#HIS STAR HIS SUN HIS GUIDING LIGHT

[write-nerdy-to-me]

i feel sick

[metropoliswhite]

[tojishousewife]

Waking daddy toji in the morning <3

The sun isn't even up yet, the room still wrapped in that soft, early-morning glow but you're already awake—straddling your boyfriend’s hips with his cock nestled perfectly inside your warm hole.

He's still asleep, mouth slightly parted, one beefy arm thrown over his head to block the light, the other resting possessively on your thigh. He looks too good like this, all mussed-up and heavy with sleep—soo masculine, and you can't help but rock your hips just a little, desperate for some type of friction and feeling him stretching out your walls so sweetly.

A soft whimper slips out and Toji stirs, brow twitching as your movements grow bolder. You bite your lip, leaning forward to press your hands against his broad chest, rolling your hips again, slower this time—savoring the feeling. He grunts beneath you, grip tightening on your thigh as his eyes blink open, bleary and confused for half a second.

But then he sees you, perched on top of him—pretty and desperate, already bouncing on his cock like you need it to breathe.

“Oh fuuuck,” he rasps, voice thick and deep with sleep and a crooked grin spreading across his lips that only had your poor cunt tingling even more. “Couldn't even wait for daddy to wake up, hm?”His calloused hands slide up to your waist, steadying your sloppy rhythm before guiding you down harder, forcing you to take every inch of his hard cock.

You shake your head, cheeks flushing as you whimper out, “m’sorry daddy…needed you so bad, it hurts…”.

His grin deepens, one hand slipping up to cup your warm cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Yer such a needy girl, baby,” he murmurs, sitting up slowly and pressing his chest against yours. “Waking me up like this…can’t even wait for daddy to open his eyes before you're stuffing yourself full of him”.

A tiny gasp leaves your parted lips as his big hand splays across your back, holding you in place for him as he starts harshly thrusting up to meet you—nothing like your original rhythm, he was practically hammering his cock up into your cunt, making you see stars.

The slap of skin fills the room, filthy and wet but all you can focus on is the way he grinds so perfectly against your fluttery walls, tip hitting that spot that has your toes curling. His shaft was sticky and slicked up in your arousal, it was so so filthy and it’s even more disgusting at how he’s indulging in your behavior—even if it’s 5 in the morning. That’s why you love him so much :(

“Keep going, sweet thing,” he coaxes, voice laced with affection and filth, his sharp eyes never leaving your face. “If you're gonna wake daddy up like this, you better ride him good, yeah?”

[ryusjwks]

yapping abt nonmc

Non-MC reader fanfics are always written by authors who know exactly how to hurt a person. The pain is so intense and so well-crafted that, dear God, sometimes I find myself rereading the same paragraph over and over again. And after a while, I start to see myself as that woman—waiting to be loved but never receiving it in return.

Imagine loving someone. Looking at them with the most fragile, the most human part of your heart. When you hear their voice, everything inside you comes to a halt, and your entire existence shifts toward them. But they… they don’t even notice you. Or if they do, their recognition is not with the powerful grasp of love, but with the light touch of mere acknowledgment.

To you, they are a star, the very center of the universe. But to them, you are just another speck of light in the sky. If you were to disappear, they wouldn’t feel your absence. You turn back, realizing your hands are empty, crushed under the weight of your love. And they? They continue revolving around another world, another sun.

You are a meteor, trying to rise and shine, but unable to enter their orbit—shattered by the gravity of a planet that was never meant to hold you. You dissolve into dust, fading into silence. And they move on, as if nothing ever happened.

This plays out differently for each character, but the ending remains the same.

In Zayne’s case, you are either his fiancée or his wife. He is always cold and distant. His words are measured, his presence heavy yet quiet. Even if storms rage behind his eyes, his face remains unreadable. He has always been this way, and you have accepted it.

But then, he smiles—at her.

That smile is like spring breaking through the ice, subtle, warm, and gentle. As if, for just a moment, the layers of frost within him have melted. And in that moment, you realize he was never truly like this—not for everyone. He is not just a distant man; he is only distant toward you.

And that’s when it sinks in. A weight settles inside you, stealing your breath for just a second. Because you have seen it now—he can be affectionate, he can be warm, he can smile. But that smile was never meant for you.

You are likely Sylus’s assistant, though in rare cases, you might be his wife. Sylus has always been indifferent—to everyone. To you. You walked in his shadow on the battlefield, threw yourself in front of bullets for him, but to him, it was merely necessity. A duty. Your presence was nothing more than part of the mission. Until she came along.

With her arrival, Sylus changed. His face softened when he looked at her, the sharpness in his voice faded. He made sacrifices for her, and when he spoke to her, the rigidness in his posture eased. Sylus was no longer the man you knew. Everyone questioned if he was still the same person, but you already knew the truth.

He hadn’t changed. He had simply never been yours.

With Xavier and Rafael, the pattern is almost identical. You are nothing more than a companion who has traveled through centuries with them, defying time itself.

As time weaves its path, they always take the lead—making decisions, guiding, fighting. And you? You are merely a shadow beside them. A witness. While they sacrificed their homelands for love, you were the one who heard the cries of the people they left behind. On one side was their passionate devotion, and on the other, your quiet grief.

For them, time had stopped. But for you, the world kept turning, though it no longer resembled the place you once knew.

And then there’s Caleb.

Caleb was always by MC’s side. He was her protector, her shield, her most trusted person. And you were there too. You grew up in the same house, sat at the same dinner table, shared the same stories. But his eyes always sought only MC.

Through the years, you watched how he looked at her. How he stepped forward at the slightest sign of danger, how every word he spoke to her carried an unshakable certainty. You bore witness to his protection, his sacrifices, his unwavering love—but never once was any of it directed at you.

You were there too. You lived those same moments. But you were never the center of his world.

Some see her as a mistress, a backup, an extra wedged between the main character and the LI. As if she were a mere footnote in someone else’s story, placed there by mistake. But she’s not.

She is not just someone trying to insert herself where she doesn’t belong. She was there from the very beginning. She walked the same path, fought the same battles, gazed at the same sky. She was never a stranger lingering on the edges of the story—she was a part of it.

The difference is that her name was never written into the main plot. Her words never echoed, her presence was never at the center. And yet, she was never just a replacement. Because love isn’t a competition, it isn’t a role to be filled, it isn’t about winners and losers.

She simply loved. With everything she had, without expecting anything in return. Her eyes were always on him, but his eyes were never on her.

[oatmealaddiction]

This is an interesting thing I'm noticing as I'm reading but it kinda seems to me like a lot of the Tolkien characters all seem to have elemental symbolism that seems to follow their characterization.

Like Gandalf and Bilbo both seem to have a lot of fire symbolism that follows them around. Gandalf uses light and fire as kind of his two go to weapons and he's the keeper of the ring of Narya which is the fire one. And of course Gandalf the White is forged out of flame. And then Bilbo's introduced in the middle of smoking, and he spends a lot of time hanging around campfires and hearths, like the campfire storyteller he is. He seems to like hanging out in the Hall of Fire at Rivendell, and his conflict with Smaug obviously also involves a lot of fire. He's also arguably the character who is closest to Gandalf.

Frodo on the other hand is like all water imagery. One of the first things we learn about Frodo is his parents were weirdos who hung out in boats and then drowned, and he's introduced filling drinks at Bilbo's party. He makes his stand against the Nazgul at the river. He himself nearly drowns like three times in the story, and spends a lot of time in boats, being haunted by dark waters, and the sound of the ocean (and of course ends the story going over the sea). Like the water symbolism with Frodo is nonstop and he shares that in common with Gollum, who specifically is characterized by pools, rivers, and lakes, as well as fish, worms, mud and roots and caves—very wet and slimy compared to Frodo's more mariner/wayfinder imagery. But they're still kind of two sides of the same coin.

Pippin and Merry get a lot of plant and tree symbolism. Besides hanging out with ents and drinking tree wine and that time they both got eaten by a tree, it's clear Merry grew up wandering forests and knows a lot about wild plants (and writes a book on it later) and Pippin gets a ton of association with Gondor, y'know, that place that is represented by a big ol' tree. Their tobacco leaves too actually kinda play a pivotal role, and are again, very plant focused.

You'd think Sam would also be more earth oriented, being he's a gardener, but not really? Unlike Merry who's out here spitting plant facts 24/7 and working on his plant book, Sam's interest in plants seems like to only be around when he's on the clock. His symbolism is all very celestial. He's the guy who ends up using the Star of Earendil. He sees Earendil while he and Frodo are walking through Mordor. He evokes Elbereth, the Star Goddess like multiple times. He names his daughter after the star-sun shaped flower Elanor which literally means "Sun and Stars." And if you think about it, Gardener is actually kind of a perfect role for a star-guy when you remember how dependent plants are on the sun. He also seems to share some kind of connection with Galadriel who is also caked in a lot of star imagery. It also tracks he'd be paired with Frodo thematically as he serves as a guiding light to a mariner, in contrast to how Gollum represents the depths.

IDK what all that means, I just think it's neat!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Al Ghul Twins: the Sun and the Moon

Polar opposites of each other, the Demon Twins. They like to pretend as each other from time to time, or, other times, they like acting perfectly in sync, like the creepy horror twins they are.

The titles first start when someone calls Danny the Shadow of the Moon. Never seen, never noticed, never given much thought until suddenly it's too late. Danny laughs and says that Damian is the Moon, then - his Moon, always orbiting around. Damian rolls his eyes.

Over time, the titles change and shift, gaining more meaning. More weight behind them.

When Talia introduces Bruce to the twins, she calls them her Sun and Moon. Bruce mentions it to the rest of the kids once, and they adopt it. It seems logical, really.

Danny, the Sun, smiling and laughing, eager for affection and never one to back down from hugs. Damian, the Moon, distant and reserved, keeping to himself and cold at times.

It's only months later, when they mention it in Jason's presence, that he laughs at them.

They have it all wrong, as it turns out. Not only because the titles have nothing to do with the twins' characters.

The Sun, fierce, bright and unrelenting, the heat that will wear you down to exhaustion, the fire and flames of rage, the star that everything centers around. The mirage in the desert, the power that bows to no one, never to be ignored.

The Moon, distant, cold, and unassuming, the pull of the tide, the only light in the darkness, causing shadows to seem so much darker, the harbinger of nightmares. The faint presence in the evening skies, the howl of a wolf, the influence you can easily ignore until suddenly you can't afford to.

Damian, the Sun, rash and quick to act on impulse, leaving a burning path in his wake. Danny, the Moon, silent and almost gentle, who you won't notice until it's too late.

Consider yourself lucky if you are left with only a scorch when you come too close to the Sun because he can, and he will burn you to ashes if he desires. But with the Moon, you are in luck if he kills you. Because when he doesn't, the shadows creep closer, crawling behind your back, and you keep looking around, knowing that the strike will come but not knowing when.

Danny laughs, quips, and plays pranks, but his eyes are cold like the lake frozen solid. Damian scolds, clicks his tongue, and brushes you off, but his eyes are full of fire that never dies out.

Talia's eyes are dark and full of secrets, like she herself is full of carefully wrapped lies and dark corners. The Demon Twins call her their Sky: vast and unknown, charming and stealing your breath away until there's no air in your lungs and the stars dim before your eyes.

A few years pass, and Tim catches Danny referring to Bats as their Stars. He thinks it's because there's so many of them that the twins just decided to summarize the titles, but much later, he learns that the meaning is a lot more poetic.

The light that guides you through the night, which, unlike the moon, never goes away.

[rauferes]

When Rook is twenty-eight, and Emmrich fifty-four, Emmrich takes Rook's hand gently and tells her that they must fully consider what it means for him to be so much older. To attach herself to him, when he is so close to his own decline, is folly—

Rook looks at him directly, waiting until his downcast eyes meet hers.

"I'm a Grey Warden," Rook tells him. "I know how to make every year that I am given count."

When Rook is thirty-one, and Emmrich fifty-seven, as Emmrich presses a kiss against the back of Rook's bare shoulder, Rook admits in a small voice: "I have, at most, fifteen years left to live."

In the warm darkness of their bedroom, the quiet stretches like the last moment after a crystal has been struck, just before the world falls again into silence.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Emmrich vows.

When the bells peal, sunlight and thrown petals and grains and joyous laughter raining down on them in equal measure, when Emmrich clasps her hands and says I give you my heart and soul. I will honor and cherish you each and every day of our lives— his voice sounds exactly the same.

When Rook is thirty-seven, and Emmrich sixty-three, she finds him on the floor of his laboratory, overcome by weeping.

"I have it," Emmrich tells her. "I have it. The Blight will progress no further in you."

She rocks him on the floor for a full hour as he sobs with the heart-rending relief, clutching her as if afraid to ever let her go.

