#with several different suits to pick from

[pumpkinpaix]

Very curious for your opinion- what do you think of it when people write modern au wwx as being very active in social justice movements? Personally, I can buy it but I don't think it should be a given?

maybe an unwise first question to pick out of my moldering askbox but whatever it's the first one that i felt like i had an answer prepared for off the cuff so yolo i guess!!

short answer: at this point, i don't buy it. It's a detail that I can and have put up with for fics i really like for other reasons, but i think it's pretty far off the mark in terms of how I understand wei wuxian's primary motivating forces.

ok now to get into the weeds! :D

there are several reasons why wei wuxian being heavily involved in social justice movements doesn't ring true to me--the easiest one to point to from outside the narrative is that the sort of activism wei wuxian is written to participate in is often modeled on how social justice circles look in the US. It feels really culturally alienated in a lot of ways. I can't really blame authors for this, though, because it's a very understandable approach to write what you're familiar with--but it does often take me out of the story because i find it kind of jarring, especially if the story in question is ostensibly supposed to be set in China where modern social activism necessarily looks very different than in the states.

but that kind of feels like metagaming the question, so: in terms of interpreting the text, i really just don't think wei wuxian would be inclined to that kind of work for two main reasons.

first: I think he'd be really bad at it lol. social activist movements are necessarily collaborative, and wei wuxian is kind of terrible at playing well with others, compromising, discussing, etc. he often favors action over diplomacy and has terrible impulse control, tending to act first, think later, often to pretty devastating consequences for the people he's ostensibly standing up for. See: antagonizing Wen Chao, which precipitates the chain of events that ultimately leads to the massacre at Lotus Pier; confronting the jins and basically threatening to kill everyone at jinlin tai if they opposed him, thus alienating all his potential allies and leaving the wen remnants essentially completely dependent on his individual power for survival etc. thus dooming them entirely when he died.

(also see: "can we stop talking and just start killing each other" at guanyin temple)

even really minor events in the past show the same kind of pattern, such as at the qishan conference when he throws his support behind wen ning as an archery competitor--wen ning panics in the spotlight and flubs his shots to public ridicule from being put on the spot. jiang cheng is the one who drags him away in mortification while wei wuxian simply doesn't give a shit about how it reflects upon him, not really considering how it might reflect on his sect.

i'm not saying that these were "wrong" actions to take in the moment: wei wuxian has an admirable righteous streak. he does not, however, always take other people into consideration when he makes his decisions. he basically ignores anyone who tries to change his behavior, sometimes carelessly, sometimes reacting with anger (Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji, literally everyone post-sunshot frankly). that kind of individualist mentality is really ill-suited to activism, which requires an understanding that the individual has less power than the group and that you cannot bend the world around you. a lot of fandom comes down super hard on characters like jiang cheng and yu ziyuan for the things they say to wei wuxian, but i think they're honestly quite understandable, even if the way they express themselves is sometimes cruel or hurtful. the rationale isn't particularly surprising. It's one thing to act in a way that gets yourself hurt. It's another to do so when you know that your position will drag a whole lot of others down with you.

i feel that even if wei wuxian had the interest in joining a social activist group, he would probably eventually butt heads with the others until they either expelled him or he left himself. his thick skin would be a great tool in certain calculated actions (he would do very well as a symbol or a charismatic fall guy) but unfortunately, he's not very good at listening or adhering to a plan.

second: i just don't think wei wuxian thinks about systems of oppression very much. i summarized how i feel about his relationship to class already in this post from like 4.5 years ago (jeez.....) and I still stand by it! wei wuxian is not particularly class conscious because he is, in fact, relatively wealthy. he also like, pretty clearly doesn't think very hard about women's work or status either, except in personal terms--after all, he plays with A'Yuan frivolously, planting him in the dirt and does not think about the kind of work that goes into maintaining a standard of living, which is often women's work. (before anyone says anything, yes, i am aware he is not outright misogynist about women's work). throughout the text, wei wuxian just doesn't put a whole lot of thought into how a woman's gender might affect her status and power.

furthermore, this is kind of mentioned in the class meta, but again--wei wuxian's defense of the wen remnants isn't singularly motivated by the desire to uplift an oppressed class, because the wens are not an oppressed class. They are a sect, which is both familial and alliance-based, not an ethnic group or a class of people. Their treatment is still unconscionable, but it's not systemic oppression. the attempted killing of all the wens is not much different than xue yang's vendetta against the yueyang chang clan, except in scale. and until wen qing comes and personally begs him to help her find her brother, wei wuxian doesn't really have any thoughts to spare for the wen remnants and how they might be faring. he goes to help wen qing and wen ning because he owes them both a serious personal debt, which is something that he feels strongly about! and once he gets to the camps, he obviously isn't going to just ignore the other people suffering (esp because they are the wen sibs' immediate family). he is righteous, after all, but often fails to apply it in a big-picture way.

wei wuxian cares a lot about paying back those who have been kind to him or have helped him, which is pretty evident through his self-sacrificing streak throughout the narrative. he often forgets or deliberately does not take his own well-being into consideration--but, as established, he also forgets that he is not an isolated entity and that his well-being is tied to the well-being of others as well.

throwing himself in front of the brand to save mianmian, making sure everyone else gets out of the cave before he does, immediately coming to terms with having his right hand cut off, giving up his golden core, publicly distancing himself from yunmeng, personally defending the wen remnants, taking jin ling's curse mark onto himself, making himself into the yin flag at the second siege and so on--it's all one long extension of paying back debts, in some way.

personally, I think this is because he considers his entire life to be one that is owed--his life, his skills, his body etc. is all owed to others. I also think, however, that this tendency is often confused by fandom into characterizing wei wuxian as having low self-esteem, which he patently does not. wei wuxian thinks he's hot shit. he's arrogant, a show-off, and is so insistent in his own skills and abilities that he icaruses himself into literal bits. when he thinks he's about to lose his right hand he's like welp. guess i gotta learn how to do this with my left, without really any question about whether or not he can. of course he can! he's wei wuxian! can he bring wen ning back from the dead? for sure!! definitely!!!! can he totally do this night hunt blindfolded? hell yeah he can! and he's usually right. i think wei wuxian has very low self-worth, which is a different thing: he throws himself away at the drop of a hat for others that he cares about or feels indebted to because, whether consciously or unconsciously, he thinks that their well-being, survival, happiness etc. is something he should ensure at any cost, even himself because he owes it to them. he owes his whole existence!

so circling back to the initial topic, I think this pattern of thinking is pretty at odds with social activism. he puts those he feels he owes above himself, but doesn't have a lot of attention to spare for people he considers irrelevant--which is most people. (never learning jin zixun's name, for example). I think that while he understands the nature of systems of oppression to a certain degree (like, he understands jin guangyao's motivations, but he's not particularly interested or sympathetic), it's not something he's really passionate about correcting. his reaction mostly seems to be like "well, that sucks". he only really goes out of his way to defend those that he has personal affairs with or those that happen to pique his notice

wei wuxian doesn't actually have big-picture ambitions. he didn't want to be a leader of anything or start his own sect or anything else. he doesn't spend much of his thoughts on making a better world so much as how he might be able to be content in the world that exists with the people that he cares about. that kind of self-focused drive leaves me unconvinced that he would get involved in social justice in any meaningful way in a modern au. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i think that makes him a really fun protagonist, tbh. the tension between his selfishness and his propensity for self-sacrifice makes for a very interesting dynamic.

.....

:'] i guess i never left the weeds.

(ko-fi)

[blainesebastian]

home is a person

word count: 11,493 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for smut, suggestive sexual language, and expletives) summary: London has a house you live in. All of those memories in New York patchworked into a home. London could never feel like that. notes: a while ago, an anon asked me if i took requests. i don't, but ironically, i got inspo from their ask, which was for jealous!nick. so hope you enjoy those moments in here! 🥰 notes2: masterlist is here, gifs are from here!

In all honesty, your move from New York to London hadn’t been pleasant. 

This was the last thing you wanted, but when your mom needed a fresh start after the drama with your father? You couldn’t exactly blame her. You just…didn’t expect her to look for job offers in another state, let alone another country. It wasn’t easy, packing up your entire life, moving to a brand new city, a new house, trying to figure out where everything fit—including yourself. You’ve always believed that things happened for a reason but this? You weren’t too sure. 

Then you met Nick. 

It’s not like you’re trying to center your entire existence around a guy, or anything, but…sometimes he feels like he’s at the center of what makes you feel good. Like he’s become the pinnacle of your orbit, that your friendship with him has really yanked you out of feeling the worst type of way about moving here. You met Lion, Jenna and Nick through Giles, your mother working with his father, one social event slipping into another. At the charity gala you were introduced, you remember being drawn to him, the long lines of his suit fitting him perfectly, the gentle golden hue to some of his curls, the fullness of his mouth, how it seemed to twitch into a smile when he met you. 

You also remember the blonde scowling nearby, practically plastered to his side all night. 

“Events like this are always such a bore,” Anna sighs through her nose, leaning back in her chair. “I mean, can’t we just donate money and move on without all the speeches?” 

You could understand that perspective, maybe. There were a lot of speeches tonight geared towards raising money. But…isn’t that the whole point? To listen to the different voices on why it was so important to do something before it was too late? That’s why there’s a bunch of informational tables as well, all dedicated to something different to help preserve and protect wildlife and oceans. It never bothered you to come to events like this because at least it felt like you were doing something with your money that helped…but you’re also reminded of people like Anna—brash impatience. 

“I mean,” She picks up her wine glass, taking a sip, “Not that our money here will do a lot of good anyways,” She crinkles her nose, “Remind me to choose another charity next time.” She laughs softly with her friend next to her, Nick on the other side with a look of thinning patience. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, standing from the table. Anna’s eyes dart to you, setting her glass down. 

“Oh, hope I didn’t offend you.” She says, but her eyes are a glint of something…territorial. Like she wants you to leave the table. She doesn’t look one iota apologetic. 

You give her a tight smile, “No, not at all. Your dress actually reminded me that I wanted to check out the table on the efforts of plastic removal.” You motion to the right and walk off in that direction, though, not before you hear Giles’s snort of amusement and Anna’s scoff of disbelief. 

You linger at the coat check, waiting while someone retrieves your jacket, chewing on your lower lip. You already made a few donations with your mom’s approval at several conservation foundations, so, there’s really no need to return to your table. You’re not sure you’d be able to keep your mouth shut anyways and…you don’t want to start an argument with a so-called ‘prominent’ daughter of the social circles both you and your mother are now traveling in. 

“Headed out?” 

Turning, Nick approaches the other side of the coat check, handing his ticket to someone as well. You chew on your lower lip, nodding, because…that should seem fairly obvious. You expect the conversation to die there, but it doesn’t. He sticks his hands in his pants pockets, rolling back on his heels, 

“Did you know that half the oxygen we breathe comes from ocean plankton?” 

You blink—out of anything you expected to come out of his mouth, it wasn’t that. “What?” 

He smiles a little bit, amused, like throwing you off kilter was exactly what he intended. He motions that the coat attendant has come back with your jacket and you have to tear your gaze off him to take it. 

“Just seems like this event is a big deal to you, so, thought you might know that.” 

You scoff, unsure if he’s here throwing a factoid in your face because you insulted Anna back at the table. You slide your sleeves through your jacket as he gets his, “Yes, I care about ocean conservation, okay? I want to maybe do something with marine biology one day,” You have no idea why you’re telling him that, “So sorry if your girlfriend’s flippant comment got under my skin.” 

You begin to walk towards the exit, but since you didn’t drive a car here, you’re left lingering on the top step and he slides up beside you. He’s pulling a ticket from his pocket for the valet and you’re fishing out your phone to call for a ride. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” He says, turning a bit to look at you. He then takes a backwards step, landing on the stair below the one you’re on. You’re almost eyelevel like this. Almost. Your gaze skitters over him—he’s handsome. Far too handsome. “Can’t date someone who doesn’t care about plastic, or plankton, for that matter.” 

A twitch of your lips at that. Okay so…maybe you judged this, him, all wrong. You got the inkling that Nick might be as uptight and shallow as Anna if he was with her, but now it seems like…he’s not even giving the impression that they’re friends. They’re just in the same space sometimes, that she’s in his space when she can be. 

“Those are some pretty decent requirements.” 

Nick hums softly, motioning over his shoulder. “Did you drive here?” 

You shake your head, lifting your phone a little, “Ordering a car.” 

“I can take you,” He offers, holding his hand out to help you down the carpeted steps in your heels, “Or…we could go for a drink.” At your hesitation, he takes another step down, “I know plenty of other plankton and ocean facts, if you’re curious.” 

A real smile now spreads across your lips before reaching for his hand, “Well how can I deny myself that?” 

—

London has a house you live in. 

When you thought about home, New York always sprung to mind. Not just the city and all the places that you loved visiting, but your loft-like bedroom, the twinkle lights above your windows, succulent plants on the sill, your cat curled up on one of your pillows. You thought of the smell of homemade meatballs that your mom would make, clinging to the space long after they were eaten. Of laughter that stuck to the walls when playing a board game or watching a movie, tears over your first boyfriend, arguments with your father before he left. 

All of those memories patchworked into a home. London could never feel like that. 

—

A few months turn into a handful of years and the seamlessness in which you do things with Nick, Lion and Jenna is something that settles into place in a way you never planned on. Back home in New York, you had maybe one best friend that you did everything with. And what could you claim of that ‘best’ friend now? The relationship completely disintegrated upon moving. But with Nick, Lion and Jenna, it feels like…somehow, you’ve always been an addition to the trio. You’re grateful for that, to find your people that you don’t want to be without. It’s unexpected in the best way. 

Something else you never expected? Jenna’s stamina when it comes to dancing. 

A soft laugh leaves your lips as she does a twirl on the dance floor, her arms coming up over her head. Lion and Nick are nearby, drinking more than dancing, but it’s still fun. The club is a little packed for your taste but the music is good and so are the drinks that are flowing. You lean in close to Jenna, tossing your arms around her shoulders, 

“I’m gonna grab some water!” You’ll get her some too, turning to go towards the bar. 

You push through a small wave of people, reaching a semi-filled space, not as hectic as the dance floor. Letting out a slow breath, you push a few strands of hair out of your face that’s threatening to stick to your neck where you’re slightly flushed from dancing. Leaning against the bar, you wait to get the bartender to notice you. 

When someone slides up beside you, you don’t think much of it. There’s not much room as it is, so you know there’s a lot of accidental encroaching in space, but then you realize he’s not looking to get the bartender’s attention—he’s looking right down at you. He leans far too close to talk into your ear, 

“You’re beautiful, let me buy you a drink.” 

You’ve learned a long time ago that there’s no requirement for you to be nice when someone makes you uncomfortable. You take a step back and shake your head, “No thanks.” 

He doesn’t take the hint, of course, trying again. You’re not sure why guys think they need to push at the word ‘no’. “Come on, what’s one drink going to hurt?” 

Fuck, he’s not going to leave you alone. You’re going to have to leave the bar and come back for the water. Before you can turn around, you sense Nick before you see him. At this point, you know the weight and warmth of his body, how his hands feel on your back or where your hip meets your waist, the scent of his cologne mixed with something that’s purely him. There’s a safeness there, a comfort, a knowing, and you find yourself leaning a bit into it as he touches his chest to your back. 

“Fuck off to the other side of the bar.” Nick says to the hoverer over the music, gently clasping your elbow and encouraging you under his arm, his body creating a bit of a cage to block the guy out. 

The guy eventually disappears, but Nick’s stance doesn’t change. And you…don’t mind that. You turn just a little under his arm, a small smile tugging the corners of your mouth, 

“I was just on my way back to you guys.” 

“Didn’t like how long you were gone.” He replies when he leans down to talk to you. It’s a completely different sensation having him do it, his lips brushing your ear. A shiver courses down your spine, despite how warm your body feels against his own. 

“Oh you were worried?” You tease, raising your eyebrows. 

“Jenna was worried.” He insists but there’s a twitch of a smile to Nick’s lips, his gaze flicking to yours and then to the bartender that asks what you want to order. 

When you bring the water back to your friend, handing it off to her, she’s dancing with Lion. When you take a step back, sipping from your straw, you end up leaning against Nick’s side again. 

Neither of you seem to be bothered by it. 

—

You thought it was going to rain today, but it seems to be holding out alright. Tipping your head back to look at the sky, you sit down on the edge of Nick’s pool and dip your legs in. Jenna and Lion are in the deep end, treading while sipping on drinks and Nick pops up out of the water. He runs both hands through his hair but loose curls still sit on his forehead. He smiles at you, wandering over to stand near your knee. 

“Told you,” He motions towards the sky. 

You purse your lips, adjusting your sunglasses, “I dunno, some of those clouds still look suspicious.” 

He shakes his head but he’s smiling a little, “If it rains, we’ll be in by then. Got to take advantage of the sunny days here.” 

You chew on your lower lip, knowing he’s right but…this, admittedly, isn’t your favorite type of weather. Nor your favorite season. You live for snow and while Nick’s right, sometimes it can be rather gloomy in London, that doesn’t take away from wishing for snowflakes. 

He scoffs softly, his hand moving to touch your leg, his thumb tracing a circle along your ankle. “Thinking about snow, aren’t you?” When you raise your eyebrows, he smiles, “Got that look on your face, getting pretty good at reading you.” 

He is. Nick, however, shields his emotions fairly well. You’ve gotten to know him since you moved here, and you’d say you’re nearly close? But he’s still rather guarded with heavier feelings. Big emotions are obvious, but those minute ones that become visible between heartbeats, they’re harder for you to gauge. Which is how Nick likes it. You’re determined though, one of these days you’ll figure him out. One day you’ll be able to read him like a favorite book. 

“I just want to visit a cabin or something. Ski resort.” There’s hope in your voice, sounding a little wistful. 

“Can you even ski?” At the crinkle of your nose, Nick laughs. “Guess that wouldn’t be the point.” 

You huff, playfully splashing him with a bit of water, “No.” 

“Cabin in the woods sounds like a horror movie,” He volleys back, squeezing your ankle. 

“It is one,” You grin, “But again, not the point. You’d be traveling with a seasoned horror movie professional,” You touch your chest, “I’d keep us safe.” 

Nick shakes his head, turning to look at Jenna and Lion—maybe even to ask them if they’d be interested in something like that, but they’re too busy kissing to be paying attention to either of you. 

When he shifts his attention back, there’s a gentle eyeroll that makes your eyebrows pull together. He’s not…annoyed, exactly? But there’s something there that you can’t quite place. And you wonder if it’s because you’re seeing it for the first time, a microexpression that doesn’t usually slip free from the well-guarded emotions he keeps under lock and key. 

He looks up at you, licking his lips, “What?” 

You curl your hair around your ears, your mouth opening and…should you even say anything? Then, “Nothing, I just think it’s cute that you’re jealous.” 

Nick scoffs, “I don’t get jealous.” 

Now it’s your turn to make a noise, giving him a look of slight disbelief, “Seriously?” You expect him to buckle underneath the scrutiny but he doesn’t, just shrugs his one shoulder. “Never?” 

“No,” He smiles a little, floating on his back in the water. You pay special close attention to his face and not water gliding down the muscles of his chest, “It’s a useless emotion.”

You can’t help but laugh, “So is getting pissed off to the point that you punch someone, and yet…” You grin at him. 

Nick makes an O shape with his lips, letting out a sound to let you know that your comment has struck him. He swims closer, almost to your knees—and then grabs you. 

“Nick!” You screech, but it’s too late, he’s pulled your entire body into the pool. 

You pop back up to the surface, splashing him right in the face. Dick. But he’s laughing and honestly, so are you, shaking your head as you lean back against the pool wall. When Lion and Jenna float over, Nick brings up your cabin in the woods idea and while a plan starts to form of maybe actually doing a small trip, you can’t stop your head from spinning about what he said. About not getting jealous. 

Is he lying? But what would be the point of that? Has he never been with anyone that’s warranted the emotion? 

Or does he really not feel it?

—

You don’t know how you allow yourself to get dragged to these things (or, well, you do but—). You can’t help but wince when another punch is thrown in the ring, snapping the other guy’s head back. Fuck. These bare-knuckle fights are brutal and you’re…not sure which is worse; the fight itself or the cheering around you. You suppose you sort of get it? Treating it like a sport and all that, a spectator to absorb yourself in but…it’s just not your thing. 

The only reason you’re here is—

A short gasp leaves your lips as someone’s body hits the concrete, your own turning automatically towards the right and—Nick takes a step closer to you, his arm sliding around your waist. You mold into his side, practically shielding your face into his shoulder, his hand pressing calming circles into your hip. 

“You’re really going to do this?” You ask him, tipping your head up just a little to meet his eyes. 

That’s why you’re here. To support him because he’s got a fight next but…god, you can’t imagine how much worse that’s going to be? Seeing him get hurt. 

“I’m a much better fighter than either of these guys.” He replies but it’s…it’s not even like he’s trying to sound cocky, it’s just matter-of-fact. 

You run a hand over the side of your face, “That doesn’t make me feel any better.” 

He smiles a little, the end of the match in front of you announcing a victor. “You don’t have to stay, Jenna’s not a big fan of these either.” 

And while that sounds tempting? You’re already here and, “I want to support you.” 

Nick watches you for a few moments, nodding, his hand moving to tuck your hair around your ear before he moves to head with Lion towards the locker rooms. 

—

Well, staying and offering support is easier said than done. 

You stand on the sidelines with Jenna, one of your arms wrapped around your middle, your fingers pressing into your mouth as Nick warms up. Your gaze lingers over the toned muscles of his body, his trim waist, the delicate lines of his tattoos, the way his boxers peek out from his sweats…it only serves as a distraction for so long. The fight begins and he chances a glance at you for one moment before punches are being thrown. 

Fuck. 

You take a step back out of instinct, landing right on someone’s foot, and he clasps your arm so you don’t buckle. It’s a tall guy, handsome, brown eyes and dark skin, curls but cut close to his head. He gives you a light smile, letting go of your elbow once you’ve centered yourself. 

“Sorry.” You tell him, your gaze finding the fight again, though a bit reluctantly. It…appears? Nick is winning. At least you think so, it’s difficult for you to tell. The next jab hits him right in the ribs and you definitely have to tear your attention away from that one. 

The guy next to you shifts, “Boyfriend?” He asks. 

