#this was at a time when he was really risking a lot to be with ethan

[heartyluv]

Request ✎ Car sex w the guys but I only care about snowcrowapple. Sylus and Caleb give like, trying to discreetly(not really) blow your back out while you’re parked at one of those drive in movie theaters and Zaynes making you squirt in his lap in the car at the parking garage of the hospital when yall are supposed to be havin lunch thank youuuu

Note: Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you likeeee. I changed up the setting for Sylus so each guy had their own little "story" going on, so I hope that's okay. Luv you. MWAH!

Contains: Smut, Porn with no plot, semi-public sex

Word Count: 3K (Total)

Car Sex W/ Zayne, Sylus, & Caleb

Zayne

Lunch with your husband was supposed to be spent eating the sandwiches you picked up from his favorite deli and spending some much needed time together.

You even insisted on taking the little date to the park nearby to get him out of the frigid and sterile environment of the hospital that he never seemed to get enough time away from, no matter if the experience only lasted for half an hour. It's what you did that made it special.

But you didn’t get the chance to leave the underground parking lot at all after Zayne kissed your lips so sweetly until you were practically begging for him to touch you. Being the loving, devoted, and equally needy partner that he was, what kind of man would he be to leave either of you unfulfilled?

Your cold cut subs never made it out of their paper bag and in the span of twenty five minutes in the backseat of his car, his cock had been in your mouth and his cum down your throat.

And now, like a sweet dessert to top off a savory entrée, you were sitting in his lap after he just finished fucking a load deep into your trembling pussy.

You were in blissful shambles as his skilled fingers rubbed your sensitive clit in slow circles while his lips peppered delicate kisses down the side of your already marked neck.

Thank goodness you didn't have to go to work after this.

The position you were in made sense for a couple who didn't get enough time to be as intimate as they wanted because of their jam-packed schedules. Ultimately, when you were presented with an opportunity to have one another in ways you've gone too long without, who could stop themselves from taking advantage?

"Z-Zayne... Baby, I can't..." you mewl, your back pressed to his chest and your head lazily lolling on his shoulder with every stroke of his thick digits. The combination of his release and yours being smeared through your folds made you positively rabid for him despite your overstimulation.

"Give me one more, darling," he whispers, his dick throbbing once again in his tousled slacks. "I must thank you properly for treating me today. It's only fair."

Your legs were hooked over his spread ones to open you up like a flower in search of the sun in the springtime. The obscene echos of your slick cunt being pleased made you forget all about the fact that you were letting yourself be fucked and fingered by the love of your life for anyone to see should they be graced with a glimpse.

Your wanton moans were mesmerizing. How selfish was he for wanting to keep you here regardless of that risk?

"You're close," he lazily grins, his breath hot and arousing against your sticky flesh. "Watch how pretty she looks when I touch her just right."

There's a familiar coil in your gut as you peer down to admire his veiny hand adorned with the silver band of his ring and a sleek black watch, working you with precision.

His fingers glisten in the dimly lit interior with your dripping arousal and he gathers all the slick you produce with a husky groan when he feels how much more you're adding to your mix.

"Baby... I think..." you stammer, hips bucking to chase the high that feels more intense than it's been in a long time. "W-Wait, I might—"

"That's what I want, my love. Feel good for me and let go. I’ll always be there to catch you.”

His speed increases just slightly to masterfully bring you to that mind numbing precipice. He knows what he's doing, and you would always surrender to the trust you gave him.

With a hand reaching back to tug on his damp locks, you crane your neck and hungrily devour his mouth to suppress your sonorous moans before you can be loud enough to draw out security.

Zayne takes your avid kiss with delight as your tongues mingle in the privacy behind his slightly fogged windows.

You repeatedly clench around nothing, tensing and convulsing when your third orgasm of the afternoon takes temporary ownership of your senses and makes you squirt uncontrollably all over your husband's lap. He swallows each of your high-pitched cries the faster abrupt streams of your pleasure spurt from your pussy to make a mess wherever it reaches, fueling your captivated spouse with infatuation and unaltered lust.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, continuing that consistent momentum in between your thighs to drag out your high until you fall limp with his soaked hand to thank for it.

He kisses your temple with reverence once you fall still in the comfortable silence, and you hum from the satisfaction still coursing through your thoroughly used body.

"I'm sorry." Your breath steadies after the time you took to catch it.

"Hm? Why are you apologizing?"

"Because," you chuckle wearily. "I just ruined your pants and I'm almost certain I made you late. You didn't even get to eat."

"I have an extra pair in my office, and I can eat later. There's no need to rush. The only thing I have waiting for me is some paperwork before the surgery I am to perform this evening."

He wipes you down carefully with a cloth he keeps handy in the storage space behind his seats.

"This is my first time being tardy in a very long time and it's only by a handful of minutes, so please don't feel bad."

He nuzzles his forehead against you, eyes shut in contentment.

"Besides, getting to watch you fall apart is always a rewarding sight I never want to miss."

Sylus

The last thing you should be doing is allowing your boyfriend to put you on your back while you're draped in a ridiculously expensive dress and him in an overtly pricey suit.

Because the event you're about to attend?

You'll be pulling up in front of the venue in the next ten minutes.

Maybe you shouldn't have told your daring arms dealer about the scene you read in one of your filthy romance books detailing a woman who was fucked out of her mind in the back of a limo similar to the luxurious one you're currently in.

But you couldn't help yourself! The scene was still vivid in your mind despite having read it over a week ago, so sliding into the interior of such an expensive vehicle for the first time sparked all the memories of those smutty words your eyes unashamedly raked over.

And truly, the last thing you anticipated after bringing it up was for Sylus to ask you with a cocky raised brow and a knowing smirk, "Do you wish to have the same experience, kitten?"

You would’ve been an idiot to play coy. But a serious part of you thought he was just teasing, that he wasn't about to actually fill you with his cock with only a partition separating you from the driver.

Oh, how naive you were.

Sylus was on you lightning fast after your shy head nod, cupping your jaw and kissing you ardently until you became putty in his hands. Slowly did you begin to fall backwards onto the wide leather seat and of course, he was following you down immediately after.

"Sy, what if we can't? We’re almost there," you push out breathlessly, feeling how he rolls your deep red gown up past your hips and pulls your lacey black panties to the side once he hikes your leg over the headrest.

With one knee bended between your legs, he looked down at you with promise.

"We can, sweetie," he purrs, letting spit fall to the index and middle fingers he raised to his lips before bringing them to your pussy. He does this to get you nice and wet to make up for the time he can't spend to prep you properly.

"It's our money you're wearing and driving in. We have all the time in the world to do as we please. Own that like I've told you to."

You press up against him at the same time that your mouth falls open from the pleasure of his saliva being pushed inside your tightness. The clink of his belt that he skillfully works to undo with his free hand, sounds whilst his other keeps a consistent pressure to your drooling cunt.

"Mmph.. F-Fuck Sylus, that feels so good..."

"I know. You've ruined the seat already.” You hiss when he brushes against your taut bundle of nerves. “Good. That means I'm doing this right."

He removes his hand from your core and deeply chuckles at your whines of protests. They die in your throat as you stare at him take the mix of fluids to his hard cock, rubbing down and over the flushed tip.

Sylus winks at your gawking when you flicker your gaze up to meet the steadfast fixation of his lustful rubies.

A dribble of precum leaks out after a few strokes and lands between your slit, making his balls tighten with a need to become a part of such an alluring union.

Just as he looms over you once more, ready to breach your responsive body, the small navigation system that you’ve been able to follow along with on your drive makes an announcement.

You will be arriving at your destination in four minutes.

You look up at him with a frown. "We won't make it, babe."

"You know how much I appreciate a challenge." His smirk is confident. "I think we can."

You gasp when he pulls you closer by your leg with an unsurprising amount of strength and throws it over his shoulder.

He doesn't waste any more time, lining himself up and grunting when your hot cunt swallows him as he sinks into you in one deep and fluid thrust.

"Kitten," he shudders from being buried to the hilt. "Savoring you just like this is something that takes priority over any useless gathering.”

Slowly he rocks into you and grins at your frantic head shaking side to side, reminding him that he can’t be so impulsive. He knows how important tonight is for his business, so unfortunately, he’ll have to make this quick.

There's no time for sweetness or worship, then. Not when he aims to have you full of his cum in time.

He grips your thigh and kisses your calf as he drills into you, watching the creamy ring you form at his base with honor because only he gets to make a perfect thing like you feel this good.

"Sy, baby... 'M gonna... Please don't stop, right there, right—"

"Don't tell me what you’re about to do. Be good and show me.”

Greedily, he palms your tits through the exorbitant material and the swipe of his thumb past your nipples has you crashing. For your passionate lover, the tension of your cunt squeezing and holding him tightly is all that’s necessary for his seed to spill into your womb.

"That's it, sweetie," he grunts. "Take what belongs to you."

Make a right turn at the next light and your destination will be on your left.

Your muddled stammering from the inability to talk right amuses Sylus in his tough decision to separate from you instead of basking in your post orgasm.

He takes his time to correct his attire but takes even more with you as the navigation pings with a cheerful, "Arrived!" and the limo comes to a complete pause.

You grin when he pulls your panties back over your cum filled pussy and leans down to press a kiss to the mound like it’s doing a good job of holding something valuable for safe keeping.

Once he puts your dress back into place, he holds his hand out to help you sit up and restores your rumpled hair as best as possible.

"You're proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"I am." He collects your purse as you work on some last minute adjustments to your appearance. The driver then opens the door and waits patiently for you two to exit.

"But when we get home,” he leans in, breath fanning against your ear. “I want to explore another one of your... fantasies. I'll have more time to fulfill it properly then. Do we have a deal?"

You place your own kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I'm holding you to it, Mr. Qin."

Caleb

This is the third time you and your fiancé have embarked on an impromptu date to the drive-in movie theater near your home and once again, you barely got halfway through the film before you were more than ready to bounce on his cock.

You didn't know what provoked the horniness that had Caleb caressing your thigh or you palming him through his pants, but it always got both of you going without fail.

Was it the atmosphere? Perhaps the fact that this was very taboo (illegal) or the thrill and slight fear you felt about potentially getting caught?

Likely all of the above.

Whatever it is, it had your hand beneath the waistband of your man's pants and wrapped around his thick length while the romcom being displayed for all the patrons attending became irrelevant background noise.

"Fuck, pips..." he groaned as his hips bucked slightly to match your languid strokes, tone winded and unfairly sexy. "Never fails, huh?"

You watched him with an intense love the more you're serenaded by the breathy whimpers slipping past his lips when you run your thumb over his seeping slit.

"You can't be as loud as you were last time," you whisper. "Almost got us caught, doofus."

"I don't knowww. Your pussy was the wettest I've ever felt it when you thought someone caught on to what we were doing."

His teasing chuckle is cut off by a sharp intake of breath when you apply more pressure around his base.

"I'm serious, Caleb."

"And so am I." He looks at you with hooded eyes. "Sit on my dick before I become a problem you swear you don’t want, yeah?"

More heat rushes between your legs and the throbbing that was already there is now impossible to leave neglected.

This was routine for you by now. So much so that you started wearing skirts and dresses so he had easy access when you started getting busy in the backseat.

Your panties were slid down your legs while he freed himself just enough for you to slide him inside.

Bracing a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you climb into his lap, your knees anchor on both sides of his large body. You're held tight in a calloused grip while he starts kissing your jaw and sucking down the column of your throat.

"Pipsqueak, you're soaked," he smirks the lower he gets to your collarbone, feeling your slick cling to his thighs.

"You gonna fix it or keep talking?"

"I know how to multitask. You've seen and felt it first hand."

"Then put that skill to good use. Kiss me and give me your cock."

He bites his lip and smiles even more at your vulgar command, taking your words as a challenge before pulling you in for a heated kiss by the back of your head. Never faltering from the exchange, he takes a hold of his dick and guides himself to your lubricated hole while sloppily sucking on your lips.

Caleb consumes your cries when you eagerly welcome him home and his large hands take generous handfuls of your ass to bring you closer as if you were still too far away.

But where you're used to taking control when he has you like this, you're caught off guard when your husband-to-be immediately starts rutting into your pussy from below with no reservation. He's so far in your guts and so relentless that you choke on an attempt to speak like you can feel him reaching your throat.

The rapid slapping of meeting skin reverberates in the enclosed space just as much as your flesh ripples in his firm hold.

Trying not to come before you get a chance to really enjoy the dick he's giving you is a challenge you're doing your best not to fail. You recognize though, that it’s a defeat you’ll accept if the aftermath is just as invigorating as the deliciousness leading toward it.

"Babe... I can't." Your arms wrap around him even tighter than before as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the slight shaking of the car that only adds to your shared arousal.

"S-shit, 's too much, too much.."

"Nuh-uh." He guides your body to grind your clit against him to give you the small break you're silently asking for. "You know how to handle me. Act like it."

Your thighs burn, but it feels so fucking good and you’re far from wanting him to stop.

Each vein pulsing within your walls after every punishing stroke makes you woozy. You know it’s wiser to accept the way he conquers your body without trying to make it last.

"Caleb... Hah—I'm..."

"I know, I know, honey," he coos tiredly, his intensity only wavering the closer he gets. "I'm right here. Come on your husband so we can go home… I got you.”

His reassurance and the kiss of his tip to your deepest parts easily has you shattering.

The incessant squeezing of your cunt and rush of your sweet juices around his cock makes Caleb succumb to his own climax faster than he can brace himself.

Both of you muffle your sounds with a searing kiss, teeth clattering from the sheer force equally delivered.