When Rook is forty-six, and Emmrich seventy-two, Emmrich claims that most of his smile lines are Rook's doing.

"And many of the worry ones, too," Rook teases gently, brushing her thumb over her favorite, the divot closest to his right eyebrow.

Decades of love settle over a person as tangibly as gravity: they are both radiant with it.

They watch the sun set together, as they have done hundreds of times, hand in hand. Emmrich waits until the last sliver of pink has left the clouds before he turns to Rook to speak.

"I have learned that my solution was flawed," Emmrich admits very quietly. "The Blight in you will be at bay only so long as I live."

The light of the first rising star is reflected in Emmrich's gleaming, tear filled eyes.

Rook raises their joined hands to her mouth, kissing the back of his.

"I am older than I ever thought I would live," Rook says tenderly. "This life is enough, love."

The words soften Emmrich's expression, but fail to touch the grief in his eyes.

"It is more than enough," Rook tells him, at fifty-two.

"You think I want to live in a world without you in it?" she tells him at fifty-six.

"I love you," she tells him, every day.

"Every word in every love poem ever written isn't enough to say just how much I love you."

Emmrich peers at her over his thick glasses, pausing in his reading of the book of sonnets.

"Should I stop, then?" Emmrich teases.

"No," Rook says, settling her head more comfortably in his lap.

He runs one knotted, shaking hand through her grey hair, presses a kiss to her forehead. Rook closes her eyes.

When Rook is fifty-seven, and Emmrich eight-three, he slips away in the night. She wakes, as always, with her hand in his. She lies quietly for a long time, her eyes bleakly dry, knowing that this time is the last.

Most deaths feel sudden, in the end.

And yet every griever knows: it is still possible, somehow, to survive the removal of a heart.

After Rook has stood for two hours at the funeral, crying mechanically and stopping just as suddenly, Manfred guides her away.

"It's time to sit down, Mother," Manfred tells her gently. "Would you like water? Tea?"

Even fifteen years after beginning his travels, Manfred still sounds so much like Emmrich. The place where her heart is meant to be aches. Rook lets him settle her in a chair, and bring her the blend of tea that he designed just for her.

"There are two more bequeathments to distribute from Father's will," Manfred tells her. "He wanted both to be delivered by my hand."

The first is an elegant leather-bound book, intricately tooled, with fine gilded additions. It's carved with both their favorite flowers, intertwined. Rook opens the cover with shaking hands.

The lines are labelled with a date, with a single sentence accompanying it, penned in Emmrich's fine hand. Each is a message to her. It began almost four years ago, but— the book is far too full. Every page is written in. Rook flips forward to find that Emmrich wrote a line for every day for the next three decades.

"He should have spared himself the pain of writing so much," Rook says. "The Blight will have me far sooner than that!"

Manfred silently hands her an envelope. On its front is written:

To my darling Rook.

Rook reads the letter. She stares at Manfred, uncomprehending.

Manfred embraces her, pressing his forehead to hers in his version of a kiss to the cheek.

"The Blight won't take you at all, Mother," Manfred says gently. "He transferred the spell to me eight months ago."

Through a veil of tears, Rook sees that every neat line in Emmrich's book ends the same way.

I love you.

[jinwoosbabyboo]

The First Meet Self-Aware!Xavier

Sometimes maybe you're just the Juliet to his Romeo. Nothing more than a tragic love story, but what if you could rewrite the stars? pt. 1 here A/N: Before you fight me just read okay? Kisses 💋

Self-Aware!Xavier who's been blinding you with your screen brightness lately “Since when can you do that?” “I was testing the limits of my evol recently and figured it out cool right?” “Yes very cool but please stop blinding me it hurts”

It only took asking once for Xavier to stop adjusting your screen brightness. However he has been acting strange. It feels like he's hiding something; not necessarily something he can't tell you about more like something doesn't want to tell you about. Checking the app turned into a more frequent occurrence when he started disappearing constantly. You would often open the app to find the home screen cafe empty.

“Xavier!” the screen flashes and you see him appear with that same soft smile directed right at you “I’m here what do you need?” you stared at him unsure if you should accuse him of anything due to his strange actions lately. You didn't want to argue with him so you pushed your feelings down and sighed “Nothing just wondered where you went”

“I’m right here I'll always be here” He moved closer to the screen to get a better look at your eyes. “Is that all you were wondering?” You couldn't help, but sigh heavily as your curiosity got the best of you. “What have you been doing lately?” Stupid. Stupid. You mentally kicked yourself as the words rolled off your tongue before you could stop them. Why are you so jealous that he might be with in-game MC? It’s not like you can actually be with him. “Like I told you before I've been testing my evol” it still felt like he was hiding something under that soft gaze of his. You narrowed your eyes at hime “Xav if you want to spend more time with MC you don’t need to hide it from me” you could feel that terrible lump forming in your throat as reality set in that no matter how much you loved him; he’s not yours and never will be. Before he could answer you shook your head willing your tears to stay at bay “I have to go I'll be back later” you closed the app right as his mouth opened to say something.

You stopped opening the app after that. You thought that maybe if you stayed away long enough things would go back to normal and he wouldn’t be able to talk to you anymore. How do you grieve someone who doesn’t exist?

1 week later....

Since that conversation you’re not sure if you’ve become more sensitive to light or if you just happen to keep getting glares in your eyes because you’re just unlucky enough to be right where one can shine right in your eyes. You kept the lights in your house low or even just off to keep the light from blinding you. These constant blinding flashes of light were killing your head so you started wearing sunglasses everywhere and even using the walls to be your guide around your place because it was easier to just walk around in the dark.

Tonight was different though as you made your way to your bedroom your head was fuzzy along with your vision “I need to go to the eye doctor my vision may be getting worse” staggering to your bed you fell face first onto your bed and passed out. Your body felt weightless as if you were floating on a cloud. Your eyes fluttered open to see an expanse of stars and milky ways as far as the eye can see. “Y/N”

There was a voice, but it sounded as if it was underwater. “Y/N?” Words failed you as you tried to answer “I'm…. tired…..” you words were slurred and your eyelids were heavy. “Let’s go home together” the voice was much clearer now. “Xav….ier?” succumbing to the drowsiness that had you in a vice grip, your head fell back as everything went dark.

You jolted awake only to immediately be blinded by the sun shining in through the window. “At least it didn't give me a headache this time” You mumbled to yourself as you yawned into a big stretch. Your vision was clear again a stark contrast from what you fell asleep with. You started to take in your surroundings taking note that this wasn’t your room “Am I lucid dreaming?”

“The sun is too bright turn it off” a groggy voice whined next to you. Without thinking you kicked your leg out connecting directly with the strangers crotch who audibly groaned in pain. You sprinted out of the room only to realize you had no clue where you were. Rustling could be heard from the bedroom so there was no time to waste as long as you made it out of here as quick as possible. Freedom was within reach as you came up on the front door or at least you hoped it was the front door; only to be grabbed by your forearm and yanked back.

“I will scream bloody murder!” You yelled as you fought against this persons iron grip. “It’s me! Y/N it’s me open your eyes” not even realizing you were already screaming bloody murder with your eyes closed ; you opened them to see those deep blue eyes you’d dreamt about. “Xavier? Am I hallucinating?” You pulled your arm again and Xavier let go this time. You rapidly scanned the room and noticed this place looked exactly how it did in the game “There’s no way i’m standing in your apartment right now” You pinched the back of your hand and winced in pain.

Xavier rubbed the back of his neck as he nodded “Welcome to my home” you circled him skeptically eyeing him up and down. “Explain yourself”

“I was testing if I could manipulate the light in your world and it turned out that I could” That’s when it hit you that it was Xavier who’d been blinding you with light. You weren’t sure if you were pissed or flattered that he was trying to get your attention while you were ignoring him. No he literally made your life a living hell with that of course you were pissed. You took deep breaths as you tried to gather your thoughts. “So it was you that kept blinding me Xavier that gave me such insane headaches why would you do that?” You threw your arms up in exasperation as you began to pace. “I wanted your attention and you wouldn’t talk to me” He approached you with careful steps as you backed up at the same time. All those repressed feelings you had for the last week quickly surfaced just from looking at him. His face became blurry as your eyes filled with tears; just as you went to turn away you bumped into the kitchen counter. You stumbled to a stop as Xavier trapped you between himself and the counter. “Why did you leave me?” His lips pressed together in a thin line and you could tell he was trying to keep himself calm as well.

“Because we can’t be together Xav….” Your voice cut off as you choked up trying to keep your tears from falling. “Why not I'm right here” he had a point, but you don’t belong here; this isn’t your home and Xavier already has someone he was literally made to be with. “I can’t stay here Xav I can’t come between you and-” You yelped as he lifted you onto the counter and slotted himself between your soft thighs that were still bare from going to bed in a large t-shirt and spandex shorts. “I cut through time, space and reality to have you in front of me” His hands lingered on your thighs softly drawing circles with his thumbs. "Do you truly believe I want anyone other than you?" You went slack-jawed at his confession of how he managed to bring you here “You what?”

He dropped his head and exhaled a raspy chuckle, but there was no amusement in it “I was so lost when you stopped coming to see me I thought I was losing my mind” This man really did the impossible to get to you; there’s no way you could ever tell a single soul about this or you’ll be thrown head first into a mental asylum. The feeling of Xavier’s hand on your cheek pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. He gently wiped away a stray tear that you hadn’t even realized escaped. “You’re breathtaking in person” The blue in his irises was damn near non-existent as he studied your face almost as if he was trying to permanently burn the image into his mind. His stare was so intense it was like he couldn’t take his eyes off of you or you’d disappear.

You softly pushed his shoulder you try and get some distance because it felt like you couldn’t breathe with him this close. “Xavier please….” Your voice trailed off into nothing, but a breathy whisper. You didn’t know what you were asking him for; words seemed to be escaping you. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and held it next to your head as he leaned in closer. Your lips parted as your breath became heavy and his gaze immediately dropped to your lips. “Please what?”

Fuck it.

You wriggled your wrist free and grabbed him by the back of his neck slamming your lips onto his. Xavier wasted no time kissing you back, his arms wrapping about your waist pulling you tight against his toned body. Xavier kissed you like a man starved the way he parted your lips to allow his tongue in along with the quick nips and sucks to your bottom lip your mind was going fuzzy as you fell into him with reckless abandon. You drew back gasping for air and Xavier chased your lips pulling you back into a heated makeout session. Before you fell back under his spell you broke away and pressed your fingertips to his lips when he tried to chase you again. His breath was ragged and you could see his rapid pulse fluttering on his neck. Seeing him completely flushed with red cheeks and hot ears gave you butterflies “We should slow down we just met” You teased with a giggle. Xavier rolled his eyes and kissed your nose as he took a step back. You didn’t miss how he quickly adjusted his pants tucking himself into his waistband. “I’m sure you have many questions go ahead I'll answer all of them truthfully”

[danny-doodles]

There is something so special to me about Steve staring at the ceiling and mistaking the lights for stars.

For a character constantly forced into an adult role he (albeit on drugs) has such a childhood wonder at the sight of stars. I just really like the hc of steve being super into the stars and greek mythology/constellations. A lot of people see Steve as the sun but personally I always equated him with the moon and stars. His freckles and moles obviously represent the stars but Steve is such a guiding figure too. Steve isnt a super positive character or have a sunny disposition but instead brings a calm, he is a stable figure for the kids lives and they feel protected by him. I think that feeling of support is more akin to the moon than the sun. Anyway blah blah blah stars pretty ✨

[beloveds-embrace]

(p2 of this poly fae 141 x human reader (different take)) cw: bittersweet

The palace breathes for you.

It bends around you like soft wind around reeds, gently guiding your dazed steps through moonlit corridors and blooming halls. Time has no anchor for you anymore. Some mornings, you wake to suns that burn blue instead of gold, moons that double and chase each other through the sky. But it doesn’t matter, because the castle knows where you are meant to be even if you don’t.

When you rise, the curtains part without a hand to touch them. They sigh open like petals, letting soft light bathe the velvet floor. Your robe- light as spider’s silk- slide from their hooks on their own, floating to wrap around your body with reverent care. Your slippers are waiting at the side of your bed when you swing your legs over. They’ve been warmed by the hearth, and when your toes slide in, the threads whisper your name back to you in tiny, enchanted stitches.

The walls pulse faintly with warmth when you pass, as if the stone itself loves you. the chandeliers above never burn too bright; their glow always softens when your gaze turns up, as though they remember you used to hate harsh light when you read.

A cluster of servants waits quietly at your chamber doors- not because they must, but because they care and they want to, and had eagerly offered to be of service when you’d requested your own chambers. Gentle-handed dryads with hair like woven moss, old pixie seamstresses who chatter softly in riddles, even a hulking troll-footman who ducks his head so low it scrapes the frame. They do not speak unless you speak first, for sometimes you forget words, and silence is a safer thing to carry.