You blink, realizing he’s asking about Nick. “What? Oh—no. He’s a friend.” 

He hums, “Does your friend usually ask you to watch things that make you uncomfortable?” 

A soft laugh leaves your lips for a few reasons, sliding your attention to this guy for a moment. “Am I really that obvious?” He glances down at you, a soft smile to his own lips, “And also, no. Nick didn’t ask me to be here, I offered because I wanted to try and support him.” 

Try being the word here, you’re not doing too hot. 

You force yourself to look back at the ring and there seems to be pretty even ground, a shuffling between Nick and the other fighter, moving in circles as punches are thrown and landed. Your hand slips to the back of your neck, 

“Have you been here before?” You ask, trying to at least carry on a conversation now that one’s started. 

The guy nods, crossing his arms over his chest, “Yeah, I don’t put any money down, but I like watching the fights. I’ve been boxing for the past few years, so, observing other techniques sometimes sharpens your own.” 

“My friend Jenna,” You motion to her beside you and she turns her head at the sound of her name, giving a small wave, “Her boyfriend owns the gym.” 

He raises his eyebrows, “That’s awesome. I’m Coleson, everyone calls me Cole, though.” 

You smile a little, introducing yourself as well. When Nick uses the force of his body to get the other opponent on the floor, throwing heavy punches, you find yourself turning a little again. A twitch of a smile pulls Cole’s lips, 

“So if you’re not interested in boxing, what do you like?” 

And you’re not sure whether he’s trying to get to know you or distract you but, either way? You’re grateful for it. 

—

As you wait for Nick and Lion to come outside, you lean back against the familiar red McLaren, a small smile tugging the corners of your mouth when you change the unknown number in your phone to say ‘Cole’. Jenna gently nudges you with her elbow, a knowing look on her face. 

“What was going on between you and ‘tall, dark and handsome’?” 

You shrug, chewing on your lower lip, “Think he was just being nice. Practically smashed his foot on accident at the beginning of the fight.” 

“You gonna go out?” 

“Maybe,” A small smile again, a flutter of butterflies in your stomach. Even though you’re pretty sure Cole was just asking you questions to get your mind off what was happening in the ring, you liked talking to him? Maybe going on a date wouldn’t be so terrible? “Probably won’t even see him again after tonight.” 

Her eyes follow a line of sight over your shoulder and you don’t have to turn to know it’s Cole leaving the warehouse, but when you do? His eyes are on you, giving you a soft wave as he makes his way to a motorcycle. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” Jenna grins, which only makes heat kiss the back of your neck and your cheeks. But you’re smiling too. 

Turning your attention back towards the entrance, you see Nick and Lion come out, Nick in a pair of black jeans and zip-up hoodie. You grimace just slightly at the bruise forming on his cheek, your fingers itching to reach out and cup his jawline when he’s close enough. Instead, you offer him a soft nod. 

“Celebratory drinks at my place.” Lion grins, grabbing Jenna’s hand and giving her a playful twirl before tugging her towards his car. 

You came with Nick, so you linger, giving in and reaching for his wrist. You run your thumb over his knuckles, a wince pulling at your lips. “Congrats on your win.” 

For someone who came out on top? He seems a little off. Quiet, stoic. But maybe he’s just in pain. He’s got plenty of bruises and small cuts despite winning. You make a mental note to grab an ice pack for him when you get to Lion’s. 

Nick opens his mouth but then hesitates which…you find that’s something he doesn’t often do. He’s not one to hold words underneath his tongue and yet it takes him a moment to say, “I’m surprised you even noticed.” 

You blink, confusion clouding your face. Your eyes scan his face, the way his eyelashes sit on his cheeks as he looks down at your hand around his own, his thumb tracing your knuckles, the darkened gold to his curls because he’s taken a shower, the cupid bow of his lips. And then, a brief glance over your shoulder—where Jenna looked before. 

Where Cole is on his motorcycle. 

Nick confirms it a moment later with, “You seemed a bit preoccupied.” 

Your brain seems to do a double-take. You’re about to argue that you did the best you could while he was fighting—it’s definitely not a secret that being here had you feeling out of your element. But…there’s also something in his tone, in the way his eyes aren’t meeting yours, hyperfocused on your hands joined instead. 

Your mouth opens and then snaps shut. No…because that would mean, “You know, for someone who says they don’t get jealous, your eyes are suddenly the prettiest shade of green.” 

You reach out your other hand to touch his cheek but Nick draws his head back, a scoff leaving his lips even though there’s a twitch of a smile there. He knocks your hand away and that makes you laugh, the giggling seeming to melt whatever ice was holding onto his shoulders. They relax, his movements warm towards you, and he squeezes the hand he’s still holding. 

“No, it’s cute really!” You continue, even when he turns you around to face the passenger side of the car, grabbing the door to open it up for you. “That you wanted my laser focus on you throwing punches, I’ll remember that next time.” 

You expect him to completely ignore you, you expect him to give a wiseass comment and encourage you to get to the car. You do not expect him to lean against your body, his head tilting down to brush his lips against your ear as he speaks, 

“You better.” 

—

Staring down at the card on your desk, you’re unsure of what to do with it. 

You know your mom wanted to move to start over, something disconnected from your dad and all the issues he caused. It’s not a new story—he cheated on your mom, created an entire new family, wanted nothing to do with her anymore. Nothing to do with you. 

And yet, here on your desk, sits a birthday card. 

It’s a month late and you’re not sure whether that’s because he sent it after the fact or he doesn’t know when your birthday is. Both ideas are plausible. 

Either way, the card unleashes a torrent of emotions you thought you’d gotten over. It’s obvious that while your mother wanted to start new, she gave your dad the London address. You’re just…not sure why. You really hope she doesn’t miss him—you both deserve better than that. Than him thinking that he’s needed or something. 

Your fingers dig into your closed palm, wanting to throw the fucking thing away and yet—yet you can’t do it. Which just pisses you off even more. 

“Y/N.” 

Your head snaps towards the doorway of your bedroom, where Nick is lingering, his eyebrows raised at you. He takes a step in but pauses, his eyes falling to your desk before lifting to your face again. He’s supposed to be picking you up to head to a party at Anna’s and you have no idea how long he’s been waiting, or worse, standing there trying to get your attention. 

“You alright? I’ve been calling you.” 

You clear your throat, moving even though your knees feel like jello, “Sorry, I—yeah, I’m fine.” You force a smile on your face that you’re pretty sure Nick can see right through, “Let’s go.” 

Before he can ask another question, you brush past him in the doorway, the scent of his cologne squeezing your ribs against your lungs. You don’t wait to see if he follows. 

—

The party is a lot of fun and while you know it’s not the best coping mechanism? You allow yourself to be tugged down in the weight of dulling your inhibitions. You let the drinks flow a bit more freely, aren’t as concerned with hydrating with water in-between as you usually are, and readily accept shots when Lion or Jenna bring them back over to your group. While Nick is in the midst of it, you can feel his eyes on you every so often, persistent. And you know what it’s about. 

He knows you, knows something is wrong, but doesn’t push either. He just waits—waits for you to offer whatever it is up to him. 

Well, at this rate, he’s going to be waiting a long time.

A laugh slips out of your lips when Jenna wraps her arms around you, twirling to the beat of the music as you all linger in the living room. 

“Think there’s jello shots in the kitchen.” She grins. And while you’re usually not a jello shots kind of girl, the…jiggling sort of freaks you out. Tonight? You’ll have one. 

“Maybe some water would be a better idea,” Nick tosses out, taking a slow sip of the beer in his hand that he’s had for about an hour. 

“Maybe stop trying to kill my buzz.” You volley back, your voice sharp. 

But Nick doesn’t rise to verbal sparring with you, doesn’t take that bait. He just licks his lips, a muscle working in his jaw before having another sip of his beer. You’re not sure whether you’re more relieved or disappointed. Fighting with him won’t solve your problems—he’s not the one you’re really upset with. 

You swallow down a lump in your throat, turning a bit towards Jenna to give her a smile that hurts your cheeks. “Yes to jello shots.” 

If she senses the weird mood passing between you and Nick, she doesn’t say anything, just moves towards the kitchen to grab the shots. You set down your empty glass on a table, straightening out your dress, crinkling your nose at the jello shot when she returns…but take it anyways. It’s absolutely fucking awful, reminding you of some sort of cherry cough syrup but you force it down your throat. 

It instantly makes you nauseous. 

“I’ll be right back.” You turn to head in the direction of the bathroom, not exactly caring if anyone follows you. You just need a moment to yourself…and to make sure you don’t throw up. 

You head right to the sink, splashing some cold water on your face that makes you feel better. You don’t look at yourself in the mirror, unsure you’d like what you saw there. You know this is completely unlike you, to let something like this sway you right into trying to bury your emotions instead of meeting them head-on. It’s just…too much for you to deal with right now. Especially since you thought the problem had been solved with moving. 

You rub the back of your neck, shaking your head. Fucking birthday card. 

When you open the bathroom door, you bump right into— “Cole.” 

He smiles down at you, his eyes a little glassy, probably matching your own. “Hey! I was wondering if you were here. I was gonna text you.” 

You raise your eyebrows, warmth blooming in your chest. He looks really handsome tonight—black jeans, white button down that’s slightly open, sleeves rolled up his forearms. “Yeah? Well, here I am.” 

He licks his lips and nods, his gaze finding your mouth. You’re wearing a berry shade of lipstick tonight—always a crowd pleaser. “Here you are.” He glances past you towards where the stairs are, “You uh, you want to head up to the second floor? Anna’s got a balcony—we could smoke.” 

A few things that sound altogether like a bad idea—stairs, heading upstairs with someone that you barely know even though he seems nice, and smoking. You don’t smoke at all, it’s just not something that’s ever caught your appeal but…sitting on a balcony does sound like something you’d like, the fresh air and everything. 

But…there’s a dip in your stomach, that same nausea from before. It’s not a good idea. You’d rather have your wits about you to hang out with Cole for the first time, not like this. Not heading to the second floor into rooms that are probably a lot more private when you don’t…you don’t know him. You don’t trust him. 

“Uhm,” You shake your head, “No, I think—”

“C’mon,” He grins, taking a step closer but not touching you, “I’ll be a perfect gentleman,” He promises, sticking his hands in his pockets. “These hands will stay in these pockets.” 

You can’t help but laugh, glancing towards the stairs before letting out a sigh—he does look utterly defenceless like that, “Alright.” 

But you don’t even make it up two steps before you feel a firm hand on your elbow. For a moment you think it’s Cole breaking the promise he made but…you’d know that touch anywhere. Your gaze finds Nick’s, on the bottom step, heat in his brown eyes so potent that you’re surprised something hasn’t caught fire. 

He’s pissed—which just causes a flip in your stomach and an affronted yank of your arm. 

“Get off, what are you doing?” 

He’s gentle but he manhandles you down the two steps, pulling you past Cole, “Stopping you from making a choice you’ll regret tomorrow.” 

You scoff, bumping into him when you lose your footing. He has zero clue what you were about to do with Cole. But a small voice whispers in the back of your mind that…yes, you were headed somewhere quieter, more private, that while Cole was going to keep his hands in his pockets, it doesn’t mean he could have changed his mind. Doesn’t mean something wouldn’t have happened. Your inhibitions are low and you’re feeling just a bit reckless tonight. 

A little embarrassed and a lot indignant, your fingers dig into the palms of your hands, creating fists, “I don’t need your help.” 

Cole glances between you and him, his hands slipping from his pockets. “Dude, I think she’s good.” 

Nick’s gaze is frigid, ice that’s capable of cutting right through someone, “She’s drunk,” He snaps, his one hand holding onto you while the other shoves Cole in his shoulder, hard. There’s a slight height difference given the steps but Nick’s got a boxer’s stance—balanced, “Fuck off or I’m going to lay your ass out.” He warns but you’re not about to give him the opportunity to do that. 

You quickly yank Nick by his arm in the direction of the front door and once he realizes that’s the direction you’re going, he shifts, his hand hovering along your lower back to guide you towards his car. 

You squirm, picking up on unspoken words, “No, if you want to leave, then leave. I’m not ready yet.” 

“Think you’ve had enough.” Nick mutters, practically through clenched teeth. 

“You don’t get to tell me that,” You turn so fast to shove him that you nearly twist your ankle on the gravel, the only thing keeping you off the ground is Nick’s arm now around your waist—which just pisses you off more. “I can handle myself, I’m fine.” 

Now he scoffs, stopping short, his arm slips from your waist but his fingers graze your forearm, “No,” He replies, shaking his head, “You’re not. You haven’t been fine all night.” 

You swallow over a lump in your throat at the scrutiny, the fact that he sees right through you. You draw in a deep breath, trying to center yourself. You’re not even upset at the whole Cole thing, not really…because despite that you thought you were making an okay choice, anything could have happened. Nick did do you a favor—not that you’re going to admit that now. 

No, you’re not fine. You feel your chest beginning to cave in over this—over him standing in front of you, picking apart your emotions like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. So bold of him, given that he never lets you in. Never lets you see how he feels. Him wanting to be there for you offers comfort just as much as it enrages you. 

You shake your head; you’re not going to get into this. You make a shift to walk past him, back into the party. If you’re not going to head upstairs with Cole, you can at least continue your night with Lion and Jenna. 

But Nick blocks your path. 

“Move.” 

“No,” He says, voice calm, “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I don’t want to talk to you about it.” You snap, trying to go past him again but he’s quick, repositioning his weight so that you end up bumping right into him. “Get out of my way.” 

“Oh so you’d rather play pretend?” Nick asks, his words cutting you more than you thought they would. “Like that’ll fix anything?” 

“Fuck you.” Though there’s no fire behind your voice. His commentary has landed far too sharply, leaving debris in their wake. Fuck him. Like he’s suddenly the poster child for handling his emotions the way he should? 

You don’t even realize your eyes have filled with tears until a sharp breath leaves your lips.  

Nick’s gaze softens and you have to look away as your lip wobbles, a tear slipping down your cheek. He lets out a slow breath out of his nose, reaching up to thumb it away. You push his wrist but he doesn’t let you pull too far away. 

“C’mon,” He whispers, “C’mere.” And wraps an arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his chest. 

The bridge of your nose stings as you squeeze your eyes shut, your face resting against his shoulder as his arms wrap around your frame, hand tangling in your hair. You’re unaware that you’re holding onto him so tightly until he gently pries your hands off just to get you into his car. 

—

Seated on top of the hood of Nick’s McLaren, in his leather jacket, you wait for him in a diner parking lot. He comes out of the front door with two milkshakes and a brown bag of food. Despite feeling a little dizzy and nauseous, you know better than anyone that grease will help you feel grounded. He sets the bag down, handing you a milkshake, 

“They were out of strawberry, that within itself feels criminal.” A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth as you take a sip. “Figured chocolate is a good second bet.” 

You hum, licking your lips as he pushes himself up onto the hood next to you, a few burgers and fries spread out between his leg and yours. Reaching for two fries, you dip them into ketchup after Nick squirts some onto an open burger wrapper. You glance over at him, the lights from street lamps create a warm glow against his handsome face. It’s something that feels…utterly comforting in a way you can’t explain. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper, throat sore from holding back tears, even after crying a bit against his chest. 

Nick looks over at you, shaking his head as he picks up some fries too, “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

You chew the inside of your cheek, “I dunno.” You were…a lot tonight. “I almost hit you when you brought me outside.” 

A flicker of a smile pulls at his lips, “I could have taken it.” 

You think that’s true—if you would have done something like slap him, you think Nick just would have rolled with it. Still would have said the same things. Still would have held you. Still would have ended up right here, on his car, with milkshakes and food. 

When a few french fries and your milkshake doesn’t seem to make you sick, you reach for your burger, having a bite. It’s quiet between you two, just the sound of cars and traffic, the night spilling over your bodies. You draw in a soft breath, using a napkin on your lips, wiping away most of your lipstick. 

“My dad sent me a birthday card.” 

You put your burger down, not automatically speaking for a few moments. You appreciate that Nick allows that sentence to sit in the silence. 

“I’m angry my mom gave him our new address, that…he sent a card in the first place.” You swallow, “That it’s late or whatever stupid reason I ended up getting it today and not a few months ago.” 

Your gaze wanders over to him and he’s watching you, listening. You bite down on the inside of your cheek hard enough to draw blood, so you don’t cry. Admitting this outloud feels like some sort of shameful secret even though you know Nick would never look at you like that, like you have any reason to feel embarrassed. 

“I’m angry that I miss him,” You confess, “That I thought I was done feeling that way.” 

Nick reaches over to place his hand on top of yours, squeezing briefly, “Two things can be true at the same time,” He offers gently, “You know you can hate him and still miss him.” 

You let out a slow breath, sniffling as one more tear escapes. You wipe your cheek and even though your chest is still heavy, you feel better. You’re not sure why you do it, but you lean over and press a kiss to his cheekbone. It’s soft, far too quick, but hopefully enough to convey that you’re grateful for him. There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips, but other than that, he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

After you eat a little more of your burger, you pick at the fries, resting your head on his shoulder. He shifts a little closer, can feel his lips brush your temple, picking up his milkshake to have another sip. 

“I think the fries taste better with the chocolate shake,” You say after a moment, “Even though we usually get strawberry.” 

You can hear the smile in Nick’s voice when he replies, “I know. I was thinking the same thing.” 

—

But maybe, it’s not about London at all. Maybe you realized that home was never meant to be just a place. 

—

Cole texts you a few nights later apologizing for the party. He admits that he was a little drunk but that he had no intentions of doing anything other than just talking to you on the balcony, or smoking a little, if you wanted to. And you believe him. That night’s a little fuzzy to you for a few reasons but…you do think, overall, Cole’s a good guy. 

Which is why when he asks you out, you say yes. 

—

The four of you tend to have dinner together a lot. Whether it’s ordering in food or making something, time is spent talking around a table and then usually having a late-night swim. Tonight’s no different, making tacos is on the agenda. Lion and Jenna are running late because Jenna wanted to pick up ice cream (amazing of her, to be honest), so that leaves you and Nick in his kitchen messing around with pans of different meat on the stove. Chicken, chorizo, shredded beef, and managing seasonings for this taco night. 

“Mind your business, I got this,” You insist, pushing Nick with your hip towards where he was making homemade guac. All of a sudden he’s super concerned about you adding spices to the meat, like you don’t know what you’re doing. 

“Yeah, the last time I let you help manage what was cooking the carbonara was so spicy I nearly threw it out.” 

You scowl at him, “It was not.” 

“My tongue still hasn’t recovered.” 

“And yet you’re still talking just fine—” A squeak leaves your lips as he attempts to reach for the cayenne in your hand. You lift it above your head which…does nothing because he’s taller than you. 

So you twist a bit, a laugh skittering from your lips as he grabs onto your hip, “C’mon, just a little! We need a little spice in our lives.” 

“That sounds like a threat when you say it.” 

You slip out of his grasp and round the counter, sprinkling it on the chicken with a triumphant grin. Playfully putting your fingers to your mouth, you pull them away with a muah! sound. 

Then, pursing your lips, you pick up the red pepper flakes and pretend (maybe) that you’re going to add them to the chorizo and Nick moves, quicker this time, grabbing the container. Though you realize attempting to take the pepper flakes off of you is pretty much just his fingers wrapping around your own. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

You pout, “Yes, chef.” 

Nick smirks as he looks down at you and you realize very quickly that the front of his body has mapped out against your own, slightly pressing you into the counter. The moment the smile fades just a touch from your lips is the same moment he recognizes it too, going still. But he doesn’t move. 

There’s something that you want to say but it’s stuck in your throat, words you don’t recognize, your eyes instead drinking him in while he’s this close. The gentle gold touching the front of his curls, the layers of brown in his eyes, a shade lighter given the natural sunlight pouring into the kitchen, the warmth of his breath on your face, the beauty marks on his one cheekbone. 

Your heart pounds against your ribcage and you must say his name because he swallows, his other hand moving, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes along the bone there, drawing down, until it plucks at your lower lip. 

You don’t even realize you’ve kissed the pad of his thumb until it’s too late—a muscle feathers in Nick’s jaw, his restraint seeming to snap as he leans down, his lips touching yours—

And then a loud bang as something drops in the hallway, the space between you two suddenly cold and wide. You draw in a sharp breath, swallowing sour butterflies as your friend’s voices fill the space. 

“Lion!” 

“The ice cream is fine,” He replies, “Slipped out of my hands, Jen.” 

They both come around the corner, moving about the space as your brain spins like it’s on an overactive rinse cycle. You don’t even feel like putting the red pepper flakes in the chorizo anymore, instead, moving to stir all the meat on the stove and turning the fire off. 

“Everything smells amazing.” Jenna grins, setting her hands on the counter. 

“Yeah, we can eat now that you guys are here.” Nick clears his throat, throwing scraps of avocado away from when he was making guac. 

Lion puts the ice cream in the freezer, reaching for a fingerful of cheese from a small bowl to pop into his mouth as you focus on filling a taco shell with chorizo. Something to just…keep your hands busy. You’re not even sure what toppings you add at this point, just anything so that you don’t have to look up at Nick. Your cheeks and the back of your neck feel hot and you hope you’re not as flushed as you feel. 

“Babe,” Jenna says, getting your attention. You blink, realizing you’ve missed something. 

“Sorry, food focused.” You lie through your teeth, giving her a small smile. 

Her eyebrows draw together briefly like she doesn’t altogether believe you, but she repeats, “I said, I worked out those dates for the cabin. We can go this weekend.” 

Oh that’s right. How did you fucking forget? One conversation about wanting to grab some sort of cabin in the woods turned into renting an airbnb in the countryside, not too far away from where Nick’s mother lives actually. It wasn’t exactly the snowy escape you were picturing but it was close to a lake and cold enough in the wooded area to do some sort of bonfire outside. The fact that it was put together and decided on was good enough for you, it’s different from the usual set of things that you guys do together. 

“Right,” You clear your throat, “I actually…I have a date on Friday? But it’s early. It should wrap up right before I drive out to meet you guys.” 

You can feel more than see Nick go motionless across the room. 

Jenna raises her eyebrows with a grin, “No shit—is it with Cole?” 

You swallow, your eyes flickering across the counter towards Nick. It’s brief but you see it—the straightening of his shoulders, a muscle working in his jaw when he grits his teeth, a slow breath out of his nose when he leans against the counter. It’s gone almost as soon as it appears, replaced with a neutral expression. A lie. 

