#yes his eyes are turquoise

[pkmacabre-shadow]

Megaman/Rock Light

[an-t-hiho]

Little doodle dump of Turquoise lol

he's my sproingly boingly lil boi whom I love torturing around like a puppeteer stringing a sentient doll <33

[indecisivemuch]

Lovesick & Lovelorn

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: You thought that Luke Castellan, your best friend, did not reciprocate your feelings for him. To cope, you wrote letters addressed to him and kept them in a box. What happens when one of your sisters finds it? Inspired by 'To All the Boys I've Loved Before' (fluff, best friends to lovers; you thought it was unreciprocated feelings, happy ending).

Note: Ahh, I'm so happy the show got renewed for season 2.

Word count: 3.3k

You were deeply convinced your fate was tied to one with eternal lovelorn. 

Three years ago, you arrived at Camp Half-Blood and settled into the Hermes cabin before you were claimed by your Godly parent. It was there that you met Luke Castellan - one of your soon-to-be best friends. Though, you knew you were doomed from your first glance into his eyes. Then came his friendly smile and an offer of a handshake, where his hand engulfed yours.

At first, you thought that silly little crush would dissipate. But over time, as you became close friends with the Hermes cabin counselor, you were almost convinced he was faultless. You seemed to adore every little thing about him. Along with the fondness that grew in your heart was also self-pity. At one point, even looking at him hurt because you knew he did not return your feelings.

Hence, the letters.

In between your memories of Luke were letters you wrote throughout those years just to cope with the unreciprocated feeling. It was painful, but what else could you do? You truly believed confessing would put your friendship at risk. Neither did you feel like dealing with the heartache of a rejection. So you never uttered any of your feelings to him, continuing to imprint it on lined papers instead.

You scowled as the pen you were using ran out of ink, leaving the latest edition of unspoken words unfinished. Wordlessly, you fold the incomplete letter into an envelope and shove it into the turquoise box you bought while returning from a quest once. You neatly put the box under your bed.

“Y/N, it’s time to head out,” one of your sisters repeated. Two minutes ago, people were starting to leave, so those on cleaning duties could clean up your cabin. Since you were mid-writing, you hastily asked for a few more seconds. Now, you were the only one left besides two of your sisters.

“Yes, sorry,” you quickly muttered, exiting the cabin and almost immediately bumped into Luke. “Hey, what are you doing here?” you asked.

“I’m here for you. I thought we should hang out,” Luke answered ever so casually. Yet, your heart swelled at the thought that he was there for you. Before you could reply, you two were interrupted by another camper, who told you that one of your other best friends needed you and that it was an emergency.

“I’m so sorry, we’re gonna have to take a rain check on that hangout,” you informed Luke. You slowly started walking backward and away from him. “I’ll see you later, though?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Come find me whenever you’re done, yeah?” Luke requested, hoping to spend time with you later. His soft look made you pause mid-step, almost as if your foot had been cemented to the stones beneath. You nodded absentmindedly before snapping out of that state to comfort your friend.

After two hours of listening to your friend and comforting them, you finally left their cabin to search for Luke, who previously told you to find him after. However, around half an hour later, you slowly gave up at the thought of doing so, feeling almost defeated.

As you turned to head back to your cabin, you spotted the Hermes counselor exiting his. You called out his name, watching his back stiffen before he turned to you. You ignored the odd behavior and recalled, “I’m free now if you’re down to hang out.”

“I’m so sorry, but I’m really busy right now.”

“Uhm, well, I guess I’ll just meet you at our spot whenever you’re done then?” you suggested. You and Luke fell into a routine of star-gazing every night.

Laying under the dark sky that painted your whole horizon often made you feel small. But something about that was so calming, especially considering most of the time, you were suffocated by the weight and duties of being a Demigod. You wondered if it was the moment or if it was Luke’ presence that aided your momentary peace.

“I really, really can’t tonight, I have a lot of things to do.”

“Oh… that’s okay. I’ll see you around?” you replied, watching as Luke fidgeted and gulped while attempting to look normal. It was futile, really, because being best friends meant you could sense when the slightest thing was even off. He nodded, and you retreated to your cabin with thoughts swirling in your head.

Then came the next few torturous and confusing days. For the last two years, Luke would always approach you - almost daily, and vice versa. Being best friends with Luke has been wonderful. Every day together felt like a blessing.

Now, it seemed almost like he was avoiding you. He would find a new excuse whenever you approached. He wouldn’t even look in your direction. Yesterday, you made eye contact with him, and he turned away abruptly, facing his back towards you.

You had enough after day three. You went to your cabin after dinner and reached under your bed with one hand. You did not want to, but this would perhaps be your first-ever letter of anguish about Luke Castellan.

The box…where is the box?

You peered under your bed, mouth hanging open when your eyes could not spot it either. You looked up and around, hoping maybe you had misplaced it somewhere, even though part of you knew you had put it under your bed. You have always done so.

“Hey, have you seen a turquoise box?” you asked your sister as she walked by.

“Oh, the rectangle one, about this big?” your sister reconfirmed, using her hand to show you the size she indicated.

“Yes, that one.”

“Oh, I gave it to Luke.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I was cleaning the cabin three days ago, accidentally knocked it over and saw letters addressed to him. He was right by the door, so I thought maybe I should just deliver them to him.”

Blood drained from your face, and your heart plummeted. Anything else your sister seemed to be talking about started sounding like murmurs, and you could not focus on a word she was saying. Your worst nightmare seemed to have arrived. Somehow, your friendship with him had ended without you knowing. No wonder he has been avoiding you these past few days. He has read them all.

“I need to go,” you quickly muttered, storming out of your cabin. You could feel your body slightly shaking from the panic. No amount of Demigod training had prepared you for moments like these. Then you saw Luke walking over you…with the box in his hands. You took a deep breath and practically forced your voice box to work.

“Listen, Luke—”

“I didn’t think you’d buy birthday gifts that early, Y/N,” he interrupted.

“What?” you questioned and observed the sweet smile gracing his Adonis-like face.

“This?” he gestured to the box. “Your sister gave it to me and said it was from you. Though I thought I should give it back ‘cause it’s not my birthday yet, you might have wanted to give it to me yourself.”

“Oh…” it was the only thing you could utter as it dawned on you what he had perceived the situation as. “Wait, so you haven’t opened it?” you clarified.

“Nope.”

“...So we’re ok?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?” your mouth hung slightly agape at his words. As you scrunch your eyebrows, you could see how his fingers fidget somewhat, almost as if he could tell you would bring his odd behavior up.

“You’ve been acting really odd the last few days, Luke. It had me worried. I thought I did something wrong. It seems like you were avoiding me.”

“I was just really busy with counselor duties,” he dismissed it. However, something about it made you a bit hesitant to believe his words. You did it anyway, nevertheless. You blamed it on your stupid heart.

“Yeah, but—” you stopped, not wanting to stir anything. “Ok then, I’m going to put this away, but I’ll see you later, yeah? Maybe we can finally not rain check again?” You hated how hopeful you sounded. You’re glad that the sun had set a few minutes ago, blessing you with enough degree of darkness to hide your facial expressions from being as evident as they would be in daylight.

“Of course, I’ll see you later, Y/N,” despite the dark and only dim lights from nearby, you noticed there was something different about him. Luke was wearing a nervous smile, almost sheepish like a schoolboy. There was a glimmer of amazement in his eyes like he was in disbelief. Though it was definitely overpowered by a glaring degree of warmth. He was looking at you like all those writers have written down in the books you have read before - something along the lines of adoration and love.

You shook those thoughts away again, refusing to somehow fool yourself into believing he could reciprocate those feelings.

“Yeah, see you,” you muttered, hand gripping tightly on the box as you took it from his hold. As soon as you reached your cabin, you opened the box to peer inside. You immediately sighed in relief upon seeing the copious amount of letters with your handwriting on them, all with Luke’s name on the front.

However, your eyes landed on one unfamiliar one. It had your name on it, written in a familiar wonky handwriting that you have always found endearing.

You sat on your bed, taking the letter out delicately, almost in disbelief. Then, dread overtook any other emotion. Was this Luke’s way of letting you down easy? By pretending to not have read any of your letters and rejecting you through the form that you express your love to him? — you had to physically shake your head at that thought.

You took the letter out of its envelope and started reading: 

‘Dear Y/N,

This is probably the 40th time I tried writing this letter. It feels impossible to try and convey everything onto one piece of paper.

You deserve someone to at least view you as their muse rather than always being the writer. 

Hence why, for the past few days, I had to physically drag myself away from you every time you tried approaching me because I knew if I didn’t, I would just end up spilling my feelings out right then. I knew if I even looked at you, I would have just abandoned this letter idea and run to you. You should have seen me yesterday. When we made eye contact, I had to turn away from you because having the knowledge of you liking me back was enough to knock all the air out of my lungs. I was a flustered mess from just that eye contact.

I doubt my words could rival what you have written about me. You once wrote how it hurts to love someone this much and to always be the poet but never the poem. Well, I’d like to thank you for making me your poems. However, now it is your turn. Allow me to be your poet.

You occupy my mind like it’s your castle. If I had to name everything I love about you, this letter would never end. But for starters, here are some of the first times:

The first time Chiron introduced you to the Hermes cabin, I could not take my eyes off you. Chris had to nudge me away. Just from that alone, a part of me knew I was in trouble. I think I came to the conclusion that I did not want to hold anybody else’s hand after just shaking yours.

2.5 years back during a campfire in June, even when the fire had died and the air grew cold, our voices still filled the air. Conversations just flow when I am with you. I remember never wanting that moment to end. Then you started talking about constellations and told me about the ones above us. Right there and then was the first time I had the urge to kiss you, and to show you that I was just as obsessed with you as you were with stars.

The first time I realized I was in love with you was while coming back from a quest 2 years ago. I remember feeling so numb coming back. The world almost seemed monotone, and I wondered for a second, what if I had made one wrong move? Just as I returned to camp, you bolted and hugged me. Somehow, it felt like I had just taken my first bit of fresh air after drowning for so long. I vividly recall shutting my eyes as I hugged you back because I felt like I was finally home. I remember never wanting to be away or out of your hold as others approached and rushed to get me into the infirmary for checkups.

It was only when I was lying on the infirmary bed that it hit me like a train that lost control. A large proportion of why I fought so hard was to come back to you. You’re my best friend, Y/N, and my place of solace and peace. Then came the realization that I was in love with you. I remember everybody else’s voice drowning out as I focused on that thought. It was strangely calming, as if my heart had known all along but was waiting for my head to catch up. Then I remember just smiling as I looked at the ceiling, unafraid of the new feeling.

Last year, the day we went on a quest together lapsed with Valentine’s Day. Every moment felt extra sweet. Us sitting on the train, staring outside the window together like a couple going on a trip. My mind savoured the small things like you falling asleep on my shoulder with my coat around you and us holding hands as we walked through the crowd to not get lost among couples - which I like to imagine that others had thought we were one as well. It was the first time I allowed myself to pretend this is how it would feel like if you were mine and how our lives together would be if we were not Demigods.

I thought for sure you would have realized something by the way I was staring and acting around you that I was irrevocably in love with you. After reading your letters, I realized that you did see it. But you refused to believe that I could ever be in love with you. Well, I hope my letters will reverse all your doubts, because Y/N, it is so easy to fall in love with you. 

In fact, the world I built up in my head during last year’s quest had consumed my thoughts enough to make me frown at the idea of returning to camp, where it would not just be the two of us anymore. Loving you has never been something I was afraid of. Loving you has been an honour every single day, even if you never knew of it. 

It’s also somewhat funny that I was heavily lovesick while you were lovelorn. But I promise, Y/N, that from this second on, I intend to make you know that you are loved and that I am so deeply in love with you.

Again, I never intended for you to wait for three days, but I ended up throwing away every letter I started because I felt like none had suffice. I didn’t want to mess it up and give you something less than you deserved. I wanted to do something nice for you. I promise I’ll make it up for those three days if you allow me to. But one chance is all I need.

If you are willing to give me that chance, you know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Luke Castellan’

Upon reading his last words, you immediately left your cabin with the letter in hand. You jogged to the spot where the two of you would always meet to stargaze together. Almost instantly, you saw his tall figure under the moonlight. As if he could sense your presence, the Hermes boy turned around and gave you a sweet smile.

“You meant it?” you asked as you raised the letter up, slowly approaching him.

“Every single word, including all the unspoken ones I intend on telling you from now on,” the way he said it felt like he was swearing it on his own heart. “In fact, I would have written more down, but I knew I was keeping you waiting for too long,” he explained as you stopped right before him.

Something about this moment felt cathartic. Three years of dancing around unspoken words and yearning led to this moment. Luke grabbed your hand and rubbed his thumb over your knuckle. You peered up at him, and it was then that you finally accepted what his looks meant: he was in love with you, and there was no doubt about that. There was no more denial on your end that Luke Castellan was enamored with you.

“Will you let me be your poet, Y/N?” he breathlessly referenced the words you and him had both previously written like he had been waiting for this for a lifetime.

“Of course,” you answered almost without hesitation, watching his eyes soften even more, if possible.

“Is it ok if I ask you another question?” he asked again, his other hand caressing your cheek.

“Yeah?” Your face flushed as you saw his brown eyes dart to your lips.

“Can I kiss you?”

This time, you didn’t say anything. You’ve written down way too many words in the past three years. You decided actions would speak louder in this case. So you pulled Luke down by his camp necklace, hands gripping the beads on it as you tiptoed up to reach his lips. 

Luke physically melted as he brought one hand to your waist to hold you up as he leaned down from the height difference. Everything Luke had imagined before could not match the kiss he was finally sharing with you - the kiss that seemed to seal his lips into a spell that would forever leave them unable to belong to anyone else. It felt like heaven and hell combined because he knew that this was going to ruin him forever, and every second he spent with his eyes shut would be one where he had this feeling and moment sown behind his eyelids. 

You had the same line of thoughts. The wait was long, but you felt like it was worth it. Under the stars, you may feel small. But standing there next to Luke, you finally realize it doesn’t matter. Because he was holding you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You were his sun, moon, and everything in between - no constellations could ever measure to you.

--------------------

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[nymphea0]

Monsters and His Love

Oneshot Story

Yan! Leon winston x reader

Warning : Mentions Of smoke, Force power, light mature scene, Torture scene, Bloods, Cropse body.

Be careful with what you read, minors are prohibited from reading this.

Manhwa : Try Begging

: Adult Manhwa (19+)

Author: Libenia | 리베냐

Artist: ABYSS

Word Count : 2,9K Word.

Hallo.. is neva agains, hope your days fine and good, so soon i will update some long story in Quotev, i will share the links if the story was half done made, so keep wait love🦋🦋.

might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my story, love.- Neva🦋🦋

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Captain Leon Winston, a vulgar monster clothed in the skin of a stoic and elegant noble. He was a pathetic bastard who only raged at the smell of blood from the torture chamber.

Leon, has been through many things in his life, starting from the death of his father, to a spy who doubles as his maid, Sally Bristol or her real name is Grace Riddle.

Everything that Leon goes through must always be with Grace. Leon will probably always talk about, Sally this and Sally that.

You, you are the daughter of Marquess Von Alderve from the Alvonseh family, the Alderve region.

The Marquis family and the Count family have had a relationship for a long time, Closeness like friends.

From the results of that relationship, it spread to the present, You and Leon.

You and Leon are childhood friends until now, You went through hard times together, But all that changed when you accidentally saw Leon kissing a little girl at a summer resort, having eyes between blue and green, so contrasting, Turquoise eyes, even Leon shared the ice cream he bought especially for the girl.

Since that little incident when you were little, you were not as close as before with Leon.

You could not possibly forget that girl, until you met her again, who doubled as Leon's maid.

Leon did many things, since he was a captain, and a noble, there were many things he could do, but all of that only ended with him covered in blood in the torture room from the victims or Leon called it a wild rat or something from the lower class.

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'Puk'

You put down the newspaper you were reading, again... the issue of the nobility and the revolutionary army faction.

Drinking tea disinterestedly, you looked out the window of your room, now you have entered the mature age of 21 years.

Even Leon was engaged to the grand duke's daughter, Rosalind, though you weren't sure if he even cared about the relationship, since he was so obsessed with Sally or... his enemy's spy.

'Tak'

'Tak'

'Tak'

Damn!, you knew right away whose shoes and footsteps were those!, Leon!.

The man you least wanted to meet!.

Your relationship wasn't as close as it used to be, yes when you were still children, you fell in love with him, with Leon, a normal, sweet boy, but that changed from the incident at the summer resort, to the same girl you saw at the resort doubled as Leon's maid.

You saw more and more that there was no chance there, even when you saw how unenthusiastic Leon was with his fiancée, Rosalind.

So since you were 11 years old, you had made the right decision not to get close and fall in love with Leon.

"What were you thinking that seriously?"

A deep baritone voice right beside you, you could even feel his warm breath on your ear and neck.

It must have always been like that, Leon since he was little, always like that, talking in your ear or just an inch of your face.

"No, just thinking about hospital matters nothing more"

Leon looked at you from the side, you were beautiful, very beautiful in Leon's eyes, your bright purple eyes, hair as dark as night, really made him want to do bad things to you.

No, not now, not yet.

Sitting right in front of you, taking the glass of tea you were drinking, he drank it as if it was no big deal.

You just stared at him uncertainly, but you let him.

Only Leon was a stranger who could easily enter and exit your room, well it's always been like that since long ago.

"Why don't you want to join me? It'll be safer if you're beside me, you know that right?"

His arms were crossed, looking at you, with his usual look, his hair that was always neatly arranged really showed a captain and a noble.

"I'm not interested in joining the noble faction or even the revolutionary faction, both have a greater impact than profit"

Looking towards the window, not wanting to look at the person in front of you.

"You know that-"

You cut off Leon who hadn't finished speaking.

"I might as well get married soon, since father died, mother insisted on marrying me to one of the nobles"

You didn't see Leon's expression, thinking he was just giving a disinterested reaction, too bad, Leon's expression was the expression when he found out that his maid Sally Bristol was a spy, Grace Riddle or the expression when he was betrayed.

Betrayed and in pain!.

"Do you accept it?"

His tone wasn't as friendly as before.

"I'm still thinking about it, I don't think it's a bad idea"

Leon looked at you who seemed, or very uninterested in interacting with him, since when were you like this?

Asking once again, Leon looked straight at your face.

"From which family?"

"Not really sure, but I think from the Earl noble family"

Earl nobles, Nobles with hereditary titles who still have the same blood as the royal family.

"Is that so..."

That was the last sentence before Leon go  from your marquess residence.

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"ARGGH!"

"Aakhh!!"

"Mercy! Help!!! Sorry! Capt-"

Blood splatters, and human bodies in the torture chamber.

Leon, covered in blood up and down his body.

Losing Sally Bristol or Grace Riddle might have had its own impact on him, but hearing you who was going to marry someone he didn't even know who it was... that was a different case.

His heart... hurt, it hurt so much when you said it without the slightest restraint!.

Walking up the stairs, Leon entered his study, sat down near his desk, slowly untied his tie, leaned his head on the chair.

Eyes gazing far away, Leon still remembered when you first met him, when you were both 8 years old.