Then, soak in a bath drawn by nymph-handmaidens who speak in ripples and laughter, though mirror clouds when you stare too long- it doesn’t want to upset you, doesn’t want you to see how much time has tried to touch you, even when magic holds your youth like a fragile glass.

Today, your steps take you toward the gardens. The floor glows faintly under your feet- not because it needs to, but because the castle thinks maybe it helps you find your way. Everything- every stone, every breath- remembers you, even when you don’t remember yourself.

Or maybe you meant to go to the library. You aren’t sure- but the will-o-wisps know.

They flit ahead of you, little balls of mischievous light usually known for luring travelers into the woods until their bones turn to moss. But not you, never you.

They hover like faithful stars orbiting the sun, bobbing through the air with a delighted hum, zigzagging ahead in slow trails so your wandering feet follow the right turns. They tinkle like laughter when you stumble near a wrong archway and dart to the correct one instead.

You find yourself in your garden, after all, where the gardeners wait. Not the usual ones- no, the Queen's Garden has been assigned only to the most trusted now. A century-old elf in gloves of woven bark, a dryad who grows her own apron from her chestnut branches, and even a silent golem of moss and marble who only speaks in scents. They have trimmed the hedges into soft spirals and arranged the blooms into delicate mosaics.

Today, they have laid out a path of starpetals- tiny, glimmering flowers that shimmer faintly under moon or sun. Once, long ago, they were your favorite.

But now-

“I don’t like those.” You murmur as you pass, staring at the trail.

The golem stills, the elf looks up sharply, and the dryad tilts her head, concerned.

Kyle, who’d been a quiet shadow just behind you from the moment you stepped out of your chambers, slows his steps. “You always used to ask for them,” he says gently. “Had us plant ‘em everywhere your shadow touched.”

You frown. “… I don’t remember that. I don’t like them.”

“It’s alright,” he says after a short pause, and offers you his arm. “We can pick new ones. Whatever you like, love.”

You nod, but you don’t take his arm. Your fingers drift toward the flowers, brushing one before you turn away again.

Later, as your thoughts begin to drift again, the flowers are gone without fanfare. By the time you return to the courtyard, it is filled with soft white ferns and wandering frost-ivy that glows faintly in the dusk.

The castle heard you. It always does.

You wander deeper into the woods near the edge of the palace, where the magic gets older, thicker- where even the bravest guards rarely step.

A warm breeze carries the scent of jasmine and crushed duskberry petals. The patient trees sing here not with voices, but with the rustle of knowing leaves, always parting to give you gentle shade or letting sunlight filter through just when you like it.

There stands a shadow that heralds the first whispers of death.

Thrain.

The phantom stag, horned and enormous. He stands between two trees gnarled by age and shaped like reaching hands, his antlers scraping the sky, mist curling around his hooves.

But for you?

He bows his head.

You smile and reach for him as if you’ve done it every day of your life- and maybe you have. Maybe there’s no need to remember if the body still knows. And he lets you pat the velvet between his antlers, lowering his massive head so you can nuzzle your cheek against him. His body radiates cold like the mountain peaks, but it doesn’t sting. It soothes. Your hands slip into the thick mist of his mane, and you close your eyes.

You nap there, nestled against the beast feared by all.

When you stir again, you’re no longer alone.

“Thought we’d find you here.” Gaz murmurs, his voice quiet like the wind between reeds. He kneels beside you, offering his usual steaming cup- tea brewed with memory-moss and lemon-pearl leaves.

You drink. You always do, when he brings it.

“You missed lunch.” Simon says gently. He’s seated on a nearby root, his mask still on, though you know his eyes soften when he looks at you.

Johnny is already braiding moonflowers into your hair, humming a fae tune that turns the leaves brighter with every note. He doesn’t say much, just keeps you close with the warmth of his touch.

You blink slowly at them, still a bit sleep-soaked. “…Thrain didn’t want me to leave.”

“Aye, well,” Johnny grins. “He’s protective, tha’s all. You’ve got everyone wrapped ‘round yer little finger, haven’t you?”

Your head droops again. The fog curls soft around your thoughts. But then- you feel it; the weight of a gaze like a promise, like a spell woven in devotion.

John.

You don’t turn, but you feel him draw near. You always do, always will. His presence thrums like a second heartbeat in your chest, steady and storm-deep. He places a warm hand on your back, the other sliding under your legs as he lifts you into his arms.

“Time for rest, love,” he murmurs into your hair, the crown of your head. “You’ve wandered far enough for today.”

Thrain snorts, mist coiling between his antlers, but does not follow. He only watches as your husband carries you back into the palace, trailed by your silent protectors and glowing will-o-wisps.

“I don’t like the starpetals,” you say again, feeling the need to inform him. “They make me sad.”

His steps falter once, but then he is gently pulling you closer, his forehead against yours. “We’ll find new flowers, then,” John whispers. “And you can love them for the first time. As many times as you need.”

And the castle sighs with peace. Its walls bend again, opening the path home.

P3

[inkbybambi]

soap has a piss kink, but not in the way you would think.

he doesn’t want you to piss on him, though he certainly wouldn’t deny the opportunity. more so that he likes watching you pee. he’ll follow you to the bathroom like an obedient puppy, sit at your feet while your panties lay by your ankles. he’ll squish his cheek right up against your knee and spread your legs, gazing lovingly at his favorite part of you. it makes you uncomfortable, at first, trying to press your knees together to hide him from your view. but he's stubborn in the way he's stubborn about how he takes his coffee, in the way he makes you kiss his cheek before he leaves for the day.

so you relent and spread your legs, feel the warm flow of piss as soap’s eyes dilate, watching with rapt fascination. you don’t get it, you mumble to him as he reaches for the toilet paper to wipe you dry. all he does is press a fond kiss to your knee and helps you up, panties snug on your waist when he’s done.

it becomes a habit to go with you to the bathroom when he’s home. when he doesn’t immediately get up to go with you, you’ll wait, hand outstretched. it becomes a comfort, that he’ll be with you no matter what. you miss him when he’s away, the spot on your knee where he would press himself seemingly colder than the rest of your body.

—

you start to take videos for him. you feel a bit silly, a bit dirty in a way that scrapes at your brain unpleasantly, but you’d do anything for him so you take a deep breathe before you start, and then click record. it’s awkward, at first, getting the angle correct. making sure your arm wasn’t in the way, that it wasn’t focused only on the toilet itself.

it took a few tries but when you were finally satisfied with it, the lighting and the volume just right, you send it off to him with trembling fingers, heart rabbiting as you wait for him to reply. you don’t know why you’re so nervous, he was the one that started this.

you didn’t have to wait long, a little heart reaction on your video followed by so many heart emojis, you had to scroll to reach the bottom. you giggle, heat flooding your cheeks at the caps locked praise, absolutely chuffed with his reaction.

as you wait for him to get home, you bite at your nail, suddenly shy about what you’ve done. he’s quick to abate the worries you didn’t even have a chance to voice when he comes in, large paws cradling your face so sweetly, pressing kisses across the bridge of your nose and cheeks, finally melding his mouth with yours to swallow your happy sounds.

“ah love ye so much,” he presses his adoration into your skin, burning like a brand, warm like the sun. “ah don’t know what ah did to deserve ye,” he says, awe laced into each word.

you wrap your arms around his neck to cradle him close, nails scratching affectionately at the nape of his neck. “i love you too,” you whisper into his skin, burying any reservations you may have had left into the confession, feeling like you swallowed a star with how he crushes you back.

—

it’s dark when you wake, the glow-in-the-dark stars faint on the ceiling. you’re not meant to be up this early, and you pout a bit into your pillow when your attempt to fall back asleep doesn’t work. soap’s arm is secure around your waist, an anchor in the black of the room.

“johnny,” you whisper, shaking his arm as you try to wriggle from his grip. you need to pee and you’d rather do it in the bathroom.

“johnny,” you whine, when he doesn’t show any sign of waking up. now that you’ve thought about how badly you need to pee, you can’t stop thinking about it, making it worse.

“ugh!” you huff as you shove his arm off you, almost near rolling out of bed in your attempt to free yourself. you stub your toe on his boot next, and you silently curse him as you hobble to the bathroom, hands along the walls as a guide.

you settle yourself on the toilet, sighing as you wait for the warmth to start. but it doesn’t, and you get even more frustrated because you’re sleepy, your toe hurts, and you just want to crawl back into bed with johnny.

“y’abandoned me,” comes from the doorway, the light flickering on as you startle, a noise between a gasp and a whine caught in your throat — not only by the light, but also the pouting scot that slinks his way to the floor between your legs, cheek nestled on your knee.

"s'too bright," you complain, bowing your head to rest on top of his mohawk, flattened by the pillows. he hums in agreement.

"you didn't need to join me," you say, after a moment's silence, and still unable to go to the bathroom.

"ah missed ye," he speaks mostly into your skin, and you relax back against the seat, cradling his face for comfort. "now go 'n be a good lass 'n pee so we can go back to sleep."

you snort softly, and you finally feel the relief of warmth from between your legs, keeping soap close as you slip back into a gentle sort of sleepy consciousness, content to have him there.

"tha's my girl."

[feinzleclerc]

A Hundred Kisses I've Already Given You | CL16

starring ; charles leclerc x reader fem!

summary ; Where you make a list of 100 kisses very important to you and Charles.

warnings ; English is not my first language.

word count ; 5k words.

notes ; PART 2, 3, 4 & 5 COMING SOON

Then I got really excited and only the first part was 5 thousand words! 😅 The next parts will be coming soon.

MAIN MASTERLIST & CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST

01. Morning Kiss

The golden sun streams through the gaps in the linen curtains, painting warm stripes across the unmade bed. The air still carries the coolness of dawn, mingled with the faint scent of freshly brewed coffee drifting from the distant kitchen.

Charles Leclerc is half-asleep, his unruly curls tousled over his forehead, but he smiles when his eyes meet yours. His hand—marked by subtle veins and a tan from countless hours training under the sun—caresses your face with a tenderness that makes your heart race.

— Bonjour, mon amour... — he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep, as he leans in for a slow kiss.

Your lips meet in a gentle, almost lazy touch, yet brimming with unspoken promises. The dawn light wraps around you both, highlighting the golden flecks in his lashes and the glow of your smile against his. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer, while the world outside—with its races, deadlines, and noise—seems to fade away.

02. Kiss on the Top of the Head

The apartment is silent, save for the sound of pages turning and a pen scratching against a notebook. You’re deep in your studies, legs curled on the sofa, laptop open, and a half-forgotten cup of tea on the coffee table. The vanilla scent of a burning candle mixes with the soft fragrance of your shampoo—something light, like cotton flowers.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wraps around your shoulders from behind, and before you can react, Charles presses his lips to the top of your head in a kiss that’s equal parts affection and longing.

— You work too hard... — he murmurs, his voice soft, as his fingers play with the ends of your hair.

You smile, tilting your head back to look at him. He’s barefoot, wearing a loose T-shirt, his hair still slightly damp from the shower, as if he’s just returned from training. His gaze is tired but warm, and when his hand brushes your shoulder, you feel the callouses on his fingers—marks of hours spent gripping the wheel.

— I need to finish this... — you protest, but you’re already leaning into him.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating in his chest, and kisses your hair again before whispering:

— Fine, but after this, you’re all mine.

03. Kiss on the Shoulder While Cooking

The smell of garlic sizzling in butter fills the air, mingled with the aroma of red wine lightly splashing in the pan. You’re focused, stirring the risotto with one hand while the other grips the wooden spoon like an extension of your arm. French music plays softly from the phone on the counter—something Charles chose, of course—and the improvised candles cast dancing shadows on the walls.

Just as you turn to grab the grated cheese, he appears behind you like a ghost. His arms wrap around your waist in a loose embrace, and before you can complain about the interference, his lips press a light kiss to your bare shoulder—right where your oversized T-shirt has slipped down.

— Smells good... — he murmurs against your skin, and you feel his smile form there, warm and familiar.

— You’re distracting the chef — you say, trying to sound stern, but your voice comes out softer than intended.

He laughs, the sound vibrating against your back, and pulls you closer, completely ignoring the fact that the risotto might burn. His hand—still with a faint trace of grease under the nails, remnants of his earlier training session—intrudes over yours, guiding the wooden spoon with gentle pressure.

— This is our risotto, not just yours. — he argues, kissing your shoulder again, slower this time, as if memorizing the taste of your skin mixed with the scent of dinner.

And when you turn your head to face him, he’s so close that your nose almost brushes his. His eyes—green like Monaco’s fields under morning sun—dance with yours, and for a second, the risotto, the music, even the faintly burning garlic in the pan—all of it disappears.