“Yes,” You tell Jenna, and then she asks for details, pushing aside the airbnb weekend plans for right now. 

Nick doesn’t meet your gaze for the rest of the night. 

—

You and Nick don’t talk about what nearly happened in his kitchen which is…fine. Because nothing happened. There’s no reason to talk about nothing, is there? It was just a moment, a blip in time, not quite a mistake but the unsure, quiet promise of what if? And yet neither of you bring it up. That has to be a sign too, right? 

So you keep pressing forward, plan for your date with Cole, pack for a long weekend cabin trip. Which is what you’re trying to do right now. 

Nick lounges on a cushy chair in your walk-in closet, scrolling through his phone as you toss another sweater towards an open suitcase on the floor. He glances down at your growing pile, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. 

“You do realize we’re going for three nights, not for a month.” 

You crinkle your nose, your hands slipping to your hips as you regard him, “Uhm, who has the extensive knowledge of horror movies that happen in the woods? It’s not you.” 

A grin spreads over his handsome face and he puts his phone down, leaning up a little to rest his elbows on his knees. “And that explains why you need…” He tilts his head, “Four sweaters?” 

“I’m going for variety, options—you never know what you might need.” You state, like it’s obvious. You then sit on the floor in front of your suitcase, tossing things out of it so you can neatly fold everything in…oh right, you need shoes too. “This is why if there’s an axe murderer, I’ll be one of the only ones to survive.” 

Nick reaches for a lacy bralette sticking out from under one of the sweaters, holding it between two fingers, “Oh why, because you’ll have this?” 

You scoff out a laugh, snatching it from his hand, “Shut up.” 

Grabbing a pair of lounge slippers and two pairs of sneakers, you place them in the bottom of your suitcase, starting to fold sweaters. Your phone vibrates and when you take it out of your pocket, a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips when you see Cole’s name. Nick shifts in his seat in front of you and when you follow the movement, your eyes fall to his. 

He motions to your phone with his chin, “Cole?” 

You let out a slow breath before nodding. Unsurprisingly, this topic feels like a series of landmines. You want to regret what almost happened in the kitchen because it spun you through such a loop. Though, at the same time? You again wonder why it should matter—why should nothing happening make you feel like your insides are tied into knots? 

You almost believe that...until you get a good look at Nick's face. 

While it might seem impassive, you know him. There's a taut line of his spine, a gentle crinkle between his eyebrows, his jaw clenching like he’s grinding his molars together, like he wants to say something but doesn't know how. Isn't sure of the words. 

You draw in a breath, “You don’t like him?” 

You try to convince yourself that Nick’s opinion is as important as Jenna’s would be, or Lion’s. That he cares about you and therefore has your best interests in mind. 

But really, you know that it’s more than that. His opinion matters the most, even though you’re not sure why. 

(Yes, you do.) 

Nick leans back, “Kinda rubbed me the wrong way.” 

Right. That whole night is kind of foggy for you, which you suppose is Nick’s point. The whole ‘going upstairs with unclear intentions’ thing. Not entirely Cole’s fault, but…you’re not about to jump in and give an explanation either. You’re not sure if it’d matter—he’s not going to budge on it. It’s in the set of his shoulders, the chill in his unwavering gaze. 

You nod a little, looking down at your suitcase like it’s holding something far more interesting than this conversation. Then, a twitch of your lips, a familiar comment sitting on your tongue as you look up at Nick, 

“Are you sure you just don’t like him because you’re jealous?” Your voice is warm and teasing, yet it meets a wall of ice. 

Nick holds your gaze for a long moment, his fingers playing with the silver chain-link bracelet on his one wrist, “I’m not.” 

You wait for that moment for the air to shift, for a teasing tilt to come to his lips, for him to make a joke about you bringing this up again. That moment doesn’t come. 

He clears his throat, looking down at his hands, “I just…I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

That…is not what you expect him to say, and while you’d usually appreciate a comment being made like that, it just…slips under your skin in the worst way, like little pin-pricks in your veins. You straighten your back a bit, reaching for a sweater to fold, 

“I can take care of myself.” 

The soft smile you were after flickers across his lips, just barely, “I know.” He picks up a sweater as well, folding it too, “Doesn’t mean you should have to.” 

There’s something in the way that he says that, it digs between your ribs, right into the cage. Like he’s trying to pluck butterflies out and set them free. All at once, this feels far too complicated—not talking about what happened in his kitchen, about Cole, about your date, about what you deserve, about Nick sitting here in your closet as you fold clothes into your suitcase like it’s the easiest thing you two have ever done. 

You shake your head, “I don’t want you to worry about me.” You stand with the suitcase, carrying it into the other room to set on your bed. There are some other things you can pack. Toiletries, or something. You just need to move around. You slip into your bathroom and just like you knew he would, he follows, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. 

“Someone ought to.” 

Swallowing over an emotion in your throat, you point out, “Not you.” 

Nick’s quiet for a moment, reaching out to touch your wrist. Only when you stop moving does he lift his hand to brush his thumb over your jawline. “Why not?” 

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to say, nothing feels like it fits. You tilt your chin into his touch, lips brushing over his skin. You hate how you wonder what it’d be like to kiss him. 

Your phone buzzes in your pocket again, making you take a step back from him. The energy fizzles between you two, like an atom being ripped in half, something so brash and sudden that it makes you draw a deep breath into your lungs. 

You glance up at him, “You know why.” 

Walking past him, you try not to think about that if he’d just admit that something was there, that maybe, he was in fact jealous—you probably wouldn’t be going out on this date with Cole at all. 

—

Admittedly, you’re still trying to figure it out, how jealousy can be considered a ‘useless’ emotion. That’s what Nick had called it right? Useless? And yet, you feel like it’s colored everything in your relationship thus far, whether he realizes it or not. Whether he wants to admit it or not. 

You don’t mean for it to happen, but when you’re with Cole, your mind wanders. You think about if the roles were reversed, if Nick was the one on a date night now, if he was out with Anna…would you just sit idly by? Would you not tell him how you felt? 

You’re not about to justify anything that your father has done, but didn’t he just walk around bottling his emotions? Keeping them under lock and key, festering them like an open wound until it turned into something ugly, unsalvageable? You don’t want that. 

You and Nick are complicated, messy, and he may have trouble sharing how he feels but you know what? So do you. 

“You’re distracted tonight,” Cole comments, having a sip of his drink. 

You blink, your thoughts shuffling back to him, and you at least have the decency to look a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“Thoughts elsewhere?” He asks, a small smile, far more polite than you deserve. “On him? Nick?” 

You swallow, waiting for the moment where he gets upset, where he gets angry—you wouldn’t blame him, you’ve obviously wasted his time. But he doesn’t look at you like that, just takes some cash out from his back pocket to pay for both of your drinks. 

“Glad to see it’s that obvious.” A soft, humorous laugh leaves your lips. 

Cole shrugs, “I could kind of sense something when I met you, just wasn’t sure if it was serious or not.” The unspoken end of that sentence is, it’s obviously serious. 

And yet, “It’s complicated.” 

He doesn’t like that answer, crinkles his nose a little as a scoff slips out, “So uncomplicate it. You waiting for something specific?” 

Another laugh rumbles in your chest but it doesn’t make any sound, because…yeah. For some reason, you’re waiting for him to admit something he shouldn’t have to, for him to acknowledge that something is there, crackling between the two of you. 

“Haven’t you seen enough?” Cole asks quietly and you hold his gaze for a long moment—

thinking about Nick. 

Thinking about the way he smiles at you, the way he holds your hand, the way his arms wrap around you to pull you close, the soft laugh he does which is mostly just air leaving his nose, the soothing timber of his voice. The way he bends over backwards to make you feel better, to hear you, to see who you really are, even the uglier parts, and not looking away. The way he makes you laugh, especially when you’re sad, the way he knows exactly what to order for you at the diner, even when they’re out of strawberry milkshakes. 

And Cole—Cole’s right. 

Haven’t you seen enough? 

—

Maybe home was never meant to be a place. Maybe home is a person. 

—

You get to the cabin a little later than you wanted. 

The place you guys rented is tucked into trees, near water, and you remember thinking that Nick’s sister would probably love to explore a place like this. It’s a large, contemporary space, dark green paneling, a large porch with plenty of cushy seats and a bench swing. While you teased that the cabins in all those movies you’ve watched don’t have things like WiFi or televisions, you’re glad that this comes with amenities. You’re not exactly a ‘rough it in the wilderness’ type of girl, even though the aesthetic is admirable. 

Cole’s car slides over gravel, pulling up next to Nick’s McLaren. You get out, giving him a warm thanks before grabbing your bag from the backseat, waving as Cole backs up out of the driveway and heads on his way. 

You breathe in deeply, the scent of trees and earth greeting you, bugs trilling and adding to the ambiance even though the weather isn’t warm. You pull your sweater a little tighter around you, turning to walk towards the stairs—

“Take it the date went well.” 

You almost jump out of your skin, your hand going to your chest as Nick stands from the bench swing on the porch in a pair of black sweats, and a large oversized knit-sweater. Jesus. The sight is striking, which is the last thing you need, given how your heart is hammering at his surprise welcome. 

“Jesus Nick, haven’t I told you enough about these movies not to sneak up on people like that?” 

But then you realize what he’s said, about Cole dropping you off, the slight dip in his voice. There’s a wall there, wrapped around himself, like he could care less about how your night went. Except, that tells you everything you need to know. 

That he cares far too much. 

You walk up the stairs to the porch, setting your bag down on one of the chairs. He turns a little, facing you, leaning back against the banister, eyes brushing over your form in a way that shouldn’t feel so intimate. 

“My car wouldn’t start,” You reply, “Cole offered to drive me, so you can stop sucking on that lemon at any point.” 

“I’m not—”

An amused noise leaves your lips, “That scowl is practically etched into your face. Hasn’t anyone ever told you you’ll get wrinkles like that?” You touch his cheek, brushing your thumb along the bone there. Jealous, he’s jealous. You don’t need him to confirm anything this time. 

You expect him to roll his eyes, huff off your accusations, maybe even gently push you away. But he doesn’t. He just holds your gaze—and doesn’t deny it. It solidifies in his pretty brown eyes as he looks down at you, his silence is answer enough. He turns his head just a little, his lips pressing against the end of your hand, near your wrist. 

Your heart ricochets right into your throat, encouraging you to keep talking. 

“Do you know why my date didn’t go well tonight?” You ask quietly and there’s a flash of something in Nick’s gaze—protectiveness, you think. Like he expects you to tell him that Cole did something awful. You suppose, given the last interaction Cole and Nick had, you shouldn’t be surprised. 

But you don’t want him to think that. Cole actually helped you work through emotions that you didn’t know how to say. 

You press your thumb against his lower lip, “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

The words barely leave your mouth before Nick pulls your hand away and kisses you.

Something unlocks in you, a shuddered sigh that feels like finally and that seems to be all Nick needs to encourage you forward, against him, picking you up in a fluid motion to carry you inside. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your legs around his waist, holding onto him and savoring the groan that leaves his throat when your tongue teases the seam of his lips, meeting his own. 

You have no idea where Jenna and Lion are, and honestly? It’s a fleeting thought as he takes you into a sitting space, depositing you on one of the couches. You don’t let him get very far, not wanting him to pull away, like if he…backs up enough, he might realize what you’re both doing. He might stop. He might have time to regret this. 

You’re not sure you’d ever recover if that were the case. 

His hands travel to your hips, squeezing to get your attention, and when your eyes meet his, he nips at your lower lip, “Do you want me to stop?” 

God, that’s the last thing you want. You appreciate the sweet concern, but you give an insistent shake of your head that makes his lips twitch into a smile. His hand slides between your bodies, thumbing at the button of your jeans. Again, a hesitance, and when give a soft yes against his lips, he undoes them and slides them down. 

The cool air kisses your heated skin and you don’t even care that he’s fully clothed and you’re missing some of yours, all that you care about is how Nick sinks to his knees, pressing yours open to accommodate his body. He plants a kiss to the inside of your thigh, not close enough to wear you want him. His hand slips up, his thumb brushing over the center of you—

“You’re practically soaked through.” His voice rumbles, eyes alight with something possessive. You almost laugh at all the claims about not being jealous. Almost. The giddiness is somewhat swallowed by how turned on you are. 

You follow that train of thought easily, “All for you,” Your voice comes out in a whisper, breathing slightly heavier, “Just you.” 

Fuck. Your hips roll just a little, your hand threading through the front of his curls, resisting the urge to tug him closer. 

Nick’s fingers curl around your underwear, tugging them down and out of his way, his body warm and solid when he settles between your legs again. The anticipation of his lips on your skin makes you cry out when it finally happens, his tongue circling around your clit before traveling down the center of you. His one hand places your leg on top of his shoulder, while the other travels up your body, cupping your cheek, almost covering your mouth. 

You tip your chin, encouraging that, because you’re not sure you’re going to be able to keep your sounds to yourself. 

Nick works you open with his tongue, eventually using his fingers while he pays close attention to your clit. He reads you like an open book, words printed directly onto your skin, knows what you need and when you need it, a build-up of pressure that makes your body tremble until you’re chasing after that release. When his tongue flicks quickly over that bundle of nerves, fingers curling up—you cum, hard, his name on your lips. The sounds are muffled by his hand, which is quickly replaced with his mouth as he kisses you. 

You feel slightly dizzy when he pulls his hand back, a series of pecks from his lips along your jawline, his body resting against your own. Your eyes slip closed as you come down from your high, heartbeat in your ears, only tipping your chin down to look at him when you feel like you can breathe normally again. 

Nick smiles a little, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. 

“So just to be clear,” You whisper after a moment, “This is you not jealous?” 

He playfully pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger before he draws you into another kiss. 

—

The patio area behind the house is spacious, filled with an in-ground fire pit and cushioned seats. You sit on the center seat of the couch, leaning back against the oversized pillow, a pair of sweats and a hoodie on. Tugging the sleeves over your hands, you breathe in the scent of Nick’s lingering cologne, your eyes slipping closed as the high flames kiss your face. 

A yawn slips out of your lips when you stretch your legs out, your gaze falling to Jenna who’s curled up in a chair across from you, a light smile tugging her mouth. 

“So,” She says after a moment, her voice almost lost to the crackling fire. It sends orange flecks that remind you of fireflies into the sky. “No more Cole?” 

You smile a little, can’t help it. 

It’s been a day and a half at the cabin, you and Nick nearly inseparable. So it’s…obvious that something has happened between the two of you. You’re a little addicted to kissing him, at the feeling of his hands on your body, at the way he smiles into your skin when he pulls you close. And while the physical changes are nice? It’s not just that. It’s the way you’ve always been with one another, that intimacy and closeness in the way you can share anything, talk about everything. 

Jenna lets out a soft laugh, “Yeah, I didn’t think he was going to stand a chance.” 

You scoff out a laugh too, “Bullshit.” 

“I was trying to be supportive!” 

Cole will definitely be someone nice to date for someone else, just…not for you. 

You smile, glancing up as the backdoor springs open, Lion and Nick coming out with hot coffees and a few extra blankets. Your stomach does a tell-tale swoop, a small smile tugging the corners of your mouth as he wanders over where you’re seated. He passes a coffee into your hands, fingers brushing, pulling himself onto the couch to sit in the corner. 

He wastes no time drawing you close and you fold easily into his chest, careful not to jostle the coffee, taking a small sip.  As you lean into his chest, Nick flutters the blanket over you both, his hand cupping your arm. He rubs back and forth to create friction, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth as your gaze meets his. He presses a kiss to the bridge of your nose, 

“Good?” He asks softly, though you’re not sure if he’s asking about the coffee or just…everything. How comfortable you are on the couch, if you’re warm enough, if you’re enjoying the time spent at the cabin. If you’re happy. 

You smile, tipping your chin up to kiss the corner of his mouth, covering all the above. “Good.”

—

Home is a person. 

[classica-meretrix]

Zygerria

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader genre: mostly fluff (lil suggestive) content/warnings: mentions of slavery and abuse (but this is star wars so what's new), the slavers use electric whips, suggestive/dirty jokes (because obi-wan is a slut no matter the situation) summary: reader saves obi-wan when a mission goes sideways a/n: based on clone wars s4 e12 "slaves of the republic"

I stepped over the guard's body, running along the wall. I slipped through the doorway, pausing to feel which passage way was correct. The right one was heavily guarded. He must be there.

Before long, a pair of guards stepped into the hallway, raising there guns. I ducked, at their sides in a instant as I sliced them both in half with one smooth movement.

Once I had forced my way to the slave cages, I hid around the corner, closing my eyes to feel the space. It was never difficult to find Obi-Wan in the force, now shouldn't be any different.

And low and behold, there he was. He was halfway down the row of cages, and not in a particularly good state.

I hurried down the walkway, stopping at his cage. I made sure not to lean too far forward, as to not cast a shadow through the large grate that covered it. With a few... adjustments, the bars should be no problem to fit through.

I paused to watch the scene below me, I'd have to time this just right. Obi-Wan was chained to the wall, his palms pressed against the stone as the slaver's whip hit his back.

As the whip came in contact with him again, I sliced through one of the bars. With the next hit, I cut through the other side, holding the metal aloft with the force. I gently moved it to sit next to me.

Just as the slaver was about to strike again, I dropped into the cage, the soft thud of my feet causing just a moments hesitation. The pause allowed me to raise my lightsaber, severing his arm before he could bring the whip back down.

As the metal handle hit the ground, the whip retracted into it's sheath. The slaver spun to face me drawing a gun from his pocket, but didn't have a chance to act before he had lost his head too.

"Ah, burnt flesh," Obi-Wan croaked. "That smell never gets old."

"Are you referring to his or yours?"

"Does it matter?"

I picked the whip up off the ground, tucking it into my belt before moving to collect the chain keys from the slaver. I reached above Obi-Wan, fighting with the lock on his cuffs as I leaned against his back.

"Ya know," I started, whispering in his ear. "Given the circumstances, I'd say you look rather good like this."

"Nice try," he teased as I moved to the next cuff. "But I'd rather not go near another whip for a long time."

"Suit yourself," I smiled as he turned to face me, free from his restraints. He was still close enough that his chest was pressed against mine, as he brought his hands to my waist.

"You however," he began, that award winning smile playing on his lips.

"How 'bout we focus on getting you out of here first?"

He sighed, feigning annoyance. "If you insist."

[ninawolv3rina]

Was going for that JCPenney Portrait vibe, I think I nailed it

Spidersona: The Uncanny X-Spider, Cass Carver (she/her)

[solxamber]

may i ask for a colorblind reader with the housewardens? how did they find out? what did they think?

Dormleaders + Jamil x Colorblind reader

Thank you for the request <3 I hope you like it! I added Jamil, (and Grim because I miss my kitty)

Riddle:

It’s during a Heartslabyul painting session when Riddle first notices something odd. “Why is that rose blue? The Queen of Hearts distinctly says red!” he scolds, eyebrows twitching. You tilt your head, confused, “Uh, Riddle, that is red…”

Cue Riddle's brain short-circuiting for a moment. After a quick, awkward silence, he pieces it together. “Wait… are you colorblind?” His face flushes as he suddenly feels guilty for yelling.

After that, he takes his rules just as seriously, but with an added note of gentleness when it comes to you. He even gives lectures on colors—but now with carefully labeled markers.

Leona:

Leona doesn't catch on right away. You’re sitting together one afternoon when you say, “I really like that purple cushion.” Leona, half-asleep, cracks an eye open, glances at the 'green' cushion, and raises an eyebrow. “That’s not purple.”

You shrug. “Looks purple to me.” It takes him a second to process, but when he does, he snickers. “You can’t tell colors apart, can you?” You scowl, “Don’t laugh!” He stretches out lazily and pats your head.

“Guess I’ll be your eyes for colors now, huh? Lucky for you, I’m generous like that.” His teasing never quite stops, but it’s always accompanied by a hint of warmth.

When you're shopping or something, he’ll casually point out the colors you’re unsure of, pretending it’s no big deal.

Azul:

Azul figures it out when you mislabel the colors of several Mostro Lounge drinks. “They asked for a blue drink special, and you gave them… green,” he says, rubbing his temples in exasperation. “Blue, green—what’s the difference?” you quip back.

He freezes for a moment before he gasps dramatically. “You’re colorblind?” His immediate reaction is to offer you a deal, of course—"Would you like a special pair of enchanted glasses for a modest fee?” But once you decline his contracts, he starts subtly helping you behind the scenes.

If he sees you hesitating between colors, he’ll casually say, “This one complements you better,” acting like it’s a mere suggestion—but really, it’s Azul being helpful in his own way.

Kalim:

Kalim finds out when you tell him his outfit looks great today… even though he’s wearing the most blindingly mismatched colors possible. “You really like it?” Kalim beams, bouncing on his toes. You nod enthusiastically. “Yeah, the pink and green look awesome together!”

Jamil, standing in the background, pinches the bridge of his nose while Kalim laughs. “I didn’t know you were colorblind!” Kalim exclaims, completely thrilled.

From that day on, he asks about how you see colors all the time, fascinated by the idea. Kalim often picks out colors for you, but with his unique sense of fashion, you��re not sure if it actually helps.

“Don’t worry,” he’ll say, “We’ll be the most colorful people around!”

Jamil:

Jamil, ever observant, figures it out when you help him with cooking. You pass him the “red” spice, and he just stares at the yellow jar in your hand for a long moment. “That’s… not red.”

His eyes narrow as the realization dawns. “Oh, I see now.”

From then on, he never explicitly mentions it, but he quietly organizes everything by labeling colors in the kitchen and keeping your clothing outfits coordinated whenever Kalim gets a little too enthusiastic with patterns.

When you thank him, he just shrugs. “It’s easier this way,” he says, but there’s a tiny smile hiding at the corners of his mouth.

Vil:

You’re getting ready for a formal event, and Vil is helping you choose an outfit. You confidently put on a green tie with a blue suit, thinking they match perfectly.

Vil’s horrified gasp echoes through the room. “Absolutely not! Darling, that tie and suit clash horrendously.” You’re confused, pointing at the tie, “But… isn’t it blue?”