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Count Winston residence.

Leon, 8 years old.

His father was always excited when he talked about the marquess noble family.

There in front of the entrance, Leon saw, a man who was the same age as his father was chatting enthusiastically with his father, who Leon knew his father and the man or marquess had the same vision and mission about the order of this world.

That's where Leon saw, a little girl, beside the marquess man, had hair as dark as night, but her eyes were... amethyst eyes, unusual eyes.

"Leon come here"

His father bowed and introduced him to the girl in front of him.

Smiling very sweetly at him, Leon's heart beat fast.

From there, the two of you became close.

2 months, was the time when the marquess and count families met at the Summer resort, Leon talked a lot with you, full of enthusiasm, until when you asked permission to go to the bathroom, that's where Leon saw a girl, brown hair, and turquoise eyes, Leon was interested, he even shared his first kiss with the girl.

Strange, he felt he had lost something, but Leon didn't know what.

Since the resort, Leon felt you distanced yourself from him, distancing yourself and almost as if you didn't want to interact with him.

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Exhaling, releasing smoke from his cigar.

Looking at the table, a framed photo of you and Leon, at the Belvelhera restaurant, 19 years old, you smiled so beautifully there, just passed the practical exam to enter internal medicine, unfortunately, the glass frame was stained with Leon's love fluid.

Emotions, passion, and possession, Leon reaped with many beats of his frustration.

You've driven him crazy! Even Grace lost to you!.

Leon thought Sally or Grace was so attractive because of her beautiful face and unique eyes, like you who are beautiful and unique.

Leon did many things to the woman, torturing her, forcing her and so on, but Leon did not cross the line to sleep with her, only biting her neck or kissing her lips, even though every time Leon did that, his heart ached.

Why did he just realize this? His junior always tenses when you look at him or just call his name, he thinks it's a normal reaction when the weather is hot.

Chuckling softly, Leon covers the glass photo frame with his black handkerchief grinning.

"Damn... what have you done to me... my lady"

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2 weeks, is the time Leon didn't meet you, the reason is simple, Leon is afraid of losing control of himself, from before until now, when he sees Sally Bristol or Grace Riddle sweeping, cleaning the floor or doing maid work.

Why does he always think dirty things about you? Even though you're not by his side, seeing Sally as you.

Doing many dirty things, wanting to push you to your limits, begging or rebelling, which one will you choose... Leon really wants to know that.

Crazy huh, he's crazy, crazy about you, why can't he even realize quickly, from being tense, always thinking dirty things about you when someone like Sally/Grace or a woman who has unique eyes passes by him.

Leon stared at the pile of prisoners of revolution, bleeding, tortured.

And he even met Grace Riddle again, the woman tried to double as his maid again, well of course it was impossible

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You are currently walking with the son of the Earl, this man is handsome, but unfortunately he honestly said that he has fallen in love with someone else.

Well you think his courage and honesty are commendable.

"do you like it?"

Vincent is the name of this man, holding a bouquet of roses, you just smile formally and nod at him.

"This is beautiful"

Too bad, you didn't see from across the street, in a 5-star elite restaurant, Leon was staring at you smiling beautifully by another man!.

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Leon for 2 weeks spied on you with that country man, laughing smiling beautifully, holding the man's hand, Leon almost wanted to kill and torture the man!.

Too bad his frustration was vented when When he saw Grace Riddle, pulled her, and kissed her roughly on the lips, his brain mistook Grace for you.

Unfortunately, you accidentally passed them and found them kissing! Awkward! Of course, you and Vincent quickly left the restaurant room.

Damn! Damnit!! You saw him! You saw him kissing another woman!.

You must have considered him impure and dirty!!.

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Leon spent his day and night in frustration.

Instead of getting closer when he tried to interact with you a lot, you actually moved further away from him!.

You even let that country bumpkin from the earl family kiss your cheeks!.

Enough! The problem with Grace Riddle is no longer there, so why should Leon hold back from seeing you with another man?

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Leon Winston's residence.

Master bedroom.

In bed, fast asleep, a woman, both hands cuffed to each bedpost, naked, many kiss marks, and love fluids, puffy eyes, because of crying.

Leon, sitting on the sofa facing the bed, smoking his cigars, wearing only a shirt and long black pants.

His captain's jacket uniform has been forgotten on the floor.

He took your virginity, damn... you even took his virginity too.

See right? As Leon expected, you are perfect for each other, inseparable.

How evil you are to want to be separated from your true love.

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Putting out his cigars, Leon, took a small black whip.

Walking slowly to the bed, his leather shoes made a very loud sound! You even woke up.

Staring at Leon in fear! You don't want to be slept with anymore! Your body hurts and you want to rest!.

Why is it like this? Leon kidnapped you, took you to a foreign country and married you by force!

Staring at Leon who was holding a long black object that looked like a whip, you shook your head.

"Leon!! Please... no more.. I don't want to"

Leon just grinned and wiped your tears slowly.

"Why cry my love? You will be safe because I am with you"

Kissing your forehead softly.

"You are for me, and I am for you, you are crazy for me, and I am crazy for you, my love"

Kissing your lips, devouring them with passion, and ownership.

"I want to keep making love to you my love, until you don't think about the world, but me"

On top of you, opening his shirt, his chest, arms and neck are full of scratches from your previous actions.

"Because my love, you are for me, and I am for you, we mean to be together"

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*Source Image : Pinterest

*Source Image : Pinterest

*Source Image : Pinterest

©️Nymphea0 2024 ,OG story, Project Dark Manhwa Character Story.

Tag list; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger @thehopingfairy

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions, Always be good people Dear. Much love, Neva🦋🦋.

[zznlii]

Plug!Eren Jaeger: Just Friends.[Smut]

Purple LED lights circled the entire room, casting a strong lighting against the walls and you. Les, Childish Gambino played lowly from the TV in the corner of Eren’s room, the open window next to the bed blew in a nighttime breeze, making the blinds hit against the windowsill.

“You still fucking around with Jean?” His voice cuts through the otherwise comfortable silence between the two of you.

Looking up at him from scrolling through your socials, eyes lidded and red from the joint rolled neatly between Eren’s fingers.

“Oh nah, broke that shit off ages ago.” You shrug, leaning back against the headboard, tired eyes back on your phone. Eren raises an eyebrow, “What for?”

Snorting, you look at him from the corner of your eye, “Dick wasn’t good enough.” It was only a half joke, you had really parted ways because it just wasn’t hitting the same anymore, for either of you.

But still, Eren scoffs at that, “Figures.” And to that you frown, “What, think you can do better?” You were just teasing, as usual, but there was possibly a part of you that actually wanted to know.

“Don’t play with me.” He scoffs again, shaking his head, at that you sit up a little more, “Nah you’ve gassed yourself up now, gonna need some evidence.”

And that’s how you ended up folded up, knees to your chest as he holds them up there with one arm, his bicep flexing each time his hips slammed against your ass, his other hand knocking away the stray hairs that fell in front of his face as his bun came loose.

“Fuck! ‘Ren..!” You whine, head back and eyes lidded with your brows furrowed up, plump lips parted and wet from lipgloss and his salvia.

“Wanted to know- don’t be pussy now.” He grunted, smacking away your hands that tried to remove his hold from you.

“Don’t fucking run, take it.” His voice was low, words drawn out as he tipped his own head back, turquoise eyes hitting the purple light of his LEDs just right, his expression dark. You could feel each drag of his long dick against your walls, felt each vein, his mushroom head stroking your cervix with each harsh thrust.

The bed squeaked and the headboard tapped against the wall behind it. Sitting up a little more, he used both strong hands to pry your legs further apart and closer to your ears. To him, you looked so pretty like this. His pretty best friend.

“Take it so good, so good for me. How the fuck did Jean let this go?” He groans, not expecting you to answer his question which was good because you wouldn’t have been able to anyways, “Sucking me in so nice, gonna stay being nice to me, mama?” He asks through quick breaths.

When you don’t respond, he brings a hand down to slap the flesh of your ass, you jolt, letting out a high whine before your hazy eyes find his, “Yes! Holy fuck.. right there please-!” Your back arches from the sheets and he grins, stopping for a second to angle his hips properly before his brutal pace started up again.

Thick tears gathered in your eyes, drool threatening to spill from the corners of your parted mouth as your mind went blank.

Yeah, like fuck was Eren ever going to give this up. He was sure he could convince you to make this a regular thing. As friends of course.

[ceilidho]

prompt: Ghost only takes you half-seriously when you say you want to see other people. He has just the man in mind. tags: dubcon; threesome; anal (2.5k)

-

He doesn’t so much as twitch when you stumble over your words in an effort to get it out.

“I don’t think this is working,” you say, hands clenched into trembling fists at your sides. “I think we should start seeing other people.”

The only bit of it that Ghost really pays attention to is the fact that you decided to make this little announcement while he’s in the middle of taking apart and cleaning his gun at the kitchen table. His little spitfire girl. Not a lick of fear in you, just a fistful of attitude and snark. The attitude’s ensconced now in your trepidation, a bit smothered under it, nervousness a clear trill in your voice, making it warble, but it shows itself in the downward slant of your brows. Delightful girl.

“That right?” he grunts, jamming the lubricated cotton mop into the bore of the gun. You flinch at the sudden movement, nervous eyes trained on his hands. Ghost makes a note to apologize with his mouth later on.

“Yes,” you croak, then cough to clear your throat. “I’ve, um…I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I think it’ll be better for—for both of us. It’s just…it’s not working out.”

The cigarette dangling from between his lips stinks up the room. Poor girl, he thinks pityingly when you scrunch up your nose and eye it resentfully. Always trying to get him to quit. It’s just shit luck for you that he’s never been good at quitting things, at letting anything go. Everything he’s ever lived through clings to his skin like smoke. 

He ashes it out in the little turquoise ceramic pot on the table, a trinket he’d once picked up in Tala'a Kebira years ago while in Morocco on some other business. You look marginally less irked with the cig put out, but that just means that more of his attention can focus squarely on you, which leaves you a bit wide-eyed under his stare.

“For a while, hm?” Ghost asks. It comes out teasingly, if only to him. The lilt in his voice is a tricky one to catch.

You nod; the note must have slipped through your hands like smoke. “There’s a girl I found online that’s studying abroad right now. Offered to sublet me her room while I look for a place. I thought maybe, um…maybe tomorrow I’d go.”

“Don’t worry about all of that,” he says, already dismissing the conversation from his mind. “Won’t be back for another week anyway—no reason for you to run off if I’m not even around.”

“Oh.” You shift from side to side, thinking it over. “I guess. How long will you be gone?”

“A week. Two weeks tops.” Plenty of time for him to sort out this mess. Figure out what exactly caused you to get all jumpy and eager to try out other people. 

He smiles internally. Little bird probably just can’t stand how often he’s away, poor thing. It’d be enough to make any girl upset—the constant leaves of absence, gone months without being able to send word, showing up bruised and bloody on the doorstep only to have you fall to pieces trying to put him back together. 

There are options though. He’s not opposed to adding someone new either—in fact, he has just the man in mind. 

Ghost has been holding Johnny back because he always thought you preferred to just be with one man (and Christ, the whining he’d had to deal with from Johnny, always begging to see you or begging Ghost for even just your panties, anything at all because he was so desperate and Ghost wouldn’t let him have you), but now?

Now there’s no reason to hold Johnny by the collar when he comes over for dinner. Now there’s no reason to kick Johnny from under the table when he leans just a bit too close to you when you’re sitting down to eat, eyes locked on the glimpse of your chest peeking out of your shirt and damn near drooling on it. Now there’s no reason to listen to Johnny jack himself off to the point of tears while trying to get some shut eye on a mission, the only crumpled up photo that Ghost had ever allowed him to take cupped close to his face.

He really pitied the poor mutt before, no pretty girl at home, his only crush being his superior’s girl. But Ghost is magnanimous—he’s a generous man. If you want to see other people, he has the perfect puppy for you to play with.

When you smile, still a bit unsure, he has to smother a grin. “Okay. I’ll stay ‘till then and look.”

The look Johnny gives him when he brings it up is equal parts disbelief and fevered need. “Say that again, Lt?”

“You’re coming over after we wrap this shit up. Bird’s been asking about a third.”

He chokes, scrambling to his feet. The temporary base is damp, always on the frigid side of things so Johnny’s still in uniform for the most part, the fabric rustling in his haste to get up off his bed. It’s not a place either of them are eager to spend more time in than absolutely necessary. The lack of space means that the two of them are made to bunk together as always, sharing a room with two cots and a small en suite, the tub still wet from Ghost’s shower.

“Christ, yer serious? No joke, sir?”

Johnny pushes his head back into Ghost’s hand when Ghost reels him by the hair, dropping a firm close-mouthed kiss onto the centre of his forehead through the fabric of the mask. “She was clear about it. Why? Gettin’ cold feet on me now?”

“No, sir,” Johnny protests, shaking his head as much as he can in Ghost’s grip, eyes shimmering a bit. “I can bring over a bottle o’ wine if ye like. Somethin’ fancy to set the mood.”

Their closeness is not unusual; Johnny’s always been a tactile man, favouring touch over words. One of their small similarities; their shared modes of existing in the world. There’s a line in the sand where you’re concerned that Ghost has been clear on, but he’s used to always having a hand somewhere on Soap, keeping him close. Now, he gets to keep him even closer. 

His bird really has the best ideas. 

Ghost snorts, knocks their heads together. “Just bring yourself, pup.”

He ignores the way Johnny’s breath hitches, the way he hurries into the bathroom and slams the door behind him the second Ghost lets go. The frantic eager sounds from behind the door when the water runs, only muffling the loudest of his groans. He probably had his dick choked in his fist the second the door shut, a thick nut swirling down the drain within the first five minutes. 

They ship out the next morning, exhausted from the week’s work. No amount of sleep out in the field is ever good enough, especially not in cots barely built to accommodate men of their size. Especially not Ghost. Johnny dozes off on his shoulder in the plane, sinking into a deep sleep to compensate for the hours spent tossing and turning the night before. Ghost uses the flight to get a headstart on his paperwork, enough so that he’s not held up on base when they land back home. 

He doesn’t give you a heads up that he’s home earlier than planned; no need to give you enough time to pack a bag and schlep it over to that place you’d found. It’s better for everyone if you’re caught a bit off guard, just a little frazzled. Ghost’s not entirely unsympathetic—he knows you’ll overthink things if he gives you any time to yourself. 

It’s endearing the way you gape up at him, eyes flitting between him and Johnny, when he finally makes it home. For the few times that Johnny’s been over, it’s not an everyday thing; his visits are always planned and strictly timed, Ghost monitoring him to make sure he doesn’t overstep his bounds. Seeing him with Ghost in your foyer must be strange, must put you on edge. 

“Simon, you didn’t tell me you were—” you start and then pause, swallowing. You look over his shoulder at Johnny, smile stiff, uncomfortable. “Hi Johnny.” 

You’re always a good girl, not wanting to argue in front of company. 

“Heel,” Ghost says, steel in his voice when Johnny almost lurches from his side. The other man glances over at him with wild eyes, almost on the brink of disobeying, but he holds in the end and stays put. Ghost’s eyes soften when he looks back at you. “Have a nice week, pet?”

“Yes—sorry, I’m glad you’re home safe,” you say, flustered, taking his back from him to drop in the usual place in the hall. “I, um—” again, you eye Johnny nervously, unsure of how much you can say in front of him, “—I found a place…for…you know.” 

“‘Course,” Ghost agrees, shucking his boots at the door and giving Johnny a shake by his coat until he does the same. “Missed you too, pet. C’mere.” 

He muffles your protests with his mouth when he stalks forward and pulls you in for a wet kiss, rolling the mask up and off at the same time. You’re a bit stiff in his arms until he slips you some tongue and the resistance leaks out of you, helpless the second he gets his hands on you. Your eyes are still a bit misty when he pulls away, fingers clutched in the collar of his shirt like a reflex. Second nature to cling to him. His chest puffs up at the gesture.

“Thought about what you said the other week, bird, and you’re right.”

You blink, coherence coming back to you, shaking your head to divest yourself of the momentary confusion. “I am?”

“‘Course. Smartest girl in the world, isn’t she, Johnny?” Ghost asks over his shoulder, slipping a hand into your hair at the same time to hold you in place. It makes you frown, his actions not mirroring his words. 

“Aye, sir,” Johnny hums, nodding eagerly. Boots off, he stumbles forward, crowding around you from the other side, not realizing that they’ve backed you into a wall until it presses against you, trapping you in place. “Bonnie ‘n sharp as a whip. Always thought so, sir.” 

“That’s right,” he agrees, tightening his fingers in your hair until you squeal, brows furrowing in that way they do when you’re right on the precipice of pain and relief. “Only a smart, brave girl would ask for what she needs. You’re just lonely when I’m away, isn’t that right, pet?”

“I’m—I’m what?” you splutter, hands planted on Ghost’s chest, trying to push him away to no avail. He hardly notices it. 

“Go on, Johnny,” Ghost murmurs. “Since she asked so nicely. Give her a kiss.”

That’s all his mutt needs to hear. 

You huff and puff with the strain it takes to take Ghost’s cock after a week and a half away. 

You’re always tighter when he comes back, an effort to work you up to taking him again; he lets Johnny get you prepped this time, slobbering all over your pussy in his eagerness, plugging you with three fingers before you’re even close to ready. He gets off on the way you howl, rutting his cock into the sheets of your bed while he keeps you pinned by a thick arm over your stomach. 

Ghost has to scruff him after that. He takes over, running a soothing tongue over where it hurts until you cry big, fat tears and come a couple times. He makes sure you’re taken care of before it gets tough. You’re mindless by the time he moves off you to retrieve the lube from the bedside drawer, only coming back to yourself when he turns you over onto your belly and spreads the cheeks of your ass. It unwinds something in his chest to hear you yelp when he pushes a finger into your ass, like coming home. 

This is why he does what he does: to get this when the job is done. 

It’s not often he gets to do this, usually too big for you to take comfortably in your ass. Johnny’s not that much smaller, in fairness, so he works you up to two and then three fingers before lying down on the bed and pulling you over him. Your legs tremble when you straddle him, fingers digging into his chest when he lowers you onto his cock for the first time in a week. 

“There we go,” he says, grunting when you pull his chest hair a little. “That’s a good girl. We just about done crying now?” 

Ghost smiles when you shake your head stubbornly, eyes still filled with tears. “This isn’t what I meant, Simon.”

“You can cuss me out when Johnny’s done, alright? That make you happy?” 

He almost chuckles when Johnny clambers back onto the bed in his haste to get his hands back on you, his pants still hanging off an ankle until he gives it a shake once his palms fit over your waist. 

“Slowly, pup,” Ghost cautions, reaching around to spread a cheek. He coos when you flinch, whispering for you to relax. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back into his head when he pushes in, hips stuttering forward until Ghost snarls and he stops, letting out a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself down. Even for Ghost, it’s intense; you tighten around him when Johnny pushes in, only letting up when he cups your cheek and draws you down for a kiss, loosening you up with his tongue. 

“Sir, I can—fuck, fuck, fuck,” Johnny whines, back curving when he drops his head. “She’s so fuckin’ tight, I can—swear I can feel you, sir.”