04. Goodnight Kiss

The bedroom is bathed in the golden half-light of the bedside lamp, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The bed—a territory of rumpled sheets and contested pillows—looks inviting after a long day. You're already settled in, blankets pulled up to your chin, your hair spread across the pillow like a messy halo.

Charles lies beside you, propped up on one elbow, his fingers tracing slow paths along your exposed arm. He looks at you with an expression that's equal parts exhaustion and devotion, his eyelids heavy with sleep but still reluctant to close.

— You're beautiful like this... — he murmurs, his voice rough, almost like a sigh.

You smile, reaching up to touch his face, feeling the scratchy texture of his stubble beneath your fingers. He turns his head to kiss your palm in a gesture so natural it feels like part of an ancient ritual.

The kiss is slow, sweet—as if he's trying to memorize the taste of your lips before sleep takes him. His hand cradles your face, his thumb stroking your temple as his lips move against yours in a lazy, almost sleepy rhythm. You breathe in his scent—toothpaste and something inherently *Charles*, something warm and familiar that makes you want to bury your face in his neck and never leave.

When he finally pulls away, it's just enough to murmur against your mouth:

— Sweet dreams, mon amour.

Then, with one last touch—his lips brushing your chin, quick and light as a butterfly's wing—he reaches over to turn off the light.

In the darkness, your body fits against his like puzzle pieces, and the last thought you have before drifting off is that no matter how many races he wins, nothing compares to this quiet moment when he belongs only to you.

05. Kiss on a Bruise

The afternoon sun in Monaco paints everything in gold, glinting off the asphalt still damp from a passing rain. The bikes lean against the sidewalk, their wheels spinning lazily before coming to a stop, as if tired from your adventure through the city's steep streets. You sit on the seawall, breathing deeply, your scraped knee throbbing under the salty breeze.

Charles kneels in front of you before you can protest, his hands firm but gentle as they wrap around your ankle. His eyes—green as the Mediterranean under the sun—are serious as they examine the scrape with the same focus he gives to the curves of the racetrack.

— It's not that bad... — he murmurs, though the frown between his brows betrays his worry.

The mineral water from the bottle he brought spills over the wound, and you grimace, your fingers gripping the wall behind you. He blows softly, the cool air easing the sting, and then—without warning—he presses his lips lightly to the side of your injured knee, a kiss that's more breath than touch.

— There. All better now. — He says it like a spell, tilting his face up with a mischievous grin.

You laugh, your heart beating faster than it did climbing the hill, and nudge his shoulder.

— Kissing bruises only works on kids, you know.

He rises in one fluid motion, his hands finding your waist to pull you close. His nose brushes yours, and you breathe him in—sweat, salt, and that subtle cologne he wears even on the simplest days.

— Then I'll have to kiss something else... — he whispers, and before you can reply, his lips find yours in a kiss that tastes like the sea and unspoken promises.

Your knee still hurts a little. But honestly? You can barely remember why.

06. Paddock Kiss

The paddock buzzes around you—engines being tuned, radios crackling, the hum of conversations in a dozen languages. But in the middle of the chaos, the two of you walk slowly, as if the world has slowed down just for this moment.

Your hands are intertwined, his fingers—strong and slightly rough from gripping the wheel—tangled with yours so naturally it makes your chest ache. Suddenly, he stops, pulling your hand to his lips.

A kiss. Soft, almost reverent, on your knuckles, right where a ring might one day sit.

— Do you know what I think when I see you here, in the middle of all this? — Charles asks, his voice low, his green eyes bright under the paddock's artificial lights.

You shake your head, curious.

— I think that no matter how many turns I face out there... — He presses your hand to his chest, where his firesuit still smells like gasoline and effort, — I'll always have you as my safe harbor.

Your face warms, but you don't look away.

— What if someone sees? — you tease, feigning concern.

He laughs, the sound rough and intimate, before pulling you into a quieter corner behind the team trucks.

— Then they're lucky. Because I can't hide what I feel for you.

07. Apology Kiss

The apartment still holds the echo of your argument—the silence now thick, broken only by the irritating tick of the wall clock. You're curled on the couch, hugging a pillow like a shield, staring at the window where Monaco's lights flicker like false stars.

Charles appears in the bedroom doorway, barefoot, his hair a mess from running his hands through it during the fight. He hesitates for a second—takes a deep breath—then crosses the room in three long strides.

Without a word, he kneels before you, his hands resting on your knees. His eyes, usually so bright, are dark.

— I'm sorry... — His voice comes out rough, broken.

You frown, still resisting, but he's already pulling your hand—the same one he held for the first time in the paddock, the same one he kissed after that Silverstone victory—to his lips. He presses a desperate kiss to your fingers.

— I need to apologize too— — you murmur, but he doesn't let you finish.

The kiss comes then—not on your lips, but on your forehead. Lingering, warm, heavy with everything left unsaid. You feel him tremble slightly, as if holding back something much bigger than an apology.

— I was an idiot. — He whispers against your skin, his hands now cradling your face. — I'll do better.

When you finally meet his eyes, it's just Charles—the boy who drives like a demon but holds you like something precious—and suddenly, the fight doesn't matter anymore.

You tug his collar, pulling him in. The reconciliation kiss tastes salty—half your tears, half his.

08. Victory Kiss

The paddock party roars around you—champagne popping, team members shouting, camera flashes exploding—but everything disappears when Charles spots you. He's still in his unzipped firesuit, sweat mixed with champagne foam in his wild curls, and his smile when he sees you is brighter than the trophy in his hands.

— You saw that?! — he yells, sprinting toward you like he's still going 300km/h.

Before you can answer, he lifts you into the air, spinning you like you're the podium itself. His lips crash into yours in a kiss that tastes like gasoline, champagne, and something that exists only between you two—pure euphoria.

— That was for you — he murmurs, his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing still ragged from the race.

You laugh, wiping champagne foam from his nose with your finger.

— Liar. It was for the trophy.

He tightens his grip on your waist, the number "16" on his firesuit staining your clothes, and steals another quick kiss.

— The trophy doesn't kiss me back, mon amour.

09. Healing Kiss

The blood wells up before you even feel the pain—a quick, shallow cut on your index finger from mishandling a knife while trying (and failing) to peel mangoes for dessert.

— Merde! — Charles drops the cutting board instantly, cradling your wrist. His green eyes darken with concern, examining the cut like it's a mechanical flaw in his car.

— Ow, it's nothing... — You try to pull away, but he's already bringing your finger to his mouth.

And then it happens:

His lips press against the wound in a kiss that's too warm to be just medicinal. His tongue swipes away the blood with a care that makes your stomach flip.

— Better? — he asks, his voice rough, his eyes now filled with a different kind of worry.

You swallow hard. The cut? Barely remember it. The problem? Your racing heartbeat.

— That's not... hygienic, Charles.

He grins, that mischievous charm flashing across his face.

— You're right. — He agrees, before pulling you in by the waist and capturing your lips in a kiss that's definitely not medical. — But you prefer it this way, don't you?

10. "It'll Be Okay" Kiss

The apartment is dark, only the blue glow of the TV illuminating Charles' face—the replay of his disastrous race still looping silently. He sits on the floor, leaning against the couch, an untouched bottle of still water beside him. He hasn't even touched the whiskey you know he prefers on bad days.

You kneel behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and feel the tension leave him in a sigh that almost hurts.

— I can't... — His voice cracks, rough from gritting his teeth through those final laps. — Everything I touch turns to dust.

You turn his face toward yours, your hands firm on his stubbled cheeks.

— You're Charles Leclerc. The same man who won me over during that storm in Spa. The same one who makes Scuderia tremble when you hit the throttle.

He closes his eyes, but you don't let him.

— Look at me.

When he does, you kiss each eyelid—first the right, then the left—like sealing a promise.

— There's one turn you've never messed up — you whisper, your lips hovering over his. — The one that leads back to me.

Then, slow as Eau Rouge in slow motion, he pulls you into a kiss that needs no words.

When you part, he holds the back of your neck, forehead resting against yours:

— Tu es ma boussole... (You're my compass) — he admits in French.

You smile, stealing another quick kiss:

— And you're my driver. Now get up. The next race is already waiting.

11. Nose Kiss

The room smells like Vicks VapoRub and lemon tea, the sheets tangled from your restless turning. Buried under blankets with a red nose and glassy feverish eyes, you barely register Charles entering with a steaming bowl.

— Brought nonna's soup — he announces, sitting carefully on the bed's edge like you're made of porcelain. His pride over the homemade soup is almost cute, considering he nearly burned the kitchen down last week.

You pout.

— Can't even taste it properly...

He laughs, smoothing your tangled hair—the same fingers that adjust front wings with millimeter precision now patiently detangling your strands.

— Poor little thing — he murmurs, and before you can protest, his lips brush the tip of your red nose in a kiss that's more breath than contact.

— Ew, Charles! You'll catch it! — you complain, but he's already grinning, completely ignoring biological hazards.

— I'd take a thousand sick days over one without you — he declares dramatically, his accent thicker just to make you smile.

When you finally swallow the first spoonful (surprisingly good), he steals another nose kiss—longer this time, like a seal of approval.

— Maybe my kisses work better than medicine — he teases, that familiar smirk appearing.

12. Laughter Kiss

The apartment still echoes with your last burst of laughter—the kind that hurts your stomach and leaves tears in your eyes after that terrible joke you told. Charles is nearly rolling on the sofa, his curls disheveled and face flushed from laughing.

— No way you found that funny! — he gasps between laughs, his voice pitched higher than his team radio during qualifiers.

You try to retaliate but end up laughing too, and that's when he pulls you in.

The kiss happens mid-chaos—clumsy, with both your lips still curved in smiles, teeth accidentally clashing. It's messy, and that's what makes it perfect.

— That was... our worst kiss ever — you giggle against his mouth, but he just tightens his hold.

13. Wrist Kiss

The bedroom is quiet, lit only by a soft lamp. You're lounging on the sofa with a book when Charles approaches—his steps light, like sneaking through pitlane before race start. He kneels before you, gently taking the book from your hands.

— Let me check... — he murmurs, his fingers tracing your wrist like searching for the perfect racing line.

Then his lips press against the thin skin where blue veins map your pulse. The kiss is featherlight but burns like brandy.

— So fast... — he comments, smiling against your skin, eyes closed to better feel your racing heartbeat.

— You're distracting me — you protest, voice trembling.

He chuckles and repeats the gesture, slower now, as if memorizing each thrum.

— Now it's worse — he whispers proudly, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist like he never wants to let go.

14. Secret Kiss

You're lying with your back against Charles' chest when he leans closer—his breath on your neck making you shiver before he even whispers:

— I have a secret... — His voice blends with the wind outside as his lips brush your ear.

He shares it—maybe silly, maybe profound—in details nobody else knows. When the confession ends, he seals it with a kiss below your ear, soft as the secret itself.

— Now you're stuck with me — he teases, nipping your earlobe.

You turn to face him, but he's ready—the next kiss deeper, hotter, like the secret opened a door neither wants to close.

— Better than pole position... — he murmurs between kisses, hands tangled in your hair.

15. Missed You Kiss

The apartment door barely clicks shut before Charles crosses the room in three strides—suitcase abandoned, jacket still smelling like airplane air, his gaze starving as if he'd been gone for months, not weeks.

You're halfway off the sofa when he reaches you—his cold hands framing your face like you're a dream he feared forgetting.

— God, I missed you — his voice breaks, and then he's kissing you.

It's not a kiss.

It's a reclaiming—lips seeking yours like they're the only oxygen after weeks underwater. You grip his hair, longer now, messy from travel, tasting like airport coffee. He pins you against the wall without breaking contact, as if you'll vanish if he stops.

— Fuck, I can't do races without you — he rasps between kisses.

You laugh, but he swallows the sound with another kiss—softer now but still desperate.

— Promise you won't stay away so long? — he pleads, forehead against yours.

When you nod, he carries you to bed—suitcase forgotten, world forgotten—because some hungers can't be fed with words.

16. New Year's Kiss

The beach at Copacabana pulses with life—a sea of dancing bodies, popping champagne, fireworks painting the sky gold and silver—but you two stand still in the chaos, as if time has frozen. Charles pulls you closer to the seawall, far enough from the crowd that only you exist, close enough for firework reflections to light up his face with every explosion.

He looks breathtaking—white shirt open at the collar, skin still smelling like sea salt and sunscreen, those Mediterranean-green eyes brighter than any pyrotechnics.

— Three... — The countdown begins around you, a roar of voices, but he only looks at you.

— Two... — Your fingers tighten around his, the silver ring he gave you in Monte Carlo last year cool against your skin.