Vil’s face softens, and he places his hands on your shoulders. “Oh, darling, you’re colorblind?” He lets out an exaggerated sigh, but there’s affection in his eyes. “Leave everything to me.”

From that moment on, he takes it upon himself to make sure you’re always dressed to perfection, never missing an opportunity to gently roast you while handing you the proper outfit. “You’ll thank me when you don’t look like a rainbow disaster.”

Idia: The Awkward Supporter

Idia finds out during a gaming session when you misidentify the red team as blue. “Wait, what do you mean they’re blue? They’re definitely red,” he mutters under his breath before suddenly pausing and looking over at you through his screen. “…Wait, you’re colorblind?”

When you confirm it, he gives a little chuckle. “Heh, that’s kinda… cool, I guess? Like, you’re playing in hard mode or something.” Afterward, Idia makes a bunch of jokes about your “colorblind powers,” but it’s his way of helping you feel at ease.

Sometimes he’ll even hack the game settings to make colors easier for you. “Don’t worry,” he mumbles, “I’ve got you covered.”

Malleus: The Curious Protector

Malleus notices when you incorrectly comment on a sunset’s “beautiful purple sky.” He tilts his head in confusion, looking at the undeniably orange horizon. “Purple?” You nod enthusiastically, and that’s when he realizes.

“Ah, you must be colorblind.” Malleus is intrigued by your condition, finding it fascinating and charming in equal measure. “Do not fret,” he says one day, after you tell him about a color-mixup, “I will make sure you are never at a disadvantage.”

His magic subtly aids you in little ways—enchanting objects with runes that glow different shades you can differentiate.

When you ask if that’s necessary, he only smiles mysteriously. “It’s simply one of the many ways I will ensure you are always comfortable in my presence.”

Grim:

Grim finds out one day while the two of you are drawing up plans for your next big adventure. You ask for the "red crayon," and Grim, the almighty genius, hands you the purple one.

“Hey, why’d you give me purple? I said red.” Grim stops and looks at you like you just grew a second head. “That is red, henchman!” You two proceed to bicker back and forth until Grim finally realizes what’s going on.

“Wait a minute, you can’t see colors properly? That’s why you’re so bad at picking out tuna cans! No wonder!”

After that, he insists on “helping” you with colors, though it often devolves into him loudly declaring his superior knowledge.

"Lucky for you, you have the Great Grim around to keep you from looking like a mess!"

Masterlist

[carbt2]

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[neeeooon]

Can I get a request of a reader being from a foreign country she is a gamer but she knows nagi from discord and playing games with him. And she decided to surprise him and pop up in Japan. That’s all I got🤣 run with the rest

yess this is so cute TY FOR THE REQ 💗💞

143 means i love you

nagi seishiro x fem!reader. oneshot, fluff. wc: 1.5k

you joined the japanese server to test your language knowledge. plus, you were sick of children screaming slurs on the english server. you didn’t expect to find such good gaming chemistry with someone in another country, and you didn’t expect to give him your discord after.

usernxgi: so we can play tgt again :x

you: sure! but my japanese is awful :’)

usernxgi: u dont need 2 speak japanese 2 play this game lol

you: Die

you and the stranger, whom you learned was named nagi, played several games afterward. however, you didn’t start playing on call until your sixth match together, when you nearly lost because the in-game chat glitched out and cut off your only form of communication.

there was an obvious language barrier the first time you spoke, but nagi was right when he said you didn’t need to speak the same language to play. you understood more than you could say, so when nagi would say “go left” or “back me,” you’d obey without needing to reply.

the relationship between you continued until you were messaging back and forth every day, whether you played together or not. you even trusted him enough to give him your number, and he spammed you with cat memes for two days before eventually growing bored. due to the time zone difference, you'd fall asleep wishing him a good day and wake up with good morning texts.

you: gmmmmm <33

nagi: gm y/n :) how did u sleep ?

you: good! if u aren't busy today, we should play together

nagi reacted "🤍" to your message!

it was a comfortable relationship, and you tried not to dwell on the fact that it was digital. months went by, and you found yourself wanting more and more from nagi. you loved talking and gaming with him, but you wanted to do simple things like go to a movie or eat dinner together.

that's when you got the brilliant idea to go to japan.

nagi told you where he was attending uni after you were deemed trustworthy, and you were following a few of his friends on instagram. they made a chat with you to help teach you japanese, but it dried up once school started again.

when you reached out to his best friend, reo, with your plan, he was more than willing to help. he offered to pay for your flight and hotel, but you politely turned him down (rookie mistake) and instead asked him to show you around the city a bit before you officially met nagi.

reo: do you need a translator? i could set something up for you!

you: noo that's okay!! i've been studying and taking japanese classes at my college :))

reo: okay! i'll have a driver pick you up at the airport

reo: don't say no, he's already been booked and paid for

you: ....... thank you :')

reo: anything for my best friend-in-law!

you were a nervous, shaky mess when your plane landed in japan. you followed reo's instructions and the english directional signs plastered around the international airport until you spotted a man in a suit holding a sign with your name. you blushed ferociously and sped-walked to the man, flashing him a tight smile as you waved awkwardly.

"hello," you greeted in japanese, and the man took your bags before leading you to his limoseine.

you: a limo?? really??

reo: ;)

it surprisingly didn't take as long as you thought it would to reach reo's penthouse. he was waiting outside for you with a blinding smile, and you were caught off guard by how purple his hair looked in person. "y/n!" he shouted when he saw you. "nagi doesn't know you're here, right?"

"no, i wanted to surprise him..." you rubbed your arm, suddenly unsure if this was a wise idea or not. you wanted to see nagi, but maybe you should have discussed your trip with him first.

the light tap of reo's knuckles against your shoulder pulled you from your thoughts, and he flashed you a small, comforting smile. "don't worry. he'll be super excited to see you! well, maybe not super excited, he isn't the type to get very emotional, but i'm sure he'll smile!"

reo helped you get settled in your hotel before giving you a brief tour of his favorite places in the city. "oh! this is where nagi and i went to high school! i taught him how to play soccer here."

eventually, he got a phone call from a certain white-haired boy, and your stomach twisted anxiously. reo caught your expression and beamed. "come on! i told him i'd bring food over for dinner."

after picking the food up, you followed reo to nagi's apartment. he helped you read signs in japanese when you struggled with your pronunciation, and before you knew it, you were standing outside your online friend's door.

this is a bad idea, you mentally scolded yourself. reo entered the code and used his foot to open the door. "nagi!" too late to back out, now!

"huh, reo?" you heard from inside the apartment and halted. his voice was the same in person as it was over the phone, yet hearing it this clearly startled you.

reo gestured you to follow with the tilt of his head. "i have something for you. come here."

"i don't wanna," he grumbled, and you smiled. he really wasn't any different in person than he was online. after a few rounds of gaming together, he usually gave up and got himself killed first so that he could sit back and watch you and his teammates play without him.

you weren't expecting him to round the corner so suddenly, but your breath caught in your chest when he did. he was dressed in grey sweats and a hoodie, both too big to fit, but what really caught you off guard was how tall he was. his voice was on the softer side, so you weren't expecting someone 6'3.

he blinked when his eyes landed on you. you stared at each other for a moment, taking several moments for the situation to process, before nagi stepped back around the corner and out of sight.

"uh—" you cut yourself off when he appeared a moment later with hair not as messy as it'd been before. nagi raised a hand, and you could tell he was trying to keep his grin at bay by the way his lips twitched. "hey."

a giggle bubbled in your chest as you waved back. "hi, nagi."

reo looked between the two of you with a crazed grin. "oh! it seems i have a meeting i completely forgot about! you two will be alright without me, i'm sure. bye!" he didn't give either of you a chance to reply before sprinting out the door, manic laughter following him down the hallway.

you and nagi stood, silently staring at the spot reo had just been standing. you didn't feel uncomfortable in your online friend's presence, but it was a bit awkward as you struggled to find something to say.

thankfully, nagi broke the silence and tipped his head to the side. "wanna game?"

☆ 🎮

"no fair!" you shouted in frustration as you lost... again. "you know the controls; i've never played this before!"

the soft sound of nagi's laughter filled your ears, and you felt your face heat up. "this is bullying."

"cute."

"it's an abuse of power!"

"mmm, yep."

you glared at him and the little upward curve of his lips. "teach me how to play."

"nope."

"why?!" you gaped.

nagi's head tipped back against his shoulders, eyes lazily meeting yours. "i like when you're mad. 's cute."

your mouth snapped shut. whatever creative comeback you were planning evaporated from your mind, and you found yourself struggling to remember how to speak japanese.

"jerk," you managed after a few moments, and he laughed before saying in broken english, "no english, please."

you switched over to a game you were both familiar with after that and finally started winning. the two of you played until the sun set and the delivery food was gone. stretching your arms over your head, you reluctantly stood and placed the gaming controller on the charging stand. "i should probably go to my hotel,"

nagi let out a silent yawn as he followed suit, charging his controller and standing beside you. "ok. should i walk with you?"

"isn't that too much of a hassle?" you teased, and nagi shrugged. he never gave verbal confirmation, but he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and followed you when you exited his apartment.

you breathed in the night air and sighed, smiling when you felt nagi's baggy sleeve brush against your arm every few steps. "i'm happy i got to meet you."

"me too."

"we should hang out again tomorrow if you aren't busy," you offered, sparing him a quick glance to find him already looking down at you with a faint smile. "okay."

[yeyinde]

Brain went brrrrrrrr

Price and the new 141 member getting into an argument. Price is all like if you don't behave ill take you over my knee girl.

She's all like I fucking dare you or you'll have to catch me first or even you don't have the balls.

🫠🫠

i’ve always wanted someone who was super by the book to clash with John “i routinely tell my superiors i’m going to maim/murder/hang them” Price. this gave me the perfect opportunity to do so. 

noncon spanking. abuse of authority. power imbalance. size kink. mean, dom!Price. forced submission.

You have this way of getting under his skin. 

An impossible itch. No matter how many times he picks and prods at his flesh, you worm beneath the dermis, burrowing deep. Sitting pretty against his goddamn bones. Festering. 

Incurable. 

He turns to vice to stem the irritation. Cigars. Whiskey. His hand shoved down his trousers like he's a fuckin' boy and not a man on the wrong side of forty. 

Thinking of you—of breaking that smart mouth of yours on his cock. 

It's the way you saunter around with your head held high, balancing golden eggs on your crown, that irks him something awful. The patronising drawl when you huffily remind him that what he's doing is breaking seven, no, ten, different laws, Price. You can't just do whatever you want, there are rules—

And that's the crux of it. 

A difference of ideas. Experience. You still see the world in shades of black and white. Good and bad. Unwilling to acknowledge that the line between is saturated and blurred. A putrid muck that traps all. Bogish. 

He knew it was a mistake when they sent him your file, asked if he needed the additional help. Hostage negotiator. He's heard of you. By the fucking book. You recite passages like it's gospel, turning printed words into a knife. A terrible fit for a team that works in the pivotal no man's land you claim doesn't exist. 

Yet—

He takes you on. Brings you in. Buries his anger at your fucking gall deep in his chest where it rots. Grows. Swallows down the rage, apoplectic fury, when you undermine him at every opportunity, citing laws and regulations like it's a fucking prayer. 

A calamitous decision, he knows. Terrible. But—

Despite it all, you're good at what you do. Brilliant. A budding rose germinating in fecund soil. You'll grow into something wild, won't you? Something untamed. 

Under his hands, you'll bloom the prettiest. He knows this deep in his bones. But—

“You're breaking the rules, Captain—”

—pedantic little thing, aren't you? 

Obediently following the wrong master. 

It irks him. He's been known to step on the toes of his superior officers for less, caustic words hissing foul from between his teeth. 

But unlike them, you're worth something. Even as the moral antithesis to his utilitarian dogma, he sees your potential. How you can shape this world dangling on a brittle thread if you lay down your senseless principles and follow him. Listen to him. 

But of course, you don't. 

And he supposes he ought to have known better. It's dripping gasoline over an open flame. The sequence of events is easily premeditated, seen, when you refuse to listen to what he says (“it's against the law, Price!”), walking away from him, his team, the mission, and take matters into your own, morally righteous hands. Bringing his underhanded methods to the desk of your superior officer, demanding he be investigated for crimes. The result is a loose warning from someone in a suit several sizes too big for them, and your fury when he pulls you back, has you assigned to another mission with the 141, with himself. Preens at your glower when you march back into his office, into his hands. 

In the fallout, he has no one to blame but himself, really. Anyone could have seen this coming. But the thing about shirking his morality in favour of a better outcome—above all else—is that he doesn't have to. 

And so, he doesn't. 

No. He blames you. 

(How perfect for him, then, that there's no one on base except you and him.)

“If you think I'm not going to report you again if you do something illegal, Price, you're wrong.”

He scoffs, shaking his head at your fucking audacity. 

"Better watch that mouth of yours, Sergeant, or you won't like what happens next." 

His palm itches when you look up, offering him a slow, feline blink. Leonine eyes creasing at the corners. 

"And what is that, sir? I'm just doing my job—" it's whispered breathlessly, all faux professionalism even as jest leaks down your brow. They pinch, then. Drawing together in a mockery of confusion. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?" 

"What is that, mm?" He mocks, arms folding over his chest. He has to breathe through his nose for a moment. Gather himself together before he does something reckless, something like— 

It's the defiant little jut of your chin that does him in. That unravels this fraying knot of control until threads slip through his fingers. Falling too fast for him to clench down on them. 

He's threatened his superiors for far less. His kin, teammates. You have no one to blame but yourself for this, really. No one at all when he pulls his hand from where it's tucked under his armpit, curling rough, worn fingers around your wrist. Pulls you close, wrenching you into his chest until your nose bumps the buckle of his vest. 

"'m'gonna take you over my fuckin' knee, is what's going to happen." 

Your swallow is a gunshot. “You—you wouldn't dare—”

He leans in close, closer still. Breath scorching over your cheek. Preening when you bare your little teeth at him. “Wanna bet on that, Sergeant?” 

It's easier than he would have expected to wrangle you over his knee, pinning you down with an arm across your lower back. The height of his chair keeps your front bent, belly pressed against his thigh. Ass seated perfectly in his lap. Precious gem. 

He hums low in his throat, teeth sinking into the butt of his cigar as he locks you tight against him. Grabbing your wrist, twisting it up behind your back. Holding steady. A warning. 

The dangerous twinge in your bone stills you. 

One wrong move and he'd snap it in half. 

This has you taking a different approach, legs falling limp over the armrest. Head dropping over the other side. Malleable in his grasp—however artificial it is.

“Price—” you breathe, winded. Panic on a spindle. “What are you—what do you think you're doing—?”

He hums, mouth tense around the cigar. Words muffled, slurred. “What I should have done a long time ago.” 

“What—hey!”

Your words pepper off into a choked scream when his other hand falls to the hem of your pants, grabbing the fabric in his fist. The shock fades into indignation. Anger. He tastes it in the air as your hips squirm, legs kicking at nothing. Furious little growls spilling from your lips as you thrash, unconcerned by the ache in your bone. 

“Better keep still, love,” he taunts, mouth curling over his teeth as he twists his hand high, higher, up the small of your back until your fingers brush the skin between your shoulder blades. Any more and he'll break it—

“I'm going to fucking—!” It ends on a whine. A whimper. The pain makes you shiver. “Fuck, fuck—stop, stop, ow, stop—!”

“Not a fan of a little pain then, mm?” 

Your breath is ragged. Paints the air in a fine mist of defeat. He has you. The only option out of this is breaking your bone, a threshold no one is willing to cross. 

Price purses his lips back around the cigar, inhaling once, thrice, before he slips his fingers out of the hem of your trousers, reaching up to take hold of the cigar. It's all so matter-of-fact. So nonchalant when he places it in the ashtray. When he brings his heavy, warm hand back to your ass, curling his fingers beneath the fabric. Pulling. Tugging. 

They come off easier than he'd expected. A harsh tug, and the cleft of your ass is revealed. Plush skin curving enticingly as he rips them down to mid-thigh—panties and all. 

The shock fades back into indignation. You hiss something foul under your breath that makes him huff out a chuckle. 

“Not really in the position for that, are you, love?” 

“Shut up—”

He likes the way you sound like this. Feral. Furious. There's ash in your throat. It blots soot around each word, giving them weight. Gone is the woman who barged into his office, sniffing like you smelled something foul. Backing him into a corner. Sputtering in his face about rules. Regulation. 

Now you're bare-assed, panting, in his lap. Small little fawn in the maw of a bear. But oh, do you fight back—

Teeth bared, indignation bleeding into embarrassment, blotting pink in the whites of your eyes.

The sight is hewn into his hindbrain. 

“Look at you,” he purrs, petting your cheeks. “Been beggin’ to be bent over my knee since you got here, haven't you?” 

“Begging? Don't be—ahh!”

He brings his hand down with a small huff, eyes glued to your flesh. Watching it shake under his hand. The width of one swallowing up an entire cheek. So big is he that you're nearly made infinitesimal in his clutch. The thought makes him groan.

You squirm more in shock than discomfort. Head craning over your shoulder, eyes misting over with tears. Glaring at him. 

“What the fuck, Price!”

He strokes your skin, feeling the heat of your flesh bleed through his palm. Resilient little thing, aren't you? He huffs again, blood buzzing. Electric. There's a kindling fire in his guts. Embers sparking, catching. 

He can't deny how badly he's been wanting to have you like this. Craving your tears, your agony, your submission.

“Count,” he barks out, rough. Abrasive. “You're getting ten. Count ‘em for me, and if you miss one, I'm adding two more.”

“You're crazy, you're—!”

His hand comes down again. The impact shakes the fat of your ass. The strike makes you yowl, thrashing to get away. You don't get very far, still trapped in his hold. The threat of a broken bone keeps you from lashing out too wildly, and all you can really do is sit in his lap, and take it—

The notion has him groaning low in his throat. Something wicked spooling in his veins. Wanting. The sight of you heaving, bare-assed, and begging for mercy unleashes something inside of him. Something primal. Starving. 

Price takes a breath to steady himself, head buzzing. Heart pounding. It feels like the euphoria of nicotine—all bliss, sedation. Ease. 

Cathartic. 

“I said count,” he rasps, words cinder in his chest. Smoke. Dragged up from that burning pyre in his belly. Nocuous, hungry. “That's an order, Sergeant.” 

His hand is scorching against your skin. Thoughts turning over themselves as you hiccup in his lap. So pretty, he thinks, eyes flitting over to you. Taking in the sight of your shock, your denial. It tastes like fine wine on his tongue. Heady. 

“Here comes one—”

“One?”

“I told you, didn't I?” His nail rakes across your skin, cruel. Mean. Something preens when you gasp. Your pain perfuming the air. “M’addin’ two more if you don't count. Thought your speciality was listenin’?”

You scowl, twisting back to level him with an awful sneer. “Oh, fuck you—!”

His hand comes down again, harder this time. Vicious. The scream is tangled in your throat, gagged. He feels pleasure—dark and ugly—bloom in his chest, dripping, liquid, down the length of his spine. The twist of agony on your face is beatific. 

“Not gonna count?” He taunts, pinching your inflamed flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “We're gonna be here all day at this rate, love.”

He leans down, broad chest curling over the small of your back, hand cupped possessively over your cheeks. “But maybe you want that, mm? Maybe all this, mhm, insubordination has just been for show. You wanted this. Wanted to be taken over my knee—”

“You're wrong. I haven't—” it tapers off into a squeak when he pinches your flesh again. 

Price pulls back, breathes shallowly through his nose. 

“You and that smart fuckin' mouth. Told you it was gonna get you in trouble—”

He doesn't wait. His hand rears, and comes down with a loud smack that echoes in the sparse office he has you trapped inside. Your howl races alongside it, curling up the walls. Beautiful in all its agony. 

“Christ—” it's a dagger to his resolve. You sound so fucking good howling like this. Oscillating between feral anger and pain, hissing vitriol between clenched teeth. Choking on sobs. 

The first few are experimental. Testing the waters. Feeling. You're combative during it all. Fighting. Screaming. Each strike is uncounted, echoed only with a plea for help. One he knows won't come—

The only person on base is his Lieutenant. Ghost knows better than to barge in on his affairs. 

“No one's comin’, love,” he grunts, sweat beading along his hairline, dripping down his temple. The room heats along with the blood in his veins, stifling and oppressive. He reinforces each hit with more strength, increasing the tempo until you're screaming on his lap, begging for mercy, mercy, please, please, Price stop, stop—

Your skin raises with each new strike. Swelling. Becoming inflamed. The perfect imprint of his handprint sits on each cheek, edges intumescent. The globes shake, shuddering deliciously under each hit. 

He gets to eleven before you break. Tears streaming down your face, voice a threadbare whisper. Hoarse from screaming. 

His hand rains down, slaps your left cheek so hard it stings his hand. Burns. You whimper. Mewling. Squirming on his lap, and then—

“O–one—”

He grunts, feels himself thicken in his trousers. “Good girl.” 

You shudder, body breaking out in goosebumps. “Price—”

“Ah, ah, love. You're not allowed to speak unless you're counting.”

He hits you again, cock throbbing when you tense up, sniffling. Grinding out a soft two between trembling lips. 

You don't break the way he wants you to. There's a glare on your face despite the tears, the sniffles. A defiance that burns over the bridge of your nose. 

But that's fine. He has eight more strikes to ruin you, doesn't he? 

He sets to it with a low moan, your pelvis pressing taut to his tumid cock, the friction raging in his guts. 

But that, he finds, isn't really the point. No. The pleasure, the arousal, is secondary to the way you fall to pieces at his hand. Flesh stinging his palm with each loud smack that rings out sharply in the room. Uneven breaths. Shuddering little ah-ah-ahs that tumble out through clenched teeth. 

It's addictive, this. Therapeutic. 

There's static in his head. White noise. It renders everything else mute. Moot. Molasses drips down, thick and entrenching, congealing over every churning thought in the back of his head. There's a sense of peace, ease, he hasn't felt in years. In decades. 

He feels his belly knot each time your ass jiggles, skin bulging up from the trauma of being hit so harshly. Chafed under his palm. Welts forming in the shape of his hand. A tattoo you'll have for weeks when he's through with you. Aching each time you try to sit. And fuck—

You'll think of him. Of this. Being taken over his goddamn knee like the bad fucking girl you are. Broken in over his lap. Helpless. Submissive. 