There’s even a dull ache in your back that’s just as euphoric as it is sore from his rigorous treatment and you can’t wait to feel how bone deep it’ll get in the morning.

His cum paints your spasming walls with meticulous intent while he keeps pumping upwards to prolong the sensation for as long as he can.

"We have to stop coming to these things," you playfully comment when he finally rests.

"What?" he pouts mockingly. "You scared?"

"Oookay, don't be a dick."

"Just admit it. You love me."

"Sometimes," you shrug.

Suddenly he gets serious.

"Don't play like that." He kisses you delicately. "We're forever."

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat @inutrasha94 @jadestone2 @lamogliedizayne @sylusqt

Creds to @/bbyg4rlhelps for the dividers!

[drdemonprince]

i'm embarrassed to ask this but how does one go about pirating anything (and everything)? idk if you can even answer that with the way the internet is going but i am clueless and would very much like to not rely on garbage companies for books/music/movies/porn or risk losing content to further restrictions so any advice/direction is very appreciated

@testdevice and I have talked about a how to be a pirate stream and I hope that one day we can get to it (and that twitch wont ban us if we do!). In the meantime I would recommend checking out the r/Piracy subreddit and reading some of the information in their sidebar and pinned posts. A lot of it comes down to torrenting -- an age-old digital piracy practice that is honestly not that difficult to do but which I also put off a lot of the time because I didn't have the storage space. You really do just need a computer, an internet connection, and a spare storage drive of some size to get started, though.

Hell, if you don't want to torrent things, then you can even start archiving things by using shitty media ripping sites like youtube to mp3 or the like and just start saving a ton of music, videos, etc on a drive. If you want to archive something that is online, I guarantee you there is a website already devoted to it. There are sites for downloading images and videos off of instagram, archiving tweets, downloading youtube videos from the url, and so on. Just Google it and use an ad blocker and you'll be able to find ways to rip the media you want off the internet with very little technological know how.

Label that shit in as much detail as you can, store it in some organized folders, and you'll have the beginning of a modest little internet archive that you can share with others once you figure out how to torrent. you truly NEVER know when a piece of media will be taken offline or suddenly become very important for research or reporting -- I was just watching a youtube deep dive into Shane Dawson's early 2010's history and it relied upon someone having found a way to dig up old vlogs that he tried to scrub from the internet years ago. that stuff is valuable to history because it shows what was normalized on Youtube at the time! some of those archives are the only proof that people have that they were preyed upon as young fans of this person!

so even something as simple as ripping random videos and songs that you like can have a ton of value. start small, work your own particular little niche, and every time you run into a problem, THAT IS A CHANCE TO BUILD A NEW SKILL! which is great.

[multivcrse]

Quick! Love! — C. Kent

pairing : clark kent x fem!journalist!reader

contains : based on quick! love! , established relationship, fear of commitment, mentions of marriage, allusions to sex, cussing

word count : 3075

synopsis : clark wants the both of you to have things figured out as time keeps haunting you and him. you’re just being difficult.

Clandestine meetings on the rooftop were nothing new. It might’ve been too much of a risk, but to Clark? It was worth it. Just to see you even from afar was the only thing he needed.

He’s well aware that you’ve only been seeing each other for six months. But he knew that he wanted you like a person longed to reach the stars. You agreed to being in a relationship with him with the condition of not taking things seriously. He pouted like a lost puppy for a whole week despite still agreeing.

You had met him at the Daily Planet. The innocent, clumsy Clark Kent, sitting just one desk away from you. He simply stole glances, smiling whenever he got the chance to. You couldn’t resist and before you knew it, you were smiling back at him.

Honestly, who could resist a smile like Clark’s?

Whether you liked it or not, days turned to one whenever you’re with him. When everyone else was already on their way home, you and Clark would sit on the rooftop, watching the cars go by as you shared slices of pizza.

It had been the same when Clark finally told you about his secret identity. You weren’t stupid, really. Clark’s face would look a little funny whenever his glasses would slide down his nose. Like it was glitching, almost.

And don’t even start with the amount of successful interviews he’s had with Superman. It’s the way you weren’t even surprised when he told you.

The same routine would still occur. You walked down the streets of Metropolis, on the way to your apartment. Just then, you spotted the familiar red cape, across the road.

With a subtle smile, you watched as Superman helped an disabled woman cross the road. You returned your gaze to where it once was, continuing to walk a couple more steps to your home.

You heard whooshing as you searched for the keys in your pocket. You didn’t have to look up to know it was him. You simply walked into the building and used the elevator. As you arrived on the third floor, you stepped in to your apartment room, shutting the door behind you. You kicked your shoes off, dropping your bag to the couch before you went out the door again and made your way up.

You escaped to the rooftop of your apartment and saw him. Still in that blue suit and red cape, sitting on the edge with no fear of falling off. “And just what is Superman doing on the rooftop?” You stood before him, arms crossed over your chest as he turned to you.

Clark looked around as if he was confused. “Sorry. I must’ve gotten the wrong address.” You smiled at his joke. He was not that funny and at least he’s well aware of that.

“Come here.” He patted the concrete beside him, draping his cape over it so you won’t have to worry about your pants getting dirty.

You trust him and that’s why you were willing to sit on the edge of a building. You acknowledged your surroundings, taking in the fresh air as you both sat in comfortable silence. Clark’s been wanting to say something.

He didn’t want uncertainty. He was never strong enough to bear it. “I think you’re good at relationships.” He broke the silence, causing you to turn and look at him.

You once told him how you weren’t fit for relationships. You could barely even think about your well being let alone another person’s feelings. But you had to admit, Clark changed that for you.

Yet, you’re still struggling to decipher whether this was forever or a fling. The answer was right in front of you. “And why’s that?”

“You care. And you know, i put you through a lot of… crap and you were always there for me.” He spoke, words sincere with his eyes glancing right into yours. By ‘crap’, he doesn’t mean relationship banters either.

A couple of months ago you rescued him from an obviously life threatening pocket dimension. You were the one who took him back to Smallville.

The problem was, you realized you loved him a long time ago. You still haven’t said it back to him since that one night he told you.

You shook your head. “Actually, I'm the one putting you through a bunch of shit. You’re too good for me, Clark.” His eyes softened with a frown evident on his face.

“Lets just.. Go with the current, see where this goes.” You shrug before placing your hand on top of his. “There’s plenty of time in the world, Clark.”

You abruptly stood up, Clark assisting you as he did the same. “Come on. I’ll make us breakfast for dinner.” You grabbed his hand and guided him back inside.

Forbidden love seems to be the only love you’ve ever known.

Clark’s beginning to feel the time you promised wear out. You both knew damn well you weren’t getting any younger when his Ma keeps asking about the two of you.

Even you were sick of seeing your colleagues show off their engagement rings and the questions of ‘when?’ being thrown out to you. Still, you said no every time Clark jokingly asked to marry you.

Sunday came around and few fellow journalists from the Daily Planet gathered to celebrate a successful article.

Clark was in the corridor, wearing a flannel and a t-shirt for once. He suggested wearing his oversized suit like any other day. You had scolded and reminded him that he wasn’t going to work for the day.

“Holy shit, Clark.” Jimmy’s voice made Clark turn. His eyes followed Jimmy as he approached. “I didn’t know you were ripped like that.” Jimmy leaned against the wall, a cup of coffee in his hand.

Clark sighs, throwing his arms up in defeat. Jimmy smirked at Clark, looking at him up and down. “Where’s your wife?” Gosh, this was also frustrating poor Clark. “Not yet my wife. And she’d kick your butt if she overhears you calling her that.” He pointed at his colleague, face so serious as he corrected his words.

“Okay, that’s just sad, Clark.” Jimmy scoffed. They’ve been having this conversation for months. Clark was never really the one to open up, but he needed relationship advice. And he asked to the worst example anyone could imagine. “Just talk to her. Maybe ask her properly this time.”

Jimmy patted Clark’s shoulder as he let out a sigh. “Come on, you’re not just gonna stand here all day.”

They made their way towards the main hall, seeing their work friends conversing with one another. Clark’s eyes paused at the sight of you, Lois and a friend of yours near the coffee table.

He was just staring, feeling like he traveled back in time to three years ago when he first realized his feelings for you. Clark flinched as Jimmy practically pushed him. He turned, tilting his head in annoyance whilst Jimmy walked away.

Whatever.

Clark still made his way through the room of people to you. Though, his heart dropped when he saw you holding a baby. Well, he obviously knew it was your friend’s baby, but this image in front of him is making everything worse.

“Look who it is.” Lois chimed in as Clark approached you. You turned, playfully gasping as the baby also turned its little head towards Clark. “Well, who is this little guy?” Besides Kryptonite, kids were one of his many other weaknesses.

Your friend, the mother of that baby, chuckled. “Isn’t he cute?” You spoke in a gentle and high tone as Clark boops the baby’s nose with his pointer finger.

That made your heart swell and your mind think in circles. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

The sun was all gone when you and Clark made it back to your apartment. With you being the only source that can get him intoxicated, he was all over you.

It was truly concerning that the second you made it home, he took you to your bedroom and hovered over you, pressing kisses to your lips then down to your neck. “Mmm.. Clark-“ You gave him a little more access by tilting your head back against the headboard.

He hummed, finding his way back to your lips before you placed a hand on his cheek. He pulled away only to press a kiss against your palm. “What’s up?” Both of your hands now cupped his cheeks.

Clark didn’t want to answer. You sat yourself up, causing him to shift as you do. He shook his head, his hand gently moving back and forth on your thigh. “I guess I want to talk to you, but..” His breathing got a little heavy as he kissed your lips for another time.

“That can wait.” He captured your lips and you responded for a moment. You pull away, shaking your head. “You’re gonna have to tell me now.” Your hand traveled and landed firmly on his chest.

He sighed, getting off of you to walk off that bed of yours. “Clark!” You followed him as he walked out of the room. You called out his name again when he sat himself down on the couch.

“What are you being pissy for, Clark?”

You stood in front of him. “I dont want to ask cause I already know your answer.” He admitted, voice much firmer than usual. You could only scoff.

“No I don't. I don’t know what you’re talking about at all-“

“What are we gonna do?” Clark blurted out, making you furrow your eyebrows. “What?”

“With our relationship, what are we gonna do?” He repeats, abruptly standing up. Your eyes shifted as he stood. His hands found both of yours, holding them softly. “Cause I don't want to keep guessing until we’re 50.”

Your eyes closed shut as you took possibly the deepest breath you ever took. “Well, what do you want?” Your eyes open up again, meeting his.

Clark pulled you closer to him, his hand on your lower back as the other held your waist. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I- I want to wake up next to you every morning, I want you.”

“And I love you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you felt your heart go heavy. You just can’t talk about this. Not right now, at least. But when will you ever?

So you left him hanging with his previous words.

“Believe me, Clark, I want what you want… But I don't think I deserve you.” That was it. Clark was a superhero and a genuinely good person. He loved and thought everything was perfectly beautiful. You were just a journalist, barely putting your life in one piece and even that was thanks to Clark.

A burden.

You felt like a burden.

His mouth opened to speak, but his throat wouldn’t let any words escape. His grip on you loosened and the pit in your stomach grew.

He pulled away this time, running his hand over his face. He nodded, sniffling as he went on to grab his jacket off your coat rack. “Okay- Clark.” You followed him to the corridor of your front door. “It’s late.” Clark simply said.

“I’ll see you soon.” He turned, planting a kiss to your forehead before walking out the door.

“Fuck.” You muttered.

In fact, you were fucked.

Clark let you get eaten alive by your own thoughts. He hasn’t even been coming into the Daily Planet for days. This wasn’t your fault, he knew that. Well, at least that was what he told himself.

You couldn’t erase him even if you wanted to. Everyday seemed to be the same with nothing new and it was ruining you. And you loved him so much, you know that now.

If you were to be given another chance, you’d say it in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t that easy now, was it?

The Daily Planet felt quieter. You weren’t doing anything, just staring blankly into your computer screen. Your eyes were weary and every noise around you was muffled.

Your name was spoken and you turned after the third call. “Are you okay, babe?” Lois spoke softly, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Of course.” You replied, licking your lips as you nodded.

“Hey, come see this.” Jimmy chimed in as he sat, looking up at the televisions. You and Lois joined him. Typical. As expected, on the screen, it showed Superman fighting an evil force. You looked away before going back to your desk.

You went home with nothing in your mind.

It was late at night when you were mindlessly watching television. Anything to get you to sleep seemed fine. But how could you fall asleep when three extremely loud superheroes were bickering on your balcony.

You were very very startled by a sound coming from outside. Your eyes shot open as you stood up and grabbed an umbrella by your tv stand, ready to hit whoever dared to disturb your lifeless night.

That’s when you find Hawkgirl, Mr. Terrific and Green Lantern arguing on your balcony. “What the actual fuck?” You scoff, putting your umbrella down.

“Uhm- Hi, so-“ Kendra was about to explain their sudden appearance when a loud groan you recognized sounded through the loud noises in the night. Your eyes widened as you walked past them.

Superman looked like shit. He was painfully leaning against the side wall. His suit was torn in many places and his pretty face was covered in bloody scratches. “Clark?!” You gasp, kneeling down beside him.

He could barely keep his eyes open at that moment. You turn towards his colleagues, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide. “He told us to bring him here.” Michael answered your silent question before you turned back to the love of your life.

“Oh, Clark…” Your hands were around him, but you were afraid to hurt him if you laid even just a finger on him. “Well, I don't know what to do!” You exclaimed, turning back to them.