— One... — He doesn't wait.

The kiss starts before "Happy New Year"—lips tasting of saltwater and promises, hands pulling you flush against him like he wants to merge your bodies. Fireworks detonate overhead, gold and purple raining over the ocean, but all you feel is his smile when you gently bite his lower lip.

— Je t'aime — whispered between kisses, warm as the Rio summer. The way he spins you just as the sky explodes in red, like you're dancing through fire.

— Happy New Year, mon cœur — he laughs against your mouth, voice hoarse from kissing.

17. Shadow Kiss

The street lies dark under the broken streetlamp's flickering light—that one that blinks like a secret signal. Your building stands just ahead, but Charles seems in no hurry to let you go. He stands too close, his dinner-scented shirt mixing with that cologne that made you look twice at the restaurant.

— So... — he starts, fingers playing with yours like testing a new steering wheel's grip.

You smile, leaning against his car—the same one he drove slowly just to prolong the night.

— So.

He looks at your lips a second too long, then—when the streetlamp flickers again—he leans in.

The first kiss is stolen.

Light, quick, experimental. His lips barely touch yours before he pulls back, green eyes dark in the low light, watching your reaction.

— Sorry — he lies, the corner of his mouth lifting in a not-sorry-at-all smirk.

You don't answer. Just fist his collar and drag him back.

This kiss is the opposite—slow, precise, like a turn he knows by heart. Your back presses into the car door, the cold metal seeping through your dress, but who cares when all you feel is his hand cradling your neck, his thumb tracing your jawline like he's memorizing it.

— Until tomorrow — he whispers against your lips—a promise, not a question.

18. Rain Kiss

The downpour turns Monaco's streets into silver rivers. You're squeezed under a tiny umbrella—the one Charles insisted was "big enough" but now barely covers half of each of your shoulders. Your arms press together, his shirt already soaked on one side, and you're about to complain when—

He steps in a puddle, the stumble making him lurch forward—and suddenly his lips crash into yours with the perfect timing of a rom-com gag.

An utterly awkward kiss—noses bumping, teeth nearly clacking, rainwater dripping from his forehead into your collar. You break apart, wide-eyed, then...

— Mon Dieu, what a disaster — he groans, still holding the lopsided umbrella as droplets hit your hair.

— Terrible. Two out of ten — you agree, feigning disdain while already pulling him back by his belt.

19. Snow Kiss

The Swiss valley breathes snow. Thick flakes fall leisurely, blanketing the world in sacred silence. You stand frozen in this dreamscape, tears icing your lashes, when Charles' leather-gloved hands cup your face.

— Breathe, mon cœur — he orders, rubbing his nose against your frozen one. The woodsmoke scent from the lodge still clings to his scarf.

You laugh—a rough sound echoing in the white void—and that's when he kisses you. His lips taste of cognac and dark chocolate, a perfect contrast to the cold stealing your breath. Charles pulls you against his damp coat, hands firm on your waist like he fears you'll vanish into the snowfall.

— Like your present? — he asks when you part, his eyes forest-green under snow-laced lashes.

— Not fair — you complain, trembling fingers gripping his ski suit straps. — You bring me to see snow and now I can't think about anything but you.

That lopsided grin appears—the one he wears when he's won.

— Exactly the plan, ma chérie.

And when he carries you piggyback toward the lodge—grumbling that you weigh less than his skis—you know no landscape, no matter how pristine, could ever compare to the red of his ears glowing in the chalet lights.

20. Stolen Kiss

The ballroom sparkles—gold light reflecting off crystal glasses and the newlyweds' teary eyes. You sit at the table, heels already kicked off under your chair, when Charles' fingers find yours beneath the linen tablecloth.

— Bored? — he whispers, breath warm on your ear as the best man's speech drones on.

Your navy dress—the one he said made you look like "Monaco at midnight"—feels suddenly too tight when he quietly scoots your chair back.

— What are you—

The protest dies as he leads you to the winter garden's darkest corner, where party lights arrive only in faint whispers.

— Shhh — Charles presses a finger to your lips, his eyes dark as rain-slick asphalt. — I spent the whole ceremony thinking how beautiful you look tonight.

The first kiss tastes like wedding cake. The second like salt from his starched collar. The third...

— LECLERC! — the team principal's voice booms through the garden.

You spring apart so fast your dress gets caught on his pocket watch.

— Merde — he mutters, untangling you while your face burns hotter than the reception's cognac.

When you return, the groom toasts you both with a smirk:

— Glad someone's enjoying my wedding more than me!

Back at your seat, a note waits in Charles' handwriting:

*"Next ceremony will be ours."*

[korebringerofded]

Sugar for Breakfast- Bob Reynolds X F!Reader

Summary- After pining for months, your first kiss with Bob is interrupted and he desperately wants a do-over. Warnings/Tags- Tooth-rotting fluff, Bob in love, slight mention of childhood trauma (bobs dad when I find you), Bob not feeling good enough, slight angst ig A/N- Anyways I watched Thunderbolts and awoke from a writing slump to create this. I have many more planned for Bob so I will add a section soon. Dividers used were made by- @sweetmelodygraphics Words-3848 

Bob loves like someone afraid of taking up too much space.Terrified of being too much, or not enough.

He loves quietly, distantly, painfully gentle in everything he says and does. Never forgetting to grab you a water when he gets himself one. Always keeping one or two of your favorite snacks tucked in his hoodie for long trips, he knew you always got irritable when you hadn’t eaten in a while, not that Bob would complain. Even tense and grumpy, you were still his guiding light, his unknowing north star.

Bob didn’t remember another stretch of time when his thoughts were clear enough to really feel or process anything that happened to him in the moment. Everything he did was for survival, that is, until the team came along, a real support system for once

And more than that, he had you.

Years of chasing down something- anything to suture that gaping hole in his chest, high out of his mind, slipping into that safe, silent, oblivion. All that time he had spent numb to the world had left him completely unprepared for the intensity of what you planted within him, leaving him vulnerable to the feelings that had bloomed in his chest and threatened to tear him open with their curling roots.

Your very proximity was enough to fracture him to stardust, burn his very cells like an imploding star. Every glance and smile was worshiped and savored in his mind, each brush of contact enough to knock oxygen from his lungs

The worst part? You didn’t seem to notice how completely and irreversibly gone for you he was.

It was slowly becoming routine, these quiet mornings. Most of the time, the rest of the team was scattered, each tending to their own tasks or missions. Bucky and Yelena were early risers, always awake and working before anyone else was out of bed. Ava and John would wake not long after, usually resulting in a silent battle of wills over steaming cups of coffee. Alexi sleeps until noon more often than not.

That leaves you and Bob to have breakfast together most days.

You would normally take turns cooking for the other, though Bob preferred it when you took over, especially after he burned a batch of biscuits to coal, which had in turn set off the smoke detectors. 

He still hadn’t lived that particular culinary disaster down, he couldn’t even use the microwave without everyone snickering.

Not that Bob complained, it was just another excuse to he savored the meals you prepared, for just the two of you.He relished in the fact that this stretch of time with you was his alone, a small cocoon of early golden light and cups of coffee.

Even on lazy days like today, when sleep still clung so thoroughly to you both that neither had the energy to do anything more than pour cereal into mix-matched bowls. Bob was captivated

Tucked away in that moment together, watching you eat sugary cereal for breakfast became worship, Bob your devoted disciple, the dark cherry table you sat at the altar, the now tepid coffee a holy sacrament. As he always was around you, Bob had been reduced to a silent sentinel from a sight that should've been normal, casual. 

But nothing about the way you made him feel had ever felt casual. 

Bob’s breakfast had gone long forgotten, a soggy mess left in the bowl as he tried to memorize this moment. The messy state of your hair, the faded t-shirt hanging loosely from one shoulder. The pale glow of the sun poured into the room, quiet and soft as it curled around them both. He couldn’t help it, his eyes continued to trace over the shape of your face, the remnants of sleep still lingering in your gaze as the light danced over flesh that Bob wanted so desperately to touch. 

Cute. Dangerous, fucking unraveling.

He suddenly needed to do something with his hands- anything to keep himself from doing something really mortifying, like actually touching you. His fingers curled tight over his spoon- which he held like a tether to reality as he tried to will himself to stop acting like a love-sickened fool. 

You, completely unaware of his internal torment, had your legs tucked under you, scrolling through your phone with a slight furrow to your brow as a spoon absently hung from your lips.Unconsciously, your tongue darted out to clean the sweetened milk from its metallic surface.

It’s like you were trying to test how quickly you could turn the poor guy’s brain to useless mush. A searing heat spread over his already feverish skin as his fingers tightened into tight fists. Anything to keep those damned, traitorous thoughts pushed deep down so they didn’t surface on his lips.

Unbidden, like a ghost haunting his mind and crawling out from his gaping chest came the image of actually tasting the sweetness that currently coated your lips, the artificial sweetness mingled with the taste of that vanilla lip balm you swore by.

The moment that thought seared into his mind, unrelenting in its detail, its heady vividity nearly overwhelming and Bob let out a choked sound somewhere between a gasp and a cough which made your eyes flicker up, confusion evident on your face. 

The exact moment your eyes met with his ocean blue ones- and it was like his whole body jolted, pure lighting striking through his veins.

There was a distinct snap that echoed in the room, a faint metallic dink following immediately as the top of the spoon clattered on the surface of the table. You could just stare at the thing, blinking like you weren’t sure if you were still asleep or not. 

Before you could stop it, soft laughter bubbled up in your chest and slipped from your parted lips.

“Jeez-what did that poor defenseless spoon ever do to you?” 

“I didn't-” Bob started, his eyes wide as he just stared at the two pieces laying before him. “I-I mean. I did but...” He rubbed the back of his neck, wanting nothing more than to sink into his own mortification and never return.

You noticed panic spreading over his expression like a wildfire- rapidly consuming in its wake as he looked anywhere but at you. 

Unbidden, memories of his childhood resurfaced. Habits, the terror of making a mistake and the inevitable punishments. All of that fear trapped inside such a little body, crushing, expanding, too heavy to carry. It spread like icy water flooding his lungs to the point of bursting.

He couldn’t stand the idea of it, you looking at him with that same disappointment he had seen mirrored in people all his life. On his mothers face, in his fathers actions, in all the people that left him behind. He stood then-suddenly needing to be literally anywhere else. 

That’s what had become comfortable, familiar. That safe darkness, where the only danger was himself.

And then, before it could consume him, drag him under entirely, you were there, standing in front of him and closer now. You gently squeezed his arm with an anchoring, steadying touch. A soft smile on your face, the one that always made his heart seize up, gentle, patient, fucking radiant.

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s not a big deal.I am fairly certain Bucky has a similar habit.” 

Bob snorted, almost jolted with the simplicity of it. It wasn’t a big deal,he could mess up, break things and it was...fine, he was fine, not a burden or a mistake, just human…with the strength to snap a spoon in half.

“Yeah?” He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he held your gaze, a smile tugging over his features. 

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure he’s gone through five different phones.” You nodded.

That got a real laugh out of him, lips curling as the rare and warm sound filled the space around you both. It was infectious and then you were both laughing, eyes crinkling and sides aching as the sound filled the room. Bob found himself laughing with you often, more than he had in years.

He almost died then and there when you didn’t pull away from him. You found yourself wanting to just bask in the light of his smile. It always warmed you, that smile, the soft expression he had when he looked at you. Those deep blue eyes always left your mind in complete shambles, fingers itching to trace over the lines of his face, the shape of his jaw. To maybe see if he really had the sun living beneath his flesh.

You curled your hand over his wrist, letting your fingers brush up his arm. He tensed as lightning traveled along the path you drew, each movement so certain, mapping each space like you’d done it countless times, an artist pressing pen to paper, second nature. 

Bob was sure he’d forgotten how to breathe in oxygen as he watched your fingers trace over his knuckles. As if on instinct, he turned his hand over, marveling at the simple touch- how much it affected him. Both embarrassed by how it affected him and equally desperate to never forget how it felt. His chest tightened and ached as you followed the lines across his palm, lingering for a moment before your fingers cured over his own. 

“I like hearing you laugh.” You said softly, eyes flickering from intertwined hands to meet blue eyes that never once strayed from you. It was normal for him, almost an instinct to search for you in every room, at every party,even in his dreams. 

“It’s easy with you.” 

He immediately cringed at his own words which slipped out before he could stop them. For a moment, those old doubts crept up, heavy, suffocating-then it was fading away at the  sight of a toothy smile on your face, head tilted in slight amusement as a blush spread from the apples of your cheeks.

That damned smile, the one that made him wish he was an artist purely so he could draw you over and over again, capture each sacred detail, memorized and immortalized. Just for him.

“Are you flirting with me, Reynolds?” You hummed, head tilted and amusement sparkling in your eyes.