He’s not wrong. Ghost swears he can feel it himself, Johnny’s cock in his pretty bird’s ass while his is stuffed deep in your cunt. You pant through the stretch, words half-croaked out, unintelligible. It’s better that way. He loves listening to you sing, but you’ve been in a right mood these past couple of weeks. Just needed a good lay to sort you out. 

“Simon,” Johnny begs, thrusting forward until he bottoms out in you, making your pulse skyrocket. “I cannae breathe.”

“Yes, you can,” Ghost says dismissively, wiping at the drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth. “Give ‘er a sec and then you can move.”

“So, so, so hot. ‘M gonna come—”

He reaches behind you to wrap a hand around Johnny’s throat, giving it a squeeze. Johnny’s eyes bulge. “You don’t get to come until she does, pup. That’s all the time, got it?” 

He doesn’t pay any mind to how Johnny nods and mumbles his little yes, sirs after that—he’s a grown man, maybe not as grown as Ghost, but man enough to compose himself until you stop trembling and sweating so hard. 

It’d been a mite difficult to wrangle you into bed. He understands. He’d let you talk yourself red in the face about this not being what you meant by ‘seeing other people’, but Ghost hears the said and the unsaid. You wouldn’t be still in his house a whole week later if you really wanted to leave. 

“Alright, pet,” he grins, running his thumb over your bottom lip until it drops open and you let him run it over your teeth. “Hang on now.”

[zephyrchama]

(Obey Me! Barbatos x reader with no gender mentioned.)

(Some very intimate Barbatos fluff for his birthday! Posting one evening early for the American crowd as it's already his birthday in Japan.)

You hadn't realized how late it was.

With the Devildom sky being in a constant state of darkness, hours could easily slip by unnoticed. Barbatos' birthday dinner had wrapped up long ago. You offered to stay and help tidy things up. Afterwards, the two of you retreated to his bedroom to converse over drinks.

The time displayed on your D.D.D. was shocking. You should have gone home ages ago. It wouldn't be safe for a human to walk the streets at this hour, so you asked, "Is it okay if I spend the night?"

Barbatos responded, with no hesitation, "Of course. I'll prepare a guest room for you immediately."

You shook your head and put out an arm to stop him from getting up. "I can't ask you to work more on your birthday. What if... I stayed with you tonight?"

Barbatos contemplated the idea with a sip of tea. "I would like that very much." A smile crept onto his face, gradually becoming the biggest one you had seen all day. "Are you sure you can handle it? I must say, with all the pampering I've received today, I'm in a rather selfish mood."

--

It turns out, there really is a bed in one of the many nooks of Barbatos' room. It was on the smaller side, with sufficient room for one butler, but a smidge too tight to fit a couple. It was expertly arranged with layers of fluffy comforters and two sets of pillows, as if Barbatos foresaw this turn of events.

"Make yourself at home."

Barbatos briefly excused himself and left the room, giving you time to change into borrowed pajamas. They were his signature turquoise. Long and loose and flowy robes that crossed in the front with a belt to tie the fabric around one's waist. They made it easy to slide into bed where you nested into the soft sheets. They were sparkling clean and smelled of fragrant detergent with a hint of Barbatos' natural odor.

"Now then, if you'll pardon me."

You hadn't heard him return. The mattress suddenly shifting made your heart skip a beat. It got warmer under the covers. You lifted your head to get a glimpse of the birthday boy but he quickly took that as an invitation entwine his fingers in your hair. Round nails grazed against the top layer of your scalp as your face got pressed into the curve of his neck. You felt a peck on your head.

"As you can see, my bed is narrow. Allow me to make some adjustments." Barbatos intended to make maximum use of the minimal space. All in the name of comfort, his leg went between yours, thigh rubbing against thighs. A hand coiled around your midsection, tucking itself under the robe's belt and pulling your waist against his. Your bodies were so close that a third person could probably fit.

The fingertips in your hair trailed down your ear, around to your collarbone, down your arm. Raising goosebumps along their path. Barbatos threaded his slim fingers into yours and placed a kiss upon your hand. "If this bothers you, do stop me."

You shook your head, nuzzling into his neck. It took some time to discover the grooves in his body where you fit the best. He worked his way back up your arm with his mouth, retracing the route he just took. Some spots he would only exhale over. Some spots he would part his lips and sample your taste with the tip of his tongue. He was making it hard to sleep.

Through all the doting, you nudged your face up and softly peeped, "Hey, Barb?"

He reluctantly came to a stop at once. The pressure on your back loosened, his grip let go. A resigned sigh escaped next to your ear, so full of yearning yet so faint you could have imagined it. You placed a hand on his cheek, brushing back the long strands of hair on the side of his face. Barbatos touched his forehead to yours. Deep emerald eyes seemed to shine in the dark. You wondered if they glowed.

"Yes?"

"Happy Birthday."

Barbatos froze. This was not what he expected. Aside from his chest subtly rising and falling with each breath, he was a complete statue. You let him process the simple sentence, content to gaze into his astonished expression and play with his hair. His skin heated up. A pink blush overtook his whole body. Months of conditioned restraint had to be fought back before he wholeheartedly embraced you.

His weight dug your legs into the soft blankets. Everything felt plush. Barbatos grabbed a fistful of fabric along your midriff and placed kisses on your nose, your eyelids, your lips, whilst you were busy laughing at the onset of affection. The mattress shifted again, the covers slid. When finally you could catch your breath, you were laying face up, eye-to-eye with the demon on top of you.

"I cannot imagine a better gift," he cooed.

[lowkeyremi]

𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 !

pairing: iwaizumi x fem!reader note: it’s his birthday!!!!! my silly little gym rat <3 happy late birthday iwa!!! summary: your husband doesn’t want too much for his 30th birthday, but you won’t stand for that! content: fluff, birthday, marriage, mentions of other characters like oikawa, kissing, gosh this is so gooey in the best way possible, drinking.

“Baby, seriously, you don’t need to do all of this.” Your husband sighs at the same time that you poke your tongue out in concentration.

Currently, a piping bag of not too sweet icing is in your hands and you’re icing a one layered cake.

“Haji you only turn 30 once, this is big!” Hajime scratches at his neck, a little groan leaving his lips afterward.

“It’s just a reminder that I’m getting older.” Yes, that’s true, he is getting older. He’s no longer in his twenties. He would argue that he’s not in his prime anymore but you think otherwise.

There have been highs and lows to his twenties but his thirties are going to bring something new to the table. What exactly? You’re not sure, but it will present itself with time.

“Hurry up and go change into the clothes I put out for your special day. Your friends and past kohais will be arriving in like 30 minutes.”

A little what leaves his lips, “You invited those losers?”

“Those losers all love you very much, so of course I invited them.” He snorts, “Never thought I’d spend my thirtieth birthday with my old volleyball team.”

“Yeah, well, you told me that they were like a family to you soooo.” He can’t argue with you there, sometimes his volleyball team felt more like a family to him than his own family did. They all had the same goals as he did and they just understood him.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll go change.” Good, he can’t be seen in his white tank top and pajama bottoms. Even if that tank top is a little small on him and defines his aged muscles well.

Hopefully the slacks you picked out will define his ass some, and the navy button up will fit snuggly on his torso. You almost lose focus just thinking about it. Your determination to finish this cake is what brings you out of dreamland.

You set down the main icing and pick up one with a smaller tip to add little details and write “Happy 30th Birthday Hajime!” In the signature Aoba Johsai turquoise.

When the cake is finished you worked on making sure all the decorations were up to par. Since this is only a small party, the decorations are kept to a minimum. Minimal but fitting of course.

When your husband was away training professional athletes, he would send you silly snaps of him with different filters. Of course you saved all of them for this occasion. There were at least twenty different printed out faces of your husband with silly filters that you had saved from your chats.

You wasted no time hanging them up, giggles following suit as you looked at the silly pictures.

The last one doesn’t get hung up because Hajime surprises you and snatches the picture from your hands.

You got a little whiff of the cologne he was wearing, a smile graces your face when french vanilla and spicy cinnamon tickles your nose. Upon turning around you see him wearing the outfit you picked out and you gotta admit that he looks even better than you imagined he would.

“What’s all of this?” The pictures are what he’s implying but you can’t focus on anything besides the way his muscles bulge when he waves his arm around to signify all the pictures you had hung up.

“Oh nothing. Just something to entertain your friends with!” Your giggles only multiple when you hear a loud groan leave his lips.

“These look awful I’m taking them down.” He doesn’t even get the chance to because the doorbell rings at the perfect moment.

“I don’t think so,” you sing-song, “you need to go welcome in your guests.”

Said guests give a loud knock and four more doorbell rings. Hajime rolls his eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck in the back of his head, “Must be that annoying Shittykawa.”

That nickname spilling from his lips proves just how much he needs this party. His friends bring out a side of him that doesnt have to pretend or worry about being judged, because they get him.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY IWA-CHAN!” Fills your ears when your husband opens the door. Hanamaki and Matsukawa join in mocking Oikawa’s voice, “Happy birthday Iwa-chan~” the two mock in unison.

“Shut up!” Oikawa quips before scoffing, “always being mean to me, I can never catch a break!” Of course he brings his dramatics into your kitchen.

His brows unfurrow when he takes sight of you and he gasps very dramatically, “[name]-chan! LOOKING AS BEAUTIFUL AS EVER!!” Oikawa basically flops onto you and wraps his arms around you in a hug.

But you have to remember this a 6’1 athlete, not someone of your stature so you almost fall over when he flops on you.

“Oi, idiot stop flirting with my wife!” Hajime screams from the front door.

Hanamaki and Matsukawa make their way into the kitchen. “Toru’s back to wife stealing again?” Matsukawa asks with a smug look. Oikawa has a huge reputation and he usually maintains it well, a scandal like this sounds quite interesting!

“Oh? He stole someone’s wife?” You ask setting out silverware and handing out party hats, which Yahaba says is corny, but what do you care?

“You guys are twisting the story! She didn’t tell me that she had a husband!” Hanamaki, ever the instigator, tells Oikawa that it’s still bad he was seeing a married woman.

More of his team starts to file in: Kunimi, Kyotani, Kindachi, and Watari.

These grown men (Oikawa, Maki, and Mattsun) are actually having a petty argument. You know the two are purposefully riling up Toru, maybe they wanted a reaction from Hajime, who knows, but you’re going to be the one to put it to rest.

“Hey! No fighting on Haji’s birthday. Also Oikawa are you really gonna let them rile you up like that, you’re a grown man for heavens sake.” Hajime makes his way from the entrance of your house to steal a kiss from your lips.

“Yeah listen to my wife.” Kunimi makes a gagging noise and you just giggle.

“Welcome everyone! I’m glad you all could make it to Hajime’s 30th birthday and yes, it means a lot for all of you to be here. He may not say or express it enough but he really does love you guys.” All eyes shift from you to Hajime and he blushes slightly at your confession.

“Babe-” He mumbles before he’s interrupted by his best friend.

“We’d be dumb not to be able to tell that Iwa-chan loves us!” Hajime glared at the brunette and takes that as a warning to shut up.

After dinner is served and cake is eaten, you all shift to the living room were you enjoy drinks and just talk about old times, or catch each other up on new things in life.

Hajime will never admit it but he’s a lightweight. After three drinks his face is already flushed and his words are slightly slurred.

“Hey! Listen up losers I have an announcement.” He says raising his glass (of water, you switched it out when he wasn’t looking. All eyes are on him and you can see Oikawa recording this moment, most likely to use to taunt your husband later.

“I- I fuckin’ love you guys so much. You guys are the best buncha’ idiots I’ve ever met. And- and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not only were you guys there for me as a team you guys were at my wedding and I hope you’ll be there for me again in the future.” He yells out cheers and everyone raises their glasses to clink it with his.

“We love you too, Iwaizumi!” The group yells in unison. Well maybe not Kunimi— he kinda mumbles it.

The rest of the night contains laughter and pure joy from this amazing celebration.

“How do you feel, honey?” You ask him as he rests his head on your shoulder, no doubt ready for bed, since he usually doesn’t stay up later than 10:30 and it’s 1 am.

“Like the luckiest fuckin’ guy on earth.” That brings a smile to your face.

“That beats no party, huh? Mr. I didn’t want a party.”

“Didn’t realize how much I missed these idiots.” He sighs in contentment.

[zlebooks]

𓂃 alhaitham + congrats being the first/last person to know!

you finally confess to kaveh that you have feelings for his flatmate, only you forget to tell him one key information.

when you realized you like al haitham, the experience was ironically similar to waking up on any day.

there were no fireworks that erupted, no scoffs of unbelief from yourself, no “kiss me” by sixpence none the richer playing in the background. there was only kaveh— al haitham’s flatmate ridiculing you in the background.

it was a saturday morning and you chose to spend it on a little quaint coffee shop in downtown brooklyn with your best friend, kaveh. he was your common link to the brooding man, the one who had introduced the both of you to each other.

and as kaveh rambled on and on about his co-worker that has been driving him nuts, you suddenly blurt out something you haven’t thought of much.

“i like al haitham,”

you see your best friend drop everything he was doing— literally. his knife clangs on the porcelain plate as he stops his rant midway.

really, it was more of his moment than yours.

“congrats dearest, you were the last one to know!” he chirps happily, before picking up the bread knife he dropped a moment ago and resumes spreading butter to his bread.

your jaw drops dramatically as if your best friend had just insulted your entire family clan.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“exactly what it means.” the blond deadpans as if anything he uttered under the twenty minutes you’re together has been helpful with your situation.

“fuck you.”

“i thought you liked al haitham?”

“fuck you, fuck you.”

“sorry, i’m unavailable.”

“do i really look like i have a crush on him?” you say under your breath, looking around like you were relaying top secret information.

“even the most socially inept would notice.”

the café doors open as signalled by the bell ringing. you would have pay no attention to it if it were any other of the regulars that kept this place running, but as you catch a glimpse of an ashy grey hair, you immediately duck your head under the table in hopes of making yourself unnoticeable.

“what the fuck are you doing—“

“hello.”

kaveh finds himself interrupted by the very man he finds insufferable and with how his luck is, the same guy whom his best friend is currently crushing on.

the man standing eyes your form— at least what’s visible of it above the table, before raising his eyebrows on the blond. your friend shrugs, opting to stay out of this because even he didn’t have any explanation for how you’re behaving.

“what are you doing?” you hear the scholar’s voice from above.

the blond snorts, “finding their leftover dignity, probably.”

in an attempt to retort something— anything, you raise your head up quickly to look at kaveh’s eyes and cuss him out, but you should have known better than to carelessly throw your head in any direction as you feel your head slam against the table.

ouch.

al haitham hears you whimper although it sounded more of a strangled attempt at breathing as you immediately cut it short. out of concern, he kneels down beside you and oh god— he’s caressing the top of your head in an attempt to sooth it. he asks you a simple question, a really simple one that can be answered with a simple yes or no, and yet your heart quivers.

“are you okay?”

you finally look up from the floor and see that al haitham is still charming.

and kaveh, kaveh was still a dick.

“you know, with how hard headed they are, it would be more appropriate to ask how the table is faring instead.”

you feel the turquoise eyed man glare at your best friend.

suddenly, you feel a sudden shift in your weight. looking around, you notice how al haitham is leading you to get on your feet only he was doing all the heavy work— he’s literally bringing you up.

“what were you doing down there?”

the still concerned scholar asks, to which you wince at as you take your seat once more. you try to rack up your mind for a totally false reason, but the task proves itself to be difficult when a small bump is starting to form on your head. you feel like your encounter with the table has made your brain shake inside your skull and ended up in a very wrong position.

thankfully, your best friend answers the question himself.

“y/n, my dearest friend over here, has realized that they like you. and although that sounds like an incredible disaster, i’m still glad to say that the pining is over.”

or not.

for someone having a small mouth, kaveh pretty sure talks a lot. but then again, with kaveh, he had absolutely no filter for his lips, always airing out private business to anyone and everyone.

kaveh, strangely enough, receives a look of nonchalance from the taller man. this wasn’t the reaction he was trying to get— he was expecting for his roommate to suddenly malfunction. like completely speechless, or stammering at least, red as a tomato and stiff as a plywood kind of malfunction. instead, he receives the usual unamused look from the other that he usually dons.

“of course y/n would; it’d be troublesome otherwise. we are seeing each other romantically, of course.”

your newly revealed boyfriend responds curtly, keeping his reply clear and concise. it was kaveh who eventually malfunctioned.

“you two are what?!”

“dating, yes.”

“how— when— why—“

“i confessed, they felt the same way so i asked them out. it happened before winter break, and why not? we like each other.” the taller man responds for you.

“no! i mean, what was your deal earlier?” the blond explains, pointing at you accusingly as if you had eaten the last remaining cupcake on the plate.

“why’d you make it seem like you were only realising now that you like al haitham?!”

you grin shyly, “it was me trying to see if you’d notice… we meant to keep it under the wraps for a while and you were kind of a test subject?”

kaveh feels his jaw detach. yeah sure you were a stem student and all, but weren’t you taking your research too far?

“i hate the both of you.”

your boyfriend shrugs while you laugh sheepishly.

“if it makes you feel better, you’re the first one to know… congrats?”

“it doesn’t at all! forget it!”

♥︎ please do not repost or translate without my permission . reblogs are heavily appreciated!

[dira333]

Of Fire and Ice - Shouto Todoroki x Reader (Baby Series part 2)

part 1

Can I call this popular demand if only one person asked for it, lol?

You can hear the car park through the open window, followed by the telltale sound of a cane hitting the pavement.

“Shouji?” You call out to your son. He looks up from where he’d been sitting and admiring a sleeping Shouko, the picture book in his hands long forgotten. “Grampa’s here.”

He’s on his feet right away, running for the door. 

You’re two steps behind him, watching as he pulls it open to reveal Enji and Rei Todoroki, still a few steps away on the little path to the door.

“Grampa! Grammy!” Shouji’s elated as always. “Did you know I’m a big brother now?!”

“A big brother, you say?” Enji leans heavily onto his cane and stretches out an enormous hand to mess up Shouji’s hair. “But you’re still so small? I can hold your head in my hand!”

Shouji pouts. “But Shouko is so much smaller. I’ll show you!”

Your hand on his shoulder stops him. “Give them a minute. They want to say hi first and come in properly.”

“Oh, okay. Do you need help with your shoes, Grampa?”

“That would be nice,” Enji takes a seat on the little bench in your entry way, watches with a fond smile as Shouji pulls off his shoes and puts on slippers.

“You too, Grammy?” He asks Rei next who leans down to press kisses to his cheeks.

“You are growing every day,” she comments, tousling his hair even more. “Soon you’ll be taller than me.”

“How soon?” Shouji asks, checking how tall he is now. He comes barely past her ribs. 

“Too soon,” Rei sighs and takes a seat next to her husband so that Shouji can take off her shoes as well.

He only does it for his grandparents - and you, when you were too pregnant to spot your feet - but he does it with a passion.

-

“She’s sleeping,” Shouji explains as he drags his grandparents over, his entire hand curled around his grandfather’s thumb. “Her face looks pretty now. It was very squished at first.”