They nodded in unison before helping to get Clark inside your apartment. He was put down on your bed. You did not care about your perfectly white sheets getting dirty and bloody. You wanted him to be fine and seeing him so beat up made your heart fall apart.

The three only stood there as you observed Clark. Clearly, they didn’t know what to do either, especially in the dead of night.

“This is his own fault.” Guy muttered, but he wasn’t slick. “You’re no help, just get out.” You snapped, causing them to carefully step out of the room. You clenched your jaw as you walked closer towards Clark.

“Just... Let him rest until the sun comes up.” Michael spoke once more before leaving the two of you alone.

He made a quiet humming noise as he turned in his unconsciousness. Your eyes began to tear up as you softly brushed the curls on his forehead away. You’ve seen him like this before. Maybe not as bad, but you couldn’t keep your eyes too closely on him. You guessed it was because of how you left things the last time you spoke.

A tear fell down your cheek as your eyes closed shut. “Hey.” Quickly, you wiped away the tears as you turned. “If you need anything, I wrote my number down in the kitchen.” Kendra speaks, remaining on the doorway. “Okay. Thanks for bringing him here.” You nodded, sighing.

You spent the whole night cleaning up visible wounds, hoping it could at least be another source of help other than just the sunlight. Both your mind and your heart were racing as you carefully laid down next to him. The sun was two hours away from showing, but you were tired.

When you had woken up from an uncomfortable slumber, the space beside you was empty, left only with specks of dirt and god knows what else. You shift, letting the warmth of the sun get to you. You surrendered, thinking Clark had left the apartment already.

Very wrong, you were.

The smell of coffee made it clear that there was someone in the kitchen. You grunt, sitting on the edge of the bed as you rubbed your eyes.Your footsteps were quiet and careful as you walked out of the room. It was odd, but you were relieved to see Clark up and about.

You didn’t say anything as you stood behind the kitchen island. Just staring at him as he cheerfully flips pancakes. You couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong with this guy. One moment, he was unconscious and wounded and by a couple of hours, he was fine and acting like nothing happened the night before.

He wore one of his work shirts that he once left in your apartment, leaving it unbuttoned. He had discarded the torn up blue suit on your couch and his boots on the side of your balcony door.

Then, he finally turned. His eyes lit up as he smiled. Though it dropped when he saw your eyes glistening. “Baby..” He walked towards you, immediately wrapping his strong arms around you.

Your arms clung onto his shoulders as he picked you up with no trouble. “Im sorry for everything, Clark.” You stuttered, but you didn’t let your tears get the best of you. Clark’s eyes softened out of your sight as he held you tighter.

He puts you down gently, your bare feet reconnecting with the floor that radiated your warmth. His hands cupped your face as you looked up at him with pure love and admiration. “I love you too.” Your head turned slightly in his palm as you spoke.

He smiled instantly, his dimples as prominent as one could be. He leans down to capture your lips in an honest and loving way. Those three bittersweet words had once slipped out of your mouths from time to time, but this time, it could only mean one thing for the both of you.

Now, neither of you were living with something to hide. You put your emotions aside and leaned in to the toughest ride of your life. It only took Clark three other months to get on one knee while he still had to ask you multiple times if you really wanted this afterwards.

p.s : requests r open!

[date-everything-imagines]

Date Everything Love Languages (p.1)

Featuring: Barry Styles, Bodhi Windbreaker, Cam, Chance, Freddy Yeti, Hector, Jerry, Johnny Splash, Lux, Mac, Mateo Manta, Parker Bradley, The Hanks, Tony

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Barry Styles (Quality Time)

Every time you walk into the bathroom Barry's face lights up. He is always ready to give you a tight hug and kiss, but always manages to hold it in. Who knows if you have product on, he wouldn't want to smudge it! (And of course personal boundaries! That is, uh, also relevant) A lot of people tend to find Barry overwhelming to be around, whether it's the constant info dumping on skincare or not being able to keep his mind on track. His brain is always moving around and he knows it can be hard to follow. You could be talking about favorite shampoos one minute and then end up googling the origin of cotton swabs. He appreciates that you either go on tangents with him or just listen attentively Despite the stress, Barry is really doing his best with his journal. Although most things leave his head quickly, he always makes sure to write down things you two have done together. It's seems obvious that he would document major events like holidays and special date nights. But... he also writes down the small things; you bought him some new brushes, he successfully cooked a meatloaf, you guys found a baby rabbit in your backyard. Every moment together is precious to him, and he wants to make sure he forgets as little of it as possible

Bodhi Windbreaker (Quality Time)

When you've been locked all alone in a crawlspace for 4 decades it gets pretty lonely. As much as he is cheerful, Bodhi has faced a lot of isolation, and it does get to him. It's hard to adjust to over 40 years of change, and doing it alone is scary. It's normally daunting, but with you it feels easy! Being lead by you makes everything so much more enjoyable. If he has to learn any bad news he would rather it come from you. You are able to easily recognize when he is getting overwhelmed, and just a firm grip of his hand is a solid way to ground him just a little bit. Not to mention no matter how awful it gets, afterwards you both can just have fun hanging out together! Some of Bodhi's favorite pastimes is showing you his favorite movies and shows from the 80s. It's awesome if you've seen them already, but if you haven't he is PUMPED!! It's sharing his whole culture with you, his whole existence!! His favorite date nights are cuddling on the couch and watching 80s movies with snacks. Out of the corner of your eye you can always see him giddily staring at you in excitement, waiting for a reaction. You can't see his eyes but you just know they are wide and shining. But, uh, Bodhi gets so excited that he usually won't shut up. Fun facts, observations, pointing out his favorite parts, etc. If it gets too much just shove some popcorn into his mouth, he'll get the hint

Cam (Gift Giving)

Cam isn't the best with words, and both of you realize that. And although he really treasures your steamy kisses and intimate nights, he actually really likes to give gifts. It's easier for him since he doesn't need to say anything, and there is less of risk of a misunderstanding. All he has to do is give you it with a subtle but sweet smile for you to understand. A lot of times you accidentally throw away important things, like your keys or your pen, so he tends to keep them to the side until you come back around. Something you do a lot of the time is throw away the directions on boxes and then immediately need them. Don't worry, Cam has a whole section just of box tops and microwave meal instructions for ya. And for special occasions, he will even give you handmade gifts! A sculpture made of used chopsticks or a bouquet of fruit peels arranged like flowers, he can get be surprisingly creative! Cam's gifts can range from really good to... questionable. (We all remember the rotten cucumber...) but just know he always means well. He's a trash can, he likes trash! You will take that cracked salsa jar and you will APPRECIATE IT, DAMN IT!!

Chance (Quality Time)

Chance doesn't hide the fact he enjoys being flirted with. Every time you play a session together he hopes you do it at least once. I mean yeah, sweet talk and kisses are always a nice bonus, but all Chance really wants is to just be with you! Whenever he wants to start a new campaign or just do a one-shot, he will always invite you first. You just always make it more fun! Whether you are good or bad doesn't really matter. He'll help you however you need. He loves spending nights together figuring out your character sheet. I can't lie, Chance has some pre-made sheets he made for you just in case. Some people are really bad with decision making, so he wants to avoid that for you if it's an issue. Roleplaying is supposed to be fun, not stressful. It touches him that you indulge in his interests and passions. A lot of people around him tend to dismiss and even mock his passions, and he has gotten used to it. He can't even describe how much joy he felt when you mentioned playing "Grottos and Gargoyles" together. To you it may just feel like playing a game, but to Chance? It's the most romantic gesture in the world. And even if you don't want to actually play, you can expect him to want you to stay and watch. Even going as far as begging... cutely~

Freddy Yeti (Acts of Service)

As your fridge, Freddy values keeping your food in great condition over anything else. His best way of showing love is by making sure you always have something tasty to eat at anytime of the day, way to the heart is through the stomach after all! Seeing your happy face discovering an extra Tupperware of leftovers in the back makes his heart soar! The way you gasp in excitement and do a lil celebration dance, it's just too cute! He can't help but chuckle every time (much to your embarrassment). At first it felt more like polite obligation as your fridge, but now he openly looks forward to your praise and appreciation. A big part of it also has to do with your finances. It doesn't matter your income, Freddy always puts extra care into the expensive food you order. He doesn't want a single bite to go to waste! You spent a lot of time at your job to treat yourself to that fancy cheesecake restaurant, he knows it would break you if it went bad under his watch. Actually, he has studied different preservation techniques for difference foods and cultures. Freddy usually does all of this behind the scenes, but if you show interest he will give you tips to help (his favorite way is to form it like a quiz) He is very self conscious about his imperfections, and will beat himself up if even one apple goes bad. It's a feeling of failure that washes over him. You deserve the best, nothing less! These are sensitive times for him, make sure to give him some space to destress. But honestly? Just gently offering to help clean means the world to him. Freddy loves when you take care of him after a rough day. The way you clean his shelves so thoroughly but gently, and how you actually let him talk about his own issues without judgement. You make him feel love in a way that warms his heart to an ironic degree

Hector (Words of Affirmation/Acts of Service)

I mean, is this a surprise? He has literally stated it in-game!! And god is he good with words. Hector is a romantic wordsmith at heart and will always make that known. His admiration runs so deep he can't help but remind you every moment how much he loves you and how perfect you are. And he means it. Every. Single. Word. His compliments can range from the softest whisper in your ear, to the most erotic fantasies you've ever heard. Whatever you are feeling in the moment (he'll only go as intense as you desire. He understands his consistent longing isn't common for everyone, and respects you for it) When you aren't around to hear his musings, he makes sure as an HVAC that you are always at a comfortable temperature. Over time he has gotten it down to a T, even knowing the exact temperature you want during different weather and times of the year. He asks for nothing in return, but his heart always skips a beat when you offer. Showing care and concern makes him feel... seen. (Honestly tho he represents every love language in a way, he just... well... loves you so much!)

Jerry (Quality Time)

This man is a hot mess, and not completely put together. To most he is just kind of a weirdo. While he is in his own world 9 times out of 10, it's not like he doesn't know others find him weird. Although friendly, other objects go out of their way to avoid him or interact as little as possible. It can get a little painful having everyone who makes eye contact with you leave immediately. So the pure fact you decided to not only talk to him, not only become friends, but DATE HIM??? He still isn't quite sure if this is real, or if he's been stuck in a tetanus induced coma He is always shaking in anticipation whenever he can sense you coming around with the Datevators. The thought of spending another afternoon together is too much to handle! You can pretty much hear his drawer shaking from outside the office. Jerry doesn't really care too much what you do together. But if he had to pick, he loves going to obscure garage sales with you in search of the museum's newest donation. Sometimes you both make it a game and see who gets the best haul at the end of the day In his junk drawer collection, he actually has a small private section dedicated to stuff from your relationship. Movie ticket stubs, worn out napkins from dinner, one of those small pencils they give away at mini golf courses, you get it. Every addition is followed with a dedicated plaque explaining it's origins and meaning, just like an ancient relic. If he gives you a tour, you'll be surprised to know he remembers a LOT of details, some even you don't!

Johnny Splash (Gift Giving)

Johnny is such a stupid lil romantic, this man adores you! And he loves for you to know it! Every time he sees you, his face will brighten up and all of his sweet nicknames for you come pouring out. Asking about your day as he trails gentle kisses all up your arm, he isn't shy with his affection. Usually when you stop by he has a sort of gift for you. You can expect the classic flowers and chocolates and jewelry (if desired). But do you know what he really likes to give you? PERSONAL CONCERTS!! Yup, his favorites gifts come from his creative heart. He writes personal love ballads for you all the time, he frankly has a whole folder of them. You just tend to inspire him! Everything you do makes his heart spit out the sweetest lyrics. So you better be prepared for personal concerts, all the time. He'll mainly do it for special occasions, but sometimes he just can't hold it in! Johnny is definitely not the best singer and not the best on the ears, but he makes it up with his sappy lyrics and flirtatious winks. The way he looks so lovingly into your eyes as he misses that note? Unmatchable~

Lux (Words of Affirmation)

This stupid twink may love you, but do you know what they love more? THEMSELF!! The quickest way to make them happy is to compliment them on... pretty much anything. Their appearance, their content, their voice, you can just kinda choose something random and they will light up. They love being washed in praise by anyone possible, but honestly? It coming from you feels more special Since they are used to being adored daily, normal compliments don't hit as deep for them. But if you want them to really know you care, compliment them on something minor or very personal. Don't just focus on their hair and lighting, tell them you love their dorky laugh when they laugh at Chance having a breakdown. Bring up how cute it is that they get flustered every time you change a lightbulb. It's definitely not as common, but on occasion Lux actually has the ability to genuinely compliment someone! Frankly that's how you know they truly love you. Sometimes, Lux will come by, and softly compliment your outfit or your progress on a project. No vocal exaggeration, no underlying sarcasm, no cameras. Just genuine words of love and admiration. It frankly catches you off guard every time. It feels a bit surreal, but when paired with that bright smile, you remember why you fell for them in the first place

Mac (Physical Touch)

We all know Mac is a lil bit of a freak. Okay, quite a big freak. But we love them for it! Whenever you double click or type so fast and delicately, it warms their "heart-ware". They appreciate that you aren't too aggressive with them. A lot of people out there are pretty bad to their computers (they have seen so... so many videos), but with you, Mac has no fear. You'll never rage quit and slam their keyboard. You'll never spill flat soda on their PC. The trust in your relationship is unbreakable and it's one of the things they love most about you. In return they love to hold your hand while you browse, giving sweet kisses along your face and neck throughout the day Btw, if you want to show them you reeeeally care, do some gentle cleaning late at night. I'm talking the fancy microfiber cloths and q-tips. Let's face it, you know exactly where they are most sensitive (hint: right between their F9 and F10 keys) Just please be conscious about the others in the office, Chance doesn't need a full show every day