He felt like all the air had been knocked from him, hand tightening over yours, fingers still intertwined and you were so close, temptingly so. You were touching him, teasing him, fucking flirting with him. Was this a dream? If it was a dream, he was fine never waking again.

“Trying to.” His voice was rough, a slight furrow to his brows as his eyes traced over the shape of your face.”Is that okay?” He added, voice a little softer, hesitation lacing through each word.

“Mhm.” You nodded “More than okay.” 

He had leaned forward without even realizing it, his body betraying him in favor of your tempting warmth, that smile that made him feel like he mattered. That he was the sun and the stars and the whole universe all wrapped up in one person. 

He could feel it resurfacing then, that starved part of himself that just wanted to hold and be held by someone in return- was clawing its way out. 

He wanted to hold you, wanted to know exactly how your body would feel against his and how your lips tasted. His hand trembled, brushing his knuckles over your cheek with a ghost of a touch, like he was terrified he would shatter you.

Bob made the fatal mistake of letting his eyes drift down to your lips, lingering there before darting back to your eyes. It felt like everything had stopped, suspended in that moment, both still in pajamas, standing so close in a cluttered kitchen and breakfast long-long forgotten. 

“I have- never wanted anything as much as I want to kiss you right now.” 

His words were so soft, meant only for you. His warm hand slipped away from yours so he could trail up your arm, heat dancing along his path across your shoulder before cradling your cheek, every touch laced with worship and complete devotion. All the words he couldn’t say, emotions too heavy and deep to explain, each one embedded in his delicate touch.

In answer, you leaned in, just enough for the very ends of your noses to brush, your minty-sugary breath curling against his cheek as your hands slid up his chest, pressed flat to him. God- you couldn’t help but want to know how his hands felt all over your body, to feel that heat he always radiated directly from his skin, to soak him in like the sun on a summer day-

“Ahem.” 

You and Bob separated immediately, as if burned at the contact to see Alexi leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and an amused expression on his face. He was wearing those annoying ‘New Avengerz’ slippers he insisted were ‘quality’.

Bob was silent, eyes wide and taking a few steps away from you with his palms raised slightly. It was kinda cute, that deer caught in headlights look he had right then.

You had to bite your lip to contain your amusement, a grin spreading as you watched color burn over Bob’s face. It wasn’t all at once, starting at his neck, radiating from the neckline of that navy sweater he always wore. He always looked so warm, like the sun lived beneath his flesh and its heat settled in his chest like a cat curled up for a nap. But now- he looked with a faint pink spreading over the apples of his cheeks, over the end of his nose.

“How long have you been watching us?” You sighed, rubbing your forehead. The whole team was sure to hear about this later.You got a headache just thinking about the inevitable teasing.

Alexi laughed, shrugging as he crossed the room to pour himself a cup of coffee. “I have never wanted any-” He started to recite Bob’s words in a dramatic tone, a cup held out like he was reciting shakespeare. He was mercifully cut off by a choked gasp from Bob.

“Okay okay!” Bob threw his hands up as he started to crumble under the weight of his humiliation.

“Thanks- got it.” He mumbled, grabbing his coffee from the table, and heading for the door. He couldn’t find the strength to look at either you or Alexi as he planned to take refuge in his room, overhearing Alexi refer to them as ‘lovebirds’ and ‘young love’ as he walked down the hallway.

It was later that day, the clock beside his bed glowing in the dark room. Almost midnight- and Bob was still obsessing over that moment, growing more and more distraught. The interruption, the fact he had wanted it so badly and yet still hesitated. The idea that you had maybe actually wanted to kiss him, that you hadn’t pulled away or laughed at his pathetic attempts to flirt. It was all too much to process. 

He was, trying, failing to sleep, desperate to stop the memories of how good you had felt in his hands, how right it had felt. His fingers tightened in his blankets, willing those damned thoughts into silence and yet- over and over again he found himself drifting back to you, the scent of your shampoo, the curl of your lips when you smiled.

“Fuck.” 

He sat up, shaking his head like it would dispel the image as well as the lingering thoughts that haunted the already crowded halls of his mind. 

Did I lose my chance? Would she ever let me try again? Do I even deserve to try again? 

He wanted to try again.

Bob decided he couldn’t take it, the uncertainty, the thought that he might’ve ruined things between the two of you. He didn’t allow himself to think too hard on it before he ventured out into the halls of the tower which were dimly lit by glowing sconces along the wall.

All the confidence he had on the walk to your room seemed to drain from him and for a moment he just stood there, hand hovering over the door in a trembling fist. This was a horrible idea, coming to your room so late. You were probably asleep, he shouldn’t disturb you. 

He let his shoulder drop a little, his hand dropping to his side as he started to turn- deciding to talk to you tomorrow when he was less of a wreck.

“Bob?” 

The universe definitely had it out for him today, he was certain of it. His chest felt tight and hands clenched tight into fists as he turned to face you. 

You had a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of fruit in the other. You wore a t-shirt that practically swallowed up your legs, hanging at your knees, hair a little messy like you were tossing in bed. Your brows knitted slightly, the tension in his shoulders was obvious, the click of his jaw at your proximity. 

“Oh- I was just...” Bob trailed off, clearing his throat ,trying and failing to appear casual. “Wandering, I guess. What about you, midnight snack?” He waved to the fruit and water, trying to change the subject. 

You nodded, a slight smile spreading on your face as you walked past him to push open your door, setting the bowl and cup down on your desk. 

“You weren’t at dinner.” You added, turning back to Bob who stood at the edge of your door like an old fashioned vampire- seeking permission to enter your space. 

He sighed, picking at the ends of his sweater as he looked at his hands, trying to steady himself with its familiarity. It was true, he had kept to himself the rest of the day. 

“Yeah. Didn’t really wanna hear Alexi’s rendition of-” He waved vaguely between the two of you. “For a crowd.” 

“It wasn’t so bad.” You laughed, chewing on your lip. Alexi had indeed told everyone at dinner in a dramatic retelling that made Walker gag. 

“You can come in.” 

Bob swallowed audibly, eyes flickering to your face like he was searching for confirmation that he had actually heard that right. He took a few steps in, almost shuffling his feet before closing the door behind him. 

It was almost unfair how good he looked like this, wide and glossy eyes as he watched your every move with his hands twitching at his sides. He had on a pair of sweats that hung low on his hips, a sliver of skin under the white t-shirt he wore. You didn’t hide the way your eyes trailed up from his hands, his forearms and up to his biceps, broad shoulders. You wanted to memorize every marble-carved inch of him, every vein along his flesh, shape everything with your hands until his very bones were synced to your own 

The strongest man alive, and he was terrified to touch you, you could see it on his face as you stood right before him. 

“You came to my room, right?” Your hand gently traced up his wrist, following the same path your eyes had begun only moments ago, gentle mapmaking, memorizing this moment. 

“Yes.” His voice was so soft, so rough. 

“It’s late.” Your hand traced up his chest, feeling his chest tighten beneath your palm, heart beating like a heavy drum, falling in time with your own the closer you got. 

“I can’t sleep. I can’t do anything but think about how badly-.” He paused, eyes searching your expression, hoping, wanting, pleading for you to understand. “If we hadn’t been interrupted this morning-.” 

He was horrible at this, and you touching him only made it impossible to find the words

“Being around you-.” He pressed his hand over yours, holding your hand flat to his chest so you could feel his warmth, like he needed to draw strength from your presence. “It makes me feel alive. I don’t want to ruin what we have- I don’t want to fuck this up.” He leaned his forehead against yours, taking in a shaky breath, the scent of your shampoo filling his senses, something light and floral maybe. 

You moved before he did, leaning forward to loop your arms around his neck and leaning in close, your lips trailing over his cheek before pressing a delicate kiss to his cheek, breath curling over his ear. Bob took in a sharp breath, a low curse leaving his lips.

“Do you still want to kiss me?” You mumbled, pulling back enough so your eyes locked, your cheeks flushed, eyes glossy.

“Yes- God- Yes.” 

His hands cupped your face with an achingly soft caress, thumb brushing over your cheek and nearly melting at how soft you felt, he wouldn’t waste another moment, refusing to allow even a flicker of hesitation before his lips crashed against yours. 

You tasted like sanctuary and worship and redemption. You tasted of a future full of a light so blinding it would chase away the darkness, the madness of his mind and past. How did he even survive without this?

It was heated, slow, unhurried- like he planned to learn the shape of your mouth and set it to memory. He let one hand slip from your cheek to curl over your hip to pull you closer, to feel the softness and warmth of your curves against his still unfamiliar marble planes of muscle.You let out a soft gasp, melting into his arms as if you belonged there as Bob slowly walked you backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed.

He pulled back, pupils blown and taking up all the crystalline blue you loved so much, lips glossy and kiss bruised. His hands tightened as they rested on your waist, thumb tracing shapes along the sliver of flesh there as he rested his forehead against yours, taking in a shaky breath.

“You have to know- how crazy I am about you.” His voice was raw, each word costing him greatly, his brows furrowed as if he awaited your strike of rejection.

“I know.” You smiled, tracing a thumb over his bottom lip which made him shudder. “I like you too, Bob. Enough to invite you into my room late at night.” A smile tugged at your lips. “Enough that I was disappointed with our interruption this morning, enough that I thought about kissing you all day.”

“I can make up for lost time.” Bob said, the words leaving his lips like a prayer, a wish, that with enough time all the hesitation and past blunders would disappear. 

He was already leaning forward to press soft kisses along your brow, your cheek, the bridge of your nose as you laughed. And Bob took in every moment of it, your laugh, the blush that bloomed over your cheeks.

You were salvation and damnation all wrapped up in one person, and Bob was tired of pretending otherwise.

Reblogs, likes, and comments are always appreciated. All requests are open and you can find my entire masterlist here.

[acid-ixx]

seasons in the sun: goodbye, my love, please pray for me...

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist ! ; related post !

you guys i'm sorry for literally dying from the feed all of a sudden but i need y'all to be as feral as i am for the idea of a romantic! yandere jason with his childhood sweetheart reader.

y'know, the dichotomy of what used to be softness in the past in your relationship with jason. you know him as the sweet, malnourished boy who trespassed in your house to raid your fridge, the kind protector of your apartment after you'd offer your leftovers when he'd invaded your house and you're the only one left, advising him to run off to the balcony to hide once your parents come back from their trip; the silly guy who laughs shyly at your jokes, who'd coincidentally became your classmate after he'd been taken in by his rich father, who recalled the story to you when you'd both sneak by the backyard of your school with no qualms for privacy because it's you who he first learned to trust when he's thrust into the cruel lifestyle of the streets, knowing only how to bare his teeth but never how to retract it at the hands of its owner.

he's your closest confidant, the smart, nerdy boy who reciprocated your blooming romance, read classics to you with his squeaky voice, who offers to share with you his lollipops to "make up for all the times i ate your dinner at home," who secretly shoves his assignment answers under your desk when you'd forgotten to do yours and whispers the answers to the questions you're forced to recite when he notices your tensed jaws and quivering lips, shy and unaware of what to tell the teacher. only he knows it when your confidence is at an all-time low, and he helps guide through your problems like how you've been the only light in his life.

jason is the sweetest boy, he has no idea how to hold your hands, whose face flushes when your lips kiss his cheeks and when you cheekily grin at him after. sweaty fingers interlace with yours while you both lay on the grass of the gardens, listening to him rambling about the stars, and magic, and fantasy worlds, after bruce had finally permitted you to enter the manor because even his father could see how lovely you've impacted his adopted son; both of you keeping secret of your first meeting, similar to how you bask under the moonlight, alone, as if your presence yearns to be worshipped, he thinks.

he's your childhood sweetheart, and nothing can ever shatter the reality that he's the only right one for you.

your first love, sure, and your first heartbreak too.

taken away from the world at the cruel hands of death, at the ripe age of 17. the details his father retold you, with his equally somber, mourning expression do no justice to what felt like sledgehammers breaking a dam in your heart, your entire world breaking, even bruce's hands weighing at you shoulders during the entire funeral process don't ground you at all, you've no thought other than just how truly lonely you are to the world without him by your side—

the burden only becomes heavier, the tears refusing to drip from your eyes, staring at the picture frame of your happy, chipped-tooth lover now in a casket, surrounded by mourning flowers, sun dipping below the horizon which only darkens your vision.he unmoving now, dead, actually, and your mind couldn't comprehend how you'll never hear the chirp of his voice on one side of his ears and feel the scabs on his skin slowly fading away each day under your care.

even if your chest beats too loudly in your ears, your sweetheart, for the first time in your life, wouldn't be able to grasp at your shivering hands and assure you that he's alright.

he's gone. your sweet, loving, jason is gone.