Rei chuckles at that, her whole face alight with wonder when you lift the newborn into her arms. 

“Her hair…” She breathes, touching it with shaking fingers. It’s a bright, burning red and nothing else.

“It’s pretty, yes?” Shouji asks. “Grampa, sit here. It’s more comfortable. We can play something while Grammy holds Shouko.”

“I think Grampa wants to hold Shouko as well.”

“Oh,” Shouji considers that. “Okay, but we can play too, right?”

“Yes,” Enji pulls him into his lap. “We can play. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to these past two weeks? I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Well Momma had to go to the hospital to get Shouko,” Shouji explains. “And she was real tired after. She was just laying in bed all day. But Papa was home too, so that was fun.”

His eyes turn real big as he remembers something. “Did you know that Shouko drinks from Momma’s boobies?”

Enji turns an unflattering shade of red at the direct question. “Well, yes. That’s how all Babies drink. Sometimes they can’t, that’s what bottles are for.”

“Bottles?” Shouji blinks. “Like beer bottles? Papa drinks from Beer Bottles sometimes.”

You snicker. “No, Shouji. Different bottles. They’re in the cupboard, you found them yesterday.”

“Ah!” Shouji nods before peering up at his Grandfather. “Did you know I can make a big fire from my right hand? But only in my right hand!”

He holds out his hand to produce a flame, showing it to Enji. “It’s much bigger now, see?”

Enji nods, gently folding his own, bigger hand around it. “Very good. You’re just as talented as your father. How do you like Quirk-Training?”

“It’s fun,” Shouji explains. “We play a lot of Games!”

“Fun,” Enji’s voice sounds hollow as he repeats it, a faraway look in his eyes. 

Shouko chooses that moment to wake up, smacking her lips together as she yawns.

“Oh, she’s awake.” Rei turns, allowing all of you to watch as Shouko’s eyes open, revealing bright, unwavering turquoise. 

You watch as both Enji and Rei’s faces harden and soften in tune, like they brace themselves for the impact of a swing only to realize that it hurts less than they thought.

You don’t say anything, let them verbalize it for themselves when they’re ready.

“She looks like Touya,” Enji finally comments and when he lifts a hand to caress the tuft of bright red hair on Shouko’s head you know he’s dying to hold her.

Rei seems to notice too, because she looks over, checking in with you if that’s allright.

“Shouji?” You ask, “You wanna sit with your Grammy for a minute? I think Grampa wants to hold Shouko now.” You pick the girl from Rei’s arms.

“Okay,” Shouji gets up and climbs into his grandmother's lap. “You smell really nice, Grammy.”

“Thank you,” Rei laughs. kissing the top of his head. “That’s Lavender. It’s a really nice purple flower.”

“I like purple,” Shouji explains. “Uncle Toshi and Uncle Noru wear purple.”

“What other colors do you know?”

You listen with one ear as you lift Shouko into Enji’s waiting arms.

A single tear slips out of his left eye as Shouko’s tiny hands curl into fists.

“A fighter,” he comments thickly, gently caressing her cheeks and button nose with his thumb.

Her lips open slightly as if she expects food and he laughs, wet and heavy.

You watch in silence as he familiarizes himself with her, his youngest grandchild. 

You’ve met Touya only twice, once after you got married and once after Shouji was born. He’s a shadow of his former self, barely alive and yet with a mind unbroken. 

But you’ve seen pictures of him as a child, know much of him from what Shouto’s told you. 

The Todoroki family history is complicated, but you’re not blind to all the love pouring out through the cracks. It had been held back, it had been hidden, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

“We actually wanted to call her Toa,” you explain eventually. “Because Shouji’s named for the fire side of Shouto, we thought about giving her an ice-themed name. Couldn’t do it though, not with that bright red hair.”

“Shouko is a lovely name,” Rei comments, accidentally cutting off one of Shouji’s rambles. He quiets, trying to understand your conversation.

“Maybe the next one,” Enji thinks aloud. “Maybe the next one can be called Toa.”

“The next one?” Shouji asks, confused. “Are we getting another baby?”

You laugh, patting his cheek. “If you ask Papa nicely, I’m sure he’ll say yes. But I think we’ll wait a bit first, right? What if we’re so busy with the two of you we don’t have time for another baby?”

Shouji blinks. “Okay.”

-

Shouto’s dripping wet when he walks in hours later, exhaustion pulling at every muscle.

“Hey,” he greets the room. “Sorry, there was a ferry accident and they called me in.”

Shouji, who’d been napping with his head in your lap, wakes from the familiar voice alone.

“Papa!” He yawns from the Couch. “Can we have another baby?”

Shouto freezes in the entryway, blinking in confusion.

Rei laughs as Enji chuckles.

“My bad, son.” Enji gets up, walks the short distance with his cane, and pats a hand on Shouto’s shoulder. “I put that thought in Shouji’s head, I fear. We were just talking about getting a Toa for the family.”

“Oh,” Shouto nods, his eyes searching yours. You send him a teasing smile and he blushes.

“Maybe… We’ll see.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

What do you guys think? Should they try for a Toa? But hey, I think we need Shouko to meet the Uncles and Aunties first...

part 3 - Baby Series

[jemiswumbo]

she’s out of her mind

luke castellan x daughter of hades!reader

anon prompt: Hey babes! I saw your post about wanting prompts and I was wondering you could write Luke Castellan x Daughter of Hades! Reader where it's like sunshine (Luke) x grumpy (Reader) trope?

authors note: hello i am back with a small drabble for the cute prompt above! i got drunk off of applebees dollaritas and wrote this in 15mins so do with that information what you will. hope you enjoy! :)

title is from she’s out of her mind by blink-182. lyrics are a lil fitting.

warnings: none? i think? it’s just fluff, i think. sort of.

“Wake up, sunshine.”

You groaned low and deep, releasing a guttural sound full of pure agony. Rolling over on your (extremely warm, cozy, sleep inducing) bed, you came face to face with your boyfriend, Luke Castellan, who was currently opening up the curtains in your cabin.

Being the only child of Hades at the camp, the entire cabin was sparse and empty, save for the corner you called home. There was a bed with black sheets and blanket, a side table full of the few memorabilia you had to your name, and a dresser beside that which held your extensive collection of black clothing. The walls resembled the inner workings of a cavern; slick rock prodded with small bones and beautiful jewels encapsulated the bedroom areas. Sconces held lit torches burning bright with turquoise Greek fire.

Your favourite part of the cabin, though, was the specially-crafted blackout curtains that were typically drawn tight over the windows. Not even a sliver of light could penetrate the thick, black, velvet drapes. That was, until, your idiot boyfriend took it upon himself to draw them open. The harsh blades of sunlight violated your eyes, illiciting your pained groan. You hated it when people interrupted your sleep.

“Luke,” You whined, shoving your face into your pillow, hoping to evade the blinding light. “Let me sleep, please, for the love of the gods.”

“Fuck the gods,” Luke said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice without needing to see his (cute, devilishly handsome) face. “Anyways, it’s 9am! You’ve slept in long enough and I wanna have breakfast with you and your pretty face.” Luke flopped down on the bed beside you and flipped your body back over with ease, in a foolish attempt to force you into the world of the living.

Typical for a child of Death, you kept your eyes squeezed shut and pounded the bedsheet with your fist. “I will literally, genuinely, actually murder you without hesitation if you don’t leave me the fuck alone.”

“That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend.” Luke said, pressed a small kiss to your nose. You swatted him away with anger.

Any other (normal, rational, smart) kid at camp would’ve soiled their pants and fled in terror from such a threat uttered by the one and only daughter of Hades. You were capable of a simple killing — you were graciously bestowed the gift of sucking out the souls of mortals with a mere flick of the wrist — and so it was only logical to fear such a ghastly claim. Luke, however, had realized early on in your Camp days that you were full of shit and would never hurt a fly. He took an opportunity to befriend you and you’d been dating for a few years now. You were (truly, madly, deeply) in love with him and yes, despite your immense hatred for morning sunlight, you would never actually hurt him.

“Come on,” he prodded again, cuddling up beside you and tapping your forehead mischievously. You mustered the courage to crack open one eye (barely) and saw him grinning down at you. “Wake up, baby. Let’s get breakfast and then spend the day at the docks. We can swim and sun bathe and have a picnic—“

“Gods, you’re ambitious today,” you grumbled, rolling back over to face the opposite direction of Luke (and, the open windows), allowing him to grab your waist and pull you up against his chest. “I hate being in the sun. You know this.”

“Yeah, but I like to try new things with you,” Luke said, peppering a few kisses down your jaw and the side of your neck, squeezing his taut arm around your torso. “And I’m dying to see you in a bikini.”

“Perv,” you mumbled, but deep down you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, causing a crimson blush to bloom over your chest. “Give me another hour to sleep.”

“No,” Luke said, and now it was his turn to groan impatiently. “Please, now, for me? I love you and want to spend time with you.”

“I hate you and want you to leave me alone,” you replied, pulling your fluffy duvet back up over your shoulders. “Bed time.”

“Beach time,” Luke decided. He sat up slightly and ripped the blankets entirely off your form, exposing your body to the cold air of the morning.

You shrieked. “Luke, you asshole—“

Luke jumped out of the bed, smiling wide. He gathered up all the blankets up into his arms, much to your dismay, and held them away from you. You only wore shorts and a tank top to sleep last night, and the chill in the room froze you right to your bones. Luke bundled up the bedding into a ball and fired it across the room. “There, now you’re acclimated.”

“You’re dumb as hell.”

“You are a grouchy, sleepy demon who needs breakfast and vitamin D.”

“Ugh!” You exploded, finally shoving yourself out of bed in a fit of exasperation. Luke had the audacity to applaud you. “Okay, there, I’m up!”

“So proud of you, my sleeping beauty,” Luke remarked. He crossed the room to you and placed a tender kiss to your lips, making sure to nip at your pouty bottom lip.

“Sorry for being rude,” You murmured, after having kissed him back. “I love you. I just don’t love being woken up.”

“I know,” Luke said with a grin. “I actually think you’re cute when your grumpy, so I do it on purpose to bug you.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smirk from appearing on your cheeks. “Whatever. You promised breakfast and I’m starving, so let’s go.”

Luke mimicked your playful eyeroll. He took your hand, leading you out the door and towards the dining pavilion.

note 2: hi hi! if you read this and enjoyed it and maybe want to read more from me, i would super appreciate prompts and requests sent to my inbox! can’t guarantee i’ll write them all but i will for sure try my best! thanks for reading! :)

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 11)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 10, Part 12

summary: You and Miguel spend the day together. You get a surprise visit.

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of microaggressions and racism in the workplace (projecting bc my ass is tired)

a/n: uhhhhh. heyyy.... so i took a cute little break 👉 👈

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

Oh! and I finally made the series' playlists (very open to requests) <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

cracks in clay, poured over

Cold. The slow drip of an IV seems to echo in that little room. 

She feels cold; the kind that drapes over her like a second skin - slimy, slick, and it makes him shiver. Pale; her hands barely have enough strength to curl around his anymore. His little girl, and he watches as she takes shuddering breaths. In, out. In, out. The shaky rise and fall of her chest and it’s all he can do to watch, hunched over metal railing with a certain kind of dedication. His eyes creak. His back groans. 

There’s an emptiness to hospital hallways, he thinks. That thought comes with traitorous relief - balled up like chewed gum at the pit of his stomach. He wants her to rest; to take a breath that isn’t heavy with the weight of living. Even in a tangle of wires and tubes, and the steady metronome of a heart monitor to punctuate a mess of thoughts, she still looks like his. When he blinks, he sees her: rosy cheeks and chubby fingers entwined with his. He curls into them now, with rough palms softened by love - which he will dirty just to keep her safe. 

Gabriella is a force of nature. A supernova: bright, bright light at the corner of someone else’s universe - but certainly the centre of his. And when she smiles; oh God, when she smiles; he sees his mama, he sees Gabi… and sometimes, he sees himself.

It’s not a case of roaring thunder in place of quiet sky. A flash-bang in the night felt more like a whimper: hushed tones in a doctor’s office that came with a wringing of hands. And dread - settling amongst the room like a lead balloon - that was what he remembers the most. It's a feeling he'll never quite forget. The doctor; a genteel, younger man with more worry lines than Miguel himself, he had thought. Gabriella was prone to poking at the folds beneath his brow, at the sides of his mouth that curled around the very same nose he had passed on to her; smoothing them out like lines in the sand. 

Like pockmarks and furrows in sand washed away by the sea. El Mar - but Gabriella had trouble rolling her Rs. She would get there, he had always thought. He would not brandish a wooden spoon or chancla as his mama was prone to do. He would be different. Better - provide her with the space to make the mistakes he never could. If it meant a lifetime of forehead kisses and boiled candy stuck to the roof of her mouth, he wouldn’t mind.

The sea. Maybe he should take her to the beach - a proper one, not the murky waters he had grown up with. Her hand is too pale, and Miguel can already hear his mama complain; fussing over his little girl. Has Gabriella been eating properly? Has he? She would pinch his cheeks and squirm, hissing at their sallowess. Too much like your father, Conchata would say. 

He's decided. Yes, that's just what they need. White sand stretching out as far as the eye can see - azure and turquoise and deep, deep blue. 

He blinks. Miguel, ever perceptive, swipes it away from your skin. A sliver of bare flesh against his, your arm across the couch as you lay across the pillows. He woke up to this, to you; a fleeting nap that takes you both to a bright midday. Tangled up in blankets, a mess of his limbs and yours; and yet, you still feel…

Cold.

You stir. Like a lamb woken from fresh grass, he watches as you stretch; shaking away gentle sleep. At least Miguel has the sense to look away, to pretend as if he hasn't been staring at the gentle rise and fall of your chest, nor the stray hair that peeks out from the nape of your neck. He traces it with his thumb, with a tenderness that makes his head hot and heart heavy. A warm blush spreads across his face as you huff, blowing air that makes his curls jump. Despite himself, Miguel smiles, feeling the warmth. It's lop-sided, gentle where his face is sharp and he allows himself to soften - if only for a little bit.

“You okay?” You croak, voice still heavy with sleep.

He smiles, daring to curl his fingers around yours. 

“M'better now.” It's barely a whisper, and so he clears his throat. “You still seem tired, sweetheart.”

When your face scrunches up into that adorable pout, he laughs the kind of laugh that echoes throughout his whole body; deep and sonorous.

“What’s so funny?” You're whining, but your face cracks into a small smile. And like the sun peeking out from the horizon, he feels its warmth spreading from his side; onto everything your light has touched.

“Nothin’” 

His breath hitches as you come closer, placing your head on his chest.

“You're a fat fucking liar.” 

Yep, he thinks. And you don't even know the half of it. 

There's something about domestic bliss that twists his heart into knots. Most of it is you, of course, neatly pressing him out and spreading him on wooden pegs like fresh laundry. A life together, like this…? 

Fuck. Maybe he hasn't had enough sleep.

Miguel hums, quietly turning your palm in his, tracing its lines like a lovelorn sap. He likes your hands, for some reason. They are smaller than his, gentle in their curve and crackle, fitting exceptionally well in his own.

He frowns. 

“I think I'm happy.” 

…and then he's biting his lip like he's said something he shouldn't. What should be an off-hand comment, swept away by the tide, makes you sit up abruptly.

“You think?” There's no malice in your voice, just confusion.

“It just feels…” He can't even look you in the eye, deciding to inspect your hands instead. 

“Different?”

You finish his sentences now, great. Miguel feels like a walking cliche; all butterflies and shaky hands and cotton in his mouth. 

In an attempt to sound indifferent, he hums. If you can see through his paper-mache facade, you don't show it.

“Different.” He rolls it around on his tongue, wanting to know its taste. If it fits, how it fits, and where you come into the equation. Different. Good different? It's a tentative thought, creeping into the back of his mind like a thief in the night. Whilst he wouldn't usually entertain it - as it was a dangerous thought, the kind that leads to others, thoughts of skipping through meadows with his hand in yours, or picnics on the beach, or–

“You think that might be because you had a full 8 hours of sleep?” You snort, stretching out. More thigh peeks out from under the covers.

His throat goes dry. Focus, Miggy. Yes, he wouldn't usually entertain it, but it felt far too good to think about the both of you, together, under different circumstances. 

He would've met you at an overpriced coffee shop on his way to work. Or maybe he would catch your eye on the subway, and you would flash him a smile too beautiful to ignore in return. One to keep, like the expectant one you give him now.

You're waiting, he realises. Waiting for him to say something; something that gets stuck in his throat. He hopes not to spill his guts like this: a tangle of maybes and might'ves. The reality is less exciting. It comes out wrong - flat and pathetic and lifeless.

“7 and a half.” He says, shaky. Sleep, right? You said something about sleep? “The other day, I had 7 and a half.” 

Miguel forces down the person-sized lump in his throat. You are stunning; sleep-rimmed and tangled up between his legs and that worn blanket.

Maybe we could've been more.

~~~

He’s an idiot, you think.

“And what good did that do you?” You retort, still sharp despite a blossoming headache at your temples. 

“And what good did that… you're the last person to talk.”

For all his degrees, his accolades, his middle-school-science-fair-certificates; he could barely manage to take care of himself. It worried you in a way you were sure was common decency, like the pang of sympathy one would regard a puppy too tired to keep its head up. 

“You look like shit, Mig.” And he did. In that frustratingly perfect way he was prone to, of course: rugged and ragged and handsome; messy, but without a hair in place. An oxymoron. A paradox. A fool with 2 degrees pending. A loveable idiot - certified, absolutely.

“You look like shit–”

You put your hands over your eyes like glasses, like a child on the playground. “Only one of has eyebags the size of Mars–”

“ –and only one of us has a hangover the size of Mars,”

“I do not.”

“The 3 tequila shots you took last night say otherwise.”

You descend into a heap of giggles, unable to refute his claims. Goddammit, does he have a point. You hate him for it; his smug tone, wagging a knobbly finger in your face; but you know there's no malice. What might've been turned into an argument oh-so long ago, stays childish and playful and maybe even a little… fun? There is a shine in his eyes that you have so dearly missed, and a hint of a smile you know he is barely clamping down on. It brings a warmth to your chest far greater than any alcoholic buzz - tequila shots or otherwise - ever could.

Wait. How did he know you had—

“Took you long enough.” 

He's chuckling, reaching over for his phone discarded on the rickety coffee table. With a couple quick swipes you're greeted with a plethora of drunk messages sent by Lyla; the majority of which are unintelligible. He hands the phone over, seemingly more interested in satiating his appetite as he heads for the kitchen, leaving you ample time to scroll through. You recognise one or two videos from Lyla's private story, and sure enough, there you are - knocking back shots offered to you like it was your job. Watching it back makes you wince. You were so sure of yourself last night, chock-full of liquid courage, it almost seemed like water in those dainty glasses. There’s more, as you scroll up: including candids of you at the club, some you don't quite remember posing for, others with Lyla's slim arm draped around your shoulders like they belong there.

Unsurprisingly, most of them are of Lyla; drunken selfies sent with a string of messages you were barely able to make out. It all makes you wonder just how well Miguel knows his friend, able to respond accordingly to her nonsense string of characters and emojis. Considering it had taken you this long to be barely conversational in Miguel-ese, Lyla would prove to be something else entirely. 

There's a peek of something as you scan through last night's messages. You don't mean to pry, but one thing leads to another, and you get stuck on a conversation that occurred not too long ago.

[Sent: 15:32]

Are you guys still on for tonight?

[Received: 15:32]

👍👍

[Sent: 15:3]

Okay, cool. I won't be home to drop her off, though. Is that okay?

[Sent: 15:32]

👍👍

“I messaged her this morning,” You start, making space for him on the sofa. “No response. Do you think I should give Lyla a call?”

“Don’t take it personally, sweetheart. Sometimes she falls off the face of the earth and then you find out she’s in Indonesia with a cocktail by the beach.”

You must make a face, because Miguel comes closer. It’s tender, and much more intimate than it should feel; and all you can do is short circuit as he brings his hand to your cheek.

His thumb rest at the cleft of your chin, gently moving your face to look him in the eye.

“I’ll give her a call, if you like.” He presses a gentle kiss to your furrowed brow, and you can barely breathe. “You’re much too pretty to worry. I’ll sort it out.”

When he pulls away, all you can manage is a weak nod. All that pomp and self-rightousness that filled you not even 5 minutes ago dissipates like a limp balloon with just a flash of his smile. 

“You hungry?” He asks.

“Starving.” You say with a grin.