Mateo Manta (Acts of Service)

Ah, sweet sweet Mateo. There is nothing he loves more than caring for people, and that especially applies to you. Whenever you help him with the shelter, he will constantly make sure you are comfortable and properly hydrated throughout the day. Also expect some cute homemade snacks (if he has the time, he likes to make them look like little animals) He's so used to taking care of others that sometimes you have to give him a taste of his own medicine If you have sensory issues with things like fabric, he is the guy to go to! Knowing a lot about textiles, Mateo will work as hard as he can to find something that's comfortable for you. Once you figured things out, he will be careful to only get items with the proper texture You may not know this, but he is actually pretty skilled at sewing. Whenever you get a hole in your clothes or a plushie of yours, Mateo is quick to patch it up for you. For larger projects he'll ask permission, but for small patches he'll do it in the background. With him, you will never have any ripped fabric in your house (unless you want that as an aesthetic or something. He... doesn't quite know to feel about that) One of his favorite ways to show his love is doing what he was made for: be a blanket! Sometimes we just need to sit on the couch and warm up under a blanket to destress, and Mateo is happy to help. If you put on your Dateviators, he will pretty much hold you close in his arms and pull his blanket around you like a cocoon. No matter how bad your day is, the sight of him laying down, arms open so gently reaching for you, it's instant bliss. If you're having an especially bad day, Mateo will quietly sing or hum for you

Parker Bradley (Quality Time)

All this fucking dork wants to do is play games with you, it doesn't matter which one. Sandyland, Chess, he'll even make whole new games for you to play! His brain is always full of ideas and he has multiple notebooks filled with them. The thing he treasures most about you is the fact you listen to him explain rules. Being an absolute rules fanatic, he is quite used to people around him either making fun or just straight up ignoring him. Even his friend(?) Chance can be pretty dismissive. Nothing gets his blood boiling like people completely disregarding his rules (okay cheating is worse for him, BUT STILL). So when you actually make an effort to listen, he can feel his heart soaring! Sometimes it's pretty obvious that you are bored or even completely lost, but it's the thought that counts. His huffy annoyance will always be followed with an understanding sigh. At the end of the day, he can't stay mad at you. A quick way to cheer him up is to bring up specific rules and ask questions about them, that way he knows you were paying attention. Doing it while cuddling is the best. Parker will gladly hold you in his arms as he goes on and on about his passion, taking breaks to catch his breath and shyly give you kisses

The Hanks (Quality Time)

We all know our favorite himbos value time together over everything. They want to do EVERYTHING together, and that includes you too! Nothing is sweeter than the way their puppy dog eyes light up when you (usually hesitantly) agree to join in their adventures. Their vibe goes from 100 straight to 200! Even when they get horribly injured, the Hanks honestly don't mind. Because that just means they get to have you patch them up and baby them. The way you wrap up their injuries so gently and kiss them better? Absolute bliss (you swear sometimes they get reckless just so they have an excuse for you to kiss them) While 90% of the time it has to do with stunts and adrenaline rushes, they actually like to just spend some down time with you too. Cuddle piles are common, with everyone switching positions every time (that way no Hank feels left out). These times stand out because it's just relaxed. Barely any yelling, and no hyperactive movements. Hank 1 will play with your hair, Hank 2 will hold your hand, Hank 3 will kiss your neck, Hank 4 will nuzzle you, and Hank 5 will trace a finger along your body. During these times they actually will talk about their dreams... that always include you. Just spend time with these boys, it means the world to them. They don't expect any amount of skill from you, even if you fucking suck at all athletics, they don't give a shit. Just having you join is a dream come true!

Tony (Physical Touch)

Let's be real, Tony is hot as shit, and he knows it. And you know what else he knows? YOU'RE HOT AS SHIT!! Appreciating each other's bodies is his favorite pastime. Tracing your finger across his rock hard chest while he grabs your ass? Heaven. You are going to know how he feels about you, and so is the rest of the world. In public he especially loves to let everyone know you are his. Hearing your little squeaks and the sight of your flushed cheeks when he grabs you fuels him Don't be fooled though, Tony isn't only about looks. He does show his love in other ways just the same, but if he had to pick a favorite he really loves to just grab you and make you feel sexy. Little butt slaps, kisses along your arm, snaking his arms around your waist, belly squeezes, he can't keep his hands off ya! Doesn't matter your body type. He's gonna enjoy aaaaaaaall of you And trust me, never feel afraid to do it back. Just... be prepared to face the consequences~

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[mr-tony-stark]

A tight knot was forming in Tony’s stomach as he picked through Bucky’s things.  There were so many little things that connected back to Tony and the time they spent together.

This was really real.  Tony had been trying to pretend, despite how strongly he was feeling about Bucky, that this was temporary.  They liked hanging out.  They liked fucking.  But they both had huge fucking issues.  And their issues lined up so perfectly.  Bucky didn’t think he was worthy of love and Tony thought there was something about himself that was unlovable.  When Bucky realized he deserved to be loved and have good things, he’d figure out that Tony wasn’t good enough for him and he’d leave. That was the only way Tony could imagine this going.  So he didn’t label it, because it’d hurt a lot fucking less to lose a fuck buddy than a boyfriend.

When Bucky spoke, his stomach lurched and his fight or flight response kicked in.  This was real.  They’d gone too far and maybe he couldn’t say he was In Love with Bucky yet, but they were rapidly heading down that path, and now Tony had to decide, did he run now and hurt them both here.  Or wait and risk being hurt later. But Tony wasn’t a coward.  He didn’t date, sure, but he’d never run from something before either.  He just never let it start.  If they were going to do this, they should fucking do it. He comes into the kitchen, and turns Bucky to face him.  “If we’re going to do this, we should just do this,” he said, his hands going to Bucky’s cheeks.  “You don’t want to lose me?  So don’t.  I’m not going anywhere.” He surged forward, pulling him down into a fierce kiss.

There were a few personal items scattered around the apartment. There are a couple faded photographs in new frames, one hanging on the wall and the other on the coffee table in front of the TV. Bucky’s got a few novels stacked up too on the coffee table, ones he’s started reading now that he’s started getting into books again.

Bucky smiles faintly as Tony looks through the books and instead of bookmarks he uses receipts from random things with Tony, ones he snagged from the diner or from take out that they’d had together. He liked keeping simple mementos like that, to make sure he didn’t lose the memory. He was always afraid of losing the memory or things nowadays even though he’s gotten most of it back.

He listens to Tony explain and can’t help the weak smile, it was nice to know he had someone who had his back even if he insisted that he was fine.

But one thing Tony said sticks out to him. “Steve doesn’t think you’re bad for me. Not really,” he says quietly as he washes the chicken carefully.

“I’m..I know I can’t make you change your mind about how you feel about what you deserve for yourself. But I’m still struggling to think I deserve..anything you give me. Your trust, your..your affection and care, any of it, I don’t know how I’ve done anything to earn or even worth giving those things to. But..the main thing that was triggered that day was..was my fear of losing you. I hadn’t realized how…how attached I’d gotten until I really had to consider that..that you might want to end things at some point for whatever reason. And I think I realized that I can’t do anything to change that. I can just appreciate the time I get to have with you now..instead of worrying about what if’s that might happen in the future..”

[revelboo]

Can we please get more of the Ark or Nemesis? I just really like gentle giants, even if their menaces to everyone else lol.

Sure!

Protector Pt 3

Nemesis x Reader

• Moving along the inside of the walls, a hand sliding against the surface, you follow the glowing lights. See the wall up ahead shift, sliding out alternating slats to make handholds and footholds. He wants you to go up, then. “Break room?” You guess out loud even though your giant protector isn’t going to answer. Adjusting your bag on your back, you reach up and start climbing. Trusting the giant ship to have a plan and to not let you fall.

• Slowly. Wishes you’d climb slower, because you’re making him nervous rushing to get to the top. No caution whatsoever, but you finally get to the ledge he wants you on and he lights up the way to coax you in the right direction. Swinging his attention outward to make sure it’s clear, he shifts the wall to make an exit and you duck through without hesitating. Any time you’re in the main part of the ship, he’s more alert. On edge with worry that you might get caught and taken from him. And you dart for the bins of human supplies the Decepticons have been stockpiling, swinging your bag down to fill it as he tries to monitor for Decepticons.

• Apples, canned food with pull tabs, granola bars, bottled water, and cookies. Since you have no way to heat the food, you try to grab stuff you know you can eat without getting sick. The cookies, though aren’t for you. Feel the counter under your feet shift, sliding you back toward the hole he’d made you. The message to get moving coming across loud and clear. “Okay, okay.” Turning and running for the hole, you slip back into safety. And he’s lighting up the way back as you move in the opposite direction along the ledge. The lights pulsing more insistently before he gives up and realizes you’re not listening.

• Knows where you’re headed and he’d rather you just go back to your nest, but he doesn’t deliberately block you. Guiding you where he knows you’re headed so you don’t get lost. To one of the newer, captured humans even though he doesn’t want you anywhere near that human’s mech. Or any mechs. Feels you press a hand against the wall and he reluctantly opens a door after scanning the area. Hating as you step out and slide a pack of human food across the counter to startle the human sitting in a pile of blankets. See them stare wide eyed at you as you wave and duck back inside so he can seal the hole before the other human can get up. Stupid risks. What if that human tells their mech about you? What if they start trying to capture you? You keep wanting to share your finds with the captive humans and it’s sweet, but so dangerous.

• “Thanks,” you tell him as he pointedly lights the way back home. Walking back along the ledge, you find the handholds and begin slowly climbing down. Know the ship doesn’t like it when you try to interact with the other humans and you get it, those humans seem to be pets as far as you can tell. Maybe you are, too. The ship’s pet, but you have some freedom at least. Those people seem to be trapped on berths or desks up high and unable to get down. Makes you wonder what the fascination is with humans. Why keep people as pets instead of dogs or something? Dogs are a lot cuter. Pulling an apple from your bag, you take a bite as you walk. “Maybe we could sneak the other pets out? Rescue them?” You ask with a mouthful and the lights pulse more aggressively like an angry exclamation point. He could if he wanted to, though. So why not?

Previous

[nebularsung]

⭑ sometimes chenle handle your daughter well

it was his first full day off in weeks.

no calls, no rehearsals, no meetings. just chenle, the house, and the promise he made when he kissed you goodbye that morning—“go have the best mommy’s day ever. we’ll be just fine.”

and at first, everything felt easy.

he’d gotten up early, earlier than usual. the sky was still soft and pale outside the window, and the air inside the house smelled faintly of the lavender detergent you always used. he padded sleepily into the kitchen, hair a mess, yawning behind his hand. and then, just because it made him smile, he tied your pink apron around his waist—twice, since the strings weren’t really meant for him—and whispered, “chef chenle is in.”

he even tried cracking an egg one-handed. disastrously. shell bits flew, yolk dripped onto the counter, but he grinned through it. she’ll laugh, he thought. she always laughs at my disasters.

the sound of tiny feet against hardwood made him look up.

meimei came toddling in—hair everywhere, sleep still clinging to her in the way she blinked slow, one sock missing, dragging her beloved bunny by the ear.

“where’s mommy?” she asked, voice still rough from sleep.

“mommy’s having a special day today,” chenlesaid, crouching down to meet her sleepy eyes, brushing her wild bangs back with gentle fingers. “but you’ve got me. and i’ve got pancakes.”

“do they have sprinkles?” she asked suspiciously.

“they can... if you say the magic word.”

she paused. then, seriously: “waffles.”

he blinked. “that’s... not quite the word i was thinking of, but okay.”

later, when he finally set the pancakes in front of her, she gave them a look. poked one with the edge of her fork. then peered up at him, deadpan.

“these taste like the color beige.”

he spluttered. “you don’t even know what beige tastes like.”

“i do now.”

chenle laughed so hard he had to put the syrup bottle down or risk spraying it across the counter.

“alright,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “waffles it is.”

what followed was not cooking so much as a full-blown food war.

flour floated in the air like fairy dust. chenle had syrup on his jaw, a rogue sprinkle stuck stubbornly to his collarbone, and butter on the tip of his nose. she wore his old baseball cap backward and declared herself the “mixing queen.” he was demoted to “assistant stirrer.”

but the waffles came out golden, warm, and perfect—by some miracle. and when he placed them in front of her, she clapped like it was the best magic trick she’d ever seen.

“you’re really good at this,” she said, mouth full.

“at what?”

“being a mommy.”

he blinked. then chuckled. “...that might be the best compliment someone ever gave me.”

after breakfast came fort-building.

the living room turned into a construction site—cushions stacked haphazardly, blankets hanging like sails. chenle tried to make it structurally sound, but every time he turned his back, she changed the theme.

“now it’s an ice cream truck!”

“now it’s a castle!”

“now it’s a rocket to the moon!”

he just nodded and kept tying sheets tighter, crawling inside the maze when she called him.

“you be the dragon, daddy!”

he roared. she shrieked. bunny went flying, landed near the couch, and was promptly knighted with a ruler as “sir hop-a-lot.”

around noon, bath time began with soft lullabies and warm water and ended in complete mayhem. bubbles overflowed. the duck army revolted. chenle, now drenched, wore her pink shower cap like a crown.

“i’m a mermaid!” meimei shouted, standing proudly in the tub.