The whimpers fade, replaced with shallow hiccups. Your throat is torn. Raw, ruined, by your screams, yowls. Each rasping whine sends jolts of pleasure down his spine. Liquid want molten in his marrow. 

“S–seven, nngh—”

The moan slips out—scorched, bleached—and drills deep into his loins. 

He peels his gaze away from your blistered skin, glancing at your face, but you duck from his view. Hide. Dropping your head over the armrest. Evading him. 

It's new, this. This meekness. 

You were so combative, so feral before. His gaze rakes down the expanse of your spine, over the curve of your cheeks, before settling, hot and heavy, at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. You squirm in his lap, thighs sliding together. Rubbing. It's no different from before when he'd spank you, but—

He catches it. 

It glints in the soft light when you move, and he feels something dark, ruinous, curl in the tar-stained fibrils of his chest. Congealing in the crevasses. Hardening. 

Price flicks his tongue out, swiping over his lower lip. The bristles of his beard graze the soft flesh, prickling across it. His throat is suddenly dry. Parched. 

His hand comes down again, notably softer than the other hits he subjected you to. Almost—

Tender. 

This isn't meant to hurt. Not this one. 

He strokes his finger over your skin, cock throbbing with the rasping gasp that spills—a twisted amalgamation of pain, skin still smarting, burning to the touch, and—

His lashes flutter. Nostrils flaring. 

Your slick, wet, between your inner thighs. 

He slides his hand down, down, until your ass cheek is cupped in the bracket of his thumb and forefinger. Nestled tight. A perfect fit. The sight of your skin—soft, so soft—against his bearish, hirsute paw is sickeningly addictive. He grunts, pressing his thumb into the crease between your cheek and thigh. 

“P–Price—”

And then he pulls, moaning deep in his chest as he peels the fat of your ass away, unveiling your cunt to his rapacious gaze. Fuck—

“What’s this?” He taunts, breathless. Pinched. You squirm, trying to press your thighs together. Hiding your pussy from his scorching stare. He doesn't let you. “Gettin’ off on me spankin’ your arse?” 

“N–no, I'm—”

He pushes his thumb up, sliding it over your skin. Gathers your slick on the tip. “Don't lie to me, mm. You're fuckin' soaked.”

The air is punched from his lungs. Spills out in a wretched grunt. In the vacuum, something grows. Knots. Festering inside his chest. Animalistic. Primal. There's an itch in the back of his head. 

He lets go of your arm, knows you won't run. Won't try to escape. No. 

You're a good girl, aren't you? One who does what they're told. Follows orders. It tangles in the soporific slurry of his head, pitching a bivouac of need when you bring your arm down, curling it through the gap of the armrest, holding tight. 

Bracing yourself. 

His hum breaks in his throat. He drags his hand away from your cunt, reaching for the snuffed cigar idling in the ashtray. There's a fever in his veins. It makes his hand tremble. Shake. He needs the blunted drag of nicotine to quench this heady anticipation blooming in his guts. A brumous storm gyring inside him, an incipient maelstrom of want thickening. Intensifying. Threatening to spill over. 

He needs something to steady himself before he tears into you like a beast—

You cock your head over your shoulder, staring at him with eyes drenched in midnight ink. There's a flicker across your tear-stained expression. Something coy. Feline. Leonine. 

There's nothing said. Nothing needs to be. He finds what he's looking for in the fracture of your mien, and scoffs under his breath at your sheer gall. Little fuckin' minx. 

Tobacco proves to be a paltry facsimile when he draws in a bursting mouthful. The restive glow of it dulled under the adrenaline coursing through his veins, heady. Syrupy. A roaring deluge of anticipation broiling in the balmy air, crackling around him like a storm cresting over the horizon. Ozone saturates in the thickening atmosphere. 

Something will break. Shatter. 

He tenses, waiting for the first stormcloud to breach, and drops his hand back to your tender ass. Stroking over the raised welts just to make you gasp. Your hips flex under the shocks of pain riveting down your spine, undulating in his lap. Pitched perfectly over his cock. 

His breath shudders through a needlepoint. The friction is electric. 

In petty retaliation—and just to see you squirm—he trails his knuckles over your heated skin, luxuriating in the way you shiver. Head falling back down over the armrest, beautifully alluring in your vulpine submission. His fingers dip between the cleft of your cheeks, feeling the slickness sticking to your soft, sensitive skin. Soaked between your thighs. Wretched girl. 

His index and middle finger slide over your slit, parting your folds. He feels the small pulses of your drenched hole against his flesh when he slides over it with the press of his fingers. Eager little thing.  

He hums under his breath at the sight of his hand seated across your hand, fingers shoved between the globes of your smarting ass. Soft and tender to worn and gnarled. The cropping of dark hair over his knuckles, his hand, against your bare skin is obscene. The picture of sin with your stricken flesh and his thick veins. The contrast curdled in the back of his head, morphing into something ugly and wanting. 

Idly, he thinks of making you bounce your sore ass on his lap later, your pussy swallowing up his fat cock. Taking it all the way to the root. Over and over again. Breaking you on it until you're begging for mercy, until this little attitude of yours is crushed between his teeth. 

Slick gathers against the rough pads of his fingers, drenching them. The hair on his knuckles is matted down, wet with your arousal. Naughty girl. He'll make you pay for that. 

And for the puddle seeping into his trousers. 

You mewl when he slips, sliding over your clit. The noise spilling molten over your lips, bludgeoning into his loins. 

He drags in another mouthful of smoke. Lets it rot between his teeth as he drops the cigar into the ashtray once more, attention riveting to the slip-slide of your slick thighs rubbing together for friction against your aching clit. Cunt pulsing needily against his hand. 

You haven't learned a damn thing at all, have you? 

Smoke funnels out of his nostrils when he growls. “Spoiled, aren't you? Need to be taught a lesson in respect.” 

“I, ah, am respectful, Captain—” 

He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. This lippiness of yours grates on his nerves. He wants you begging for mercy, limp in his hold. Pretty doll. Waiting obediently for him to put you back together again. Soft and submissive at his heel. 

“Got three more to go, love.” You shiver when he strokes over your ass. Petting gently with wet, tacky fingers. “If you're a good girl and take it for me, I'll play with your pretty cunt, mm. You'd like that, wouldn't you?” 

Price brings his hand down, grunting when you moan out his name. Sharp and needy. Your plaintive posturing is a spark inside a tinderbox. 

“E–eight.” 

The next one is harder, sharper. The force twinges his joints. Rattles through his bone. 

It's unexpected, and the pain makes you yowl, body drawing tight like a bow. There's no pleasure when it's like that. No friction against your cunt. It's just—

“Price—!” You yelp, shrill and distressed. The lead up to this has been child's play. A soft hand to tender a nervous mare. 

His old man taught him to never strike with the whip first but to wean them slowly. 

He waits, humming mockingly to your pettering whimpers as you heave, tremulous, into the air. Shuddering in his grasp at the aftershocks of agony rippling through your body. 

Waits. Waits. And—

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, cooing low and condescending when you gasp, craning your neck to level him with an imploring, pleading stare as you stammer out a frenetic nine in a breathless rush. Tears soak your lashline, clumping them together when you blink through another deluge pooling against the rim. Your lip wobbles. The stream breaks, spilling over. Fresh tears run down your wet, sticky cheeks. 

There's real panic in the whites of your eyes now. That haughty, pedant gleam buried under pyretic desperation. Gone is the coy twist to your lips. The wily little bloom of amusement in your gaze. 

Aw, poor thing. But—

Too late. “You didn't count. You know what that means, love.” 

That knot in his chest unfurls, and leaks acid into his lungs. This want is corrosive. A poison. The sob breaks through your chest. The first thunderclap. He relishes in it. Leans back in his chair to bask in the potency of your unmaking. 

“Good girl,” he husks out, burning lungs spewing black smoke into the air. “Just ten more now, love. Know you can take it for me, can't you?”

Pretty thing. He'll have that haughty attitude snuffed out before the end of the night. Have you begging for his touch, his cock, him, before the sun draws across the horizon. 

Your ruination at his hand. The thought strokes along the kindling smouldering inside of his chest. Burning away at the pyre he's been building since the day he met you. When you looked up at him, pretty in your scorn, and disobeyed his command. Undermined him. So righteous in your fury. A burgeoning flame he wanted nothing more than to snuff out under his heel, and now—

Wide, wet eyes plead with him. “Please, Price. Please, please. I'll be good—I promise I'll be good, sir—”

—ash in the palm of his hand. 

He strokes over your searing flesh, humming softly under his breath. “I know you will, pretty girl—” basks in the hiccup of relief you let out, lets it glue in his ears, echoing over and over again. So sweet. 

He lets your relief live for a moment. Take its first breath of air through aching lungs—

“But I told you, didn't I? That I'd take you over my knee.” Price pats his hand over your cheek, shushing you when you startle, squirming on his lap. 

“Now. Be a good girl and count for me, mm?”

[ichorai]

snow spider ; miguel o'hara.

pairing ; miguel o'hara x spider!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; you were the ice to his fire—and miguel was burning for you.

words ; 4.4k

themes ; fluff, slight angst

warnings / includes ; set before the events of atsv, descriptions of injury/violence, cursing, a bit suggestive, mentions/appearances of other spidey characters, ben being a dramatic idiot, peter & may being adorable, cameos of magneto and doc ock, miguel is down so bad, can you guys tell i'm also in an asoiaf phase ? (winter is coming !!)

a/n ; there will be a part two set during the events of atsv !!

main masterlist.

You were Miguel’s seventeenth recruit. The first of your name. The first that wasn’t a Peter Parker, or a Jessica Drew, or a Ben Reilly. 

When Miguel dropped into your universe, one rife with crime and tragedy, stricken by a never-ending winter, he fell into a large pile of snow. 

“Damn it,” he whispered through chattering teeth, brushing off the frigid frost clinging to his suit and glancing around the iced-over city. There were sparse few people littering the streets, hovering over trash-fires and clutching rumbling stomachs. This was certainly a stark contrast to Nueva York—the universe looked dead, almost. A ghost town, frozen over into nothing but a glacial artifact.

Before Miguel could start forward to look for the Spider of the universe, a sticky web shot out from seemingly nowhere, binding his hands together. Ah. It seemed that you’d found him before he could find you.

“You’re not from here. I can’t smell the winter on you,” a voice echoed, saturated with curiosity, edged with caution. A second later, you materialized in front of him, clad in a white suit, sharp silver lines running over your form. On your chest was a spider, a pale snowflake engraved into its abdomen. Miguel stared at you with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

A beat of silence. 

“Your universe is cold,” was all he could think of saying, still caught off-guard. 

You took a step back. “My universe…?”

After clearing his throat, he shook himself out of his reverie. “My name is Miguel O’Hara. I’m from a different universe. I’m here to recruit you into my team to help keep the multiverse from collapsing.”

You shifted, muscles still tense. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Lifting his wrists, Miguel twisted a hand and used his sharp claws to cut himself free of the sticky bonds. “Let me show you.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Miguel wasn’t supposed to like you this much. You were just meant to be another recruit for the Spider Society… maybe a close work companion, or a trusted friend at best. 

But as he watched you dart in and out of visibility, your suit only but flashes of white and silver, he couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to work with you. How much he genuinely enjoyed working with you, spending time with you, listening to you laugh at his stiff quips. And he really thought he was being subtle about it, but Jessica had already picked up on Miguel’s keen interest in you, always teasing him about having a crush on another Spider.

It wasn’t a crush, though. No, Miguel just really liked your work ethic.

Right?

“Heads up!” you yelled, swinging forward and using the momentum to kick an incoming car barreling right in his direction. The metal doors caved in beneath the power of your strike, veering to the left just in time to miss him. 

The two of you were taking down another anomaly that’d cropped up, one of the several dozens in only the past week. This anomaly, however, wasn’t the regular neighborhood villain they’d usually get, but instead an omega-level mutant: Magneto. 

Shards of metal rained down around you, but you were quick to deflect by thwipping out large, sticky webs to catch them before they could impale you. 

“This guy manipulates metal, Miguel!” you yelled. “Cuffs won’t work on him!” 

Another large metal pole rocketed straight for you, but Miguel dove towards you, yanking you out of the way.

“Thanks!” you told him, a bit too wound up to notice his large hands tightly wound around your midriff. “Can you distract him for me?”

Nodding wordlessly, Miguel shot out several glowing, synthetic webs in quick succession to momentarily blind Magneto. You used his shoulder to launch yourself upward, turning invisible in mid-air. 

Before the man could realize what was happening, you yanked his protective helmet off, landing a calculated strike to the back of his head. Immediately, all the bits of metal floating in the air came plummeting to the ground, and Magneto went limp in your hold. You swung down to the ground, coming back into view. 

“You’re gonna have to alert one of the Spiders that we need a metal-free cage for him,” you told Miguel, a bit breathless. 

Okay, a lot breathless. There was a sharp sting on your side—a broken piece of metal must have grazed you during the fight.

Miguel wound an arm around you to help you walk, concern festering within his chest at the sight of crimson staining your once-pristine white suit, his other hand dragging an unconscious Magneto by the scruff of his collar. With a tap of the watch, a portal opened up, flashing a multitude of bright oranges and purples. 

Back in his universe, Miguel was quick to hand Magneto over to a few Peters, telling them to be careful not to get any metal near him. You pulled off your mask and squeezed Miguel’s bicep in gratitude when he shifted his hold on you, ensuring that you wouldn’t put any weight on your injured side. Even exhausted, you were beautiful. Miguel remembered the first time he saw you without your mask: the entirety of his linguistic vernacular went flying out the window and he was left embarrassingly spluttering out a long string of incoherent sentences. You were patient with him, beaming wide and nodding emphatically, even though none of what he said had made sense. 

Yeah, alright, fine. Miguel had a crush. It really wasn’t a big deal (it was a very big deal). He’d be damned if he’d ever admit it to Jessica, though—that woman would never let him live it down.

Several Spiders waved hello to the two of you as you hobbled by, and you could only give them a winded half-smile in return. Some of them asked if you were alright, noticing the blood on your suit, but you reassured their worries away, “I’m fine. Miguel’s got me.”

A rush of protectiveness fell over him, and he clutched onto you all the tighter, hurrying to make his way back to the base. There were a few Spiders hanging around the control panels, chattering amongst themselves, and Miguel gave them a quick scan to make sure things were going smoothly since his departure. Once everything seemed to be in order, he finally tugged you into a more secluded room, helping you sit on a table as he grabbed the first aid kit. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, ripping off his mask as well. His dark hair was disheveled, sharp brown eyes softening with guilt. “I got distracted during the fight.”

“Hey, it happens,” you replied warmly, fingers lifting to pat his cheek. The feeling of your cold skin pressed up against the blistering heat emanating from his cheeks made a shiver dance up his spine. “We’re alive, and we got the anomaly. Everything’s fine.” 

“But you’re hurt.”

“I’ll heal.”

With careful, fleeting touches, Miguel drew back the ripped fabric of your suit to inspect the gash in your side. He cleaned away as much blood as he could, murmuring gruff apologies every time you flinched. The guilt worsened when he began deftly stitching up your wound—it didn’t go past his notice when your face twisted with the pain, and you bit your lip in a fruitless attempt to keep the sharp agony at bay.

“You did good out there, Y/N,” he said, desperate to distract you. “What was it like being the Spider in your universe?”

You spared him a loose grin, appreciating his attempts to keep you entertained. 

“Tiring,” you admitted, fingers digging into his shoulders when he began another stitch. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard the same story a million times by now. I was a scientist, trying to find a way to reverse the never-ending winter. I was bitten by a radioactive winter-spider… the only kind of spider left after our world iced over. I, uhm… I lost my uncle. My mom, shortly after. She was captain of the police force.” 

There was a long pause. It was obvious that you weren’t too keen on divulging all the details just yet. Your eyes watered with the memory, a glimmering film of tears warbling over your lower lashes, and Miguel gently patted your knee in understanding, silently reassuring you that you didn’t have to tell him everything.

You drew in a deep breath. “I realized I had powers—I had all the abilities of a spider, and I could turn invisible, and withstand the cold much more than before. I was known as the Snow Spider. A lot of people died from the frost. I couldn’t save them. I tried to help as much as I could, but it was just never enough. And then… I met you.” A smile graced your expression, one that sparked life into Miguel’s heart. “I moved from just helping my city, to helping the entire multiverse.”

Before you knew it, Miguel was tying off the last stitch, biting the thread short with his sharp fangs once he was done. You murmured a sincere thanks, placing your palm flat against his chest, feeling the quick thrum of his heart slamming against his ribcage.

If you noticed how his pulse seemed to kick up a notch with your ministrations, you didn’t say anything. For that, Miguel was grateful.

“There you go. That’s a brief summary of my life story. It’s only fair if you tell me yours.”

The man met your gaze, irises dark and warring with conflict.

“What’s there to say? I got powers, just like you. I lost people, just like you. I built the Spider Society… and then I met you.” The last bit was said as he nudged you gently, and he offered you a tentative smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hesitant, you lifted your hand, softly grazing your knuckles against his cheek. Icy was your touch, but it felt nice—almost addicting. He found himself leaning against your hand, shutting his eyes as he exhaled.

“You’re a mystery, Miguel,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek as thanks for patching you up, before sliding off the table to stride away. Miguel watched you go with a lump in his throat. “Luckily for you, I like mysteries.”

“How long has that been a thing? I haven’t noticed because I’ve been too busy thinking about my… miserable past,” sighed Ben, coming to stand beside Jessica, the two of them watching Miguel follow after you like a lost puppy, face uncharacteristically mellowed with an undeniable lovesick expression. 

“It’s not a thing,” she replied with an amused scoff. “Not yet, at least.”

You halted what you were doing and turned around to grin at Miguel. “Look, I stitched my suit back together. It’s good as new!” 

His dark, molten eyes gleamed with affection. “It looks great.” He caught sight of your web-shooters, fixed against the base of your hand. “I still can’t believe you need those.”

“Well, I can’t believe you have spinnerets embedded into your skin. I can’t tell if I’m more grossed out or curious to know more,” you shot back, taking his hand to inspect his wrist with narrowed eyes. “What other kind of powers do you have?”

With a roguish grin, he bared his teeth, sharp fangs drawing out. 

“I can never get over those. They’re kinda intimidating, but in a cool way.” Before you could stop yourself, you tacked on, “And really fucking hot.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He stared blankly at you. “They’re poisonous.”

Still, you smiled at him, all sweet and flustered. “Hm. It’s a shame, really. I definitely would’ve asked you to bite me if not for the venom.” Neither of you were quite sure if you were joking or not.

Miguel was certain he was going to combust into flames. “I can still bite you without injecting the poison into your system. It’s a voluntary response.”

To his surprise, you burst into a fit of laughter. Gods, he was absolutely smitten with that sound. The way your nose wrinkled, the side of your eyes creased, the shaking of your shoulders as you chuckled… it was all too much for Miguel.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” you warned.

“Oh, I can do much more than just tempt,” said the man in front of you, making your laughter taper away into silence. 

You studied him for a moment longer. Before you could say anything, both of your watches beeped simultaneously. With one more amused huff, you patted his shoulder, brushing past him and pulling your mask over your face. “Come on, mister. Anomalies to catch, universes to save… we can continue this conversation later.”

The months pass by in a blur. 

You were wrangling back another Doc Ock anomaly, having webbed up all his metal tentacles, easily tossing him into a temporary laser cage with a sweet smile. The villain was spitting obscenities, going on and on about the power of the sun in his grasp, how you’d ruined everything for him. 

“You’ll pay for this!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the glowing barrier. 

“Sorry, Doc,” you said with a mild grin. “I’ve met around a dozen of you, and so far, you were the most compliant. That makes you my favorite!”

You saluted him with a wink, before turning on your heel and striding away. It wasn’t long before Miguel found you, falling into step with your stride.

“Look at you, taking on anomalies all on your own,” he murmured lowly, nudging your side with his elbow. “Good job.”

With a scoff, you pulled off your mask, regarding him with an expectant gaze as you leaned forward, so close that your nose nearly brushed against his. He could feel the cold frost of your breath blow over the heated planes of his cheeks. “Well, then, Mr. O’Hara, wouldn’t I deserve a reward?”

The vampire-spider only flushed at your words, mouth falling open and shut as he struggled with a rebuttal. 

Your laugh, soft and tinkering, made his heart nearly seize within his chest. Still chuckling, you shoved away from him, saying that you had to get back to your universe to make sure everything was still in order there.

As you made your way out of the room, using your watch to portal through to your wintry hellscape, Jessica appeared out of nowhere beside him, one hand on her heavily pregnant belly, and the other cocked upon her hip. 

“God, you really can’t be more obvious, can you?” she asked.

Miguel spared her a glance, snapping out of his reverie and standing up straighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Everyone knows you’re in love with the Snow Spider. And don’t you deny it—I know a liar when I see one.” She watched Miguel frown, but didn’t bother protesting her claim. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Tell them, you big grump. Y/N deserves to know.”

Before he could reply, Jessica was already hastening away, yelling over her shoulder that she had to go to the bathroom because the damn baby was kicking against her bladder again.

Jealousy was not an emotion Miguel was well acquainted with. Ever since he witnessed an entire universe crumbling away in front of him, he was careful not to get too attached to anything. To anyone.

But he did. He grew attached to Jessica, who was his most trusted friend, always giving him the best advice and always available to lend him a helping hand. Though he’d never admit it, Miguel was also rather fond of Ben and his obnoxious penchant for his dramatic tragedies. And, most obvious of all, he was undoubtedly very close to his best soldier, Lego Peter.

Then there was you.

It infuriated him—the way you’d smile around him, give him the most fleeting of touches, always pleasantly cold, leaving prickly goosebumps in your wake. You would offer him an affectionate nudge and a myriad of teasing compliments that made his stomach want to fold in upon itself. But Miguel tried not to think too much of it: you were a generally kind person, with many of the Spiders in the society taking a certain liking to you. It didn’t go past his notice that you’d caught more than a few romantic eyes. Every time a Peter or a Ben would openly flirt with you, he could feel himself bristling, bile rising within his throat.

Again, Miguel wasn’t used to feeling jealous. He wanted to be the one cooking dinner for you, holding you in his arms, kissing you, touching you—

To his relief, you never paid them much mind, often politely declining with a poorly-forged excuse of having to return to your universe.