~~~

You hear his voice first, the mellow timbre and its slight twang rumble through the walls. Your door is open in the hope that Miguel will saunter in and… and do something resembling earlier on in the day. Considering the time, it was little more than delusion - you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve seen Miguel up past 11pm. Whether it was work, or studying, or a popcorn movie on the couch, he could never make it through the night. More and more, you’ve found him passed out on the couch, one arm slung lazily over it’s back - but that was another matter.

Now, your door isn’t too open - you wouldn’t want to seem desperate - but wide enough that you can catch whispers of his conversation. Miguel seems to speak in more grunts and huffs; and you can almost see his scrunched brow and crooked grimace. The other voice is tinny, but clearly male - spouting garbled, frantic words that you can’t quite catch. It’s odd; whilst you were no stranger to late nights, your roommate started fighting sleep at 7pm sharp - so what exactly was going on?

You creep towards the door, snaking your head around its edge. There he is; down the hall and shadowed by the doorway with his phone flat on the dining table, perched on its lip with nothing but a plaid pair of pants on. He looks bedworn and exhausted, sure - but gorgeous in the kind of way only oils on canvas can capture. With his hand scratching at light stubble, you watch as he takes a deep sigh.

“It’s– Pete, it’s–”

More jumbled words from the phone.

“I know, man.” He pauses, hesitant. “Are you… have you guys tried Lyla?”

He says the words like they’re bitter, acrid on the way out, eventually producing a deep frown as he listens. The image sticks with you, for some reason: hunched over, shoulders slack like a ragdoll, and picking at the loose black-and-red threads. There's a flash of something you can taste - like blood  after a sucker punch - and he flattens, roughly swallowing as he rubs his temples. There’s an ache, there - and it wasn’t just a migraine from all that salty junk. His eyes are sallow, without the lustre you had grown so accustomed to. Where did he go? Your Miguel, saccharine and sickly-sweet? 

A trick of the light, you decide; just the morning sun. 

You are too lost in your own thoughts - vivid ones, of takeout noodles and orange chicken - that you barely notice him move. Almost a second too late, it registers, and you scramble to your bed in a flurry of limbs, managing to close the door just in time. You hear heavy footsteps, and there’s a knock at the door. 

“Come in!”

Miguel pops his head through the door, shirking away from the bright light.

“Jesus, you need all these lights on?”

You roll your eyes. Laptop on, a desk lamp, a standing lamp, etc etc. Warm lights, made even cosier by pillows and plush bedding. The very same bedding he fucked you in the first time, and the next, and the next. Clearly, he couldn’t recognise ambience if it whacked him in the face.

“Did you want something?”

When once he would’ve been taken aback by your gall (and you too, you suppose, as Miguel had never been the most tactful), he simply purses his lips.

“I… I'm babysitting for Peter.”

“May's coming over?” You visibly perk up, and it makes him smile.

“I wish you got this excited when I come home. Yeah, she is.” He’s still picking at the loose fibres of his pants. “I'll try to get her to bed as soon as possible, but she's a little hurricane, so be wary of the noise.”

“It’s pretty late, Mig. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah; something came up and their usual sitter isn't available. It's the least I can do.” He gives you a weak smile

“Okay. Thanks for the heads up.” 

Despite this, he lingers for a bit, clearly antsy. “With traffic, I’m not sure when they’ll get here. Pete lives just across the way, but...” 

“But?”

“I’ll probably have to stay up for a bit.”

“I can keep you company.”

“No, no, I can’t ask you to do that--”

“Alright, alright!” You throw your hands up, huffing dramatically. “Mig, there’s no need to beg. Give me five minutes.”

He gives you a weary smile, before turning to leave. But he pauses at the doorway, and as if in a trance - tightening grip, clenched jaw - 

“You look nice.” He says, low and slow.

“Thanks.” You manage to squeeze out. Ever so slightly, you squeeze your thighs together too, for good measure.

With one last look he drags that heavy gaze away from you, giving your room a once over. 

“...now I know why the light bill’s so fucking high.”

~~~

The doorbell rings when the two of you have settled in - head on his broad chest and something on the TV. Whilst you don't know how you ended up here, you do know how it ends; he puts a boring documentary on, you proceed to fight sleep before hands wander, the room gets a little heavier, and…

The doorbell, right. He shuffles out of your grip, gently placing your head on the sofa. You feign a yawn as you shift, watching the wide expanse of his back as he answers the door. Unfortunately, he's put a shirt on, but you are still mesmerised by the way that baggy t-shirt clings this way and that. You sigh at the sight - it’s much too late for unabashed yearning - burying your cheek into the pillows.

The door opens. You manage to spot a flash of red peeking over your roommate.

“God, we are so sorry. We don't know what's gonna happen to my Dad and–”

Miguel brings a hand up to stop her. She is clearly exhausted, eyes-red rimmed like she's been crying; with a tight hand around the strap of a sling bag. It's full to bursting, likely haphazardly prepared - stuffed with diapers, snacks, toys and God knows what else. She scratches at the nape of her neck, pulling at choppy hair scraped into a bun. With her bangs pinned back, you can't help but think she looks less like the character she plays on TV and more like a person - experiencing the kind of grief made less glamorous by makeup and bright lights. 

“It's okay, Em.” 

Em. You can't see his face, but you can see MJ's; and you notice the way she softens at the nickname. 

“I haven't heard that one since college. Thank you, Miguel.” She gives him a watery smile.. “I've got some food for her in the bag, extra milk, those peanut cups she likes, my personal and my work phone number, my mom's phone number in case you can't reach me or Pete, diapers, wipes – hypoallergenic, she can be a bit sensitive – a-and we are trying self-soothing with her stuffy because she can get antsy before bed.”

Her eyes are a little bloodshot, but she manages to hand off the bag, before turning to talk to a little mop of red that peeks out from behind her. May's chubby fingers are clamped tight around her leg, but with some gentle coaxing, the little girl steps into your apartment.

“Hi, May.” Miguel smiles, one you imagine is dazzling kryptonite from her favourite uncle, and she puts her small hand in his.

“Bye, honey. Be good for your Uncle.” MJ gives her daughter a gentle hug, brushing back her hair for a kiss. Little chubby fingers try to do the same, and it's a display that makes your heart melt.

“Stay safe, MJ. Say hi to Peter for me?” You call out over the lip of the couch.

“Of course, sweetheart.” She flashes you a smile, and you are windswept by its candour. 

Once she leaves, May is uncharacteristically quiet. She seats herself on the sofa, little legs dangling, unable to reach the floor. Miguel slides off her backpack and jacket - brightly coloured plastic adorned with a kid's TV show - with an ease and gentleness you didn't quite know he was capable of. There's something to be said about a man of his stature - tall and hulking, with hands that could easily palm a basketball - using those very same hands to carefully unbutton the loops on May's jacket. Despite her muted panic; the gradual kind, the kind that wells up like the tide before a storm and comes with a wobbly lip and balled up fists; his voice stays calm and soothing in the walls of your little apartment. It is well-practiced and unfazed, exceedingly gentle in his approach. He'd make a good dad, you think. 

She's restless. You both try your best, coaxing her to eat mushy peas and applesauce, with little to no success. May clearly isn’t pleased - scrunching up her face with disgust.

“I feel you, kid.” You sigh, plopping the dinner spoon into the green mixture. “Not the most appealing.”

“But it’s good for her!” Mig yells from the kitchen, digging around for something in the cupboards.

She makes a face, looking to you for some comfort. All you do is shrug, tugging at your collar in an exaggerated manner. She almost smiles, and so you make your eyes go wide - pulling a peal of laughter from the little girl. It is contagious, and makes you beam from ear to ear.

“That doesn’t sound like dinner.” Miguel breezes past with something in his hand.

“I think they serve prisoner’s better food. Or food that looks less grey, anyways.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.” He hisses, seating himself on the other side of the little girl. In his hands are a cute little bowl - pink plastic and toddler sized. It comes with a spoon that fits in Mayday’s palms just-right, and he scoops up some of the mixture the bowl. 

You’re a little confused. “Where did you fi-”

“She’s a big girl.” He says simply, facing her and mimes taking a spoonful. You watch as her eyes get a little rounder, shining and intelligent. You can almost hear the gears moving in her tiny little head. “She can feed herself. Can’t you, May?

“Mig, I don’t know if that would work.”

And like a curious little dove, her head cocks this way and that, with a deep frown on her face. Pudgy fingers wrap around the neck of the spoon, and clumsily, she brings it to her lips. It falls with a clatter, and mushy peas splatter everywhere. 

There’s an I told you so on the tip of your tongue, but he tries again; cooing at the little girl, encouraging her to take the spoon once more. He’s gentle, but doesn’t talk down to her - and like she can understand every word, her eyes shine with recognition. Now, you’re not the best with kids - a baby cousin or two notwithstanding - but its hard to believe he hasn’t babysat before. Miguel O’Hara; lab tech, masters student, and clearly, world class Uncle. You’ve got a million and one questions, but you are unable to do anything but watch - all the while, gears turning.

She gets increasingly frustrated. In an adorable, gap-toothed way, but the toddler can’t seem to get a good grip. You watch as the spoon falls: clatter, hollow clang, conk; and every time, Miguel picks it up, wipes it off, and encourages her to try again. 

Clatter.

“One more time, sweetheart,”

Clang. 

“You were so close! You want to try again for me?”

Thunk. You've got an idea.

“She’s not going to eat, Mig.” 

He looks up. You’re handing him her jacket, and pulling on a long-discarded sweater. 

“Let’s go for a walk.”

~~~

It fills you with a certain amount of delight to say something that surprises Miguel.

“I know a place.” You say, somewhat smug.

“What do you mean, you know a place?”

You shrug. After a couple of quick phone calls, you did, in fact, know the perfect place for a late night wander.

“The park on 10th?”

“Nope.”

“If it’s The Rec Centre on Chelsea Ave, it’s closed. I grew up with the guy who runs it, and–”

“Nope.”

“Where are you taking us? May, she’s going to kidnap us and sell our organs on the Black Market.” She’s got her little palm in his, and gives you a look that says ‘Him first’.

“Don’t want your organs. You’re Mexican and lactose intolerant; can’t imagine the damage you’ve done to your gut.” You stop them, crouching down to speak to May directly. “Do you like animals?”

Her face shines with recognition. She nods profusely. Miguel seems somewhat horrified, but it just looks cute, to you.

“That doesn’t reassure me, sweetheart.”