“and i’m your very wet, very tired assistant,” he mumbled, laughing as he used a towel to shield himself from the next tidal wave.

they got dressed again in pajamas—matching ones, pink with little moons. lunch was grilled cheese and baby carrots on a picnic blanket in the living room. she insisted on wearing her princess dress over her pj top. he didn’t argue.

they read books until his voice went hoarse. played the same board game until she started bending the rules in her favor. and when she danced to the same song on loop for the fifth time, spinning until she tumbled to the floor, she whispered with dramatic flair:

“daddy... i need... a nap.”

“me too,” he sighed, already reaching for the closest blanket.

they curled up together on the bed, soft afternoon light pouring through the curtains, golden and gentle. her body was warm and squirmy as she settled into the crook of his arm, her bunny hugged tightly to her chest.

she blinked up at him, fighting sleep.

“will you still be here when i wake up?”

he smiled softly, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “always.”

her lashes fluttered once, then stilled. breath slowed. little hand curling into the fabric of his shirt like she never wanted to let go.

you came home a few hours later.

the house looked like it had been touched by a storm of love—chaotic and glowing in its own lived-in warmth. flour dusted the counter. a crayon trail meandered down the hallway. a towel clung to a light fixture. how it got there, you didn’t want to know.

but the bedroom—

the bedroom was soft. untouched. quiet.

sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, and there they were—your whole heart, tangled in the middle of the bed, a nest of limbs and blankets and soft breath.

chenle lay on his side, mouth slightly open in sleep, one arm protectively resting across your daughter’s back. her tiny hand was curled tightly in his shirt, bunny tucked beneath her chin.

your chest ached in the gentlest, most overwhelming way.

“you did good,” you whispered into the hush, barely louder than the breeze through the window.

chenle stirred. eyelids fluttered open, and a sleepy smile slowly pulled at his lips. “you’re home,” he breathed.

you nodded, stepping closer on careful feet, kissing his forehead. “how was your day?”

he stretched a little, blinked again, and immediately curled back around her. “chaotic. beautiful. exhausting. perfect.”

“you know, meimei called me just to say your pancakes were awful.”

he groaned. “she’s savage.”

you giggled, climbing into bed beside them. your fingers found his under the blanket, and he laced them with yours without hesitation.

“you’re the best dad,” you said softly.

he turned his head, eyes shining despite his sleep. kissed your knuckles. “i just wanted her to feel loved.”

“she does,” you whispered. “she will. always.”

and you lay there, the three of you—warm and tangled and still.

the day had been wild and messy, nothing close to perfect.

but this—this moment, this home, this love—it was everything.

ps. cherries please, if you wanna be tagged in my posts, check the taglist form on my pinned post for me to update (and organise my life) the list!

[eldritch-spouse]

Can I get the breast milk ask you did but with the icons or the garden anomalies? (Either or is fine, you can choose) - 💋anon

[Hellow, you sent this off-anon previously, but I assume you want to be anonymous. We're having a lot of titty asks lately, which is funny.]

TW: Induced lactation, etc...

Drinking your breast milk (Icons)

Vorticia is reminded of her own time breastfeeding, and while she feels a little for how your body may be exhausting itself- She's also hounding you constantly. There's probably few things in the world more delicious to her than your milk, so the giant snake woman drools whenever she has you in her claws. She drains you until it hurts, until you're overstimulated and crying and she's likely too turned on about it...

Rinx... Doesn't even know what to do with it. Realsitically, he can sell it. He can sell royal milk for all the little freaks out there who want it- But there's just a desire in him to take it from you. To squeeze your tits and milk you whenever simply because you have milk to give him. It's oddly arousing and he enjoys having messy sex where the two of you are coated in it when he inevitably starts rolling and pinching it out...

Livius is... Another one who would want to induce it into himself. Just to match you. Just to be like you, just to know what it's like. Provided you dissuade him, the Icon at least wants to spend a bit of time in your body, milking you with your own hands just to know what it feels like. Playing with your pussy as he does it in front of a mirror, delighted to be able to live out yet another one of your sexy features.

Cero's wardrobe malfunction kink is spinning so far out of control his cock will combust. Every moment there's a risk that you'll start leaking through your dress, and the first time got him so turned on he had to jerk off in private. He'll never admit to enjoying such a gross thing, but the arousal of you constantly whining about a sore chest and leaking through every top has him sucking your tits dry in private.

Zizz will turn into a manbaby. He'll plead to have you on his lap, lifting his veil to suckle at you, only to probably fall asleep with your tit in his mouth. Sometimes he has the audacity to wake up and resume drinking, then fall asleep again. He knows he's pushing it... But you could do something about how hard he is too. Please? It's okay if you don't, he can take care of it himself, if he doesn't fall asleep again that is.

Kalymir is weirdly into forcibly milking you. Provided you aren't pregnant, he's rough and cruel with your tits, taking any opportunity he defeats you in training to have you squirting milk in an almost humiliating way, sometimes he does it directly into his mouth. The King also really enjoys it when you start leaking during sex on your own, hoping that being rougher will make you play with those full, bouncing tits.

Vesper wants you to lactate indefinitely, honestly. It's so fucking hot, especially when you start leaking due to arousal. Please give him the sloppiest titjob you can manage, he's going to be in paradise. Vesper loves to squeeze your tits in public and have it stain an audience. He gorges himself in your milk, unforgiving to your nipples and using his tail to fuck you sweetly in reward. Make more for him you pretty cow, make more!

[celestialbodynumber4]

have been listening to tma lately and well i’m not adverse to spoilers (i’ve already spoiled like . So Much) i try to generally avoid fandom stuff for risk of being too influenced in my interpretation of events and the exception to this is the youtube comments bcuz youtube music and i have to say . I find it really weird that there is this obvious relatively widespread perception at least by the point im at (statement 135) that martin’s crush on jon was/is some wholly selfless and wholesome and pure thing . which is not to say his crush is or was Bad or Malicious or whatever but is to say martin blackwood has the kind of attachment issues you can smell in the air like an oncoming storm and i think it’s really telling especially presuming what elias said about his mother is true (which . I see no reason it wouldnt be currently) that he spent three season playing ball for the most distant man in the archives. that he is so fiercely loyal to someone who spent one season calling him incompetent, another suspecting him of murder and stalking him, and another mostly kidnapped. which again not to say its ill intentioned or innately awful or that they do not have potential as a romance (as i have yet to see their actual relationship play out) but like . I dont know i was not around the fandom at the time but the time capsule of youtube comments always gives the impression that martin was always seen as solely sweet and soft and a little bumbling when hes spent four seasons showing that despite how he is seen including by his coworkers he is anything but bumbling and capable of being a lot less soft and sweet when he must be . he is clever and competent and deeply flawed . there is so much in these last three seasons that people just wouldn’t have survived without him. with the way he talks to the man im almost inclined to believe between him and lukas he’s not the one playing their game blind. im obsessed with him please let him be fucked up and let his attachment to jon be fucked up its more interesting that way

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The Girls Next Door, Part Five

Summary: When Beau moves next door to Y/N and her daughter, Mia, he finds something he didn’t know he needed: another chance at love. Now, he needs to convince her he’s worth the risk.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Single Mother!Reader

Rating: General

Triggers / Warnings / Tags: Fluff, nerves, heart to hearts

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite or leaving a comment. It truly fuels a creative’s muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Y/N smiled hearing Beau’s footsteps fade from her porch as soon as she turned the key and locked her door. He’d been so much sweeter than she could’ve ever imagined tonight, and the fact he was willing to go at her pace for as long as she needed him to had truly touched her.

She knew Mia being so young had a lot to do with it, but it proved to her that he cared about her daughter, even though he had one of his own that he’d protect just as fiercely as she’d protect Mia.

Taking her high heels off and leaving them at the door so they wouldn’t wake the silent household when she walked over the hardwood floors, Y/N went into the kitchen to make a cup of chamomile tea.

“How was your date?” Her mom’s voice startled her, and she turned towards the door, chuckling at being so jumpy.

“Good,” she grinned. “Really good!”

“I can see that!” her mom smirked. “You’re glowing, sweetheart! I cannot wait to meet the man who put that smile on your face!”

“I’m going to talk to Mia about everything tomorrow on the drive to kindergarten, and if it goes well, I’ll invite him over for dinner before you go home,” Y/N suggested.

“So, things are going well enough to tell Mia?” her mom smiled.

“Yeah, I think so. Do you want some tea?” At her mom’s nod, she busied herself making two cups of tea before elaborating further.

“Beau is great, mom. He’s sweet and charming; he loves Mia, and she loves him back. He won’t hurt either of us.”

“He has a daughter, too, right?” her mom questioned.

“Emily,” Y/N nodded, wrapping her hands around her steaming mug. 

“Does she know about you and Beau?”

“Not yet. Her mom and stepdad are going out of town tomorrow, and Beau said he’d talk to her then.”

“And how do you and Emily get on?” her mom asked.

“Good. Emily’s an amazing young woman. She babysits Mia when I’m working at the bar. They get on like a house on fire!” Y/N laughed, thinking of the Disney Princess movie marathons in expertly crafted blanket forts that happened weekly.

“So there shouldn’t be any reason for either of the girls to be upset by you and Beau dating?”

“I don’t think I can be 100% sure of that, but I’d be surprised if it upset Mia. Like I said, she loves Beau, and Emily is the best babysitter in the world, apparently!”

“Well, I’m happy you’re happy, sweetheart. You deserve it,” her mom hugged her tightly, cupping her cheeks when they parted. “With Beau being the sheriff, I understand if I can’t meet him before I go home, but I would love to if he has the time. From everything you’ve told me, he is a wonderful man, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

“Mommy, can I have pancakes for breakfast?” Mia asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she walked into the kitchen.

“Sure, honey,” Y/N smiled. She’d woken in a great mood after her night with Beau, and she didn’t want it to fade by arguing with her daughter that pancakes were a weekend treat and not for Thursdays.

She watched her daughter’s confused frown, knowing she was considering questioning having pancakes on a weekday or just letting it go.

“Do you want chocolate chips and strawberries, or bacon and syrup?” she asked, pulling the ingredients for pancake batter from the cupboards and chuckling at the suspicion her daughter surveyed her with.

“Grandma? Something’s wrong with mommy,” Mia frowned suspiciously. “She’s too happy and she only lets me have pancakes on a Sunday.”

“Well, maybe mommy’s making an exception because I’m visiting, huh?” Y/N’s mom grinned at her knowingly and ruffled Mia’s tousled hair.

Mia looked thoughtful for a moment, like she was considering what her grandma had said before shrugging and skipping over to the table and taking her usual seat.

Y/N busied herself making breakfast, humming along to a country song playing on the radio. Her night with Beau wasn’t the only thing responsible for her joyous mood, as she enjoyed the sounds of her daughter and mom’s chatter and laughter. The only thing that would’ve made her morning better, is if Beau and Emily were there too.

“So, you know mommy went out for dinner last night with a boy?” Y/N said to Mia while pulling out of her driveway. She couldn’t help glance towards Beau’s house, and smiled as she saw the blinds were still closed over.

“Did you have fun?” Mia asked.

“I sure did!”

“Does that mean he’s your boyfriend now?” Mia’s intelligence for her young age never ceased to amaze her and was her sole motivation for working two jobs; that girl would be going to college and every spare cent Y/N had was being put into a college fund.

“Well, it’ll depend on you, baby.” It wasn’t a lie. If Mia wasn’t on board with this, it wouldn’t happen. “If you don’t want me to have a boyfriend, I won’t.”

“You said I’d like him.” Mia said thoughtfully as she gazed out the car window. “Does that mean I already know him?”

“Yeah, baby. You already know him.”

“Is it Sheriff Beau?” Y/N glanced in the rear view mirror, meeting Mia’s curious gaze that gave nothing away.

“Yes. It’s Beau,” she said after rolling to a stop at a red light.

Mia’s face burst into a wide, joyous smile and she giggled with glee, making Y/N chuckle.

“Does that mean Beau will be living at our house?” The four-year-old bounced in her car seat with excitement.

“No, Mia. At least not for a while. But, it does mean he’ll be over at the house more. He’ll be having dinner with us more, and maybe, if you want him to, he’ll join us for some movie nights. Would you like that?” Y/N asked her daughter, already knowing the answer from the huge grin on Mia’s face.

“Yes!” she cheered. “Can he come over for dinner today, Mommy? Please?” It wasn’t often that Mia’s puppy eyes got to her, but Y/N could always tell when something would make her daughter truly happy versus her trying her luck.

“He’s busy tonight, baby. But, I’ll tell you what. I’ll call him once I’ve dropped you off at kindergarten and see if he wants to come over tomorrow, okay?”

“Yay! Thank you, Mommy!”

Y/N sighed with relief as she got back in her car after the kindergarten drop off. Telling Mia about Beau had gone even better than she’d expected. She knew her daughter loved Beau and she’d be happy that Beau was going to be an even bigger part of her life, but the sheer joy she exuded was more than she could’ve hoped for. Keeping her promise, she picked up her phone and called Beau. 

“Well, good mornin’, beautiful,” Beau rasped down the phone. Even though it sounded as if she’d woken him, she could hear the grin in his voice and it made her heart flutter.

“Hey there, handsome. Did I wake you?”

“You did, but what a wake up call!” he chuckled, and she giggled despite herself. “You doin’ okay?”

“I’m doin’ great!” she grinned. “How are you?”

“Fantastic!” Beau replied and again, she could hear the grin in his voice. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know what? I should probably call back later once you’ve had a chance to wake up and have some coffee,” Y/N rambled, suddenly aware that telling Beau all about her and Mia’s conversation this morning may be best when both parties were fully alert.