you wish he'd die in your arms instead, rather than left you aching, worried and senseless from the days he'd suddenly disappear, then suddenly dead from a bombing, as what his father had told you. and you're not there to witness the scene, you couldn't even fathom just how much your body — still locked in place watching the funeral proceedings from afar, you don't feel quite yourself anymore — wishes to run to his open casket just to take his cold, laying body in your arms to feel your warmth.

at such an early moment, from what had felt like an eternity spent with the young boy, yet such a short span of being together with him at the same time— your grief has you yearning for the past image of your sweetheart. you want him back, you want your jason back. the years you've wasted, trying so hard to repair, to fill the broken gaps in your heart, to overcorrect, finding and chasing the comfort from other people, yet reeling away when every other person felt so foreign in your arms instead. nothing could ever replace the sweet ache in your tooth back when you're with him, nobody could amount to the tears you've wasted over jason because nobody is jason.

not even him, not when he came back a hardened soul, with a different body now bigger and stronger than you, who'd visit you during the night, intruding in on your apartment which oh-so prompts you to recall the very first day you'd met him. you don't know of his hardships, you're given a different story and the entire situation perplexes you, but you couldn't deny the ache in your chest when faced with this burly man, standing in front of you, breathing heavily and gazing at you with the same, starstruck stare that pins you on the spot of your bed.

he doesn't look like the jason who died, but he feels so much like him that your tender tears finally dripped down your quivering cheeks after what felt like eons of grief.

when he was resurrected from the dead after two years, he's not quite the same jason that you'd known and loved. he's broken, crawling out of that disgusting pit with only rage in his heart and the inclination to plot vengeance on those who've wronged him. there shouldn't've been an ounce of softness left, no love nor desire, no fantasy of his ex-lover when it should only be violence that he'd have known. but even so, beneath every vile emotion he felt, was the drive, the passion to come back to you first after he'd come to his senses. he'd remember screaming in agony, at feeling the rickety bones grinding against one another, at feeling for the sinewy muscles now aching and bulging in its restraints.

he's in a body taller than when he'd pass away from, and he wishes, after gaining enough consciousness— he fucking wishes you're there with him during the recovery phase, from when he's left to the cavern of his thoughts, braindead and unable to comprehend ra's al ghul's words, not when he's busy drowning in the depths of his clawing memories of you. nothing, not even the silken sheets he lays on, compares to you kissing his wounds like you always do and comforting him with your hushed words. beyond the exterior of his violence, of his boiling rage, was the hope that you'd still think of him in every waking moment the same way his first thought directs at how your fingers would tenderly graze at his skin.

i'm just saying, the angst/comfort potential of having the only person closest to you stripped away from your grasps, now in a different image. he's the same man you've prayed every single day to come back, but being faced to face with him that moonlit night, while your eyes still take in the unfamiliar form of jason's body towering over you, when his hands couldn't keep itself plastered to its side that it just, reaches out to grab you so he could bury his head on your clavicle and take a whiff of your body— you couldn't ignore the sheer differences.

how he scrunched his body to meet your height unlike the past where it's you adjusting to him, how his hands take precaution to ensure you're not crushed by his deadly strength, palms bigger than your head, how he takes utmost consideration peppering kisses on your shoulders, mumbling his apologies, his "i miss you, baby,"'s and "i love you s'much, i'm sorry for being gone for too long, sweetheart"'s, his refusal to release you; all while your heart raises a mile a minute because this is the red hood in front of you, clad in heavy metal armoury and mercenary weapons; a danger to gotham's criminal kind. yet it's him who speaks to you like your beloved jason with his heavy accent and rushed words, now a deep tremor compared to the young boy who chirps your name.

the only thing closest to you which reminds you of your past moments with jason, was that ever-so dedicated look of love. his hazy gaze, disguised under marred skin and sunken piercing eyes, yet so delicately filled with love that fills your chest with nostalgia long gone: of nights spent together at your apartment when he'd read you your favorite fairytales, of days having picnics together, baskets filled with handpicked fruits and alfred's sandwich, of moments coddling each other, feeding off the warm buzz off both bodies, legs entangled, sharing innocent kisses behind the trees.

of heartfelt promises, long forgotten yet still protected within jason's heart now guarded under lock and key, with only you having access if you just allow him to be loved by you once more. the man before you is a man who's changed, filled with contempt, jealousy, scorn for a mankind that scorches at every criminal, emotions so utterly complex compared to the boy you used to look at with ease, whose emotions used to be so easily distinguished from anger and adoration, who never beared hatred unlike now.

and you, who's just so conflicted, equally broken and unable to understand the entire situation. why, just why does the world want to torment you so much that it brings your old lover back— but different, hands now scarred, pinning you down with unfamiliar muscles bigger than your body, burying himself on your shoulders, mumbling and sobbing about his woes while your mind still reels itself back in to comfort him as you always do. this is the man you still love. his touch is all-knowing, he knows you loved it when his kisses reach the back of your ears, when his fingers fondle your waist.

he's different, yet the same. if it's not your dear jason coming back, if it was red hood, then why do you still recognize his presence so easily?

his aggressiveness to others you couldn't approve — the news labels him a brutal anti-hero, batman's new criminal enemy, he's a weapon of fear you should've resented — but why is it that it's his gentleness towards you that makes your heart ache at the memories of when he'd defend you from intruders, using his wits instead of his lacking strength? why do you feel like a completed puzzle piece in his arms?

he's here now. the red hood is here, but so is jason todd.

you could've called the gcpd, report them of his intrusion inside your house, forget all of this ever happened. but you should've also never brought your hands up to tangle itself upon the messy tresses of his black hair now streaked with white at the front, you shouldn't've hushed him and his cracking voice, taking his cheeks in your palms and having him look you straight in the eyes, drowning at dulled, blue eyes. once it reminds you of the blazing sky, now it's like the raging storms of the sea at night. without his red, gleaming helmet, he's reduced to your sweetheart; you cradle his head and stay silent.

still conflicted over brewing emotions, over the resurfacing love that you've forced yourself to bury the same time his casket was buried under the manor's soil.

in truth, you're tired of yearning, or constantly seeking a cheap, temporary replacement for jason. you've come to the stage of anger and withdrawal too, and your friends have told you that you should learn to rebound. but you're oh-so parched from love that no other could've given you, that you just couldn't fully relinquish your feelings, you can't.

in truth, you almost learnt to let go. almost.

but there's always the greatest fact: it's that as long as he's alive, even if resurrected and never the same, you'll still learn to love him over and over again, no matter if it takes years, he's yours and you're his. despite the cruelty he bears to others, he's your sweet boy, you miss him far too long, far too deeply. all is fair in love and war, they say, and all you wanted to do was to replicate those moments where it's just the two of you; even if his body is now bigger than you, you can still hold him, no? even if he knows how to wield guns better than how he held you shyly back then, he can learn—

thing is, you just wish things were simpler, you wish he'd have no other priorities, you wish the world didn't strip him away from his innocence. jason didn't deserve it, his death, and when he'd confess the truth: of his identity, of how he truly passed away, of his trials and tribulations to earn the path back to your place; you're left stinging with ache more than nostalgia, wishing you'd notice sooner.

so even if the man who lays in bed with you now is different, he's still the same man who held you tight in his arms, who remembers how to tuck you in the way you like it, who gazes at you filled with adoration, lips still quirking up hesitantly at your expectant stare. maybe it hurts, still, that he's not entirely the same jason who's smiles without bounds, who doesn't sport the same crinkle of mirthful eyes and jumpy actions, but he still retains the same love he'd carry for you all those years, even in death—

he's back, and that's all that matters.

a/n: yes do leave comments 🤩 idk what i just wrote honestly, srs about that. and i wrote it so that you do kind of have more... obsessive traits towards jason hehe. he's my favorite other than tim drake (well almost every character in dc is my fave, but i have my top spots), and tbh the reason i disappeared was because i was getting too invested in canon dc content that i forgot to write for it ngl.

[strnilolover]

warnings : smut. unprotected pnv (wrap it!). semi-public sex (sex in a hot tub). praising. softdom!matt. sub!reader. some dirty talk. sweet sex (?). some biting. matt slaps your thigh. titty sucking. cream pie. heavy kissing (so hot). clit rubbing. mention of wine and drinking. let me know if i forgot anything!

wc : 3k

it had been the perfect birthday so far. the day was filled with little surprises—matt’s thoughtful presents, the sweet breakfast he made you, and the way he’d kept you close all day. he even surprised you with a birthday party after you went to get your nails done for the day.

it was unlike any birthday you had ever had before.

as the day stretched on, the sun dipping down and the moon now rising, you found yourself wrapped in a blanket by the fire, sipping on a glass of wine, and enjoying the quiet moments.

it was a nice way to end your day, sitting cozy inside with the person who made your day all about you and so so special.

as the fire crackled, matt suddenly rose from the couch, his tall frame stretching as he moved towards you. his eyes met yours, smiling softly before he spoke. “I think it’s time for something else..maybe more relaxing?” he said.

your heart skipped a beat as your eyes locked onto his, your curiosity growing. “what do you have in mind?” you asked, your hand swirling the dark drink in the glass before taking a small sip.

matt smiled again. “the hot tub,” he said, his hand extending to help you up from the blanket. “come on. i’ve already got it ready.”

your pulse quickened as you turned to set your wine glass down, then took his hand, allowing him to pull you up from your position on the couch. “go get changed first, baby.” he whispered, and you nodded, giggling quietly as you ran off to your room to change.

when you were done, you were dressed in a blue bikini, the strings tied at your hips and on your back—keep the clothing in place on your body. matt was already waiting near the back door, his swim shorts on, tattooed arm on display for you to see. you walked over to him, his hand already outstretched for you to slip your own hand into. which you happily did.

gently, he lead you out the back door, where the hot tub sat under the stars. the night air was cool, the stars scattered across the sky, but the steam rising from the tub was inviting. it was the perfect contrast—the heat from the water meeting the chill of the night.

the soft glow of the string lights around the area created a warm ambiance, and matt’s hand landed on the small of your back as he guided you closer to the warm water.

the two of you had spent plenty of time in hot tubs before—either here at home or to hotels you had visited. and i was always heavenly when your body would sink into the warmth, your muscles relaxing as your body would go slump.

“you ready baby?” he asked as you finally approached the hot tubs, the bubbled fizzing around the jets as they shot water throughout the tub.

you nodded, throwing the towel you brought out to the side on one of the chairs, matt doing the same. slowly, your foot dipped into the water, your body shuddering at the way it felt against your cold skin.

it was soothing—relaxing. once your body was fully in, you settled against the edge of the hot tub, your legs stretching out in front of you as the water massaged your body. matt did the same, sitting close by as his hand came out to rest on your thigh under the water.

matt couldn’t help the way his eyes watched you—your eyes fluttering closed as you let your jaw fall slack, letting the jets massage the tension in your back.

“you’re so beautiful,” matt murmured, his fingers drawing small circles along your skin. the action made you smile, peeking an eye open to see his face. “did you enjoy your day, my love?” he asked, his fingers still dancing along your skin absentmindedly, but his gaze was on you.

you nodded, opening your eyes fully now to look at him. “s’been the best birthday ever.” you say, bringing a hand to rest over his, locking your fingers together. “didn’t need to do all of that for me.” you whisper, suddenly feeling shy as the attention from the whole day finally registered in your mind.

matt tsked, bringing your interlocked fingers up from under the water—placing a soft kiss to your hand before he moved closer. “you deserved it. you deserve everything baby. i’m just glad i was able to make it a special day for you.” and your cheeks flushed, your breath hitching as he moved closer.

the new proximity made the water feel even warmer, and the sudden surge of heat wasn’t just from the tub—maybe the wine was getting to you?. matt’s free hand came up, brushing your hair off your shoulder before leaning in, his lips brushing your shoulder, and your whole body shivered in response.

“wanna make it even better?” matt murmured, his free hand coming down to grip your hip and guiding you to turn so you were facing him. and you nodded—his voice swimming around in your head, like it was coaxing you. and before you could react, matt had you straddling his lap, the hot water sloshing around you from the sudden movement.

you gasped softly as he pulled you in closer, your chest now flush against his. matt’s eyes met your gaze, his hands moving up and down your body with a slow, deliberate pace. his fingers brushed over your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“you look so perfect,” he whispered, his lips hovering over yours as he leaned in closer to you. “so perfect for me.”

you couldn’t contain the small sigh that escaped your lips, your body already reacting to the heat of his touch. “matt..” you breathed, your hands resting on his shoulders, trying to steady yourself as his fingers slid to your back, tracing the lines of your spine.