It was nearly a year since you’d first met Miguel when you were at Headquarters, holding a babbling Mayday as she crawled all over you. You laughed when she climbed up onto your shoulders, slipping down into your hands with a gleeful coo, blue eyes bright and wide. With gentle hands, you brushed her messy ginger hair away from her face. 

“She doesn’t look like you, huh?” you asked Peter B. Parker. “She must be a carbon copy of her momma.”

“A good thing,” admitted the man beside you, muffling a yawn as he dug the heels of his palms into his sleep-deprived eyes, adorned with dark bags. “Wouldn’t want her taking after her old man, now would I?”

“Why not?” you asked, amusedly watching when May shot out a web from her tiny shooters, swinging away to clumsily scale a nearby wall. “I think you’re very handsome. Trust me, the sleep-deprived look is very trendy right now. In my universe, at least. Nobody can really sleep well with the never-ending cold we got going there.”

Peter gave you a loose smile. “You know what, you’re right. Dad bods are making a comeback. By the way, did I tell you about my coin collection—”

Before Peter could finish what he was saying, your watch beeped noisily, and Ben’s slumped hologram appeared over your wrist. “Y/N, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. You had to hold your tongue not to retort that he was the one that’d called you. “I need you to come comfort me and hold onto my strong, muscular arms as I tell you about my gruesome past.” The pale image of Ben flickered as he flexed his biceps. 

You rolled your eyes to the side. Ben had become a close friend during your time with the Spider Society, nearly inseparable after you’d saved his life from an Electro anomaly once. That man was quite the emotional one, he was.

“I’ll be there, just give me a minute.” 

“Bring me one of those Spider-burgers, will you? Extra ketchup and no p—”

You tapped at your watch and his hologram disappeared before he could finish his request. With a mild wince, you glanced at Peter. “You wanna come with me and listen to Ben dramatically mope for an hour? I’ll treat you and May to Spider-burgers, because it looks like I’ll have to stop by there, anyway.”

“I would, I really would, but I gotta put May down for a nap,” he said with a sympathetic slant of his lips. As if on cue, the baby fell back into Peter’s arms, yawning widely. Bouncing her up and down, Peter absent-mindedly remarked, “Make sure Miguel doesn’t catch you being all sweet with Ben. That guy is crazy about you. Hah, he’d lose his marbles!” 

You blinked.

“What?”

Peter froze, realizing what he’d just said.

“What?” he parroted.

“No, uh, what did you say, about Miguel being…”

“Nothing! Huh? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. I heard you. Peter, what are you saying? Miguel is—?” 

Sheepish, Peter scratched the back of his head. “Oh, wow, would you look at the time!” Peter pulled down the sleeve of his pink bathrobe to mimic looking at the watch. He hastily stepped away. “I have to go. I didn’t say anything. Bye! I’d love a Spider-burger with you another time! Bye! See you later!”

You watched in bewilderment when the older man swung away with his baby in his hands, muttering out a long string of panicked curses under his breath.

Miguel was crazy about you?

After a few seconds of deliberating your next move, you shot out a web and swung away, heading to Miguel’s private office, where you knew he would be buried in figuring out a solution to the influx of new anomalies. Surely Ben would be alright with you showing up a bit late (he wouldn’t, but you had more pressing matters at hand).

“Hey, Miguel,” you greeted with a soft voice, slipping inside after knocking twice. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

The man offered you a warm grin. “Never a bad time with you. What’s going on?”

“Well, I just… I had a rather interesting talk with Peter B,” you started, striding across the office until you stood just in front of his desk, with Miguel on the other side.

He tilted his head. “Was it about that collection of coins he lost to an anomaly? He needs to get over that.”

“I—what? The poor guy lost his coin collection? He’d been working on that for years!” Shaking your head, you mindfully got back on track. “Well, no, that’s not what we talked about.”

Dark eyes narrowing, Miguel crossed his arms, deadpanning, “What did he tell you?”

There was a rather mischievous hue to your expression that Miguel misliked. Slow and deliberate, you stepped around the desk, fingers dragging along the smooth top. You stood so close to him that your chest was only a hair’s breadth from his—if he were to take too deep a breath, the two of you would be touching by now.

“Hm… Peter accidentally let slip that you have feelings for me. Is that true, Miguel?” The way his name rolled off your tongue nearly made him choke as his brain short-circuited. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, echoing the exact thing he had said to Jess a month ago. 

You studied him, gaze dragging from his stiff face, to his tense stature, and back up again. It may have been a trick of light, but Miguel could swear he saw your eyes linger on his lips. 

With a hum, you leaned even closer. He could hear your heart thrumming now, a steady, strong beat—which completely juxtaposed against his own rapid pulse, drumming loud within his ears. Up this close, he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of color within your pretty eyes, notice the way your lips quirked up with a sweet smile. Even whilst teasing him, you made sure that you weren’t overstepping any bounds, giving him ample time to step away if need be.

“Oh,” you said, feigning confusion. Your hand rested upon his clavicle, nails lightly dragging down his neck. A sharp thrill struck down Miguel’s spine at the sensation. You were barely touching him, for God’s sake! “So you wouldn’t mind if I… go ask Ben out for dinner?”

A beat of silence. Miguel’s brows knitted together.

The next words were susurrated as you dipped forward to nudge your nose along his neck, pressing a cold whisper of a kiss along the underside of his jaw. “Or if I… I don’t know… if I invite him to stay at my place for the night?” 

Of course, there was no real weight to your words. Ben was simply a good friend, but damn if you didn’t enjoy the way Miguel’s eyes twitched.

Finally snapping, a low growl rumbled within his chest, his hands shooting out to grab your waist. You were cold to the touch, the ice to his fire, as his fingers curled over your back, shoving you up against the wall behind his desk. As if on instinct, your hands came to clutch at his broad shoulders.

You smiled, wide and triumphant. You’d finally broke him. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he gruffed, staring deep into your eyes to make sure you were alright with this. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. From your gleeful expression, Miguel could see that you were just the opposite. 

“Oka—mmph!” 

His lips slanted over yours, warm and rough, yet cold and soft at the same time. It was a kiss of starkly juxtaposing contrasts, heavy with months and months of unspoken yearning. His large nose brushed against your cheek, angling his face to kiss you harder—deeper. 

When one of your hands slithered up the back of his neck to tug at the roots of his dark hair, he sighed against your mouth, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead over yours.

“He was right,” said Miguel.

“Who was?”

“Peter. I do have feelings for you.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, nudging your nose against his sharp cheekbone. “Really? I would’ve never guessed.” He surged forward to kiss you again, relishing in the way you just about melted into his touch. “If it wasn’t obvious already, I really like you, too.”

At your admission, Miguel beamed, loose and hesitant. “You still planning on asking Ben out to dinner and having him stay over at your place, then?”

You tapped a finger onto your chin, pretending to have a good, long think about it. “Give me a good reason to stay, and I won’t.” At Miguel’s slightly crestfallen expression, you patted his cheek, quick to say, “God, Miguel, I was just kidding. Ben and I are good friends. You and I, however… I wouldn’t exactly call you a friend—”

His lips met yours again, stealing the rest of your words from you. 

When you smiled into the kiss, he smiled back. It was a bit too early for love, sure, but Miguel already knew he was in too deep to back out.

He was falling in love with you. 

The thought terrified him to no end, but he merely kissed you harder, and clutched you all the closer to him.

[fastandcarlos]

Wearing His Shirt To The Paddock » F1 Reaction

» Max Verstappen

His head would shake in disbelief as you took off your jacket to show you the shirt that you’d picked out. Straight away, Max would exclaim about how he had been trying to find that shirt for ages, but with no luck. As you gave him a twirl, he bitterly found himself having to admit that you definitely pulled it off better than he did. He’d try and pout for a moment, making you think that he was upset that you’d stolen his clothes, but the shimmer in his eyes told you that secretly he was proud to see you pulling his shirt off so beautifully.

» Lando Norris

A yell of excitement came from Lando as he noticed the papaya of your shirt. Several others around the paddock looked around to see where the yell came from, but Lando only had eyes for you. His arms wrapped around you as soon as you were close enough, swaying you from side to side. Above all else, he was proud to see you wearing his shirt with all eyes on you. Lando couldn’t wait to show you off for the rest of the day, anyone who asked he told them how you were the best girlfriend, especially because you proudly wore the team colours, just like he did.

» Carlos Sainz

He was incredibly smug when he saw you walking through the paddock with your red shirt on. His teeth bit down on his bottom lip, trying to disguise his smile, as he looked over at the balcony. His eyes didn’t leave you as he noticed some of the cameras starting to snap pictures of you, proudly watching as he knew exactly what the headlines would be tomorrow morning. When you arrived, Carlos didn’t need to say a word, you knew straight away by the look on his face that you had him exactly where you wanted him from your choice of outfit.

» George Russell

You had never seen George so shy when he noticed you walking through the paddock with a Mercedes shirt on. His hands covered his face in disbelief, unable to believe what he saw. You strode over to him and tangled your arms around his broad shoulders straight away, peppering a trail of kisses along his jaw to move his hands away. The two of you didn’t need to exchange any words, the looks in your eyes said everything that you needed to tell each other. George was weak at the knees at the sight of you in Mercedes, and you couldn’t wait to make fun of him for it later too.

» Charles LeClerc

When he suggested you wear his shirt to the paddock, Charles didn’t believe you would actually do it. So when you appeared, he was sure that his eyes deceived him. As much as he hated to admit it, you suited the Ferrari shirt that he had given you perfectly. You’d made sure to style it to capture Charles’ attention, you wanted all eyes on you to make sure that everyone in the paddock knew who you were with. If anything, the attention you got made Charles very jealous as he watched on, no one was interested in him anymore, they just wanted to photograph the lady in red.

» Pierre Gasly

Your eyes glanced down as you felt the material of your shirt raise slightly again, the cool breeze tickling gently across your bare skin. With Pierre’s arm wrapped around your frame, he couldn’t help but play with the hem of your shirt as his eyes stared down at you admiring the view beside him. It was one of his most comfortable shirts, but now he was enjoying its comfort in a different capacity, unable to let the shirt go, but most of all he was unable to let your waist go as he felt how perfectly his shirt moulded around your body.

» Lewis Hamilton

You barely had time to close the door behind you before Lewis was holding onto you, taken aback by how amazing you looked in his shirt. When you hinted at wearing it, Lewis told you how nice it would be to see, but he didn’t think it would look this nice. For once, he didn’t care about who saw the two of you in the paddock, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have someone like you, and especially someone who wore his shirt so nicely too. His eyes looked nowhere else but at your shirt, knowing he’d have to pass a few more of his shirts across to you too.

» Alex Albon

The corners of Alex’s mouth immediately turned up into a smile as you revealed your shirt of choice for qualifying. You were proud to wear his shirt, to represent his team and cheer for Alex too. As soon as he saw you he pulled out his phone and took a picture of you, desperate to capture the moment of seeing you in his shirt for the first time. Alex was so lost in the moment that he almost didn’t realise that you were finally in front of him until he felt you press a gentle kiss against his lips.

———

Hello, I’m a new writer and would love some new moots and ideas - pls send me an ask with any requests and follow if you enjoyed this little piece 🥺

 ˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[thehighladywrites]

— “Bless me.”

☀︎ — pairing: nerd azriel x bimbo reader

☀︎ — summary: this is a little flashforward of what life looks like for you and azriel at different milestones!

☀︎ — warnings: sexual themes, fluff, pregnancy, smut

☀︎ — amara’s note: guys this is it💔 it’s been so fucking fun snd i’ve loved writing for them!!

series masterlist

The proposal

After four grueling years of college, you were about to walk the stage, hand in hand with Azriel. Both of you were dressed in matching black gowns and caps. You’d begged for a pink gown, but had to settle for pink heels, nails, and gorgeous Alaïa dress.

Azriel looked sinful in the suit you picked out while you were out shopping together. It was honestly dangerous to shop for him, that changing room was practically begging you to drag Azriel in it.

He also thought about ditching his glasses and that made you kinda sad because you loved seeing him in his glasses, he was so painfully cute in them.

“Not the glasses, baby. Please—you gotta leave ‘em on.” Honestly, you would beg if you had to. But Azriel didn’t let you beg he just nodded and kept them on.

He didn’t have time to think too much of it.

Because he was busy sweating bullets, not just from the ceremony’s heat but because of the diamond ring hidden in his pocket. The ring he had been saving 2 years for. It was for sure the most expensive thing he had ever purchased but the exclusive internship had paid well and you were going to get a good fucking ring.

As you waited to walk across the stage, Professor Lawder, looking fabulous in her academically decorated scholar gown, approached you and Azriel with a warm smile. “So, what are your plans after college?”

Azriel shyly smiled before letting her know what he’d been up to. “I’ve been offered a position at a company, Professor.”

Professor Lawder’s eyes widened with admiration. “That’s fantastic, Azriel! I always knew you’d achieve great things.”

You’re heart was overflowing with pride and joy for him as you chimed in with your signature bubbly enthusiasm, “He’s being super modest! He’s going to Synergy Tech! Dunno what they do there, but Azriel loves it there and they’re lucky to have him.”

Professor Lawder’s jaw dropped in amazement, clearly impressed. Synergy Tech was one of the worlds most leading companies in technological innovation and getting offered a job was no easy task. Azriel’s cheeks flushed a cute shade of red as he shifted nervously, his hand discreetly brushing against the hidden ring box. You gave him a reassuring squeeze, your happiness bubbling over.

“That’s very, very impressive and I wish you nothing but luck! And what about you, Ms. L/N?” Professor Lawder asked with a gentle smile.

You shrugged and gave a dazzling, slightly clueless grin. “Oh, um, well, I haven’t really thought that far ahead. College was, like, super tough, and I’m just ready to, you know, have fun and see what happens! Maybe travel with my man a bit, find some cute hobby or, like, just live in the moment. Who knows?”

Professor Lawder’s smile grew more amused and approving. “Well, it sounds like you’re ready to enjoy whatever comes your way.” Professer Lawder hugged you both before wishing you good luck one last time before you walked the stage. It was a wonderful feeling and you were so glad it was finally over. You cheered loud as fuck when Azriel was awarded with several honors diplomas and got a medal for his stellar grades.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you come with me for a moment?” Azriel asked after taking pictures with your friends and family.

“Okay! Where are we going, baby?” asked with a bright smile, your eyes sparkling with excitement as you held your diploma in one hand.

Azriel’s smile grew more tender as he led you away from the crowd and into the quiet math building, the very first place you two met. The empty hallway seemed much smaller and more insignificant than it used to be.

He gently took your hand in his, guiding you to the old seats where you first bonded. As you both settled into the familiar space, Azriel took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart.

Okay, this was it. He was totally going to do it.

Azriel looked at you with an intense, tender gaze. “I’m insanely in love with you,” he said, his voice quivering with emotion.

You put a hand on his chest, your sparkly eyes lighting up with joy. “Awww, I love you too,” you smiled, your voice filled with warmth and affection.

Azriel took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes twinkling with a mix of nerves and adoration.

“You’ve completely changed my life,” he began, his voice wavering with emotion. “From the moment we met, I knew you were someone extraordinary. You’ve brought so much joy, love and laughter into my world, more than I ever thought possible for someone like me.”

He smiled at you, his cheeks flushed with a mix of boyish excitement and nervousness. “I want to make you as happy, forever. You deserve every bit of happiness, love and devotion in the world, and I want to be the one to give it to you.”

Azriel took a deep breath, his eyes full of tender love as he knelt down on one knee as best as he could while being stuck in the back of the classroom. With a trembling hand, he opened a black velvet box to reveal a stunning ring that sparkled with every color of his affection for you.

“Please, bless me by becoming my wife,” he asked softly, his voice filled with heartfelt sincerity. “I want to spend the rest of my life loving you and making you as happy as you’ve made me. I want to be your husband and the father of our kids, your rock, your trusted. Please, allow me be yours. Marry me, my love.”

You gasped, your hand flying to your mouth as your eyes filled with tears. In no time you started sobbing. You didn’t glance at the ring, just Azriel’s eyes that were so filled with love.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes! I’ll marry you!” you squealed, your voice high-pitched with excitement. Tears streamed down your face as you flung yourself into Azriel’s arms, knocking him back. He held firm, never letting you go.

You buried your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Az,” you hiccupped between breaths, “I love you so much. Like, I can’t even—oh my god!”

Azriel’s chest vibrated with a quiet laugh, his dimples deepening as he pressed his cheek against your hair. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured softly, his voice steady despite the overwhelming emotion tightening his throat. “I love you too.”

You sniffled, pulling back just enough to look up at him, your mascara smudged and your eyes sparkling. “We’re gonna be, like, the cutest married couple. We’ll have an amazing life and there’s so much we’ll do! We’re so perfect and hot and we can literally do whatever because we’re married.”

His lips curved into that rare, quiet smile reserved only for you. “Whatever you want,” he assured softly, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m all in.”

You beamed through your tears, your voice bright despite the emotion clinging to it. “Duh, you kinda have to be now. I’m gonna be your wife. And I’m just gonna let you know now—I’m very high maintenance.”

Azriel’s heart flipped at the way you so confidently called yourself his wife already, and then he laughed, low and warm, because of course you were high maintenance. “So, no big changes there, huh?”

“Nope!” you said proudly, popping the p. “But I know you’ll take such good care of me and it means the world to me.” Your hand lifted, thumb gently brushing across his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch. “God, Azzie, I couldn’t love someone more than I love you,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. ”You’re totally the love of my life.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as he gently took your hand. Slowly, he lifted the stunning light pink diamond ring from its velvet box and, with steady hands, slid it onto your finger. It fit perfectly, sparkling as though it had been made just for you.

You leaned in, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, your eyes drifted down to the ring resting perfectly on your finger. It sparkled brilliantly—a huge pink diamond that practically glowed in the light. Your eyes widened in awe, lips parting in delight.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, voice trembling with excitement. “It’s so perfect. I’m gonna cry, Azzie.” You blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Are ya sure you want me as your wife? Like, forever?” you added softly, the last part coming out almost shy.

Azriel’s brows furrowed slightly in confusion. The mere thought of not wanting you made his chest ache. He would’ve married you right after your first tutoring session if you’d let him.

“Of course I do. Do you have any doubts, my love?” the thought made his stomach hurt. “Do you not want to do it?”

You shook your head vehemently. “No! I mean, yes, I wanna do it. But—what if you get bored of me?” You bit your lip nervously. “I mean, I can’t exactly have intellectual conversations with you or whatever. Ya know I’m not that smart, right?”

Azriel’s lips twitched as he fought back a smile. This was all coming from the girl who had trouble pronouncing colonel.

“You’re very smart, first of all. And I’m not marrying you for debates, sweetheart,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I’m marrying you because you’re my love and I don’t need anything else. Just you.”

Your heart melted as you softly kisses your future husband. “Okay, then. I wanna be your wife.”

————————————————————————

The wedding

Did anyone think your wedding would be small? Absolutely not. You hadn’t shut up about wanting a huge, fat Plaza wedding where everyone you knew would be invited, and you’d party all night with your insanely handsome husband while wearing a stunning Ellie Saab gown and sky-high Jimmy Choos. It had been your dream since you were a little girl.

You had all these plans, all these meticulously crafted visions for your perfect day, the flowers, the venue, the glitz, and glam but nothing, nothing, could have ever compared to the reality.

Nothing could have compared to Azriel.

Not the faceless groom who had always existed in your girlish dreams. Not the exclusivity of the prestigious venue or the shimmering of the evening.

Because it was him.

His steady hand holding yours as if he never intended to let go. The way his eyes never left you, not when you walked down the aisle, not when you exchanged vows, and certainly not as you danced in his arms under the soft glow of chandeliers.

Azriel made your dream wedding look trivial in comparison. He was the only part of the fantasy you’d never dared to dream up, and yet, he was better than anything you could’ve imagined.

At one point, you had actually wanted to elope. You literally couldn’t wait to marry him, pestering and prodding him every chance you got.

“Ya sure we shouldn’t just run away and get married? Wouldn’t it be sooo much fun, Azzie?” you’d asked, your eyes sparkling mischievously.

And yeah, Azriel totally wanted to marry you as soon as possible. The idea of waking up next to you as his wife was all he ever wanted. But he knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about the wedding, how you dreamed of wearing a baby pink dress that wouldn’t be done justice in a courthouse was the only thing stopping him from saying yes.

“I would love to, sweetheart,” he had said, brushing his thumb gently over your knuckles. “But I know you want a beautiful wedding, and that’s exactly what we’ll have.”

And he’d made good on that promise. Because here you were, twirling on the dance floor in a stunning soft pink Ellie Saab gown that shimmered under the chandeliers, the air filled with laughter and love, all while Azriel’s gaze never left you, utterly captivated by the woman he was lucky enough to call his wife.

It was a small wedding, just your closest friends and family gathered intimately but it was still at the Plaza, still the fairytale wedding you had always dreamed of.

You beamed up at him, practically vibrating with excitement. “Can you believe we’re actually married? Like, you’re my husband. I can call you my husband now. That’s so hot, like, ‘Oh yeah, let me get my husband,’ or ‘My husband knows what to do.’”

Azriel’s lips quirked into that quiet smile reserved just for you. “I think you’ve said ‘husband’ more times in the past minute than most people do in a week.”

“And it’s only the beginning,” you giggled, leaning closer. “I’m never getting over this, husband.”

His hand found the small of your back, grounding you in that gentle, steady way only he could. “Good. Because neither am I, wife.”

Then he gave you the softest, most loving kiss ever. It was a kiss filled with the promise of your future, the one you’d spend together.

—

Sand. Palms. Warm weathers and the ocean.

You had been surrounded by your favorite things with your favorite person. It had been a few days since your wedding and you were now on your honeymoon.

The private island your father had gifted you as a married couple was absolutely perfect. It was completely magical and completely hidden away.

A single sprawling villa stood at the heart of it, with panoramic views of the turquoise ocean. Vibrant flowers bloomed in every imaginable color, their fragrance mingling with the salty breeze. Fruit trees, heavy with sweet, ripe fruit, dotted the landscape. And you were sharing it all with your husband.

That’s right, Azriel was officially your husband now, and you were his freaking wife. Sometimes it didn’t feel real, and other times it felt very real.