“Y/N, darlin’. Is everything alright?” The way Beau’s tone quickly shifted from playful to concerned, made the butterflies swarm in her stomach and she chuckled.

“Yeah, Beau. Everything’s fine!” Y/N waved to one of Mia’s kindergarten classmates and their mother before returning her attention back to Beau.

“It’s just that I talked to Mia this morning. About us, and I was calling to tell you how it went, but since you’ve just woken up, I don’t want to bombard you with the details before you’ve had a chance to wake up properly and have some coffee.”

“Well, that is mighty considerate of you, but you’ve got me all worried,” Beau chuckled nervously. “Was it good or bad?”

“It was all good,” Y/N giggled at hearing Beau’s sigh of relief down the phone.

“I really wish we could talk about this in person over breakfast, but I know you have to get to work.”

“I’ve got a little time,” Y/N smiled. “I’ve already had breakfast, but I wouldn’t say no to joining you for coffee.”

“Meet me at The Uphill Grill?”

“I’m on my way,” Y/N confirmed as she turned the keys and started her car.

The Uphill Grill was close to their neighbourhood, so Beau was already parked and leaning against the hood of his truck waiting for her when she pulled into the parking lot. His hair was still damp from the shower he must’ve thrown himself in to get here so quickly.

The smile involuntarily grew on Y/N’s face as she pulled into the free space across from Beau’s truck. His slow and confident stride towards her set the butterflies in her stomach swarming. 

“Mornin’, Beautiful,” Beau greeted as he opened her car door and held out his hand to help her out of her vehicle.

“Good morning,” Y/N grinned, taking his offered hand. It had been a long time since she’d felt like anything other than a mother and a friend, so her stomach was flip flopping violently at Beau’s simple chivalrous gesture.

He kept hold of her hand as they walked across the parking lot, only letting go to open the door for her. She stepped into the diner and smiled as she felt his hand rest on the small of her back. She’s always known Beau was a gentleman, but now that they were dating, his gentlemanly tendencies were tenfold.

Y/N moved through the diner, choosing an empty table by the window and sliding into the booth. They’d barely sat down when two steaming mugs of coffee were put on their table.

“Thanks,” they said at the same time, making them chuckle.

“So,” Beau spoke, keeping his gaze locked on his menu. “How did Mia take the news of us?”

Y/N smiled patiently, waiting for him to raise his gaze to hers before she spoke. His shyness about the situation was cute and endearing, making her stomach flop for the thousandth time that morning.

Eventually, he looked up from his menu, his cheeks colouring slightly at her staring at him.

“Don’t look so worried!” she grinned. “Mia adores you, Beau. She has since the day you met! And I already told you it’s all good.” Y/N giggled a little as Beau’s shoulders shrank and he huffed a long breath of relief.

“Good. I’m relieved to hear that!” he chuckled. “You have no idea the scenarios running through my head about what could go wrong!”

“I meant what I said a few weeks ago…” Y/N quickly trailed off as Beau ordered his breakfast from the waitress, and she accepted the offer of a refill of her coffee.

“About what?” Beau asked, bringing his full attention to Y/N.

“About being a father figure to her.” Y/N glanced down at the table, not wanting to see a look of horror cross his face at bringing this up again. After all, he didn’t say anything about it to her at the time, and they hadn’t spoken of it since.

“Hey,” Beau assured, grabbing her hand from across the table. “It doesn’t worry me, and it won’t scare me off.”

She felt his gaze intently on her and finally, she looked back up at him. “I was — and I still am — honoured that she sees me that way and I hope she always does.”

“Really?” Y/N questioned, finding it hard to stop the smile.

“Yes, really,” Beau laughed. “I didn’t say anything at the time because you were opening up to me and telling me how you felt. How Mia felt. And I didn’t want to interrupt you,” Beau’s thumb rubbed soft circles over her hands.

“Then you didn’t bring it up again, so I thought it best to let it be. But I’ve thought about that conversation a lot since then, hoping it wasn’t something that was said in the moment.”

“It wasn’t,” Y/N assured him. “I didn’t want you to pull away from us, so when you let it go without questioning it, I didn’t bring it up again.”

“Alright, let’s make a deal,” Beau said, taking both of her hands in his and staring so deeply into her eyes, she was sure he could see into her soul.

“No more of this. My first marriage failed epically because there was no communication. From me or Carla. I won’t do it again. We have feelings, thoughts, concerns—anything, we talk it out. Deal?”

“Deal,” she agreed quickly. Beau raised her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“Good,” Beau winked. “I’ll talk to Emily about everything when I pick her up from school.”

Beau’s POV

Beau wasn’t meant to be working today, but he was carrying so much nervous energy that he felt like if he didn’t get rid of it somehow, he’d implode, and what better way to calm down than doing something as mundane as paperwork.

It’d been a long time since he’d felt this nervous. He knew there was nothing to worry about in telling Emily. She liked Y/N and Mia, and had been the one who talked him into asking his neighbour out in the first place. Emily wasn’t the issue, and he knew that.

Carla had moved on a long time ago. So long ago Beau forgot what number husband Avery was. And he meant what he’d said to Y/N about them not being good at communicating. It was just that he felt he was the most responsible for the end of his and Carla’s marriage and the fear he had that he’d mess things up the same way with Y/N made him feel nauseous.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Deputy Sheriff Jenny Holt said as she stopped outside his office door. “I thought you were off for a few days.”

“I am,” Beau nodded. “I just thought I’d stop in and catch up with some paperwork while I had some time.”

“Right,” Jenny frowned, her voice laced with scepticism. “How was your date with Y/N last night?” She asked as she took the empty seat across from him.

“It was great,” Beau grinned, unable to hide how well it had gone. “And she told her daughter about us this morning.”

“How’d she take it?” she asked, crossing her legs and making herself comfortable.

“Really well, apparently.”

“That’s great, Beau! So, what’s the real reason you’re in here doing paperwork on your day off?” Jenny smirked. She was a great cop, and reading people’s body language and listening to what they weren’t saying were two of her best qualities.

“I’m scared that I mess this up like I did with Carla,” he finally admitted.

“You know I like Carla and I’d never bad mouth the mother of your child, but Carla has been divorced how many times? I gotta say, Beau, that tells me more about her than it does about you.”

Beau knew it wasn’t completely true. Yeah, Carla had her faults and was responsible for some of their marital problems, but the fair share of their failed marriage had been his fault.

“Look,” Jenny continued. “The fact you’re so worried about history repeating itself says that you’ve changed a lot since then, and will do anything for it not to happen again. I cannot stress enough that I’m saying this as your friend, Beau. Can you honestly say the same about your ex-wife?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Beau wasn’t completely convinced on that, but he was smart enough to see the truth in what Jenny was saying.

“Have you told Emily?” Jenny asked, and he was relieved she’d changed the subject.

“Not yet. Carla and Avery are out of town for a couple of days so she’s staying with me tonight. I’ll tell her when I pick her up from school.”

“So, you’re here doing paperwork until school gets out because you’re nervous about telling her.” It wasn’t a question, and she’d hit the nail on the head about why he was really here. “Are you worried about how she’ll take it?”

“No, I think she’ll be happy. Especially because she convinced me to ask Y/N out in the first place,” Beau chuckled. “It’s just that I’ve never had this conversation with my daughter yet because I’ve never dated someone long enough to tell her about them.”

“I get that,” Jenny nodded. “But knowing she encouraged it and being sure she’ll be happy about it are good indications the conversation will go well. And she’s not a little girl anymore, Beau. She’ll understand adult relationships a lot more than you realise. I’m sure the talk Y/N had with Mia this morning was way more difficult than yours will be with Emily.”

“Yeah, absolutely. I’m just hoping Em isn’t jaded about relationships because of how many step-fathers she’s had.”

“That sounds like the perfect father-daughter learning opportunity to me!” Jenny laughed as she stood from the chair and turned to leave his office.

“Just don’t stay here too long, Beau,” she said before opening the door. “The more you overthink it, the worse you’ll feel.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Beau saluted as Jenny left his office, closing his door behind her.

Beau took Jenny’s advice, finishing the case file he’d been working on before heading out. There were errands to run and things that needed doing that would make time go faster than being at work shuffling paperwork when he didn’t need to.

And he’d been right. By the time he’d run all the errands, gone grocery shopping, cleaned his house and done the laundry, it was time for him to go and pick Emily up from school.

Sitting in the parking lot waiting for his daughter to come out of class, he went over what he was going to say one last time. He knew he was overthinking it, but he’d spent years as a first class detective, and now he was a sheriff. Thinking of, and planning for, every outcome is what he was trained to do.

“Hey, Dad!” Emily chirped as she climbed into the passenger seat of his truck and shoved her school bag on the back seat.

“Hey, baby girl. How was your day?”

“Good. I aced my math test,” Emily announced proudly.

“That’s great, Em!” Beau grinned.

“And that’s not all. Remember I told you I applied to be a writer for the school newspaper?” she asked and Beau nodded, giving his daughter his full attention.

“Well, they loved my mock article and asked me to start writing for them next week!”

“That’s my girl!” he exclaimed, hugging Emily. “I’m so proud of you, baby girl!”

“Thanks, Dad,” Emily cringed, looking out the windows of the car and checking none of her friends could see them.

“Well, you’re not the only one with some good news,” Beau said as he pulled away from the hug and started the truck.

“At least, I hope it’s good news,” he chuckled, checking his mirrors and pulling out into the road.

“It’s good if you think it is,” Emily smiled, catching Beau off guard once again at how grown up she was.

“It is good for me. But it involves you, too, Em,” he swallowed nervously.

“If it matters to you, it’ll matter to me, just tell me.”

“So, here’s the thing. For the last six weeks or so, I’ve kinda been seeing Y/N.” Beau glanced at Emily from the corner of his eye, feeling his cheeks warm up at his daughter’s grin.

“Kinda?” Emily snorted.

“Yeah, well, you know… traditional dating is difficult with my shifts, her bar job, and Mia, so we’ve been having dinner dates and movie nights at home.” He knew he didn’t need to explain the whole thing to her, but once he started, he couldn’t stop.

“Y/N’s mom is in town, so last night we had our first proper date and agreed to make it official.”

“I can’t believe you doubted me!” Emily laughed. “I told you she’d go out with you if you asked!”

“Alright, alright! I can admit when I’m wrong, and I was wrong with Y/N. Thank you for pushing me. I don’t think I’d ever have done it if you hadn’t.”

“I’m glad you took the chance. And, not that it matters, but I am totally fine with you and Y/N. Thrilled, even. I do have one question though.”

“Shoot,” Beau said, glancing over at Emily.

“Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“We wanted to make sure it was something before potentially disrupting yours and Mia’s lives. Particularly with Mia being so young and you with everything Mom and I have put you through.”

“Dad, for as long as I can remember, I’ve just wanted you to be happy. Y/N makes you happy, and that makes me happy,” she smiled.

“I love the young woman you’re becoming, baby girl. But I really wish you’d stop growing up so quickly.” Beau’s smile was bittersweet.

“Does Mia know?” Emily asked, changing the subject to avoid a sappy moment in a space she couldn’t escape if it got too much.

“Y/N told her this morning,” Beau nodded.

“I bet she’s super happy!” Emily grinned.

“She is.” Beau’s smile was so big, he could feel it pull uncomfortably on his cheeks.

“So am I. You deserve this. You both do.”

Part Six (FINALE)

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[letmyrighthandbeforgotten]

Jayvik Screentime Analysis!!

Season 1, Episode 3: The Base Violence Necessary for Change

36:57 - 35:43 (1 minute, 14 seconds) — Jayce and Viktor scene. Working together for the first time. "You have to crank it." Iconic. They have a plan, but no materials, and Jayce's equipment is set to be destroyed the next morning. They decide to break into Heimerdinger's lab. Jayce calls Viktor "partner" for the first time. Whore. Both present.

31:18 - 29:09 (2 minutes, 9 seconds) — Jayce and Viktor scene. Breaking into Heimerdinger's lab, they run into Mel. Jayce insists that Viktor is his new "partner". Mel gives them a chance, saying that any worthwhile venture involves risk. Jayce is the one to convince her. Viktor is looking around cagily like he's ready to make a run for it. Jayce calls Piltover the land of "progress, equality, innovation" — he buys into his own city's lies. Jayce looks at Mel like he has a crush; Viktor is disgruntled and opens Heimerdinger's door. Both present.

27:17 - 26:25 (0 minutes, 52 seconds) — Jayce and Viktor scene. They're in Heimerdinger's lab, doing all kinds of magic science. Viktor insists that Jayce trust him, and he does. All of Viktor's expressions working with him are so soft, I love it. Both present.

25:09 - 24:40 (0 minutes, 49 seconds) — Jayce and Viktor scene. "All yours." Viktor keeps looking softly at Jayce, while Jayce is looking at magic. Viktor is stunned, but amazed by the magical potential, even when it destroys the windows. "Incredible." Both present.

19:05 - 17:19 (1 minute, 46 seconds) — Jayce and Viktor scene. Heimderdinger and the Enforcers arrive as they are experimenting. Viktor's cane is being used to hold the door shut. Jayce remembers the Mage as he operated the crystal (double whammy). Then Jayce and Viktor are floating, grinning and giggling, and we see the gear for the first time. Heimerdinger still isn't 100% sold, but Mel enters and decides it's time for the "era of magic". Both present.

This episode is great because they spend literally all of it together. Literally not one scene apart. They are partners, baby!