“yeah baby?” he breathed, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips—he was so close. it was dizzying how things escalated this quickly, but you loved it. you didn’t say anything, your hips rolling forward in an attempt to get what you wanted across.

he hummed, smirking as his hands slid back down to grip your hips. “want something sweetheart?” and you whined softly, nodding as you tried to roll your hips again, but his grip kept you in place. “yeah? gonna-“ he paused, licking his lips as he leaned in more, his lips brushing your own softly. “gonna let me take care of you? make it a birthday you won’t ever forget?”

“y-yes.” you whispered. matt chuckled, finally pressing his lips to your own. it was soft at first, but desperation got the best of you and you deepened the kiss. your tongue poking out, prodding at his lips to let you in. and he obliged, parting his lips, letting the wet muscle slip in. you moaned, your tongue gliding over his as he returned to force of the kiss.

your hands reached up, fingers intertwining into his brown locks as you pulled his face even closer—if that was even possible. you tugged, and matt groaned, your mouth swallowing the sound. with a swift, but gentle move, matt moved, guiding you backward, pressing your back against the edge of the hot tub.

the water sloshed around you both, his body slotting between your legs, chest still against yours as he leaned you down—pressing your back to the cold cement as your lower half stayed in the water. the sensation of being pressed into the edge of the tub while his body hovered over yours made you whimper, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist.

matt was the one who broke the kiss first, his breathing ragged just like your own. quickly his lips found your neck, trailing along the sensitive skin, teeth nipping as purple bruises formed along your flesh. you tilted your head back, giving him more access. “matt.” you moaned, your hands gripping his hair tighter as he sucked right under your ear.

“hmm.” he hummed, kissing across your collarbone now—slowly moving down to between your breasts. gently, his hand slid up your back, the touch making you arch towards him. and he took the opportunity to wrap his fingers around the string to your top, pulling until the fabric fell away from your chest.

you gasped as the cool air hit your now hardening nubs, but it didn’t last long when he dipped down to capture your right one into his warm, wet mouth. he groaned around your nipple, tongue swirling as his teeth bit down—biting the sensitive flesh before drawing back. watching as it slipped from his mouth, now wet with his saliva.

you cried out at the sensation, your hands wanting to push his head back down. “so needy baby.” he whispered, now turning his attention to your other nipple, giving it the same attention before he pulled away. “you want it?” he teased, a hand coming down to snake between your bodies as he pressed his fingers against your clothed clit, rubbing slow circles.

“pl-please matt..please!” you squeaked out, hips bucking up into his touch. his tongue darted out, licking his lips again as he leaned back down to press kisses to your skin. this time he moved further down, your eyes following as you propped yourself up on your elbows. your hips were still moving against his hand, but the feeling stopped as he pulled away.

a low whine emitted from your throat, but was cut off as he raised your hips higher in his grasp, both hands gripping you above the water. “shh sweetheart, m’gonna give you what y’want.” he muttered against you. and you watched with hooded eyes as he continued to kiss down to your hip bone. his blue eyes peered up at you before he smirked, trailing over to the right, his teeth latching onto the string on that side—tugging it until the bow came undone.

“oh f-fuck.” you moaned, watching as he slid his lips along your skin and did the same to the other string. your bottoms completely slipping away from your body, floating off in the water. matt couldn’t help but let his eyes fall to your wet core, your folds glistening against the fairy lights. “look at you.” he cooed, lowering your hips back into the water as his fingers came back to toy with your swollen clit. “so pretty baby. so wet f’me.”

he watched as he fingers glided along your folds, dragging them back up and pressing down a little harder. your hips bucked, moaning as your legs went to snap shut, but matt’s body prevented you from doing that. he grinned at your reaction, pulling his hand away again as his hand moved to his swim shorts. grabbing the waistband, he tugging the fabric down, letting his hard cock spring free—it obscenely bobbing up and hitting his lower stomach.

your mouth watered at the sight—watching as beads of pre cum trailed down the side. his hand gripped his based, stroking up as he gathered the pearly substance, his thumb digging into the slit before moving back down to smear it. he hissed at the feeling, pumping a few more times before bringing himself down.

your legs opened wider, welcoming him. leaning down more, he gently tapped the tip of his cock against your clit, sending waves of pleasure up your spine. your elbows lowering you back down, hands coming out to grasp at his arms. “matt..baby hurry up. please- ne-need it so bad.” you whined out, your legs trying to push him forward.

“i know sweetheart, i know. be a good girl and stay still, okay?” he whispered, the hand on your waist pulling you a little higher. you whined, but held your body still, feeling the tip of his cock move up and down on your sticky folds. he was teasing you—and on your birthday, how mean of him. your mouth opened to protest again, but before you could get a word out his cock slipped down, pushing past your puffy folds and into your slick walls.

your moans were loud and mingled, both your heads tipping back at the feeling. he stretched you so good, the slight burn making your eyes roll into the back of your skull. he always loved the way you felt around him, walls clenching like a vice. “fuck baby, y’feel so good. takin’ me so well, hm?” he gritted out, both his hands on your hips now as he slowly pushed himself until he bottomed out.

“ohhh fu-ck, mm feels s’good baby.” you moaned, your nails digging into his skin as his hips pulled back before thrusting forward again, skin flush with one another. “yeah? always such a good girl, takin’ me deep in here.” he cooed, snaking a hand up to press on your lower stomach, feeling the outline of his cock. “mhm!” you cried, back arching up into his touch.

your legs locked around him more, the water beginning to slosh over the edges as his hips picked up their pace—your wetness making him slid inside your gummy walls easier. your hips started to move with his own, fucking yourself on his cock the best you could, but his hand suddenly landed a smack to your thigh. you yelped, the pain blossoming into pleasure as your walls clenched tighter around him.

“i told you to hold still, didn’t i baby?” he grunted, your head nodding quickly. “then stay still, s’about you tonight. don’t gotta do a thing.” his words made your heart flutter, knowing he was taking care of you. “o-okay.” you choked out after a particular thrust of his hips.

but even after telling you to stay still, you couldn’t. your hips bucked up to meet each thrust of him, hands gripping him harder as his tip hit the perfect spot inside you. the water continued to slosh around your bodies, spilling out the sides as matt’s pace was ruthless. you could feel the knot beginning to form in your stomach, rapidly approaching.

but before you could give into the feeling longer, matt’s hips stopped and you cried out—eyes wide as you looked up at him. your orgasm fading away as fast as it came. “m-matt why’d you- st-stop?” you questioned, panting as your legs shook a little.

he didn’t say anything, didn’t pull out—he just gripped you and sat you up before moving himself to sit down in the water, carrying you with him. and when he sat down, his cock stuffed itself deeper inside you. you gasped at the new angle, your hips beginning to rock in their own.

“y’wanna move so much, then you can ride me baby.” was all he said before he began to move you up and down on him. you felt the burn immediately in your thighs, but you didn’t care. your arms wrapped around his shoulders and your face buried itself into his neck, moaning against his damp skin as you slid yourself up and down.

his own face buried into your neck, kissing at your dampened skin, helping your hips move as he bucked up every now and then. your loud moans and whines were muffled as you dug your teeth into his neck, biting the flesh. matt moaned, tossing his head back to give you more access. your thighs picked you up higher before you slammed back down, mewling as his tip kissed your cervix.

“shit baby—fuck do that again.” he whimpered, hands tightening on you as you lifted up again, bringing your hips down hard once more as your teeth moved to a new part of his skin. matt’s moan was loud, you could feel him twitch inside you and touch relished in the fact you were making him feel good.

you could feel the knot returning, the burning sensation in your thighs growing rapidly as well. “baby..” you moaned into his neck, letting the flesh go as you buried your face again. “yeah? gettin’ close baby? can feel you.”

“yesyesyes.” you chanted, rolling your hips now each time you moved down. you pulled away panting, leaning back as you bounced, your tits now in matt’s face—in full display for him. he leaned down, taking a nipple into his mouth as he did earlier and sucked—his hands still helping you move.

“m’so close too.” he mumbled against you, pulling away with a wet pop before tipping his head up to look at you. your fucked out face was so pretty, he couldn’t help but to moan at the sight, his balls beginning to draw taut. “kiss me- please..please kiss me.” you pleaded, and—how could he deny you?

you leaned in at the same time he did, your mouths colliding in a heated and desperate kiss. teeth clashing and tongue’s fighting one another. a hand came up to the back of your head, threading through your hair as matt held you in place—the other one continued to help you bounce.

you moaned into the kiss, your gummy walls tightening more as the band became too tight. “m’gonna- mmph!” your words and sounds were swallowed as matt kissed you deeper, desperately rocking his hips up quicker into you. and that’s all it took.

a scream slipped as you body shook, your fluids rushing out around his cock and it didn’t take long before matt was right behind you—doing a few final thrusts before he spilled into you. the white hot substance filling you to the brim.

you hadn’t stopped kissing, your teeth lightly nipping at one another’s lips as you both panted into the kiss. your hips rocked slowly as you came down from your high before they came to a stop.

when you finally came to a stop, your breathing was ragged—body shaking from how intense it all was. you pulled away from the kiss, matt’s jaw hanging slack as you took in his own flushed and fucked out face.

you giggled tiredly, your body slumping forward as you laid your head against his chest, cuddling up to him in the now very over heated water. his arms came up to hug you close to him, head moving to press a kiss to your own with his swollen pink lips. “happy birthday sweetheart.” he whispered.

“best birthday ever.”

a/n : this was supposed to be posted on my birthday but i just now finished it..it was collecting dust for almost a month..

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS Men with a Deity Reader

AN: Read Rumi and felt like yapping so here's my poetic nonsense. IK I should be getting to requests but that is for the weekend.

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn deity reader

Ingredients: 60% pining, 40% comfort/feels

My Fav: Sylus and Caleb for sure in this one.

Xavier:

Dusk. You are the god/goddess of dusk. You carry the quiet ache of homesickness. The urgency of birds returning home before dark. You are beautiful, yet restless. A fleeting light bleeding into darkness. A transition between day and night, a breath held between states of being.

Xavier would sacrifice a thousand days and a thousand nights just to have you. To feel the way you shift between light and shadow. To stand beneath the sky as you lull the sun to sleep, your hands stained with the fading hues of gold and red.

To witness the caress with which you guide lost souls home. His heart aches to follow them, to rest beneath your dusk.

Perhaps that mercy will lead him back to Philos. Perhaps you are the only home he’s ever truly known.

Rafayel:

Memories. You are the deity of nostalgia. That is why he refuses to forget. Memories are his way of keeping a part of you close.

He does not remember the first time he met you, but he knows he has known you forever. In every lifetime, your face returns to him.

You are the echo of Lemuria, the last music of a dying world. The sound of tides receding. The haunting sweetness of something lost yet still lingering.

He withers under the weight of you. Blossoms in the presence of you. In your blessing, he is both made and unmade at every encounter.

Perhaps that is why no birth or rebirth, has made him forget you.

Zayne:

Will. You are the deity of will and hope. The anchor that steadies him in the tyranny of fate.

Your presence was his only respite from the destiny Astra carved into his skin. When the walls closed in, when the stars themselves turned to ash, it was your hand that pulled him to his feet.

In every lifetime, he bares his heart and pushes through pain, to seek what his soul craves. He has faced death, war, and ruin for the chance to stand beside you.

Because he knows: as long as he does not give up, you will stay with him.

And even if you do not speak, your silence is enough. Your presence alone is the promise that not all battles are lost.

Sylus:

Love. You are love. Not the primordial, all-encompassing love of lust and creation. But Agape. The selfless devotion of purity. A quiet, unrelenting affection.

He remembers the first moment he saw you, how your sight settled into his eye with the fragment of your power. He did not need to learn to love you. He simply recognized you.

Since that moment, nothing else has mattered. His devotion is not loud, frantic or desperate. It’s quiet. Steady. The kind of love that could survive a thousand years of absence and still bloom the moment you return.

You exist in his bones now. His veins carry the ache of your presence. There is no pain in separation anymore because separation is an illusion. .

Separation. Reunion. Loss. Return. It’s all the same cycle. The recognition never fades. He would wait through lifetimes, wait through countless deaths, just to stand before you again.

Because to Sylus, love isn’t possession. Love is becoming. And he has already become yours.

Caleb:

Dreams. He finds you in your absence. You are sleep. You are dreams. The quiet, pleasant ones that bring him rest.

When he turns away from you, he is lost. Haunted by nightmares. Fire and destruction unravel the truth of his own self. The ruin beneath his skin. The world crumbling under the claws of his rage.

But when you return, your hand in his hair, your breath against his cheek, you bring him to rest. As if the weight of gravity, his own evol, pulls his very bones to earth beneath your touch.

You shield him from the awakening god of end. You keep him from the truth. The terrible truth buried in his nightmares.

You keep the god of end asleep beneath his bones. For the worlds of creation, and for him.