“I know.” You give Miguel a dazzling smile. Somewhat smug turns into very smug, very quickly. “We’ll take the subway!”

~~~ 

The Nueva York Research and Conservation Centre is quite the gem, Miguel quickly realises. It's the kind of thing that predates him, and even his oldest neighbours; immigrants that came to Nueva York in the 60s and 70s. He remembers a handful of school trips in elementary and middle school - traipsing around the old building with a clipboard and stubby pencil in hand. Even when he was a kid, the centre had paled in comparison to the Zoo up in Central; that was shiny and modern, with actual lions (plural) and giraffes. Of course, his school couldn't afford the accompanying exorbitant fees, so they settled for the converted municipal building and grounds; housing less exciting animals.

But he still remembered the first time he had walked through those double doors, and past the little ticket office after being handed the paper stub. 

He liked that there weren't any cages. At the time, there was thin plexiglass separating the people from the animals, but they had space to roam, and were never the flashy sort - meerkats were the highlight of one trip, and an alligator snapping turtle the next. The centre was temperature controlled and meticulously maintained despite the clear understaffing; he always enjoyed the trek on cobbled path, and the insect building and reptile room never failed to disappoint. 

There were always researchers hanging about there. Not in white lab coats and clicky pens like he had once thought; but sturdy trousers and frazzled smiles. They were kind, and easy going; always happy to talk to the little boy in clothes two sizes too big. 

Maybe May was too young to understand, but he felt it immediately. That rush of excitement as you lead them on a long forgotten path, and pull out a key that unlocked those very same double doors. Nostalgia, perhaps, bubbles up from his fingertips.

“Hey, Ernie.” You nod towards a night watchman, perched at the reception desk. With his head buried in a magazine, you are satisfied with a nondescript grunt. Security clearly hasn't changed. 

May gives a little wave, and Miguel can't help but coo. She's squirming, feeding off of his clear excitement and dragging him towards you with a surprising amount of force.

You lead them to the outside park. The Centre is dark, for a while, and after some rattling, and the careful click of a few switches; Miguel feels like a kid.

The lights are on, illuminating an acre or two of land, and he is transported to being 6 and then 7 and then 11 - clipboard and pencil in hand.

May is agape, eyes wide at nothing but fenceposts and plexiglass. The enclosures are empty with the majority of the animals asleep; yet she is fascinated with the landscape, so much so that she paws at Miguel to hoist her up. She's on his shoulders before you can orient yourself.

He hears you laugh first. Bright, gorgeous laughter like morning rain on a warm day. You laugh and clap with wonder, and pinch the little girl's cheek good naturedly. She returns it with her own, pointing at ‘funny trees’, their green tongues lapping at the bright light.

“We'll need to be quick.” You finally say, leading them once again. He catches a sliver of neck, pretty and supple as you turn your head towards them. Fuck. 

“How do you have access to this place?”

“I know a guy.”

“Not a chance.” A guy, sure. It sounds like bullshit, but he can feel the confidence radiating off of you. It makes him wonder… is this another ex? Someone who works here, no doubt, but with so much pull you can walk straight through after closing hours?

“We'll meet ‘em, in a bit.” You trail off towards a plaque, reading out the inscription. “The Giant Armadillo, Priodontes maximus, is a giant insectivore – that means eats insects, May – characterised by its hinged bands and pale head. Found in much of South America, this – oh, look!”

Miguel follows your line of site, to some movement within the enclosure. Between large, grassy mounds, sure enough he spots the pale snout of the animal. May squeals with laughter, pointing toward the movement.

You put a finger to your lips, and ease her out of his grip. You get closer, whispering excitedly in response to the little girl's babbling. He doesn't follow, hands buried deep in the pockets of a brown leather jacket. 

We'll meet him. He plays it over and over and over in his head, letting it rattle and clank before sinking to the pit of his stomach. It tastes familiar: heavy and bitter. He's thinking of a man from a nicer background; kind, maybe, and softer. Walks around in suits and shiny shoes; who owns shit, who doesn't rent. Someone with softer hands than his own. 

“Mig?” 

Your hand is on his cheek. He’s pulled out of that haze, and straight into the warmth of your eyes. 

“Y-Yeah.” He croaks.

“You okay?” Your brow is scrunched up adorably, little Mayday hanging off of your arm. He can't make you worried.

“Just fine, sweetheart.”

“Well, come on then. I’d like you to meet someone.”

You pull him towards the Reptile Room; a brick and mortar building with the metallic sheen of a lizard on its face. You pull out more keys, sifting through a whole jumble. Before he can stop himself, he's staring at you; intense and stormy. That sinking feeling deepens. You look up, and give him a smile. Like emerging above troubled water, he takes a deep breath and feels a little lighter.

“Liv?” The door is open in no time. You're calling out into empty space, boots click-clacking on tile. These lights are on, but dim, matching the hot and humid air of the building. “Liv!”

Miguel pulls at his collar, following you deeper inside. A service door; amidst enclosures of leafy green, pebbles, sand, and more; leads to a modest lab. Amongst vials labelled ominously and rows of benches that smell like disinfectant, lies a nest of hair crudely tied back.

Liv pops out from behind a clunky monitor, beaming from ear to ear. They're older, with a sharp jaw and soft features framed by wrinkles and smile lines. 

“Doctor Olivia Octavius,” You smile, “Meet Miguel.”

Hand outstretched, Liv clears a path of pens and junk to reach his hand. It’s firm, he notices; with inked scribbles on the underside and a stack of bracelets at their wrist. They look familiar, but he can't quite place the name.

“How do you two know each other?” It spills out like May's mushy peas, and he hopes his sweaty palms aren't too noticeable.

“She used to work here - night shift.” Liv adjusts octagonal glasses, jewellery clinking.

“I was only a janitor, Mig.”

“The best damn janitor around. And good company during late nights.”

You get a playful nudge in the side for your trouble, and the two of you share a knowing look. 

“And who's this?” Liv crouches, attention turning to May who is engrossed by a tangle of colourful wires. 

“Her name's May.” He grunts.

“Your….” Doctor Octavius looks between you both, choosing their words carefully. “Daughter?”

“No, no.” You laugh - a little too much, for his liking. “We're babysitting - Liv, he's just my roommate.”

Miguel winces. Twice. He chooses to ignore the raised eyebrow and pursed lips, lest it blossom into any awkwardness.

A beat passes. “Does May like lizards?” 

She nods enthusiastically, hissing like un vibora. She’s almost there, he thinks, and Miguel can't help but smile.

“We've got some speckled lizards in tank 3 and 4 - donations from our freshwater contacts in Panama. You want to show her around?”

“Sure, but what about–”

“You guys head off, I've got some paperwork to finish off. 10 minutes? If she's gentle she can touch one or two.”

Satisfied, you nod, looking at him expectantly. Your eyes shine just like May's, and like his once upon a time, with a childlike wonder that makes his heart ache. You look happy. God. He'd do anything to keep you smiling like that.

But he's tired. Finally, the night has caught up with him, and he just doesn't have the energy anymore. 

“I'll stay.” He says gently. “Need to sit down for a bit anyways.”

He must imagine it, but for a second, you falter. Big, round eyes that shimmer in the harsh lab lights; and for a millisecond, he sees it dull. It’s gone in just a moment. And then you give him a warm smile, with a touch on his arm that seems to linger. The two of you beam, and you bound off with the kind of vigour he hasn't felt in years.

The click-clack of keys fills the room. He takes the opportunity to look around, noticing plaques upon plaques in the little corner of the lab. PhD. Masters. Accreditation from organisations with long, winding names. Doctor. Bioengineering. A foray into experimental physics. Pictures of her shaking hands with flashy names - and he recognises one with wide eyes.

“That's Marcus Kirby.” They barely look up.

“I… I know.”

“I worked with him before he headed up Alchemax, and well before the position was passed onto his son.” There's a hiss, and Miguel hears the violent rattle of the keyboard come to a stop. “I remember when he was still a kid, actually.”

He hesitates. “I watched one of your talks in Prague…. the one on metaphy–”

“Metaphysical dimorphism? Or was it the metagenesis of the perpetual plane? I can never remember these things.”

“Something like that.” He grunts.

“You were there? Should've asked for an autograph. Wouldn't be worth much, though.” A little snort catches him off guard, but he shakes his head.

“I was 17 - so, no.”

“Ouch.”

Ouch, indeed. He had loaned that particular talk from the library, a tape played over and over until Gabi had thrown a spoon at his head for the crime of astrophysics at breakfast.

“Do you still work with them?”

“Oh, I've been back there a couple of times; despite the complaints otherwise, mind you; their conference centre is world-class –” They stop themselves. “You meant–”

“I meant Alchemax.”

They snort. “We went our separate ways.” 

Why? He can't help but wonder; considering the equipment and brilliant minds the company has access to. Especially someone with the tenure and experience of Doctor Octavius - he could only dream of that kind of influence. Imagine the good he could do, the lives he could change…

Wonder turns to indignation, which turns to unfair assumptions; he looks around at the dingy workspace and curls up his nose. Disgust. From a well-respected, world-renowned bio-astrophysicist to this. Without the rose-tinted goggles of his youth, Miguel can't help but feel the walls closing in - a future career flashing before his eyes. From a dim rent-controlled apartment to an equally dingy desk in the corner of nowhere. He can't have done all of this for nowhere.

Doctor Octavius squints. The click-clack of keys stops. The air leaves the room, leaving only a cold chill.

“What exactly do you do?”

“Genetics and Bio-engineering department.” He puffs out his chest, but is unable to hide a slight shake to his voice. “I'm a lab assistant at Alchemax.”

Liv gives him a blank expression.

“So you're young.”

“I guess.”

“Unexperienced. You've barely taken your first steps into this world. I bet you still have dreams of saving the world. What are you working on, a cure for cancer?”

His jaw shifts.

“A joke.” They smile stiffly. “Research isn't like that. It's stuffy and bureaucratic and painfully capitalist. Everything requires a thousand yards of red tape until it doesn't; until they ask you to fudge numbers for the sake of shareholder value. Until they axe vital projects that affect the bottom line.” 

They step closer, boots thudding on cheap linoleum.

“It’s hard, to get them to see you. It's even harder when they've already made their mind up. I gave 12 years of my life to that place and you'd be wise to quit whilst you're ahead. Whilst you're young.”

Their eyes are empty. A quiet, cold rage swirling for the last 10, 15 years. He recognises it, of course he does; it's the very same rage that sits at the pit of his stomach - with the dense heat of a white dwarf. In that way, he thinks, he's collapsing in on himself; one that precedes an abcess into the very same perpetual plane Doctor Octavius built their career on. 

“Alchemax is doing things no one could've predicted 10 years ago - our genetics trials are world-class -” He starts a spiel he is well versed with – but it sounds hollow even under these dim lights. 

“Is that what Marcus is going with these days? Plasticky and insincere?”

“I–We are saving the world.”

He's met with a withering look; that echoes the indignant sighs from teachers of his youth.

He remembers small squares of paper, handed out to kids in the Reptile house. Brightly coloured facts pasted along its route; detailing the kind of research undertaken at the conservation centre. For a 7 year old Miguel, he was wholly absorbed with the worksheets - three words at the top of a blank table. Hypothesis. Observation. Analysis.

Hypothesis.

“If this a personal gripe–” 

“Of-fucking-course it's personal.” It was spat out, with more emotion he thought they were capable of. A pause. “Did you know Marcus Kirby commissioned the research for near-unlimited nuclear energy? Did you know we actually built it?”

“You're–” His throat is dry. “You continue to make claims without evidentiary basis. 

Observation.

A slight bobbing of an Adam's apple. The tightening of the invisible string that slowly winds their shoulders back.

“We could have powered hundreds of thousands – millions of homes. For much cheaper and cleaner than what we have now; clogged up by fingers sticky with oil money, most likely. And the proprietary technology is collecting dust, somewhere in that fucking building. Knowing Marcus, he's using it as a paperweight.”

And his head is a blur. Miguel isn't stupid; he sees Alchemax for what it is. A business, at the end of the day. He thought childlike naivete was a distant bygone but for some reason, he's shaken.

Can he believe what he hears? Is it just personal pettiness at the root of all this venom? Sure, he doesn't get invited to after work drinks. Sure, he isn't involved in the office gossip; in signing birthday cards and impromptu lunches out. Sure, just once, he'd like to get more than lab reports and risk assessments dumped on his station. He even finds himself missing stilted small talk; picking his fingernails as his coworkers talk around him, like he isn't even there. No man is an island in his field of work. For every discovery and pseudo-cure-for-cancer there are hundreds of lab techs doing the grunt work. So he knuckles down and does the only thing he knows how to do. He keeps his head down; because he already has a job to do, he doesn't need to be liked.

Analysis.

He sees it now, clear as day. A coffee cup gripped too tightly, a flash of fear when he clears his throat. Little comments, and then big ones: 

Drug tests at your stage are mandatory, O'Hara. 

Ronnie’s been working here a long time. There's no need to be aggressive, O'Hara. 

We want you front and centre in this picture, O'Hara, but don't forget to take out the trash on your way out.  

But what he has always attributed to the status quo, to his prickly personality, to his distinct lack of charm and unwillingness to be loved - could it be something else? When they look at him, who do they see? Is it O'Hara, the underpaid, awkward intern - or Miguel, brutish and brash and scary?

A great crash and in its crescendo is Doctor Octavius, hand outstretched, half bitten fingernails and papercuts all the same. He's different, he knows that. He's intimidating and gruff with a slight propensity for violence. But he's saving the world! He’s making a difference, one meagre test tube at a time.

And then there’s that voice again, hoarse and buried deep deep down at the pit of his stomach. With all that they've asked him to do… what does he have to show for it?

You come to mind. Kind eyes and an even kinder smile. The way you look at him, the way you touch him - like he's delicate, like he's capable of breaking. He thinks of soft nights spent in your arms and between even softer sheets… and not once have you shirked away or asked him to flatten. Acceptance; whole-hearted and unconditional; tastes much too sweet between your thighs.

“Mig!” He hears a squeal from out and down the corridor. Footsteps on the linoleum are followed by a pitter-patter, before you and May arrive at the door giggling uncontrollably. 

“You okay, sweetheart?” He softens like butter under a hot knife, because of course he does. It’s you.

“Come look, come look!”

He throws a glance to Liv, their white hot grip on the desk relaxing. They tuck a strand of loose hair back and sit down, shuffling through papers like nothing had happened. The tension dissipates - that was your doing, he thinks.

“It's a… Mig, God, there's a tank with an oc…”

“Cephalopod, actually.” Doctor Octavius smiles, picking up a battered coffee mug to lead the way. “You would not believe the hoops I had to jump through to get her here, but isn't she a beauty…”

He trails behind, flashing you and May a shaky smile. The frazzled scientist is knee deep in another story - betrayal, heartbreak, a tentacled hero, and more. But when Liv looks back, for a moment, he sees it: the very same look he had given unapologetically just a few minutes ago.

Pity.

_

_

_

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[evangelical04]

A Single Daffodil || 1

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.7K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut

Author's Note: hello! i'm Eva and this is my first fic on tumblr ever! I've been a reader for so long and I've always wanted to write my own stories, so I figured I finally would. I know it’s kind of short but I promise the other parts will be longer. Please give me any feedback you have and let me know if you'd like there to be a tag list or anything! I hope you guys like it!! p.s. I'm totally posting this instead of doing my morphology homework that's due in 15 minutes

masterlist / next

The door to your childhood home looked artificially welcoming. There were too many flowers lining the walls encasing the looming wooden door. The grass on the lawn just was a bit too green without a blade out of place and the paved walkway was freshly powerwashed and missing even a speck of dirt. You let out the deep breath you were holding and gently took hold of the overly ornate bronze knocker adorning the painted wood of the door. Two loud thuds rang out as you knocked and the door quickly opened afterwards.

“Hello, Miss Y/N, your parents have been expecting you.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Mrs. Oh,” you responded quietly, nodding at the grey-haired woman. She shot you a sympathetic smile before ushering you in, taking your coat and carefully laying it over her arm. After removing your shoes, you followed her past the foyer to the living room where your parents awaited. 

You knew what was coming, you knew that this had been decided long before you were born. Yet, you still felt unprepared. You had grown comfortable, living in your simple apartment in Gangnam and your quiet work routine. Biting your lip, you reprimanded yourself internally, You should’ve brought this shit up in therapy before it happened.

“Here we are, Miss Y/N,” Mrs. Oh said, snapping you out of your self-pity session. You nodded gratefully at her, sending a small smile her way. Her eyebrows wove together in her own pity-ridden expression and she quickly whispered, “Good luck,” while exiting swiftly. You steeled your nerves and forced your chin up high, knowing that you’d most likely cower inwards as soon as you faced your parents anyway.

Stepping into the room, you noted the almost intervention-like setup your parents had arranged themselves in, with your father sitting proudly in his reclining, leather armchair, clad in a dark blue quarter zip and khaki pants. Your mother stood facing the fireplace, arms crossed, in a simple and elegant turquoise dress and hair tied up in a tight and neat bun, with her baby hairs smoothed back to prevent any imperfection. You could almost imagine her pinched mouth, forever encased in a stern and unamused expression. 

“Hello father, mother,” you started, trying to smooth the slight trembling in your voice. Your mother turned around, eyes narrowing at your form, “Sit down.”

You promptly obeyed.

“Your father and I have decided on your marriage. It’ll be to the Min family, to Min Yoongi.”

“What? To him? But,” you began protesting but your mother quickly cut you off with a steely glare. 

“It has already been decided. Your wedding will be in eight months. I’ll forward you the invitation list and you can add three people of your choosing. You’ll be having dinner with us and the Min family on Friday at six. I’ll have Yujin send you an email with further details. Don’t be late.” 

You looked to your father in a desperate plea but were only met with stony silence and a passive face. You turned back to your mother and registered the composed expression painting her face. Your fate had been decided, and it had not worked in your favor at all. Rising slowly, you set your hands by your side and bowed towards your parents, “I understand. I’ll be there.”

Your mother swiftly exited the room, evidently deciding the conversation was over. You could hear her dangling earrings tinkling against each other in what felt like a mocking melody. Your father calmly produced a cigar from the table next to him and lit up, no longer acknowledging you either. You let out another slow breath and walked out. 

Collecting your coat from Mrs. Oh, who tried to give you a comforting shoulder squeeze but it felt more like condolences than anything, and made your way to your car parked in front of the gate closing off your parents’ home. 

That’s it then.

You felt eerily calm yet stressed as you started up your car and carefully reversed out, making sure to avoid hitting the carved statues your parents had in front of the iron gate. As you drove home, your mind started racing with the information you had been relayed. 

Min Yoongi as your soon-to-be-husband? What irony.

Does he even know you exist?

Will you be able to survive this?

Hand gripping the steering wheel hard, you quickly dialed the most recent number in your contact list. She answered after only two rings.

“Y/N! Are you still alive? How’d it go?”

“Hi Joohee, not great. I’m completely and totally fucked.”

Joohee chuckled on the other end of the line, “Want to come over?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “I was hoping you’d offer.”

“I’ll get the booze.”

“Min Yoongi? Now that’s ironic,” Joohee chuckled, seemingly at your expense. You shot a glare her way which she shrugged in response to.

“How long have you been crushing on him? This is, like, practically fate. Maybe this’ll be a good thing.”

You scoffed in response, “A good thing? Joohee, be serious. The last thing I want to do is get with my long-time infatuation, not crush, by forcing him to be my husband.” You took another swig of wine. It was a cheap pink Moscato, perfect for nights like these with Joohee. 

Joohee shoved a pillow in your direction in an effort to gain more room on the couch you had stuffed yourselves onto. The trash reality dating show you had on in the background was showing a rather dramatic fight but you paid it no attention, “It’s just…I haven’t talked to him in the last, what, five years? He probably doesn’t even remember me. And you’ve heard the rumors, I don’t think he’ll be exactly thrilled at giving up his playboy lifestyle just because he has to marry me.”

“What if he doesn’t give that up?”

You stared at Joohee in slight surprise, “What do you mean?”

“Like, what if he says that he doesn’t want to stop hooking up with other people? What will you do?”

Your brows furrowed as you considered the question, “I don’t know, I guess. I mean, I can’t really stop him. I guess I’d just have to live with it.”

Joohee hummed in response before continuing on, “Well, this is happening whether you like it or not. Just try to make it amicable at the least. Maybe it’ll work out, you never know. Just look at Jin oppa.”

Kim Seokjin, Joohee’s older brother and a friend of Min Yoongi’s, was arranged by Joohee’s parents to marry Song Yeonhee, and the two had seemingly fallen in love after a rocky start to their nuptials. You had seen them recently at Yeonhee’s baby shower and she had been glowing, looking unbelievably happy. You recalled the loving gaze that Seokjin had sent her during the party and the pang of envy you felt, knowing that you would likely never get to experience that. 

“Yeah, well,” you responded, “He’s an outlier. Most of these types of marriages don’t work out. I have a feeling I’m going to be a part of that group.”

“You’re too negative, you haven’t even met him for dinner yet. Maybe he’ll surprise you. You just have to give him the chance.”

You mulled over Joohee’s words and nodded, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll see how Friday goes.”

You weren’t technically late. 

While you still had about 5 minutes before the dinner officially started, you weren’t early, and that was unacceptable by your mother’s standards. A mini emergency at your job had left you scrambling to leave on time, only noticing the late hour when one of your coworkers asked if they should order take-out for the team. After profusely apologizing to your team, they encouraged you to go, practically shooing you out the door, claiming they could handle the situation for now. 

Which left you barely on time to park in the lot outside the ridiculously fancy Japanese restaurant your mother’s assistant, Yujin, had sent to your email earlier that week. You quickly stepped out, smoothing out your dress that you had kept in the backseat of your car and had hastily changed into in the parking lot of your office. Tugging down the hem, you took a moment to look at your reflection in your car window and attempt to look more presentable. Your hair was slightly frizzy but nicely combed back, and you had extremely minimal makeup on from only remembering last minute this morning, and your eyes looked tired. 

You felt tired.

Shaking off your nerves, you headed inside the restaurant giving your family name to the hostess who took you back to a private room where your mother and father were waiting. Your father spared you only a cursory glance before returning his gaze to his phone and your mother looked you up and down before uttering a curt, “Hm.” You held in an eye roll and quickly sat next to them, trying to calm your heart rate for the sure-to-be exhilarating dinner ahead. At six on the dot, you spotted the same hostess leading the Min family towards your table. Your mother stood, welcoming them and urging them to sit down. You stood as well, a little less welcoming, a lot more obligated. 

