most likely it.” Genma was now getting confused, easily being swayed by his father’s distractions. He knows what he did, he is 100% sure that what his son heard had to do with the wonderful night of lovemaking he and his wife shared hours ago, but he didn’t want you to pass out in shame he had to do something.

“I would recognize my mother’s voice anywhere.” Having this little creature scowling up at Sanemi was almost comical, but Sanehiko being the responsible older brother he is, had to do something before the situation escalated.

“It wasn’t a wolf father, don’t worry I made sure it was you guys. I told Genma to leave you alone, the baby making is usually this loud, he probably just doesn’t remember.” all remaining color from your face left, your cold hands reaching over for your husband’s in agony.

Your first born knew about this, heard you more than once.

You were terrible parents, you should both be punished by law. Beating yourself over your own actions, your eyes began to water, sending Sanemi into panic mode.

“So what if we did? Is not like you can boss me around, kid. She’s your mother, but she was my wife first, and I’ll put as many babies in her as I want. End of the story, go grab some eggs for breakfast.” he was cradling your face gently, nuzzling your nose with his own, trying to bring you back to life with his warmth.

“But father, how does it work?” Sanemi’s veins were popping out of his forehead, toddlers can be a pain with all their questions and curious nature and he loves his toddlers, but his wife looked like a corpse, he needed to end this conversation now.

Sanehiko jumped in, sensing his father’s wrath. “Do you remember when Cookie was pregnant? Before it happened we saw Blue climbing onto her back and she looked like she was in a lot of pain too. That’s how blue put Milky inside of her.” Sanemi’s hands fell from your face, that was it, his wife would pass out for sure. He never expected his son to use cows as analogy for his younger brother.

Genma’s face was one full of horror imagining his poor beloved mother being rammed into like poor little Cookie.

“But how does the baby go inside? Where does it come from? I didn’t see Blue putting anything inside, no babies came out.” That was it, you were losing it.

“Sweetie, we will explain this a bit better when you grow up, ok? Just know I’m fine, I’m in no form of pain, your father would never hurt me.”

“Okay, but can I ask one more question?” nobody answered so the child continues, “I think I saw Blue peeing inside of Cookie. So, you pee inside of the other and then a baby comes out? Does this mean if I pee on a tree, babies will come out of flowers?” your baby boy was adorable no one could deny that, but just as troublesome.

“It’s a different kind of pee.”

“SANEMI!” you swatted his arm in alarm, you really didn’t want to continue with this conversation, why was he being like this!

“Another type of pee? So, I don’t have flower babies then? Maybe I should listen to mother and only pee in the toilet just in case.”

“Y-yes, that’s it baby. Let’s just pee in the toilet, ok? Now can you go and get the eggs for your father, please?” he’s never seen your face get this red, he made you uncomfortable and he knows it, but he really wanted to know more about this.

“I have one more question mother, just one more, I promise.” you defleated on a chair, braising yourself for what was to come.

“Isn’t it gross that father pees in you? Was I born out of pee? You told me pee was the water I drink during the day. Is that why we are 80% water? Oh! Is there some kind of special drink father has to drink to pee babies?”  Didn’t he say he had one question-

Sanemi got up to block you from sight, crouching down to his son’s size. “Genma. Baby pee is not water, it comes out of you only when needed, you don’t have to worry about peeing babies now, your body can’t do that yet, you’re too young, not even Sanehiko can. Once your body is ready for that, I will tell you all you need to know about it, ok? Now let’s just not mention this again around your mother, alright? It’s a little embarrassing for her.” he knew mentioning the effect on his mother would end the conversation, he would never do anything to make his mother feel bad.

“Why is she embarrassed? I thought she was proud of me….” his little bottom lip was jutting out, eyes glistening with unshed tears. That’s it, now he made his son cry, great, just great.

Coming out from behind your husband, you spoke in a soft tone, laced with as much love as discomfort, “I am, my love. I would never be embarrassed of any of you, I love you so, so much, you make us proud every day just by being here with us. I just don’t know how explain this without making you worry, baby. I promise your father has never been mean to me, you trust me, right?”

“More than anything.” he waddled over into your arms, wanting to be comforted by his loving mother. Truth is he was very worried last night, he is happy to know his mother wasn’t in pain, even if he had now some other sanitary concerns.

Remi was up by the door listening to everything without any of you knowing. All this conversation picking her interest.

“So, someone will pee inside Remi one day?” she was making her way over to her parents, now it was Sanemi’s turn to lose his balance.

“WHAT? No, never. Nobody will ever do that. I would cut their dick in half before they even get near you, princess.” his daughter was pouting, still sleepy and very confused.

“What’s a dick, ppa?” he went white as a ghost, this was your time to rescue your man.

“Is what men use to pee, baby.” you took her from Sanemi’s arms, giving him space to breathe.

“So ppa has one too? Can I see it?” a loud thump could be heard, Sanemi fell on his butt, his eyes lost in the distance. Ah~ So this is how you felt just now…

“He does, but you’ve seen one already. You help mama change Senri every day, don’t you my love?”

“Oh!! The acorn looking thingy! Remi knows!” the look of despair in Sanemi’s face made you laugh, your family is like no other, of that, you were sure.

“That’s it. Now how about we all start preparing breakfast? I don’t know you, but I’m starving!” Seemed like the interrogation was now over, the kids went to their room to bring both missing siblings to the dining area.

Finally, you both got to breathe.

“Thanks babe. I thought it would never end. How did we even get into this mess? We were so quiet last night...” Sanemi wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing a loving kiss to the back of your neck.

“I can’t believe they heard us, Nemi. We gotta be more careful!” to this he only nodded, you were so warm, it was distracting him, his hips started looking for friction on their own, very quickly forgetting everything you just said.

“Shinazugawa Sanemi! Are you trying to pee in me with your acorn thingy?” you really knew how to kill a hard on.

Both of you burst into a fit of loud laughter, parenting was hard, you had areas of improvement just like everyone, nobody was perfect. But marrying you was more to Sanemi than just a way to keep living, you weren’t just his wife, you were his best friend, the best lover there is, the best mother ever. He loved how even after the messy morning you just had you could still laugh together like you did all those years back when you were younger and were experimenting with one and another, life was perfect all thanks to you.

“Yup, you fucking caught me. I’ll make sure to save some for after dinner, see how many acorns can fit in your-“

“PPA!” Remi was waiting for her father out by the front door impatiently.

“Coming princess. Let’s go for those eggs.” He’s never shut up this fast in his entire life, being a parent is hard, specially when your wife is as addicting as his is.

Acorns would never look the same to any of you.

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