One thing I noticed rewatching for this project is that in this episode, Viktor is frequently looking at Jayce softly while Jayce is looking at magic without really thinking about Viktor. Canon yearner Viktor, my beloved. (Also Jayce is the one who pushes the gear through, but Viktor is the one who picks it up? I don't know how to phrase it, I just think it says a lot about their dynamic.)

All of this totals up to 5 scenes with 6 minutes, 50 seconds total.

Jayce Scenes: 5 scenes. 6 minutes, 50 seconds total.

No Viktor: None. (0%)

Viktor's influence: None. (0%)

Viktor's presence: 5 scenes. 6 minutes, 50 seconds (100%)

Viktor Scenes: 5 scenes. 6 minutes, 50 seconds total.

No Jayce: None. (0%)

Jayce's influence: None. (0%)

Jayce's presence: 5 scenes. 6 minutes, 50 seconds. (100%)

It's quite funny to analyze the time on this one because it's just. 100% they're both there. Love it.

(Masterpost)

[thespiritualencourager]

🔴 PRIDE, PRODIGALS AND HOLY SCARS

📌 “We all stumble in many ways.” ‭‭(James‬ ‭3:2‬ ‭NIV‬‬)

When two parents set out to raise their children, it's easy to begin with the thought, ’we can do a better job at this than everybody else.’ Despite our inexperience, we believe that by mixing in ample amounts of prayer, Scripture memory, family devotions, worldview teaching and church attendance, we can almost guarantee our children will turn out the way we want them to. Put the right stuff in, we'll get the right stuff out.

There's a term for this kind of attitude, however: "spiritual pride." I know, because Barbara and I felt the same way when we started out on our parenting journey.

But we learned one thing really quickly about children: If you want a guarantee, buy a new set of tires or a car battery . . . because children don't come with any guarantees. Being a parent may be the greatest risk we take in our lifetimes.

Ask those who've had a prodigal child come through their home. Ask us. We'll tell you.

But we can also tell you something else: God is sovereign. He is more than able to turn your children's lives around. As you release your children to make their own decisions, you may worry that their wounds will leave a permanent mark, disfiguring their lives forever. Yes, sin does have consequences. But as my friend Dan Jarrell says, "God delights in taking those wounds and turning them into holy scars that are useful for His purposes."

After all, the perfect Father, God, had a couple of children Himself who didn't fare too well in the Garden. He's had a lot of others along the way who've messed up pretty badly, as well. So don't lose heart. God can heal wounds and turn them into "holy scars" that declare God's grace, mercy and purposes.

Pray for the prodigals you know . . . that God will restore them in His time. Pray, too, that your children will learn to trust God without having to become a prodigal.

—Dennis Rainey

© FamilyLife

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[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Like Phantoms, Forever

Written for @surpriseelejahmonth in answer to this prompt, requested by @anphibole (hi, friend!): Elijah gets his suited ass back to Mystic Falls when he hears of Elena's transformation, see how that changes canon

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: violence, language, grief, mentions of death and abuse (both direct and implied). Please read at your own discretion

“I’m sorry, Elijah.”

Lilting, soft. It shatters the sitting room’s stillness with the force of a hammer. He casts his gaze over sunlight walls. A ticking grandfather clock in the corner. Shelves burdened with books and potted plants. Framed photos dotting walls and empty surfaces, all of a woman and the same smiling girl.

“Grams left me a lot to work with, but nothing on how to counter hexed objects.”

He’d known it was a long shot when he’d boarded the flight to Virginia, left New Orleans to fade into specks of shadow below. Still, the disappointment smarts.

This would be the moment when his brother would dive across the table, wrap his hands around her throat and threaten until she agreed to try again. Elijah simply retracts his palms from the table and settles them in his lap.

“There is no need for apologies, Miss Bennett,” he replies. “I appreciate your help regardless of the outcome.

Seated across from him with her slender fingers wrapped around her teacup, Bonnie Bennett looks spread thin. There’s a slight slump to her shoulders, like a weight slowing pressing down on her petite frame. Shadows punctuate the space beneath her dark eyes. Eyes that watch him with something far too old, far too knowing for her nineteen years.

It looks too much like grief. Like overexertion. Absently, he wonders if she’s sleeping, or if she’s still being used as a pawn in the Salvatore’s perpetual tug of war over Elena Gilbert.

He tries not to wince at the name. The last time he’d seen her, with red in her hair and a flush to her cheeks, her heart had still been pounding from their kiss. He’s determined not to seek her out now, to let her figure out her fledgling vampirism without him there to further complicate her life.

“So...a hybrid baby, huh?” Bonnie asks, dragging him back into the present.

He hums. “So it would seem.”

A part of him regrets telling her. It’d been a necessary concession when he’d enlisted her help, but he feels a protective flare all the same.

But Bonnie Bennett is a clever girl, something tells him she’ll keep what she’s learned to herself. For self-preservation, if nothing else. He doubts very much that she would risk bringing Niklaus’ ire down upon herself or her friends.

“I take it you’ll be leaving again soon?” It’s not a question, really. Delivered with the subtlety of a cudgel, her mouth a tight, bloodless line. It leaves no doubt what she’d prefer.

Elijah thinks of Sheila Bennett, brilliant and formidable, and can’t blame her. The interference of vampires has done little to improve Bonnie’s life.

“Tomorrow morning,” he confirms and watches her body sing with relief.

He makes his excuses, pushes to his feet, and feels her eyes on his back as she follows him to the door.

It’s ajar. He’s already halfway onto the porch when she stops him.

“Elijah,” she asks, tentatively. He looks behind him, where she stands at the foot of the stairs. “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, but…” she rubs at her arm, finding his eyes through her lashes, “Could you check on her, before you go?”

He freezes, turning back toward her. There’s something swirling beneath the words, something that makes him uneasy as he searches her eyes and comes up empty.

She misinterprets his silence as irritation and adds rapid-fire, “I know she’s been a real dick since she turned off her humanity, but she’s not answering her phone and I can’t get within fifty feet of the boarding house without either Stefan or Damon giving me the run around and—fuck–I’m just really worried about her—”

An unshed tear dangles from her lashes, her breathing uneven. The air crackles with magic, drummed up in her anxiety. Elijah stops her before she can work herself into a frenzy, even as a pit forms in his gut.

“I’ll see what I can do, Miss Bennett.”

She doesn’t offer up any more information, doesn’t thank him. Just watches him descend the steps into the midday sun.

His hands curl and uncurl at his sides, doubt warring with instinct. He tells himself he’ll take the evening to think it through, to decide whether his interference is warranted. But a more honest part of him–deeper down–knows it was never a question.

The front door closes behind him and Elijah turns the corner and down the strip of asphalt that leads to the Salvatore Boarding House.

——

Sun beats down on the dirt road, makes the manicured lawn shine an almost fluorescent green and the inhabitants of the flower bed droop beneath the onslaught. Gravel shifts beneath his feet as he ascends the winding walkway that leads to the front door. Wind trails behind him, ruffling his hair and softening the heat’s full bite.

The boarding house is just as he remembers it. Gabled pitches and Tudor style framework that gives the whole place an out of time feel. A perfect mirror for its immortal inhabitants.

He deftly avoids a crack, the only blemish in the tidy cobbles, and tries to not think of the summer he spent in the basement with a dagger in chest. Because if he lingers on it too long, remembers the mess he’d woken to, he’s not sure he’ll be able to muster the level head this impromptu check-in deserve

It’s only as he steps onto the edge of the porch that he realizes something’s wrong. There’s no Damon to chase him off with gnashing teeth, no Stefan to politely demand an explanation. Only a silence that suggests that no one is home. Or if there are, they haven’t heard him.

He stops short at the door. Deliberates and then raises his hand to knock. It seems preposterously polite, after all that’s passed between his family and theirs. But he also doubts an Original barging into their living room would go over well.

The decision is made for him when he hears the scream. An agonized howl, a feral noise that slips under the massive oak door and coils around his heart like a vice. Because he knows that voice.

Suddenly, he’s surging forward with new urgency. By some miracle the door is unlocked, but he would have torn it from the hinges, ripped it to splinters if he had to. Because it’s Elena and she’s in pain. And that–that is something he won't allow.

“Looking for this?” Damon’s voice echoes from the other room. “You know the rules; bad girls don’t get nice jewelry.”

Silent as a shadow–a predator stalking an unknown quarry–he glides past the banister, through the round archway that leads through the living room. He weaves round torn furniture, the fluttering pages of books wrenched from their shelves, follows the trail of carnage into the study and stops dead–

The study is dark, curtains pulled tight. The green-glass shade of a table lamp spills fragments of light. They catch on the polish of the desk, the fire extinguisher placed conspicuously in the middle.

Stefan presses white-knuckled palms across the surface, pitching his weight against it. Jaw set and eyes flinty, he looks like a detective in a crime drama. The bad cop to his good, Damon stands on the other side, towering over a high-backed arm chair.

Leather lashed round with ropes, Elijah smells the vervain before he enters. He checks at the doorway, watching just as the heavy damask curtains part and a dazzling flood of light pours out onto the floor.

It unfolds in the millisecond before he can react.

Elena shrieks and thrashes, legging flailing out, trying to push herself back into the shadow.

Stefan stands just beyond its reach, toying with something on the desk. Jaw hardset, eyes darting from the curtains to his brother in agitation.

And Damon–Damon’s hands are wound around the tasseled cord, peering down with unmistakable satisfaction as she twists and thrashes and spits venom like a viper in a trap. Her hair hangs in tangles around her face–shiny with sweat, or maybe tears–teeth barred in a grimace.

She bucks, throws her head back as the chair squeals back an inch. And that’s when Elijah sees it. The sizzling red burns seared across on her cheek, the mirror to a dozen more already half-healed on her arms and neck.

In flash, Elijah’s at the window. Arm pressed to Damon’s throat, pinning him to the bookshelf. A leather bound volume slams to the ground like punctuation. He rips the cord away with his freehand, the curtains snap shut. His eye snap from Stefan’s stunned face, Elena panting and exhausted, and then finally settles on the little silver ring on the desk. A slow, dreadful understanding begins to dawn.

“Would anyone like to tell me,” he says, level and dangerous, “what precisely is going on here?”

“Elijah,” Damon chokes around his forearm, “long time no see.”

He presses harder, tries not to enjoy the way the younger vampire gasps in pain.

“Try again,” he replies, looking straight at Stefan.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Damon wheezes, fingers scrabbling uselessly at Elijah’s sleeve. His face is blossoming an impressive shade of red, the veins in his neck bulge as he tries to speak, but Elijah doesn’t give an inch.

“Let him go,” Stefan barks, stepping forward.

“I assure you I will,” he says, “once someone answers my question.”

Stefan’s jaw twitches. His gaze darts to Elena, who’s gone frighteningly still in the chair, chest rising and falls in short shallow bursts. Her head lolls the the side, hair veiling her burned skin, blistered from the sun.

“You know she turned it off,” Stefan starts, resigned and imploring. Like he’s trying to justify it to more than just Elijah. “After Jeremy, the house—she turned it all off.”

Elijah doesn’t move. His expression doesn’t change. He presses harder, listens to Damon gurgle like a floundering fish.

“And you decided the answer was to try her down and torture her?” he asks flatly.

Stefan winces.

“It wasn’t like that. We tried talking, reasoning wither. Nothing worked. She was dangerous, Elijah. Feeding on innocents, threatening—“

“She’s a new vampire,” Elijah cuts in, a flash of anger seeding through his voice. “It’s your responsibility to teach her, not break her into obedience.”

“Why not,” Damon rasps, still clawing at him. “Isn’t that what you do to your family—“

His grip shifts. Displaced air cracks as he slams him sideways into the bookshelf. Volumes crash to the floor in a chorus of protest.

“I see,” he murmurs, still water and broken glass. “So pain is the preferred method now. Psychological warfare. Sunlight and starvation.”

Stefan inches closer, desperate now. “We didn’t have a choice—she nearly killed her best friend. We’re just trying to bring her back.”

When he takes a step too close, Elijah moves. It’s an easy thing to tear off Damon’s ring. Easier still to crack the curtain and drag him bodily into the light.

Damon screams. Sharp and sudden, wrapped in guttural, primal agony— the same cry torn from Elena’s throat moments ago. His skin sizzles and cracks, kicking out blindly for respite.

It feels like justice. It feels entirely not enough.

“Stop!” Stefan roars, rushing toward them.

Elijah holds firm, hand around Damon’s throat and pins him in the light just a little longer. Savoring his contorted features, the hammering of his pulse.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spies Elena and remembers why he came here. And it has little to do with vengeance.

He lets go. Damon bolts, flings himself to the opposite corner like a kicked dog licking his wounds.

In a few strides, he’s at her side, crouched at her feet. The acrid sting of vervain bites into his fingers as he grasps the ropes, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. One sharp tug and the binds break, falling in a heap to the floor. In their way, her wrists and ankles are left with raw, mottled burns.

Elijah pauses, lifting a cautious hand to brush the tangle of hair from her damp forehead. Surprised when she allows it, he ghosts his thumb over the edge of her jaw, as though a gentle touch might steady her trembling.

“Elena,” he murmurs, just for her ears. “Are you with me?”

Her lashes flutter, dark eyes glassy and unfocused. She doesn’t answer. Her breath hitches, cadence uneven, like there’s nothing in her lungs but ash. Tears carve little rivers, cascading down her cheeks. And he begins to suspect that the Salvatore’s planned worked, just not in the way the intended.

“Breathe.” He swipes away the tears. “You’re safe now.”

He rises, turning to the Salvatore brothers. The stillness in his expression is deadly, the calm sea before a tempest.