Mrs. Min looked like the epitome of a rich older woman with dark black hair combed back and glittering jewels lining her ears and neck, complementing the midnight blue gown she had on. Mr. Min was dressed quite similarly to your father, in a simple suit, the only difference being his starkly greying hair providing quite the contrast to his dark blazer. Close behind them was the person you were the most anxious about meeting, Min Yoongi. His pitch-black hair complemented his slightly tanned skin nicely and his feline eyes remained straightforward and untelling. He was dressed in a simple black suit as well with an expensive-looking watch adoring his wrist. His mouth was closed tightly and he did not smile at your mother when she greeted him, not at your father when they sat down across from your family, and certainly not at you.

Your hands nervously played with each other in your lap as you took your seat again. You listened quietly as the mothers exchanged pleasantries and the fathers gruffly greeted each other. You were trying to avoid looking at Yoongi as much as possible.

“So, Y/N,” Mrs. Min started, making you startle to attention, “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine, ma’am.”

“Ah, so only a bit younger than Yoongi. That’s good then. How is your work?”

You felt your father stiffen next to you and prayed your discomfort didn’t show on your face, “Good. I’m in the middle of producing a new project with my team.”

“How lovely. Although I’m sure you’ll be leaving that soon after the wedding. You won’t need to work then after all,” Mrs. Min smiled at you. It was hard to read her so you couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not, though if you had to guess, it was likely the latter. Your job was a point of contention with your family. Choosing to work in a video game production company did not go over well, and if your older brother, Kyungsoo, hadn’t been in line to inherit Seo Industries, you would’ve never been able to keep it. 

You smiled awkwardly in response to Mrs. Min and returned your gaze to the empty plate in front of you. 

As the conversation dragged on, you couldn’t help but steal a glance or two at Yoongi, who was periodically checking his phone and looking permanently bored of the conversation. Not that you could blame him. The dull talk of social circle gossip and work was beginning to get grating, and even the introduction of fancy entrees wasn’t enough to stop your stomach from feeling queasy. 

Yoongi had yet to say one word to you. To be fair, you hadn’t said anything to him either, but he had barely looked in your direction since he entered the private dining room. How exactly were you supposed to start a conversation with that? 

Soon after the desserts came out and were finished, with you politely refusing, feeling like you were going to throw up any second, Mrs. Min suddenly pushed her chair back and stood. She looked down at you and Yoongi and announced, “Well. I think we can leave them to talk on their own for a bit. Why don’t you join us for a drink at our home, Eujin-ssi?”

At the sound of her name, your mother stood, nodding, “Yes, that sounds lovely. Let’s let them get to know each other a bit more.” With that, the parents swiftly gathered their belongings and left, before you could even protest, leaving you staring open-mouthed at the exit. 

Slowly, you turned to face Yoongi and were startled, seeing his eyes already boring into yours. 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Yoongi stated, his deep and stable voice wrapping around you for the first time that night, “This marriage means nothing to me. It shouldn’t to you either. I’ll do my thing and you do yours. Most importantly, stay out of my life except when necessary. Just because my parents are forcing my hand doesn’t mean I have to adhere to every little thing. Nothing will be changing except for our living situation and a ring on our fingers.”

A little stunned, you could only stutter a passive agreement and watch as he rose and left without sparing you another glance. 

Letting out a deep breath, you closed your eyes, trying to understand what had just transpired. Your heart raced as you quickly stacked up the dishes to be a bit easier for the busboy and quickly made your way to your car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, you vaguely registered Min Yoongi’s cold demeanor towards you.

It seems he didn’t remember you after all.

The dress you had on was itchy, but you knew if you complained, you would only end up with a sharp stinging on your cheek and tear-filled eyes. You had escaped the boring party with grown-ups and were sitting outside on a stone bench in the garden, trying to remedy your hurt feelings at the hands of the mean, older boy, Hyunsoo. 

He had confidently poked fun at your appearance, saying the dress was a bit too small on you and that your parents should’ve sprung for a size that could fit an elephant instead. He continued on, saying your parents must’ve forgotten to vaccinate you for measles considering all the red spots on your face that were actually acne. Being a tender twelve years of age and going through the worst bits of puberty, his words hit you hard and you quickly ran from the scene into the garden. 

Unable to contain your tears, they slipped down your face in large droplets and soaked into the front of your dress. 

“Hey, you.”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy a couple of years older than you standing in front of you, black hair shining in the light from the garden lamps. His sharp eyes trailed down your tear-stained face. You quickly turned away in shame, not wanting to undergo any more embarrassment tonight. 

“Hey, snot-face.”

You shot him a glare but softened when you saw his hand extended, holding a handkerchief, his face turned slightly away, “Use this. You look ugly while you’re crying.”

You gingerly took the cloth from his hands and blew your nose, noticing him wince out of the corner of your eye. 

“Thank you,” you managed and he only rolled his eyes in response. 

“Yeah, whatever. I think Joohee’s looking for you,” he grumbled before turning on his heel and stalking off back towards the party. 

Confused, your eyes followed after him, not knowing how he knew that Joohee would be looking for you. You unfolded the handkerchief and noticed an elegant embroidering of three letters in black near the bottom, MYG. 

Oh, you realized, Min Yoongi. Joohee’s older brother was friends with him but you had never seen him before. Joohee had described him as kind of rude and quite closed off, but you disagreed. He certainly didn’t seem that bad.

masterlist / next

[lumilovessmut]

Spring Heat - Zhongli x Traveller!FemReader

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Credits : @seofim on Twitter

TW: Breeding, creampie, penetration, mentions of pregnancy, established relationship.

A/n: sorry this is short, will try make more quality content.

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All that could be heard is skin slapping against skin, your pretty and pathetic moans and whimpers and his godly groans. Zhongli your husband being part dragon does nothing but bring trouble to you in spring. His relentless thrusts and you gushing around him makes his head go in a frenzy and your scent tickled his nose, he wanted to breed you, wanted to start a family with you.

"Ahhhh- y/n you feel so good, so good. My good girl and pretty and obedient baby, I wanna make you a mommy can I pretty please, I will make sure I be a good husband and a good dad, can I? Can I please...." whatever Zhongli was telling nothing went into your small head, too fucked out on cock and all you heard was breed. Zhongli suddenly halted his moments, "baby look at me, I SAID LOOK AT ME! If I am going to breed you, I need your consent baby, think and tell otherwise I am ready to wait for you." Your fogged up mind slowly clearing. "Is it fine, with you?" You asked in a quiet voice. "Yes darling, whatever you want is what I want"," Then can I have your babies?" You could feel his cock throb inside of you. "Of course my love, I will make sure that when you leave this bed there will be a child in you." He said while suddenly thrusting into you.

You guys had been going at it for 6 hours, archons only knew how many times you came. He came inside you again and again, the sheets were a mess. Almost all fluids were gone from your body, tears, your cum and his cum, drool.... Zhongli loved the look on your face, he has always wanted to start a family with and seeing families together when coming back from work did not help this thoughts in the slightest, it was spring festival, you and Zhongli had decided to go there, when he came home the sight of you made him go into heat. Wearing a simple turquoise and baby blue hanfu, watering the herbs on the kitchen window sill, the evening light falling on your face, and then you turned and saw him, a small smile unintentionally formed on your face upon seeing his arrival.

He sweared to himself and kissed your lips until they were swollen. "Zhongli- ahh tooo much can't anymore please I- you, ca-can't anymore..." "It's okay, darling, one more round just- fuck one last time, baby one last fat load and then we are done I beg you, fuck--" He released inside you once again unintentionally making you cum again, scratches littered his back and his baby hair stuck to his forehead.

He saw the bulge of your stomach, and rubbed it thinking just how swollen you will be once your and his child starts developing in there, he slowly and gently kissed your tummy then your eyes and then your lips, "darling sorry if I went a little hard on you, I am sure to take care of you and our child, don't worry for now rest peacefully I will clean you up." He carried you, with that you started drifting of to sleep but before you did you whispered with whatever strength was left, "I love Zhongli." He smiled and nuzzled in the crook of your neck, "I love you too, the both of you." That night Zhongli for sure knew a life was being created in you and he promised himself to protect the both you from any danger.

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Hello all, this is my first ever post on tumblr! This is a fic from my Wattpad story.....you guys can follow me there also for more genshin impact stories!!!

Love you all!

[lvmoure]

His Five Love Language CS55

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x reader

Summary: Carlos Sainz and his five love languages during your vacation in Bora Bora with him.

Warnings: none, pure fluff

A/N: follow me on Wattpad: Snxzlvr

Words of Affirmation

The sky is painted in shades of pink and gold as the sun dips slowly below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the sparkling turquoise water. The air is humid and fragrant, tinged with the scent of blooming hibiscus and the salty breeze from the ocean. You lean back into the soft white sand, the coolness beneath you a welcome contrast to the day’s warmth, and beside you, Carlos is lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that warm, unwavering gaze that’s become so familiar.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at you like this,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, yet laced with a kind of intensity that makes your heart skip.

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes. I was starting to wonder if I had something on my face.”

He reaches out, brushing a thumb gently along your cheek, his touch feather-light. “No, no. No imperfections. Just… you. Even the way your eyes catch the light here, it’s like they were made to reflect these sunsets.”

The sincerity in his tone makes you pause. You’ve heard compliments from him before, of course, but tonight there’s something more. Something that feels deeply honest, like he’s been holding these thoughts inside and they’re finally spilling out under the soft glow of the island sunset.

“Carlos…” you begin, your cheeks warming under his gaze, “you’re going to spoil me with all these compliments.”

He grins, that mischievous spark flashing in his eyes. “Is that so bad? I want you to feel spoiled. You deserve it,” he says, taking your hand and lacing his fingers through yours. “Every word I say is true, you know. Even if you think I’m just being cheesy.”

Your thumb traces circles over his hand, grounding you as he speaks, because something about the way he’s looking at you feels… monumental. As if, for Carlos, seeing you here like this has cemented something unspoken between you both.

“You know,” he continues, gazing out over the water for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, “I’m not sure if I say it enough. But…you make me feel like I’ve found something rare. Something I didn’t even know I was looking for.”

The words settle over you like the gentle waves lapping at the shore. It’s more than a compliment; it’s an admission, one that seems to come from somewhere deep within him. You squeeze his hand, leaning closer as you both sink further into this rare, quiet moment.

“Do you remember,” he asks suddenly, “that time in Barcelona when we got completely lost looking for that restaurant?” He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the memory. “We must have walked for miles. And I was so sure I knew the way.”

You laugh, nodding. “You were absolutely certain. And yet, every turn was the wrong one.”

Carlos laughs, the sound rich and full, echoing into the quiet evening. “Yes, every turn was wrong, but the whole time, you never complained once. Not once. And I thought…” He pauses, running a hand through his hair, his gaze softening. “I thought, who else would be this patient with me? Who else would laugh and say, ‘It’s okay, Carlos, we’ll find it eventually,’ even when I clearly had no idea where we were?”

His voice lowers, and he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers. “You make me feel like no matter how lost I am, I’ll find my way. Because I have you.”

The words settle deep within you, and for a moment, you’re at a loss for words. Carlos’s honesty, the way he speaks straight from his heart—it’s overwhelming in the best possible way. And as he continues to hold your gaze, you can see the sincerity behind every word.

“Carlos…” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper, “that means more than you know.”

He gives you a small, almost shy smile. “Good. Because I don’t think I could ever say it enough.”

You spend the next few moments in comfortable silence, the sound of the waves filling the space between you. The sky has grown darker now, the stars beginning to blink into view, scattered like diamonds across the inky blue canvas. The world feels like it’s shrinking, just you and Carlos here on this beach, wrapped in each other’s presence.

Carlos shifts slightly, leaning in closer until his face is just inches from yours. “Do you know what else I love about you?” he asks softly, his voice a low murmur.

You raise an eyebrow, smiling. “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I am. But it’s true. I love the way you’re so… kind to everyone around you. I’ve seen the way you go out of your way to make people feel comfortable, even when you’re tired, or when you think no one’s watching. You’re… you’re just good, in a way I can’t quite explain.” His gaze meets yours, earnest and open. “And I admire that. More than I can put into words.”

You feel a warmth spreading through you at his words, a kind of glow that makes you feel seen and valued in a way that’s rare. “Thank you, Carlos,” you whisper, reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “I don’t think anyone’s ever told me that before.”

“Well, they should have,” he says, a little defensively, before his expression softens. “I just… I want you to know, I see all these things about you. And I love every single one of them.”

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and then another to the tip of your nose, his touch soft and tender. “You have no idea how much you mean to me,” he murmurs against your skin.

As the night deepens, Carlos continues to open up, sharing memories and thoughts he’s never told anyone else. With every word, he paints a picture of his admiration, his respect, and his deep affection for you, his words wrapping around you like a warm blanket, making you feel cherished and adored.

And as he holds you there, under the starlit sky, you realize that this—these words of affirmation, his open and honest love—is a gift you never knew you needed.

Quality Time

The soft rustle of palm leaves fills the air as you step barefoot onto the wooden deck of the bungalow, your eyes squinting slightly from the warm glow of the morning sun. The turquoise waters of Bora Bora stretch out endlessly, lapping gently against the shore, and the quiet hum of the island seems to slow time itself.

Carlos is standing at the railing of the deck, looking out over the water, his back to you. The sunlight catches the strands of his hair, turning them to gold as he turns his head and smiles when he hears your footsteps.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice deep, a touch raspy from sleep. “I was wondering when you’d wake up. Thought I’d let you sleep in.”

You stretch, feeling the slight ache in your muscles from the day before, but it’s a welcome sensation, a reminder of how much you’ve walked, how much you’ve laughed, how much you’ve shared with Carlos in these first few days.

The island has a way of making you feel like time slows down. Like every minute here is yours, and yours alone.

“I needed that sleep,” you admit, smiling back at him. You step closer to the railing, standing beside him and taking in the sight of the vibrant lagoon, the corals shimmering beneath the surface of the water.

Carlos reaches out, resting a hand on your back, a small, grounding gesture that makes you feel safe, settled, and content. “I’m glad. You deserve it.”

For a few moments, neither of you speaks. You simply take in the serenity of the place, the waves gently crashing against the shore, the scent of saltwater filling the air. You can’t remember the last time you felt so… peaceful. There are no deadlines, no obligations, just the endless beauty of the world around you and the person standing beside you.

“So,” Carlos says after a while, breaking the silence. He turns to face you, a playful glint in his eyes. “What do you want to do today? No plans, no schedules. Just you and me. I figured we could enjoy the whole day, no rush.”

The thought of spending the whole day with him, uninterrupted and unhurried, fills you with a quiet thrill. It’s rare—especially with his busy schedule—that you get this kind of undivided attention. And somehow, it feels like the perfect opportunity to really connect with him.

“I don’t know,” you muse, looking out at the horizon for a moment. “Maybe we could go snorkeling? Or take one of those boat tours?”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, glancing over at you. “I like the idea of snorkeling, but I think it might be better if we just… let the day unfold. What do you think?”

You smile, already feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm. He has a way of making everything sound exciting, even the simplest of ideas. You nod, feeling the peacefulness of the island seep into you.

“Let’s just see where the day takes us,” you agree.

He grins widely, his eyes lighting up. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

The next few hours unfold in the most effortless way, the two of you moving in tandem, like a dance. You start with a leisurely breakfast on the deck, with fresh fruits, croissants, and tropical juices. Carlos keeps you laughing, telling stories from his childhood, recounting the time he tried (and failed) to make his first attempt at cooking a meal for his family.

“I swear, I thought it was a good idea at the time, besides I was just 9 or 8 years old that time,” he says, shaking his head, a laugh escaping him. “I had everything ready—the pasta, the sauce, everything. But somehow, I managed to burn the pasta, over-salt the sauce, and even the salad was soggy. I think it was the most tragic dinner in family history.”

You chuckle, imagining the scene. “What did your family do?”

“My dad… well, let’s just say he’s a man of few words,” Carlos explains, shaking his head with a wry smile. “He took one bite and said, ‘Carlos, you’re a great driver, but cooking is not your forte.’”

You laugh harder, the sound of it echoing in the quiet morning.

“You’re lucky he was so patient with you,” you tease. “Most parents would have been horrified.”

“I don’t know,” Carlos says, leaning back in his chair, his hand resting on the edge of the table. “I think my mom was just relieved when I started getting good at something. I’m pretty sure she still talks about it to this day, just to remind me how I was, uh, not the best in the kitchen.”

You smile at the image of his family, the warmth in his voice as he speaks about them making you feel even closer to him. And as the conversation flows effortlessly from topic to topic, you realize how rare it is to have this kind of ease with someone—to just be present in the moment without the pressure of external distractions.

After breakfast, you both decide to take a walk along the beach, your feet sinking into the soft sand with every step. The island feels endless, its beauty unmatched, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like you have all the time in the world.

Carlos takes your hand, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. “This is perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and content. “Just us. No rush. No one else to think about.”

You nod in agreement, your hand squeezing his. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ve never felt so… at peace. I could stay here forever.”

For a moment, Carlos is quiet, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. He looks down at your intertwined hands, his expression softening. “I’m glad we’re here. With everything that’s happened this year, I just wanted some time to really be with you. No distractions. Just us.”

You smile up at him, your heart swelling at his words. You’ve always admired his focus and determination, but in this moment, you see a side of him that’s rarely exposed—a side that craves simplicity and connection.

And that connection deepens as the day unfolds. You spend hours swimming in the warm, crystal-clear waters, exploring the coral reefs and laughing as fish of every color swim past you. Carlos is more than just a partner here; he’s your guide, showing you the beauty of the world through his eyes.

Later, as you both lay on a hammock by the water, wrapped in towels, he turns to you with a soft smile. “You know, I could never get bored of this,” he says, his voice steady and content. “Spending time with you like this… it’s all I ever need.”

You look at him, your heart beating a little faster, and realize, with perfect clarity, that this is what matters most. No distractions, no noise, just the two of you, immersed in the simple, quiet moments that create a bond deeper than anything words could describe.

As the sun begins to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, you and Carlos sit in comfortable silence, watching the colors shift across the horizon. Every moment feels like it’s suspended in time, a beautiful snapshot of the life you’re building together.

For once, nothing else matters—only the shared moments between you, as if the whole world has faded away, leaving just you and him, side by side, in this perfect corner of the earth.

“This day… this whole trip,” Carlos says, his voice breaking the silence, “I want to remember it forever. Because it’s us. Just us, without anything else.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence and the weight of his words. “I’ll remember it too,” you whisper. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

And for the rest of the evening, you remain there, together—no rush, no expectations, just the two of you, fully immersed in each other’s company, sharing a bond that feels as timeless and deep as the ocean that surrounds you.

Physical touch

The sun is high in the sky, casting its golden glow over the sparkling turquoise waters of Bora Bora, the waves gently kissing the soft sand at the shore. You’re lounging on the beach, the warmth of the sun sinking into your skin, with the sound of distant laughter and the occasional seagull overhead. Beside you, Carlos sits close, his presence a constant, the easy comfort of his hand resting on the small of your back. Even in this paradise, there’s no escaping the magnetic pull between you two—the connection that, at times, feels like it could burn the very air you breathe.

Carlos’s fingers move in slow circles against your skin, an absent gesture as he watches the water, but you can feel it—the heat of his touch. It’s like a constant reminder of his closeness, of his attention, and of the fact that, in this moment, you belong to him, as much as he belongs to you.

You shift slightly, turning to face him. The soft breeze ruffles his hair, and there’s a faint trace of salt in the air. His gaze flickers to you, a glint of something playful in his eyes. "Is it just me, or does this place keep getting better every time I look at you?"

You chuckle, rolling your eyes affectionately. "Carlos, you’re terrible. Complimenting me every few minutes." You say it in jest, but his hands are still there—soft, warm, secure—and it sends a flutter through you.

He shrugs, unfazed. "Can’t help it. I’ve got a lot to say. You’re a distraction, you know? I can't think of anything else when you're around."

You laugh again, brushing the hair out of your face, but something in the air shifts. It’s as if the world knows this moment belongs to the two of you, and for the first time today, you notice the group of young men a few meters away, standing under the shade of a large umbrella, trying to catch your eye. They’re talking and laughing among themselves, but their glances flick towards you every so often, their gazes lingering longer than they should.

Carlos notices too.

The mood changes subtly, but it’s enough for you to sense the tension in his posture, the tightening of his jaw, the way his hand shifts from your back to your thigh, resting there with possessive certainty. He leans slightly closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “Don’t even think about looking at them. They’re not worth your attention.”

You glance over at him, raising an eyebrow in amusement. “Carlos, we’re on vacation. They’re just… admiring the view.”

His hand moves, his thumb brushing lightly along the inside of your knee, a soft, but deliberate gesture that sends a shiver through you. “I don’t care about that,” he says, his voice low and controlled, a hint of possessiveness lacing his words. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you. You’re mine.”