Like those times when Azriel made you ride him, begging you to call him nothing but husband. And he called you nothing but wife. His sweet wife, his beautiful wife, his sexy wife.

Azriel was unbelievably romantic, spoiling you left and right with thoughtful little gifts. Yesterday it was a jaw-dropping pair of diamond earrings; the day before that, a golden anklet etched with your initials intertwined. Every step you took made that anklet jingle softly, a reminder of how deeply he loved you.

It was also a cute reminder when he folded you in half, ankles in the air as the jewelry jingled. You had fucked just about everywhere. Outside, inside, on tables, in the hammock, on the beach chairs, and even right on the beach itself. That was the privilege of being utterly alone. You could do whatever the hell you wanted, scream and moan as loud as you pleased, without a single soul hearing or seeing Azriel slut you out.

That’s why you’d packed the sluttiest outfits imaginable — stringy bikinis, barely-there skirts, and see-through dresses. All scraps of fabric that Azriel would be tearing off anyway.

Your favorite ensemble was the white silk nightgown from Agent Provocateur that you’d worn on the first night. It was bridal, beautiful, and the match that lit this trip. The second Azriel saw it, he’d lost control and sanity. You’d ended up in so many positions that you couldn't walk without help the next day. He’d truly worn you out.

You still remembered the way his eyes had darkened when you stepped out of the bathroom and spun for him, showing off that sinful gown.

That was probably why you were now slipping into a baby pink lace bra and panties set — delicate and stunning. You tied it all together with a silk robe that wasn’t hiding anything, only highlighting everything. An open invitation, really.

“How’s dinner going, husband?” you asked, your freshly manicured hand grazing down his shirtless back.

“It’s coming along nicely, actually. Are you hungry, sweetheart?” he asked, pushing his glasses up his nose and scrunching it adorably as he stirred the sauce.

You smiled at the little quirk you loved so much. His glasses made your heart race every time. “Uh-huh, sure. I’m hungry. Actually, I’m reeeeally hungry.”

“Yeah? It’ll be done soon, and—”

His words faltered when he glanced down at you.

There was so much love and lust swirling in your gaze, your pupils dilated and locked on him. His throat went dry, forcing him to swallow once—then again.

“Everything okay, husband?” you asked innocently, voice soft and sweet, knowing damn well you were driving him crazy. There was nothing innocent or sweet about the way your hand dragged down his chest, all the way to his built abs and v-like that disappeared down his pants.

Azriel’s voice came out rough. “Oh, you’re not being fair, sweetheart.”

A slow, playful smile curled your lips. “Azzie, c’mon let’s fuck. Right here, right now.” you grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the kitchen island. There you looked up at him with those doe eyes, all innocent and sweet before you carefully let your robe drop.

“So, you gonna make me beg? i’ll totally do it,” you suggest with a little smile.

“Alright then, beg.”

—

“Wait—don’t hide your pretty face from me—fuck,” azriel reaches over and grabs both your hands in one of his.

God, you were being slutted out, whimpering mindlessly as you bounced in his lap. his ridiculously big dick was fittin’ just right, so snugly deep in your cunt.

“I want to see my wife’s face, so fucking pretty, might just cum from looking at it,” azriel was also a mumbling mess, groans and noises of pleasure escaping him whenever you lifted yourself and sat back down, your cunt sucking him in greedily.

The house was filled with so sinful noises, the noises were just sloppy, nasty, each ‘plop!’ and ‘pap!’ that echoed from both bodies was sending a wave of chills down azriel’s spine. The loud sounds echoing through the room only spurred him on more, making him fuck you harder, deeper, wanting to hear you cry louder.

“mm- az, there baby. righttttt there, fuck me good,” you’d weep out in a sweet whimper. he was in so fucking deep. A ring of cum had started to form around the base of his dick and dripped down his balls from how wet you were. you felt every delicious stroke, felt the way his tip kissed your cervix. fuck- you rolled your hips in circles, making his already fuzzy brain go more empty.

the combo of your sinful hips and the way your wet cunt was vacuuming each and every inch was just pushing him closer to the edge, turning him into a fucking mess. “o- oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum. keep ridin’ me, ride me good—shit, I-I think i’m gonna cum.” Azriel’s brows furrow in pleasure as he pushes the hair that fallen over his eyes back.

“ ‘s okay, azzie. you can c- cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly against the crook of his neck. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close as your hips rut into him quicker.

“god- ‘m cummin’ fuck- ‘m cumming,” he moans, and his entire body erupts. his hand snakes down between your perspiring bodies just as he rubs tight circles on your clit, the small move pushing you over the edge as your walls spasm around his leaking tip, still spurting out rope after rope as your fell against his chest.

Your eyes are glossed over in pleasure and you felt like bawling your eyes out. There was nothing more beautiful than post sex with Azriel. It was all so emotional and sweet and you didn’t miss the way he held you closer.

Your pulled away from him, just enough to see his face. Azriel was already staring at you with no less lust or love than before. You pouted a bit before kissing his swollen lips. He’s so pretty, god.

Azriel’s inside were swirling around and it didn’t help that you were looking up at him, freshly fucked with so much love and submission in your eyes. It was like your eyes were saying the words you couldn’t. Azriel’s hand carefully stroked your bottom lip from your between your teeth.

“These eyes, man. You keep looking at me like that and I might get you pregnant, sweetheart.”

Azriel as a dad? A DILF? Fuck yeah.

“Do it then, knock me up, Azzie.”

————————————————————————

The pregnancy

You stood in front of the mirror, frowning as you tried to zip up your cute, frilly mini skirt. It wasn’t fitting quite like it used to. “Hm, there must be something wrong with this skirt. It’s not fitting me anymore,” you muttered, tugging at it a little. You huffed in frustration but quickly brightened. “Oh well, I guess that means it’s time to go shopping!”

You slipped on your favorite pair of black Manolos, but as you tried to squeeze your feet into them, they didn’t quite cooperate. You wiggled your toes and huffed again, forcing them in. “No way are my Manolos not fitting. They have to. These are my favorite!” you said, your voice tinged with frustration as you took a few shaky steps, struggling to balance.

Azriel walked in, his brow furrowing in concern when he saw you wobbling. “Everything okay, love?” His gaze drifted down to your feet, then to your stomach. He couldn’t help but notice how your clothes didn’t seem to fit as they usually did.

You stumbled a little, catching yourself on the vanity. “I don’t get it, Azzie. This skirt and my shoes… why aren’t they fitting? I haven’t changed that much have I ?!” Your confusion was evident as you looked at him, a little panicked.

Honestly, it had been three years since you graduated college and two since getting married. Did you just put on some weight?

You turned your head to Azriel, hands clamped infront of you in all seriousness. God you were totally gonna die if he said yes. “Azzie, am i getting fat?”

“No, no, sweetheart,” Azriel said quickly, his hands gently brushing over your arms, his touch soothing as if to reassure you that everything was okay. “You look healthy. I promise.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “But… Azzie,” you gestured at your shoes, “these are my Manolos, they should always fit!”

Azriel chuckled softly, his smile warm and affectionate. “Do you want to get new ones?” he asked, his voice light as he gently helped you out of your clothes, clearly more focused on making you comfortable than anything else.

You let out a sigh, the panic easing just a bit. “That sounds nice, Azzie. Thanks,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude, feeling the love in every small thing he did for you.

Not just the small things—but the big things too. Azriel’s job was stupidly well-paying, and he was loaded. It was a reward for all his hard work in school, and it made you so proud. He was the main provider and never expected a penny from you, spoiling you rotten and taking the promise of taking care of you very seriously.

He knew you’d lived a life of glamour and glitz, and lord knows he wasn’t about to mess that up. Azriel had even told your father that he’d step up and take care of you the second he landed his job as a very important something at a tech company…thingy. You never really knew what he did, but he was so hardworking and cool that it didn’t really matter.

—

Azriel noticed the changes in you immediately. You were moodier than usual, avoiding your favorite foods—especially your beloved strawberry sweets—and, to top it all off, you’d missed your period. He knew your cycle well and tracked it enough to know that a missed period was a rare occurrence. And you? Avoiding your favorite sour strawberry candy? That was unheard of.

Azriel couldn’t help but also notice how extra clingy you’d become, but he didn’t mind in the slightest. He loved you dearly, after all. You wrestled normally very clingy but not like this. For the past two weeks, you had been practically glued to his side.

You napped on top of him like you couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. You wrapped yourself around him as if you were a koala bear, holding on tight while he read or worked. And when he left the house—even for just a few minutes, you’d become teary-eyed, giving him a sad pout as if he were leaving for an eternity.

It was both endearing and a bit concerning for him. Azriel couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the sudden shift in your behavior made him wonder. Was something off? Was this just a phase? Or, as he suspected, was it something more?

Either way, he couldn’t deny that he secretly loved the extra closeness. He’d never seen you so needy, and God you were needy at times, but it made him feel needed in a way that was deeply comforting. He would brush your hair from your face and kiss your forehead, trying his best to reassure you when you would cry about the most random things—like when he’d gone to grab groceries for ten minutes, or when he had to step out to take a call.

“You okay, love?” he asked softly, brushing a few stray hairs behind your ear as you curled up next to him once again.

“I just missed you, Azzie,” you replied, your voice small but full of affection as you nuzzled into his side before you sobbed again.

Azriel chuckled lightly, his fingers tracing comforting patterns on your back. “I’m right here, sweetheart. It’s okay.”

It was a little intense, but it also made his heart swell to know just how much you needed him.

He had a strong hunch that you might be pregnant, but he couldn’t say for sure yet. So, being the overprepared and cautious person he was, he did what any sane person would do: he bought eight different pregnancy tests.

“Juuuust to be sure,” he muttered to himself as he set the tests down on the bathroom counter, glancing over at you. You were sitting on the bed, still unaware of his little purchase.

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he was seeing the changes in you. And it really didn’t help that you were fucking like bunnies everywhere, everyday for so long without any protection.

Azriel cleared his throat, looking far too calm for someone who had just bought eight pregnancy tests. “So, sweetheart, I think I know what’s going on with you. You might be pregnant. And I’ve bought you the market’s top-rated tests.” He said it with a certain air of professionalism, like he was pitching an idea, and it left you utterly confused.

You stared at him, blinking. “Huh? Eight tests? Ain’t that kind of… a bit much?”

Azriel, however, was completely unfazed. “You see, my love, you can never be too careful. And I also suggest we visit a doctor’s office.” He handed you a massive glass of water, like it was a peace offering. “Just to help smooth things over,” he added, his eyes darting away, a faint blush creeping across his face when you arched an eyebrow at the absurdly large glass of water.

You stared at the massive glass of water, then back at Azriel. “Azzie, this is, like, a lotta water. You trying to drown me or something?” you giggled, swirling the glass dramatically before gulping it down with determination.

Azriel’s lips twitched into a smile, but he stayed close, clearly taking this whole situation very seriously. His gentle instincts wouldn’t allow for anything less.

With all eight pregnancy tests clutched in your hands, you made your way to the bathroom. “You’re staying right outside, right?” you asked, pointing a manicured finger at him. “I need you with me, Azzie baby.”

Azriel nodded, leaning against the wall like the dutiful husband he was. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll be just outside.”

After a few tense minutes, you stepped out of the bathroom, wide-eyed, holding up the tests like some dramatic reveal on a reality show.

Each one displayed a positive result—two lines, a digital readout, even one that estimated how far along you were in weeks. No doubt about it. You were pregnant.

You blinked down at the assortment of tests, then back at Azriel, your voice trembling. “Azzie,” you whispered, tears welling up. “We’re having a baby.”

Azriel’s eyes softened, wonder filling his expression as he stepped closer, gently cupping your face. “My love,” he said, voice low and filled with awe. “We’re having a baby.”

You sniffled, overwhelmed, then suddenly let out a laugh through your tears. “Oh my god, I’m actually going to freak out! I already love her so much—I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Azriel’s lips curved into a soft laugh, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. “Her? You think it’s a girl?”

You nodded lovingly. “Totally. I just know it, Azzie. You’re so a girl dad. And she’s gonna be adorable and for sure super smart, just like you.”

Azriel’s laugh deepened, warm and genuine. “Then she’ll be perfect, just like her mom,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

—

Pregnancy was unique, and Azriel found it endlessly charming. The way you waddled around in your third trimester never failed to make his heart swell. You didn’t think it was cute, but to Azriel, it was nothing short of endearing. And he made sure to let you know it every chance he got.

It hadn’t started out easy, though. Morning sickness had you in its grasp for weeks, and you couldn’t help but blame Azriel for it every time it hit. One day, after a particularly rough attempt at cooking chicken, you were hunched over the toilet, and when Azriel walked by, you just couldn’t help yourself.

“You did this to me!” you yelled, your voice a mix of frustration and nausea. “I’m sick, and it’s all your fault, Azriel. God, I can’t even eat chicken anymore and—”

But your rant was cut short when the reminder of the chicken hit you again, and you immediately had to empty your guts once more.

Azriel stood there, helpless but always ready to support you. He nodded in agreement, his face a mixture of amusement and sympathy. “It’s all my fault,” he agreed quickly, his voice full of mock guilt. “I’m so sorry for getting you pregnant. How irresponsable of me.”

You shot him a look, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, it’s totally your fault,” you said dramatically, sinking down onto the cool bathroom floor and leaning your head on his shoulder as he crouched next to you.

Azriel didn’t mind; he just wrapped an arm around you, offering comfort. Even as you faced the discomforts of pregnancy, you refused to wear anything you didn’t like. You weren’t about to settle for ugly maternity clothes, not when you could still squeeze into your regular outfits. And so what if your t-shirt was riding up your stomach? it was still cute and you’d wear just that. It was just you plus a bump.

Even with you sick and throwing up left and right, Azriel didn’t think he’d ever seen you so beautiful. You were glowing and had this ethereal beauty surrounding you at all times. It made no sense at times that someone as beautiful as you existed.

—

In these final weeks, the fear of giving birth and the reality of taking care of the baby were your biggest worries. Azriel, always attentive, made sure to check on you daily, asking if you had any pain, discomfort, or thoughts you needed to share.

You sighed deeply, looking over at him. “Well, I’m kinda scared, baby.”

Azriel scooted closer, rubbing your feet, and the second his hands made contact, it felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders. His touch was like magic, calming your racing thoughts.

“Yeah? Wanna talk about it?”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a moment before speaking. “I’m scared of giving birth, ya know? I watched some videos, and honestly, I’d rather not do it at all. Like, babies should be born painlessly, right? I know it’s gonna hurt like a bitch, and I’m just… terrified.”

Azriel leaned in, his hand still caressing your foot gently. “I won’t lie to you, honey, it’s gonna be scary,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady. “But listen to me: you’re not going to be alone. I’m going to be right there with you, every step of the way. I’ll hold your hand, I’ll be the one to remind you how strong you are. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning back into him, feeling his warmth and the sincerity of his words. The fear didn’t disappear entirely, but with him beside you, it seemed just a little more manageable. “I jus’ don’t wanna mess it up. I want to be a good mom, ya know?”

“You’ll be an amazing mom. The best,” Azriel said without hesitation, his voice full of certainty. “You’ve already proven that. And we’ll be doing this together, so you’ll never be alone.”

You smiled, feeling a little braver. “Thanks, Azzie. I really needed to hear that.”

“Always, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand still holding yours with a tenderness that made you feel like you could take on anything. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. “So, does this officially make you a dilf?”

Azriel chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Yeah, and just like that, you’re a milf,” he teased, his smile growing as he gave your belly a gentle rub.

You liked the sound of that, you and Azriel officially being hot parents.

—

“Okay, I need this baby to get the fuck out.”

Yes, that’s right. You were still very pregnant, and it was starting to drive you mad. Hot one second, cold the next, hungry then nauseous. Everything felt off, and you were so uncomfortable. You were too damn pregnant.

“Oh my god, just get out, get out, get outtttt!”

Azriel stood next to you, trying to be supportive as usual. He was breathing way too loud, and standing just a little too close. “Seriously, breathe louder, Az. That’s just great,” you snapped, throwing your hands up in frustration. Your pink diamond ring caught the light, and your eyes narrowed in irritation.

“Sorry, I’ll just stop,” he said casually, clearly not bothered by your outburst.

Great. Now you felt fucking awful. He wasn’t the one who’d been throwing up for the past few months but he’d been the one holding your hair back, rubbing your feet, and making sure you were comfortable 24/7. You definitely didn’t want to stop breathing because that would cause him to die and you just couldn’t have that.

“‘m sorry,” you said, your voice shaky as you reached for him, burying your face in his shoulder. “Didn’t mean to snap. I don’t want you to stop breathing. You’re not annoying, I’m just—” you sniffled, feeling like a mess. “I love you so much, but gods, I’m so over being pregnant. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Please don’t hate me.”

Azriel’s eyes softened as you broke down into his shoulder, his hand instinctively moving to soothe you. He wrapped you in his arms, pulling you closer as he gently rubbed your back, his presence steady and grounding.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and comforting. “I know you’re done. You’ve been so strong this whole time, and I’m proud of you. But we’re almost there. Just a little longer.”

You sniffled, your face buried in his shirt, feeling the warmth of his embrace despite the chaos swirling in your mind. “I just feel like I’m going to lose it. I’m too hot, then cold. I can’t eat without feeling sick, and everything aches. I just want her here already. I love her so much, but I can’t do this anymore.”

Azriel chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering for a moment as he whispered, “How about we get her out by going for a walk and eating something spicy? Heard that works wonders. And if that doesn’t, uh… I heard sex helps.”

The blush creeping up his neck was unmistakable, and your heart squeezed at how he still managed to get shy around you.

You grinned through your tears. “How about we skip all that and head straight to the part where you fuck me real good?”

Azriel’s lips curved into a slow smile, though his face was still red. “Y-Yeah—hell yeah. Let’s do that.”

And he did. One very good fuck fest and 7 hours of labor brought your beautiful baby girl into the world. She was perfect—so tiny, so sweet, and when she opened her eyes, they were unmistakably Azriel’s.

“You did it, sweetheart,” Azriel whispered as he held her close, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s here. Our babygirl is finally here. Thank you, my love. For blessing us. For your hard work. I’m so proud of you.”

Azriel kissed you deeply and as you looked at your baby girl and the love of your life, you knew every ache and tear had been worth it.

—————————————————————————

Life

You kissed the top of her head, her soft black hair looking just like her father’s. You sat on the couch with your 6-month-old baby girl nestled in your arms. When she was born, she looked just like you, but as she grew older, her sneaky little features started looking more and more like Azriel’s.

You loved her so freaking much, and sometimes you’d just start crying out of nowhere. She was a tiny part of you, someone you made with love. It was honestly wild.

“Oh, my sweetest baby angel. You’re all mine, and I love you sooo much, yes I do! Yes I do!” you cooed, nuzzling your nose against her tiny button one, making her giggle wildly. She was seriously a masterpiece. Like, such a cutie.

After feeding and rocking her, her soft snores filled the room, and you found yourself counting each adorable little breath. Pregnancy had been… a lot. You weren’t exactly the sharpest crayon in the box, and sometimes you worried about whether you’d be a good mom. But Azzie had always been there.

Carefully, you stood up and tiptoed to her bedroom, which was right next to yours and Azriel’s so you could get to her super quickly if she fussed. You gently laid her down and pulled out all the baby monitors you had stocked up on. No way were you taking chances with your baby girl.

And sure, maybe three monitors and an Owlet sock was a tiny bit much, but whatever. And Azriel totally agreed.

You found him standing next to the door, still clad in his handsome dress shirt and slacks. Your walked over to him as you slumped your body against his, melting against his chest and wrapping your arms around his waist. "Every day I thank the gods we didn't end up with a fussy baby. she goes to sleep so easy." he smiled, placing his chin on the top of your head. 

Here’s a cleaned-up and polished version while keeping her adorable, slightly flustered tone intact:

“Right? She’s totally in sync with me, and I’m so happy she’s so calm.”

“I really missed you today. A lot.”

Your heart started beating faster. Azriel was so casual about stuff like that, and it made you blush every time. He used to be shy and reserved about sharing his feelings, but now he’d just say it right to your face without hesitation.

And, of course, it turned you into a blushing mess over a few simple words.

“Y-you did? I missed you too.”

His arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. His voice dropped to that low, heart-melting tone he knew drove you wild.

“I missed you very much. Very, very much. And I’m going to show you exactly how much.” You giggle and blush like crazy when be grabs your waist and carefully chucks you over his shoulder, giving your ass a loud smack.

God, you love your life.

🏷️:

[burningembers91]

Powder Blue Dress - Cho Hyun-Ju x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: For the first time, Cho Hyun-Ju is living the life she had always wanted. But when you move into her apartment block, will she allow herself to open up?

A/N: This is my first time writing for a transgender character, and I really hope I've done her justice. I adored her character is Squid Game

Warnings: mentions of transphobia, low self-esteem

Cho Hyun-Ju had always known she was different. She couldn’t precisely pinpoint when exactly, but she’d always had an inkling that wasn’t like her family or friends. She’d tried hard to make a life for herself, to pretend that she was happy in a body that felt completely alien to her. She tried to build relationships, shape her career and mould herself into something her family would be proud of. But the more time that passed, the more she realised that she was living a lie. This male body, it didn’t suit her, it wasn’t who she was on the inside. She was tired of looking in the mirror and not recognising the person that stared back, she was tired of people not understanding how uncomfortable she felt in her own skin.

The day she told her family she wanted to transition from male to female was a day she would never forget. There was so much anger, so much shouting. She was ejected from her parent’s house immediately and told in no uncertain terms to never darken their doorway again. She had thought her friends would be a little more understanding, but they too started to distance themselves. They called and texted less, stopped inviting her out with them. She didn’t expect much from her work and wasn’t surprised when they fired her after she told them about her dreams of transitioning into the woman she’d always known she was. she went from being surrounded by a network of family and friends to being utterly alone in the space of three weeks. Hyun-Ju packed up and moved to a small apartment on the other side of the city. She put her past out of her mind and chose to look forward instead. She grew her hair, started experimenting with makeup. She took a job in a warehouse, picking up extra shifts whenever she could to bolster up her savings into order to pay for top surgery and the hormonal medication she needed. It had been tough, and she’d taken out several loans she couldn’t afford, but the debt was worth to finally be able to look in the mirror and recognise the woman she saw smiling back.

Most days were still a challenge; people loved to stare. She understood why though, she was a 6ft female in a dress who still had a six o’clock shadow. Hyun-Ju ignored the stares and the jeers, but life was so lonely now. She found the courage to go and shop in a boutique she’d passed a few times, buying herself a few dresses and a pair of ballet flats. She was desperate to showcase her more feminine look, but where was she supposed to go when everyone was pretending she no longer existed?

She ran into you in the lobby of the apartment block one day, and her world was forever altered. “Cute dress!” you exclaimed, admiring the powder blue cotton with lace details. “It’s absolutely stunning!” Hyun-Ju felt herself blush, and her smile was so wide it made her jaw ache. No one had ever complimented her style, not before or since her transition. She wanted to ask you out for coffee, but something stopped her. Just because a person likes your clothing, it doesn’t mean they like you. But she kept running into you, and every time she did you made her blush and smile all over again. It was you who finally made the first move, inviting her out for cocktails. You were new to Seoul, and the pretty girl in the powder blue dress made your heart sing.

The two of you became inseparable, and Hyun-Ju found herself able to open up to someone for the first time in her life. You were a great listener, and you never once made her feel invalidated or wrong. You made her laugh, and the two of you spent hours together talking about everything and nothing. You were the greatest friend Hyun-Ju had ever known, and she slowly found herself wishing you could be more. But you were the beautiful girl with the sparkle in her eye and the confidence of Beyonce, and she was still scared that you’d turn her down, that she wouldn’t be enough for you.

“You have a beautiful smile,” you told her one evening, after you’d spent the night watching a comedy on Netflix and eating your bodyweight in chocolate. Hyun-Ju didn’t meet your eye as she thanked you, and you wished she could see herself the way you did. She was funny, and kind and so beautiful to you. You wanted to tell her all this, but you were terrified of pushing her away. She’d been so open and honest with you, and you didn’t want her to think you were taking advantage of her.

As she said goodnight to you, and headed back to her own apartment, Hyun-Ju studied her smile in the mirror. She wished she could see what you did, and she wished she could tell you how much you meant to her. But a lifetime of hiding your true feelings had left its mark on her. There was still so much fear and anxiety of opening up. Sure, she’d told you about her past and her transition journey but opening up to someone romantically was something she hadn’t done before. She wasn’t even sure how you felt, and she could have the situation completely wrong.

As she climbed into bed that night, she thought of you. She thought of your melodic laugh, your perfect sense of humour. She thought about the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the way your floral perfume wrapped her in the sweetest of hugs. She wondered how it would feel to kiss you, to have you run your hand through her hair. As she looked up at the stars shining over the city, she had no idea you were thinking of her as well.

[fairsweetlonging]

hear me out, svsss extras au where, some part after canon, when the original luo binghe shows up, shen qingqiu does go with him (whether forcefully or willingly) to the other world. of course, bingge being bingge he immediately starts planning a wedding and trying to take shen qingqiu to bed, but his spouse-to-be isn't having it. he has this thing called self-respect, you know!

so, shen qingqiu, trying to buy himself time, tells bingge he'll need to be properly courted first. after all, how can you marry a guy you just met? (frozen ref). bingge, though reluctantly, agrees.

and generally in my head it's a bit of a feel-good fic, in a way? at least before the angst begins. shen qingqiu is sweet and kind to bingge but strict and aloof enough to not be a different person entirely, and when shen qingqiu (teasingly) tells him to perform the qing jing sword drills, bingge blooms under the praise he's given when he performs them flawlessly, and there is something very calming about walking into shen qingqiu's suite and finding him curled up on the cushioned window sill with a blanket, a cup of tea and a book he's helplessly engrossed in.

in this au shen jiu is still alive, locked in the dungeons of the demon realm castle. with the new shen qingqiu here he's been severely neglected, mainly because bingge hates to taint his new image of 'the kind shizun' with his hateful despicable old shizun, clearly this is how it was always meant to be, and shen jiu can rot for all he cares. at first shen qingqiu (yuan) thinks shen jiu must be long dead and gone, but then he overhears two guard demons bickering about "food for the prisoner", and he gets curious.

it's a scene à la 'belle and the beast' where shen qingqiu goes to the forbidden wing dungeon, finding shen qingqiu chained up, bones broken, cultivation crippled. one of his arms is gone, and shen qingqiu doesn't want to look too long at the rotten remains in the corner of the cell. shen jiu is barely conscious at this point, but shen qingqiu spends a little time with him anyway.

when he has dinner with bingge later that night, he asks after shen jiu, saying he wants to see him. binghe gets a little paranoid, worried about them teaming up against him or that this shen qingqiu will think he's a monster too. but shen qingqiu knows to spin it in such a way that it basically amounts to "wouldn't it be great to have two nice shizuns?" (shen yuan knows how important closure can be). and. yeah. bingge does like the idea of two nice shizuns.

so then shen qingqiu gets to take care of shen jiu (who does have to remain in the dungeons for now), and if bingge hadn't seen it with his own eyes he wouldn't have believed shen jiu took to shen qingqiu so quickly, being the pitiful pile of broken bones, starvation and torture trauma that he is, but, clearly, the way he allows shen qingqiu to touch him, stroke his hair, how his face falls, just slightly, when shen qingqiu has to leave, he's getting attached. something in bingge's xin-mo influenced mind delights in the idea of something else he can take away from his old shizun (shen yuan won't let him).

there's a bunch of endings to this, whether shen qingqiu and bingge find love and get married, or maybe binghe comes to save his shizun and they take shen jiu back to their world, or shen qingqiu acts like a catalist between original binghe and original shen qingqiu for them to be together, or idk maybe everyone goes to the other (svsss) world and they become some insane quartet, take your pick!

[angelsassassin]

Home • Spencer Reid x reader

In which Spencer comes home to you

Spencer was a free man, and you were there waiting for him.

Details: fem!reader x spencer reid, established relationship

Warnings: nothing that I can think of to be honest.

Caution: MINORS DNI!

AN: I spent like ten minutes looking for this gif it’s actually so sad.

Spencer was a free man. After three months of being in prison following a wrongful conviction, he was free. JJ had come to tell him the good news, telling him that after a few days, you’d be coming to pick him up.

When that day finally came, Spencer woke up feeling better than he had in those months. He woke up knowing he was finally able to hug you again, kiss you again, touch you again.

He had missed you so much, more than he could ever imagine was possible. When the guards came to get him, he began to feel nervous. As he put on the suit he had worn the day he was sentenced to prison in court, his heart began to beat quicker than it ever had done before.

He had instructed the team to not let you see him while he was in prison, not wanting you to see how broken he was. He hadn’t seen you in three months, and only spoken to you over the phone a handful of times.

But now, he was finally able to be with you again.

You were waiting outside the prison, leaning against your car. You were shaking due to how nervous you were. Every sound that came from the prison would make you look up, hoping to see Spencer, your loving boyfriend, finally walk out of there.

Eventually, you heard a different noise, and you immediately knew it was time. You looked up, seeing guards exiting the building, and Spencer following behind. His eyes found yours almost immediately, as if he knew exactly how to find you. The guard opened the last gate that stood between the two of you, and let Spencer walk out of it.

He was a free man.

Upon seeing him walk out of the gate, your legs moved quicker than your mind could register what was happening. You jogged up to him, almost throwing yourself into his arms when you finally reached him. You wrapped your arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around you.

The two of you stood like that for a few minutes, before he pulled away and looked at you, really looked at you.

“Hi.” He said, with a small smile growing on his face.

“Hey.” You replied.

Those two words were all it took for Spencer to grab your face, pulling you closer to him and placing his lips down onto yours. The kiss was electric, it was passionate. Three months worth of missing each other, of uncertainty, it was all poured into the kiss.

Once you pulled away, needing to breathe, you placed your head on his chest. “I love you so much.” You mumbled into him.

“I love you, angel. I love you so much.” He says as he kisses your head. “God, I missed you.”

It felt like eternity before you finally pulled away from each other, looking deep into one another’s eyes. “How about I take you home?”

Spencer eagerly nodded.

The drive back to your home was silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Spencer kept his hand on yours the entire time you drove, not wanting to let go and be void of your touch for any longer. He glanced over at you several times, each time he did, his heart swelled with love.

As you entered your home, he looked around, noticing that it hadn’t changed at all; everything was the exact same. The pictures that lined the walls were the same, his satchel still in the exact same spot he had left it in.

“This doesn’t feel real.” He whispered. You turned to face him and placed both of your hands on his face.

“It is, Spence. You’re home. You’re back. It’s over.” You assure him. “Everything’s over.” At your words, Spencer wrapped his arms around you, burying his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

Spencer never admitted it, but your smell, it always gave him comfort. The way your hair and your body smelled like the shampoo you use, the one you insist on never changing, it made him feel at home. It made him feel like he was safe, and okay. And in that moment, that was all he needed.

He needed to know he was safe, and that he was okay. He needed to know that he was home, and that he would never go back to prison. He needed to know that you were there, that you would always be there, even in his worst moments.

You wrapped your arms around him, and let out a sigh. “You know, I finally feel like I can breathe again. It feels like… like I’m complete again.” You whisper into his chest.

Spencer didn’t reply, afraid that if he spoke, he’d break down. All he could do was hold onto you tighter, pulling you even closer to him, if that was even humanly possible.

Despite not saying anything, Spencer felt the exact same way. For three months, it felt like pieces of him were being chipped away, like he was becoming a shell of a man. There was a very real possibility that he would never be able to be the same man again. But as he held you, he felt complete. He was a changed man, of course, but the one thing he knew would never change, that could never change, was his love for you, and how much he needed you.

As he took deep breaths in order to steady his heart rate, he realised in that moment that he could never live without you ever again. He knew that he needed you like he needed oxygen, like he needed water. Spencer Reid needed you, and he was going to make sure you spent the rest of your life knowing how much he needed you, how much he loved you. He was never going to let you go, and he knew exactly what to do, and how he was going to prove that to you.

~~~

AN: This series will not be in chronological order of how they meet and fall in love and blah blah blah. It’s more about the little moments between Spencer and reader throughout their years together.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

sebek and the love of literature

HELLO, HI... PLEASE READ MY SEBEK ANALYSES, I BEG... HE IS A VERY GOOD BOY THAT IS DESERVING OF YOUR LOVE, I SWEAR HE IS... OTL

[ Sebek and internalized racism / Sebek and his place in the Diasomnia found family / Sebek and his capacity to love ]

YES... It is I, here with yet another Sebek-related ramble. Make yourself comfortable :)) *straps you into a seat and tapes your eyeballs open*

***SPOILERS for the book 7 part 12 (Heartslabyul - Deuce and Cater) update!!***

Okay, SO.

We already know that one of Sebek's hobbies is reading, as is stated in his official in-game profile:

... BUT I DON'T THINK YOU TRULY REALIZE HOW DEEP THIS READING HOBBY GOES. He has several voice lines declaring his love of books and reading. Several of Sebek's peers, including Yuu, Azul, and Jack, gift him books for his birthday. In his free time, Sebek chooses to read books on a variety of topics, including romantic tragedies and textbooks. He doesn't just read the book and then move onto the next thing either; other characters may joke that the only time he is quiet is when he is reading, but Sebek seriously absorbs the information he takes in and reflects on it. He thinks about what happened to the characters, what the lesson of the story is, what the author's intent might have been (in his Nightmare Suit vignettes). He wants to apply the techniques he reads about in books to real life, such as picking up new skills like badminton (Sebek New Year’s Attire voice line), how to maximize his training (Jack gifts him a sports science book for his Union Birthday), of learning to adapt to sudden situations like when he and Silver find an injured baby bat (in Lilia’s Dorm Uniform vignettes).This makes sense, as Sebek is the kind of person who is always striving to improve himself so that he may better serve his liege. Sebek is not a selfish reader. He loves books + picking up new knowledge and actively tries to share that with his loved ones. For example, Sebek has voice lines where he asks the player to share book recommendations so that he may read them tonight (aka basically as soon as possible). When we express confusion between dragons and longs, Sebek offers to visit the library with the player to show them "books suitable for beginners". (That of itself also indicates mindfulness towards people having different levels of proficiency at reading.) He is also shown being eager to fetch books for Silver from a higher shelf--though this is in part because Sebek loves to show off that he is taller--and directs Malleus to a book fair in Foothill Town so that his liege may find new interesting reads. He also pays attention to others’ interests and selects the appropriate reading material—hence why Sebek gifts Jamil a travel book for Jamil’s Union Birthday. According to Sebek, "It was [his] grandfather who taught [him] the joys of reading." Indeed, Baur has read to Sebek and told him (oral) stories since his grandson was a baby. He has continuously gifted Sebek book too, all of which Sebek has kept with him. It is implied that Baur thinks receiving a proper education is important, and even though he has complicated feelings about his one and only child marrying a mere human, he still wanted his grandchildren to be well-educated. Baur always made efforts to read and share stories with Sebek to that end. In book 7, this all comes full circle when Silver is wallowing in despair and Sebek talks some sense into him:

"If [Lilia] hated you, he didn't have to give or teach you anything. He could've just raised you into a dimwitted coward and made you a servant. But he didn't [...] Even trapped in the darkest despair, you kept on fighting! Who raised you to be so strong? LILIA DID! Why don't you see? Why do you doubt? You should have understood years ago! What can you call your strength, if not the direct result of Lilia's love?!"

From this dialogue, we can draw direct parallels with how Baur raised Sebek. In this analogy, Baur = Lilia and Sebek = Silver. Both Baur and Lilia initially have a disdain for humans, have served as soldiers in the royal guard, and have personally suffered due to humans invading their country and pillaging it for resources. Then they are also both forced into circumstances where they have a human child thrust upon them and they have to take some responsibility for said child. Despite that, Baur and Lilia were able to overcome their own prejudices and truly learn to love Sebek and Silver, respectively. Sebek is always in a rush to be better for others. Silver is always worried that he'll never be "enough" for the father that did so much for him. But the difference is that Sebek knows his grandfather loves him because Baur gifted him with knowledge--which is a strength and a power of its own. It's because Sebek is cognizant of Baur's love for him that he's the perfect candidate to call Silver out for being dense. Lilia DID teach Silver. Lilia DID value Silver getting an education. And because of that, Silver is strong. He is strong because of Lilia's love, just as Sebek is strong because of Baur's love and the knowledge that was granted to him. To Sebek, literature IS love. This is a core component of his character--and, additionally, it is a core component of how he understands, navigates, and communicates. (Please refer to the examples I gave in the earlier paragraphs!) Nowhere is this made clearer than at the end of Deuce's dream segment in book 7.

In the dream, Deuce gets into a brawl with some Octavinelle mob students in the NRC library. They chuck various books at each other during the fight, which deeply upsets Sebek. He falls to his knees (like, you can see his tall as fuck model lowering) to check on the books and laments at the damage they've taken.

What really sets Sebek off is when he happens to witness the contents of the thrown books. Simply put, a lot of information is missing. There are several blank pages, and what is there is riddled with errors or is written so crudely it's illegible. Literature, being desecrated in Sebek's presence? NOT ON HIS WATCH. He cannot hold himself back and lets it all out on Deuce, reprimanding his peer for wanting to be an honors student but not having the drive to properly absorb these materials (which, as you'll recall, is something Sebek takes very seriously himself).

Sebek has a very specific definition of what a "book" is. Simply having papers that are bound and have a cover is not a "book". Based on his anger, it seems he very much values the contents. He even alludes to the knowledge gained from reading as being a weapon Deuce can actually use in a fight (which, again, makes sense because of how Sebek often tries to apply what he learns from books to his own life) All of this shouting and scolding does lead to Deuce waking up, but I will be glossing over this part as this is an analysis focused on Sebek and not Deuce. However, there is something that I would like to discuss, and it happens after Deuce is fully awake. The two have a moment to bond over an anomaly of a book they found in the library—the only one that appears to have all its contents intact. It is “The Story of the Trump Soldier”, a famous children’s book from the Queendom. It has various short stories about the card soldiers (whom Deuce idolizes) that serve the Queen of Hearts.

Deuce tells us that, as a kid, he would beg his mom to read the book to him. When he got a little older and learned how to read himself, Deuce would read the book so many times that now it’s just stuck in his head. The fact that it was so perfectly reproduced in his dream is proof that the story holds great significance to him. SEBEK RECOGNIZES AND RESPECTS THAT. He doesn't insult Deuce or look down on him for reading what is "just a children's book". Instead, Sebek comments that something as simple as this can be what sparks one's love for reading. And do you know why Sebek says that... BECAUSE THIS IS PROBABLY TRUE OF HIMSELF 😭😭😭 It was Baur who got him books--probably including CHILDREN'S books--and read to him when he was small... so, as a result, Sebek understands how the mere exposure and finding that one book that hooks you can snowball into a real love for literature. It's not clear if Sebek himself is aware of this parallel since he kinda makes the remark off the cuff but BOY did I sure notice OTL

QEILRQEIYQEPPQEF AND THEN AND THEN AND THEN He suggests that Deuce try picking out a book sometime for his friends, something easy so that even Yuu and Grim can understand it. Sebek gives recommendations like this to Silver (one of the few humans he likes), who can never quite finish reading those books despite his best efforts... Sebek is advising that Deuce do this same thing 😭 THE THING HE DOES HIMSELF FOR A FRIEND, BECAUSE RECOMMENDING A BOOK IS ONE OF THE WAYS SEBEK SHOWS HE CARES.... . .. ..... . ..... . .... . . . . .. . .. .. At the end, Sebek even says that he will read "The Story of the Trump Soldier" when he's awake in the real world. THAT'S HIM ACKNOWLEDGING AND ACTING ON DEUCE'S BOOK RECOMMENDATION TO HIM... meaning that some small part of Sebek is coming to terms with Deuce as a companion... slowly opening up to the idea of having other friends... 🥺 The love for literature that Sebek got from Baur... is now being used as a means to bridge the great divide between Sebek and the peers he used to so brazenly snub and insult before...

If you look back at the voice lines for Deuce’s Birthday Jacket card, he says “Sebek gave me this reference book. He said he highly recommended it... Hey! This is CLEARLY for little kids! I can't believe that guy…” BUT DON’T YOU SEE???? With this context, you suddenly see it wasn’t meant as an insult. Sebek considered Deuce’s level of reading proficiency and purposefully picked out something that suited him. I have no doubt that Sebek actually puts a lot of thought into the books he recommends to others because—to him—to share literature is to tell someone “I love you, I care about you.” WEEEEEHEHHHHHHHH H HHHH H H H H H HH H H H H, IT ALL TIES TOGETHER SO WELL!!

[ppssession]

Brain Transplant Project

Adam and Dean are a gay couple who have been living together for 10 years, since they graduated from high school.

Sadly, Dean's death from a terminal illness was a huge blow to Adam, but luckily Adam and Dean were involved in a secret project to transplant a brain into a new body by extracting the brain seeds from the deceased's body. Now, Adam has Dean's brain seeds.

While Adam is trying to find a new body for Dean, he has to help out at a commercial shoot when he finds the body that suits Dean the most: Dew's body.

Dew is a famous actor. Whenever Dew is the presenter for any advertisement, it will definitely be successful.

Adam saw that this was the perfect body for his boyfriend, so he helped arrange a poolside photoshoot. Luckily, the ad was for a supplement that looked exactly like Brain Seeds.

When the opportunity arose, Adam switched supplements with brain seeds. If you don't look closely, brain seeds are very much like supplements.

A lot of the early part of the commercial was the shooting of Dew's body. It made Adam feel really good knowing that this would become his Boyfriend body.

In the last part of the shoot, Dew was eating breakfast and taking supplements. When Dew slowly finished eating, the image of Dew eating brain seeds instead of supplements made Adam smile and smile happily until he couldn't hide it. But Adam had to stay calm. He had to wait until the brain seeds grew and took over Dew's body first.

Several weeks later at Dew's luxurious home, he had a severe stomachache. He thought it was the food he had eaten a few days ago. He chose to rest at home. After taking a nap for a while, Dew felt a strange pain. When he opened his eyes, he found something inside his body, on his chest.

When it went up to his neck, Dew tried to block it with his hands, but he couldn't control his arms as if someone else was controlling it for him.

As something moved up his neck, it moved up to his face. Eventually, his head seemed to fight Dew's brain. Dew's body convulsed and his muscles tensed up. In no time, Dew's body slowly vomited out his brain and he lost consciousness for about five hours. Not long after, Dew's body slowly stood up and used his hands to rub different parts of his body to check it before Dew picked up his phone to call someone.

Adam got a call from Dew to come to his house. He arrived and met Dew at the pool. Hello, my love, Dew said.

Dean, is that you? Adam said with gratitude. Yes, dear, look at me. How handsome is my new body? Dean, who had already taken over Dew's body, said proudly.

The two slowly kissed passionately, their lips meeting each other lustfully.

Dean carried Adam onto the bed in the bedroom before pulling down his pants to reveal his large, erect penis. Dean pulled down Adam's pants as well and placed the tip of his cock at Adam's asshole. Let me try out my new cock, I want to see if it can make my little husband happy.

No sooner had Adam spoken than Dean's thick rod entered Adam's hole, thrusting in and out of Adam's hole without stopping, causing him to gasp for air. Their moans filled the house.

Shit, it still feels good. Dew's voice came out of her throat. Thank you for the new body, my love, before thrusting into her one last time.

Fuck, when Dean groaned for the last time, the semen flowed out of his penis. Dean slowly weakened, looking at Adam's face, who took every drop of him until he fell asleep.

Dean lets Adam sleep and he sleeps too.

When Adam woke up, he went down to the pool and met Dean. Dean turned to him and thanked him again for giving me a new body, my love.

Adam, no need to thank me, Dean. No, I should call you Dew because you're my handsome actor now.

They kissed again. Okay, let's do it again before I have to go film the movie. The schedule saved on my phone told me I had several more hours.

Sure, dear, take as much as you want, Adam agreed before kissing Dean passionately. Make good use of your new body, my love.

Finally, I must confess that I finished writing it a few hours ago, but accidentally deleted it, so I had to rewrite it. Luckily, I still remember most of the content, but I forgot some words, so I had to edit it. It's okay, if you want to change it, it's okay. Haha, I hope you like it. See you in the next story. Bye bye.