The heat in his words sparks something in you, a deeper pull, a desire for more of his attention. His touch, even casual, holds an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. You look at him now, your gaze meeting his, and for a moment, time slows. There’s no one else on this beach, no other sound, just the two of you and the magnetic force that binds you together.

"Is that how you feel?" you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, but the challenge is there in your eyes.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your temple as his hand moves from your knee up to the curve of your waist. His fingers graze the exposed skin beneath your tank top, a touch so light it might have been an accident, yet it sends sparks to every nerve in your body.

“I can’t keep my hands off you,” he admits, his breath warm against your skin. “You’ve got me completely tangled up in you.”

Before you can respond, one of the beach boys—one of the group eyeing you earlier—takes a step closer, a broad grin on his face as he confidently approaches. He’s dressed casually, his sunglasses perched on his nose, his stance easy and relaxed. “Hey there,” he says, his voice smooth and clearly directed at you, a little too forward for your liking. “Having a good day?”

Carlos’s hand tightens at your side, his fingers pressing more firmly into your waist as he shifts, subtly, to place himself between you and the newcomer. The move is so effortless, so smooth, it feels almost like a shield. His posture straightens, a slight tension in his body signaling that he’s aware of the intrusion, aware of the potential threat.

The beach boy doesn't miss it. His smile falters just a bit, but he doesn’t back off. “I was just making sure you’re okay, you know? Bora Bora is a paradise, but you can always use some good company.”

Carlos doesn't even look at him. His hand on your waist subtly pulls you closer, his palm sliding down to your hip as he presses his body against yours. It’s an unspoken statement—one that makes it clear you’re not available for anyone else’s attention.

You glance at Carlos, raising an eyebrow at his territorial display. “Carlos,” you say, a little amused, but your voice drops slightly as his hand slides down the curve of your back, guiding you even closer to him. The physical closeness sends a spark of heat through you.

He looks down at you, his lips curling into a smirk as he pulls you slightly tighter against him. “What? Don’t you like me taking care of you?” His words are light, but his eyes hold a possessive edge, a fire that is unmistakable.

The beach boy, noticing the subtle shift in the air, decides it’s time to back off, retreating with a muttered “Sorry, didn’t mean to intrude.” You don’t need to look to know that Carlos has already won this silent battle, and the stranger is well aware of it.

As the young man moves away, Carlos’s grip loosens on you, but only just enough for you to breathe. His hand slides from your waist to your back again, his fingers gentle as they trace up your spine. The touch is soft, almost reverent, but it still feels like an anchor. It feels like he’s marking you—claiming you, even in the most subtle of ways.

“You’re mine,” he repeats, as if needing to remind you. His voice, low and steady, holds a tenderness now, an intimacy that only you understand. “I don’t care about anyone else, especially not them.”

You’re quiet for a moment, soaking in the intensity of his words, the heat of his touch. “You’re very possessive, you know that?”

Carlos looks down at you, his expression softening for a second, before that familiar spark returns to his eyes. “I don’t apologize for it. I don’t want anyone else getting close to you. You’re too precious to me.”

His lips find yours then, urgent, possessive, and hungry. His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, pulling you deeper into the kiss as his other hand slides to your hip. He doesn’t care who’s watching now. His lips taste yours with an intensity that takes your breath away, as if he’s determined to imprint this moment, this feeling, onto your very soul.

When you finally pull away, breathless, you see the raw, honest emotion in his eyes. There’s no holding back now, no pretending. He’s laid bare before you—his need, his desire, his love—and in return, you give him everything. You place your hands on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, knowing that this connection between you is unshakable.

“You’re right,” you whisper, leaning in again to kiss the corner of his mouth, the soft stubble grazing your lips. “I am yours.”

Carlos’s eyes darken at your words, and he pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands sliding over your body with a sense of urgency that makes you dizzy. You feel him, all of him, every inch of his body pressed against yours, his hands roaming with a possessiveness that sends waves of heat flooding through you.

When he pulls away, just enough to look you in the eyes, he says, his voice thick with desire, “Don’t forget it.”

And as the sun sets over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you can’t help but feel the weight of his words settle into your heart. In this moment, you belong to him, and he belongs to you. And nothing—nothing at all—will ever change that.

Acts of Service

The golden hues of sunset spill across the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink, orange, and purple as you sit on the edge of the patio, your legs tucked beneath you, overlooking the lush greenery and the tranquil waters. Bora Bora, with its endless beauty, has become a backdrop for you and Carlos—an idyllic paradise where time feels like it stands still, and the world outside the two of you simply ceases to matter.

You’ve spent the day exploring the island, hiking through its hidden trails, laughing at the little things along the way—like when Carlos, in his infinite charm, slipped on a rock while trying to show off his balance. You both had laughed so hard that even the birds in the trees seemed to join in. But now, as the day winds down and the warmth of the sun begins to fade, a different kind of peacefulness settles over you.

Carlos, as always, is attuned to your every need, like a quiet force of nature that never tires of making you feel cared for. He’s always been this way—the kind of man who listens to your smallest requests and sees to them without hesitation. And today, just like every other day in Bora Bora, that care has been both subtle and constant.

You lean back into the lounge chair, closing your eyes, letting the warmth of the air wrap around you like a soft blanket. You’re almost lulled into a sense of serenity when you hear Carlos’s voice behind you, warm and steady, as he approaches.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks, his voice full of concern, though his tone is casual, like it’s second nature to make sure you’re okay.

You nod, smiling as you open your eyes and meet his gaze. There he stands, looking as effortlessly handsome as always, his hair tousled from the wind, a soft smile playing at his lips. But it’s not his smile or his appearance that catches your attention—no, it’s the way his gaze lingers on you, his eyes scanning you as if you’re something precious, something worthy of his time.

“I’m great,” you reply, the sincerity in your voice echoing the calm contentment that’s washed over you. “This place is perfect. And so are you, for making everything feel so effortless.”

Carlos grins at your compliment, his eyes lighting up with that trademark charm of his. He steps closer, pausing for a moment before kneeling down beside you, his hands moving to adjust the cushion under your head, making sure you’re perfectly comfortable. It’s the little things like this that remind you of how attentive he is—how much he values your comfort, your happiness.

“You’re sure you’re comfortable?” he asks again, his hands gently shifting the fabric of the cushion beneath you. “You’ve been walking all day, and I don’t want you to end up sore tomorrow.”

You reach up to place your hand over his, your touch a silent reassurance. “I’m fine, Carlos. You don’t need to keep checking on me.”

His lips curl into a smile, but his concern doesn’t waver. “I know, but I can’t help it. You deserve to be pampered, especially on a vacation like this.” His voice is soft, sincere, like he means every word. “If there’s anything you need, you just say the word.”

You feel a wave of affection wash over you as you look into his eyes, feeling the care and thoughtfulness radiating from him. His words aren’t just polite—they’re genuine. Carlos has always been the kind of person who finds joy in taking care of others, in making them feel special. It’s the mark of a true gentleman, and you’ve always admired it about him.

Before you can respond, Carlos rises to his feet and moves toward the small table beside the lounge chairs. He picks up the bottle of sunscreen, carefully unscrews the cap, and turns back to you with a thoughtful expression.

“Here, let me,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. There’s no room for argument in his tone, though there’s a warmth to it that makes you smile. He walks over to you with the bottle in hand and kneels in front of you, his fingers brushing lightly over your shoulders.

“You’re going to burn if you stay out here too long without sunscreen,” he warns, his voice playful but laced with concern. “I won’t let that happen to you.”

You chuckle softly, touched by his attentiveness. “Carlos, you really don’t have to…”

But he shakes his head, already uncapping the bottle and pouring a small amount into his palm. “It’s no trouble,” he reassures you, his eyes meeting yours, his touch gentle as he begins to rub the sunscreen into your shoulders and arms, his movements methodical and careful. “You’re here to relax. Let me do the work.”

You close your eyes as his hands work their magic, spreading the sunscreen over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. The simple act of him caring for you—of him being so attuned to your well-being—fills you with a sense of calm. It’s not just the act itself, but the meaning behind it. It’s the thoughtfulness, the way he wants to make sure you’re always taken care of, even in the smallest ways.

As he finishes with your arms, he moves to your legs, gently lifting one at a time to apply the sunscreen. His hands move slowly, deliberately, with a level of care that is almost hypnotic. You can’t help but watch him, mesmerized by the ease with which he moves, the way he seems to anticipate your every need without being asked.

“You’re quiet,” Carlos observes, glancing up at you with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Are you enjoying the attention?”

You laugh softly, not able to hide the fondness in your voice. “I’ve never had someone take care of me this much before. It’s nice.”

Carlos’s expression softens, and he finishes up with your legs before sitting back on his heels. He looks up at you, his hands resting lightly on your thighs as he meets your gaze. “I like doing it,” he says, his voice quiet, almost shy in its sincerity. “I like making sure you’re happy. And when I’m with you, I want everything to be perfect.”

You smile at him, your heart swelling at his words. There’s something undeniably special about how he shows his affection—not just through words, but through actions. And in a world where words can often be hollow, his actions speak louder than anything.

“I’m really lucky to have you,” you say, your voice full of warmth and affection.

Carlos grins, his usual playfulness returning as he stands up and stretches. “You have no idea,” he teases. “But you’re lucky I’m such a gentleman. Not everyone would take such good care of you.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at the corners of your lips gives you away. “I’ll make sure to remind you of that every day.”

He chuckles, then leans down to kiss your forehead, a soft, loving gesture that takes you by surprise. His lips linger just for a moment, and then he pulls back, his hand brushing through your hair. “Just promise me you’ll let me pamper you as much as I want.”

You nod, your heart full. “I promise.”

The evening continues to unfold in the most effortless way. As the sun sets, Carlos insists on preparing dinner, despite the fact that you both could easily have just ordered in. He’s not the type to shy away from the kitchen, and it’s clear that he takes pride in making things for you. The way he moves around the small kitchen, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, and humming softly to himself as he works, reminds you of how thoughtful he truly is—how much he enjoys taking care of those he loves.

By the time dinner is ready, the table is set perfectly, with candles flickering gently in the evening breeze, casting a soft glow over the two of you. Carlos pulls out your chair for you, just like he always does, and waits for you to sit before sitting across from you with a satisfied grin.

“You’re going to love this,” he says, his eyes sparkling with pride. “I made my special pasta recipe. It’s nothing fancy, but I think you’ll appreciate the effort.”

You take a bite, and the flavors explode in your mouth, warm and rich, and you can’t help but let out a small moan of delight.

“This is incredible,” you murmur, looking up at him with admiration. “You really know how to take care of people, don’t you?”

Carlos shrugs modestly, though the pride in his eyes is impossible to hide. “It’s what I do best.”

And in that moment, as the two of you sit across from each other, the soft glow of the candles flickering between you, you realize just how much you’ve come to appreciate the small, simple gestures—the acts of service that Carlos shows you every day. It’s not just about the big, grand moments; it’s about the quiet, tender ways he takes care of you, making sure you feel loved, valued, and cherished.

“You’re amazing,” you whisper, your heart full.

Carlos reaches across the table, his hand resting over yours as he gives it a soft squeeze. “You don’t need to say anything. I’m just happy to make you happy.”

And with that, as the evening deepens and the stars begin to twinkle above, you feel the weight of his love—gentle, unwavering, and constant, like the steady rhythm of the waves lapping against the shore outside your window.

Receiving gifts

The evening sky is painted in shades of deep blue and purple, the stars beginning to twinkle like diamonds scattered across the velvet expanse above you. The air is cool, a refreshing breeze brushing against your skin as you sit on the porch of your overwater bungalow in Bora Bora, a cup of chilled coconut water in your hand. You’re staring out at the moonlit ocean, the gentle waves lapping against the stilts beneath the house, lost in the serene beauty of the moment.

Carlos is beside you, as always, but there’s a quiet intensity in his demeanor tonight. He’s been unusually thoughtful, more so than usual, and there’s a feeling that something is on the horizon—something he’s been planning, though you can’t quite place it. As if he’s trying to tell you something without words, his eyes flickering to you more often than usual, his hand occasionally brushing against yours, his touch lingering just a second longer.

“Carlos,” you ask, finally breaking the silence. “What’s on your mind?”

He looks at you then, a smile tugging at his lips, but there’s a hint of something else in his gaze—something playful, mischievous even. He leans back slightly, stretching his legs out in front of him, and with a slight smirk, he says, “Nothing much. Just thinking about how lucky I am to be here with you.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “I don’t believe you. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Carlos chuckles, the sound rich and deep, and for a moment, he looks away, like he’s trying to figure out how to say what’s on his mind. When he finally speaks again, his voice is soft, the words coming out slowly, almost as if he’s choosing them carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about how much you’ve done for me since we’ve been together. All the little things you do without asking, the way you care for me without ever expecting anything in return. It means a lot, more than you might realize.” He pauses, turning to face you fully, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that makes your heart flutter. “And I wanted to show you how much it matters to me.”

You blink, surprised by his admission, unsure of what he means by this sudden wave of gratitude. “Carlos, you don’t have to do anything for me,” you say, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I’m happy just being here with you.”

His lips curl into a smile, though there’s a glint of determination in his eyes. “I know you don’t want anything. You’re the type who never asks for things, but I want to give you something. I need to.”

Before you can protest further, he stands up and moves towards the small side table next to your chair. You watch him, confused, as he pulls a small box out from beneath it. It’s wrapped in a simple brown paper, tied with twine, nothing too extravagant, but it’s the effort that catches your attention.

“Carlos,” you begin, shaking your head gently. “You know I don’t need gifts. Really.”

He ignores you, his eyes focused on the box as he walks back toward you. When he stops in front of you, he kneels down, holding the gift out with both hands, his expression soft but firm.

“I know you don’t,” he says, his voice steady, “but I want to give this to you anyway. Please.”

You take the box from him reluctantly, your fingers brushing against his for a moment before you pull it into your lap. Carlos’s gaze doesn’t waver, his eyes locked on you with a quiet intensity, as if he’s waiting for something—the moment when you finally open the gift.

With a sigh, you untie the twine and peel back the paper, revealing a small, elegant wooden box. It’s simple, but there’s something timeless about it—something that makes you feel a sense of warmth just from looking at it. You glance at Carlos, who watches you with an almost childlike excitement, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he waits for your reaction.

Slowly, you lift the lid of the box. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, is a delicate gold necklace, the pendant shaped like a small, intricate wave. It’s beautiful—stunning, even—but it’s not the price or the elegance that catches your breath. It’s the thought behind it, the way it symbolizes the island—the water, the waves, the very essence of where you are, of this moment in time that feels so special, so perfect.

For a moment, you’re speechless, overwhelmed by the gesture. You feel a lump form in your throat, the emotions rising up unexpectedly. But you shake your head, trying to push them down.

“Carlos, I don’t know what to say,” you finally manage to whisper, looking up at him. “It’s beautiful, but I can’t accept this. You really didn’t have to do this.”

He smiles softly, leaning in closer, his hand brushing gently against your cheek. “I know you don’t want gifts. But I need you to know how much you mean to me, how much you’ve changed my life. And sometimes, the only way I can show you is with something tangible. A reminder of what you mean to me.”

His words settle deep in your chest, and for a moment, you consider arguing again—telling him that it’s too much, that you don’t need anything from him. But you know deep down that it’s not about the necklace. It’s not about the material thing. It’s about the gesture, the thought behind it, the love that it represents.

“I know you don’t need anything from me,” Carlos continues, his hand still resting against your cheek, his thumb stroking the skin there. “But I want to give you things. I want to make you feel special. Because you are.”

You stare at him for a long moment, the sincerity in his eyes washing over you like a wave. You feel that familiar pull in your chest, the warmth of his love surrounding you. Slowly, you reach for the necklace, lifting it from its box. The pendant catches the light of the stars, the subtle gold reflecting in the moonlight.

“Okay,” you finally say, your voice soft, but filled with emotion. “I’ll wear it. Because it’s from you.”

Carlos’s smile widens, a mixture of relief and happiness crossing his face. “Thank you,” he whispers, reaching out to gently fasten the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your skin as he does. “You look perfect.”

You feel the cool metal settle against your skin, the weight of it comforting and grounding, a symbol of your bond, of this trip, of this love that feels both fragile and eternal. As Carlos finishes securing the clasp, his hands linger on your shoulders for a moment, his touch tender and loving.

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’s unsure.

You nod, your heart full. “I love it. Thank you, Carlos. You didn’t have to, but I’m really glad you did.”

He leans in to kiss your forehead, the kiss soft and sweet, a promise of more moments like this—of the quiet, meaningful gestures that define your relationship. “You deserve everything,” he murmurs against your skin, his arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace. “You deserve all the love I can give you.”

As you sit there together, the necklace resting against your skin, you realize something. You’ve always known that Carlos expresses his love through acts of service and thoughtful gifts, but tonight, the real gift isn’t the necklace. It’s the love that comes with it—the care, the attention, the depth of his feelings. It’s a love that doesn’t need to be grand, doesn’t need to be extravagant. It’s a love that’s woven into the everyday acts of kindness, the little touches, the ways he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

You reach for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his, and for the first time that night, the words you’ve been searching for come to you, quiet and sure.

“I’m lucky to have you,” you whisper, your voice soft, but full of meaning.

Carlos smiles, his heart clearly full, and he pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “And I’m even luckier to have you."

[malewifeharem]

sex with danheng IL

彡- ,, brainrot???? small fic????? of sex with danheng IL hehe

cw ⁞ afab!reader, nsfw filth (duh), dragon features (two pp but only one goes in ha?, size diff, FANGSSSSSSS), mention of prey/predator dynamic, marking, breeding kink IF YOU SQUINT, scent kink IF YOU SQUINT EVEN HARDER

an ⁞ YALL FR GONNA FIND A WAY TO REPOPULATE THE VIDYADHARA CLAN ;D (idk how im gonna play hsr the same way after writing this...) im not very happy with the intro but its wtv.

@cloudshuffle my amazing awesome proofreader <3

after getting intimate with each other a couple times, danheng and you have discussed taking things up a notch. i imagine him coming back to the astral express, incredibly frustrated after a stressful mission (after seeing his ex in xianzhou), and he really just needed you. you excitedly welcome him back but you're suddenly pinned down — wrists enveloped by his hand and his tail coiling itself around your leg.

"d-danheng? what's wrong...?"

he growls carnally, his cerulean eyes hazed with lust. he dives in for your chest, inhaling deeply before lightly nipping at your neck with his fangs and branding you as his with a few hickies.

"need you now. you know your safe word, yes?" he huffs impatiently, tugging at your shirt.

you nod before hurriedly ridding yourself of your top and bra, exposing your upper half to your lover.

"so beautiful," he whispers in awe.

danheng's hands immediately lock in on your tits, gently squeezing them before giving each of them a sweet suck. your cute little whimper just spurs him on even more! you're so much smaller than him, it's adorable. but it really doesn't help his innermost desires to manhandle tf outta you. it's just part of his animalistic urges as a dragon, after all.

his hands quickly trails down to unclip your skirt and pushing your panties aside to finger you. you let out a small gasp at this, slightly unnerved by his hastiness but you weren't complaining at all. it's not long till he adds another finger, coaxing a low moan out of you. with your walls clenching so deliciously around his fingers, the dragon wondered how you would feel around his cock instead.

"cant take it anymore... please 'heng..," you whine.

"hm, my baby's so needy all for me? i'll give you what you want since you asked so sweetly."

danheng chuckles before discarding his own slacks, revealing his erect cocks. (yes, two ehe) it's so pretty, being tinted a light turquoise at the base and a pink-ish fleshy color at the tip. he slides one of them in slowly — the stretch being so much bigger than his fingers. you both moan in unison once his length is fully buried in your wetness, with his hand pressing down on your spine, putting you in a mean arch. he waits for your signal before moving his hips, thrusting slow and deep — allowing you to feel every vein, every inch. your skin flushes in embarrassment when you notice how lustful danheng looks in the moment, eyeing you hungrily as if you're meek prey, who've fallen into the beast's domain. (omg so alpha) as he picks up his pace, your cries of pleasure only grow louder and you're sincerely hoping march won't call you both out on it later.

you wrap your arms around danheng's neck, hungrily pulling him in for a kiss while your legs encircles his waist — forcing his cock to drive deeper into you.

"mmfh— fuck, you're sucking me in... feels so good, darling," he pants in between sloppy, wet kisses. it's so messy, the way your pussy squelches sinfully with each thrust — your juices coating his girth with a layer of slick and even spilling onto the sheets below. he continues rutting into you ruthlessly, knocking all the air out of you as your hands find their way onto your boyfriend's back, leaving searing marks — staking your claim. the pain only turning him on even more, he hisses as his breath grows erratic, warning you of his impending release. you're on the edge of your own climax too, a familiar coil tightening in your abdomen.

"haah... i can feel you clenching around me, let's cum together," he groaned in your ear, enveloping you with the essence of him — body, soul, and mind. to him, you look best all fucked-out, guts rearranged and your mind filled with only thoughts of him and his dick. one particular prod to your g-spot sends you to your climax, your cunt clamping down impossibly harder on your poor boyfriend's dick. your words coming out as broken, incoherent sobs as your body quivers from the intensity of it all.

with your pussy milking him for all he's worth like that, how was danheng supposed to hold back? he shot ribbons of pearly white cum inside of you, making sure to fill every crevice of you with him — his cock twitching with each pulse.

"i would've never expected cumming inside of you would feel so good... could we go one more round? gonna fill you up real good again, i promise."