“Miss Gilbert will be leaving with me,” he says, matter-of-fact. “And if either of your values your continued existence, you’ll let us pass without incident.”

Damon, still hunched in the corner nursing his blistered skin, lets out a ragged laugh of disbelief—the kind that dies the second he sees the thunder in Elijah’s eyes. Stefan looks ready to argue, but the fight in him falters when he looks at Elena—slumped and trembling.

Elijah takes the silence as an answer. He stands slowly, reaches for Elena with open palms. An invitation extended for her to accept or decline, if she should so choose.

She hesitates, blinking up at him through wet lashes. And then she places her palm in his, hands her weight over into his keeping.

When her knees tremble, he hefts her into his arms. Secured against his chest, her head finds the crook of his neck. He feels dampness seep through his collar as he strides for the door.

“Elijah,” Stefan calls, trailing him all the way to the front door. “You don’t understand—”

A single look stops him cold—composed, unblinking, lethal.

“I understand perfectly, Mr. Salvatore,” Elijah replies, voice silk over a blade. “You brutalized a girl you were meant to protect. You tortured her under the guise of salvation. And now you want to defend it as necessity?”

He adjusts Elena in his arms, gaze never leaving Stefan’s. The storm beneath his skin coils tighter.

“I’ve spared your lives today for her sake,” he continues, quieter now, more dangerous for the restraint. “But let me make myself abundantly clear: if either of you so much as look in her direction again—if you breathe her name, or cross my path—there will be no mercy.”

Then, without another word, Elijah turns and disappears into the glittering afternoon, the door swinging shut behind him like the closing of a tomb.

—--

They sit by the river until the sun begins to dip below the treeline, watching the water as it bands in gold and bruised violent. Side by side at the banks, they content themselves to the rhythm of the current lap over worn rocks in silence. Somewhere behind them, birdsong fades. The world stills, like a held breath.

There are a hundred questions Elijah wants to asks. A thousand things he needs to say.

But he keeps them to himself. It’s not the time. Not yet.

Beside him, Elena draws her knees to her chest and hugs them close. Folded in on herself, her eyes follow the river’s path like it might lead her somewhere she can’t name. The stone in her hand turns restlessly between her fingers—smooth, flat, pale as bone. She doesn’t look at him.

She doesn’t need to.

When she speaks, it’s barely more than a break. A cracked thing, fragile and worn at the edges, rubbed raw by the tidal wave of her returned humanity.

“Every time I close my eyes, I see him,” she says. “Jeremy. Dead on the table while the house burns. I remember how fast it all went up, the way the smoke burned my lungs. I thought I’d die from it—the grief.” Her fingers tighten around the stone until her knuckles go white. “The things I’ve done since…it’s like watching someone else’s memories. Except the guilt. That feels real.”

He listens, unmoving. A patient presence at her side.

She takes another breath. Shaky, like the first crack before the dam breaks.

And then she tells him the broadest strokes. The crash over the bridge. The fire. Damon ordering her to shut it out and the sire bond--

He senses there’s more she isn’t saying. Things she may never share. Not because she’s unwilling—but because there are wounds too deep to name. And Elijah understands too well that there are hurts that defy language.

She doesn’t owe him her pain.

He doesn’t need her story—not unless she choses to offer it. Elena Gilbert has been dissected, carved away pieces of herself for too long. Torn herself open for friends, for strangers, for the damn Salvatore brothers—Elijah refuses to be another.

Instead, he reaches into his coat pocket. Fingers brush fine wool and come away with a folded envelope.

“There’s a first-class voucher with your name on it,” he says, pressing it into her hands. “Wherever you wish to go. However long you need. It will be taken care of.”

She blinks. Looks up at him for the first time, those arresting eyes of her round with emotion.

He continues quietly, “Should you wish to put Mystic Falls behind you, you wont be followed.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate. They both know who he’s speaking of.

Her brow furrows, confusion rippling across her face.

“Why?” she whispers.

He doesn’t answer right away, just watches the sunset reflected off the water. There are too many truths, and no one them would serve her right now.

Because you’re a flaring sun after a millennia of darkness.

Because I’ve done so much wrong, but this—this is something I need to be right.

Because I love you.

But when he speaks, his voice is measured. Steady.

“Because you’ve had so much taken from you, Elena. And I deeply regret my own part in your suffering. I cannot undo what’s been done. But I can offer you the one thing in my power to grant.”

He looks at her, unwavering.

“Your freedom.”

She stares at him, lips parting like she might protest, like kindness is a strange, foreign thing.

“I don’t understand,” she says, voice small.

“That’s alright,” he replies. “Someday you will.”

She looks down at the envelope, fingers ghosting the neat scrawl on the front like it’s something precious—sacred, even.

If he was a selfish man, he would ask her to come with him. To start her path to healing in the balmy brightness of the Crescent City. But instead, he only watches her with something reverent, too fragile to name.

The sun dips below the horizon. Shadows lengthens across the river, and the current carries the day away.

Elijah’s had a thousand years to perfect the art of waiting. And for Elena Gilbert, he’d wait a thousand more.

[r11yh1soka]

THE KNOWN RISKS

joel miller x f!pregnant reader

this is part 3! part 2->here

masterlist

Summary: When jackson is thriving, growing and improving, it shouldn’t be a surprise to you when contagious conditions embrace you too. But it does. And it scares the shit out of you.

tags/includes 🏷️: pregnancy, jackson joel, dina & ellie relationship, agegap (joel is 56, reader is 34), angst, domestic joel, arguments, mention of sarah and childloss, not proofread sorry

an: thank you for all the reblogs and comments! hope you enjoy this chapter 🤍

Joel’s gone again. It’s just you this morning, you and your little prince or princess inside your growing stomach. You’d like to say that you’d prefer it if Joel was here right now but that’s just not the truth.

You’re sitting in the nursery sobbing, it doesn’t matter how many books he brings back or how many of them you read. The reality is that you don’t have an OB, you don’t have a real midwife and things are falling apart. You are falling apart. You spend most of your days cursing yourself for not thinking pregnancy wasn’t a risk or a consequence of your many actions with Joel. You’re sobbing because you’re scared and there’s not much else you can do but be scared.

When Joel was here, you made sure that you were all settled and not a sobbing mess like you are now. He was already scared, already lost too much, you didn’t want to feed into his fear by admitting that you didn’t think your chances of success with this birth were very high. That would just be cruel to him, is what you told yourself.

He’s your husband, been with you through thick and thin. He’s been there when you have nightmares and you’ve been there when he jerks awake in sleep panting. But this is different.

This is the first time you cant tell him how you feel. You hadn’t talked about birth plans in weeks now, not since you found out about Dr. Smith. One thing you do know is that all this stress can’t be good for the baby but you can’t help it. You can’t stop thinking about all the things that could go wrong with the baby, or you, or having to leave Joel all alone here. It almost makes you sick.

It’s been months now, you’re entering your third trimester. You can’t stop thinking hardly get up without it take a minute, you’re almost always out of breath and you’re going stir crazy in the house all day. On the bright side, nobody asks you about your red or puffy eyes because you’re never out, always inside.

Joel’s taking on even more work than before, even if it’s not just patrols he’s essentially a handyman to people so that takes up a lot of his free time. You don’t really mind, you get this time to yourself to cry it all out or as much as you allow yourself to. You can feel the kicking of your baby and that’s when you know you have to stop crying, it’s their way of telling you that they’ve had enough, you think.

Both Maria and Dina are inching closer to their due dates and you try not to think much about it. To your surprise, you hear the front door open. You gasp a little and stop your crying, getting up as fast as you can with your bump in the way as you hear Joel heading up the steps. You’re panicking, wiping your face as fast as you can but you know he’ll still be able to tell.

It’s too late, he’s already turning the doorknob and you’re just standing there by the crib. So you do all you can and just turn around, pretending you’re looking out the window instead.

“Hey,” he greets, his voice as rough and hoarse as usual as he steps in.

“Hey…you’re back early,” you pointed out, trying to make your voice sound as normal as possible.

“Mm, I missed ‘ya…feel like I ain’t been around too much with all the work I’ve been pickin’ up,” he comes over to stand behind you while sliding his hands around your growing bump.

“I missed you too,” you say in more of a whisper than anything, trying to focus on staring straight ahead out the window in hopes he doesn’t see your swollen eyes.

There’s a long pause, you don’t feel Joel staring at you but suddenly his hands are rubbing over your bump anymore. They’re just there, stuck in one place before he decides to turn you around to face him. His brows furrow, the scar on his nose is more pronounced with the way he wrinkles it at the sight of you.

“What happened?” He asks, he’s firm and as straightforward as ever but you can see the way his jaw clenches like he’s ready to deal with whatever’s upset you.

“Nothing! I just…I got sick from this morning’s breakfast so I haven’t been feeling well,” you explained, lying right to his face like it was nothing.

“You’re lyin’, darlin. You haven’t been sick since the first trimester and when you are sick, you wear my work clothes…you’re not right now,” he looks you up and down and you can feel your face get all hot at how easily he dismantles your lie.

“Now tell me what’s goin’ on…y’can talk to me, you know that.” He places a gentle hand to your cheek and it takes every bit of strength in you to not just tell him the truth.

“Tired…just tired, tried taking a nap and couldn’t get comfortable so I cried about that,” you lied again, the world’s leaving your mouth as smooth as butter.

He drops his hand from your cheek and grabs your hand, lifting up your wrist to look at the watch you wore.

“You just lied again…you take naps before three, never after ‘cause you say it gives you a headache. Why’re you lyin’ to me?” He narrows his brows and pinches his nose bridge at the second lie that’s managed to fall through to him and you feel your heart literally sink.

“I’m not…lying to you,” you shook your head, making the decision to double down instead of tell him the truth.

Him being upset at a lie was worse than having to look him in the eye while breaking his heart about the truth. You didn’t want to scare him the way you were scared and if that meant lying then so be it.

“Are you hungry? I could heat up some leftovers?” You offered and instead of saying anything, he just stands there blinking at you.

“Joel?” You called out again but he wasn’t buying any of your lies and you could feel it, feel his piercing gaze as he began to look you up and down in search of something.

It was silly of you to think he didn’t know you like the back of his hand, sometimes you felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself. Not to mention, you’d discovered something interesting two weeks ago after the kicking finally started. Something that you hadn’t told Joel yet, you were too distraught to bring yourself to.

“Well I’m going downstairs…you’re free to join me for lunch,” you rubbed a gentle hand over your bump and moved past him since he wouldn’t stop staring at you in silence.

It took you a while but you got downstairs and instead of leftovers you made yourself a sandwich. You waddled over to the living room where you plopped down and started eating, Joel hadn’t left the nursery and you couldn’t understand why.

Soon after, you heard some construction happening in the room and assumed he was getting started on the crib. Now would be a good time to tell him the truth but you just couldn’t do it. So you sat there until you fell asleep with an old movie on, dozing off with the sound of hammering and drilling coming from upstairs.

By the time you woke up again, it was pitch black outside and the house was silent aside from the tv still on. You reached for the remote, looking around for Joel before you shut it off. You realized that you were alone and that Joel was probably asleep. You sat up, rubbing your hand over your bump at a sharp kick you felt when you sat up.

The reminder should have brought you joy but it didn’t. Just fear. Because there wasn’t just one kick…there were two, in two separate locations on your stomach.

The truth this could be petrified you. It’s not like you were some expert on the probabilities regarding birth tragedies but it was common knowledge that delivering one baby is one thing but two? That’s a whole different kind of risk. A risk you didn’t want to take but now you had no choice.

You didn’t get any confirmation, you were too scares to bring it up with the new doctor you were seeing, Dr. Brown. You could only really tell it was twins when they were kicking and at your last appointment they weren’t kicking yet but you still made no effort to bring it to her attention. Instead, you sat in a room full of your own fears, everything that could go wrong and none of what might go right.

You tried getting up without a hand on the arm rest but you were quickly reminded that you couldn’t do that anymore. You’re not sure why that made you burst into tears but it did and once you started, it was hard to stop. You put your hand over your mouth, doing your best to muffle the sounds of your tears so you didn’t wake up Joel.

But what you hadn’t noticed is that the kitchen light wasn’t off behind you down the hall. You didn’t notice that his boots weren’t by the front door or anywhere in the room for that matter. You didn’t hear him moving through the hallway with a glass of water in his hand either.

He stood there in horror, watching his wife cry into her hands just because she thought she was alone. You were full on sobbing and he stood there, blinking a few times just to make sure his eyes weren't fooling him. You only heard him set the water down on the side table and you felt the couch sink to his weight when he sat down next to you and pulled your head onto his chest.

“What’s going on, baby? Talk to me…please,” he begged, he kept his arms firm around you and the shake in his voice is exactly what you were trying to avoid.

You were surprised to say the least but when you looked down and saw him in his work pants you realized he never went to sleep, he was just in the kitchen taking a break. You sobbed harder before you answered, grabbing at his shirt while making incoherent sentences. He let you do that for a little while, rubbing your back as he held onto you and trying to comfort you the beat he could.

When he needed answers, he tilted his head down and started wiping your face with a gentle brush of his thumb back and forth over your face.

“Darlin’ ya gotta tell me what’s goin’ on so I can help, alright? Whatever it is…we’ll figure it out,” he said reassuringly and as you caught your breath, bottom lip still trembling you realized the only what you could tell him is by not looking at him.

“Two,” you mumbled while trying to catch your breath, breathing in and out faster than you should be.

“Two? Two what?” He repeated while you reached for the arm rest to push yourself up onto your feet, avoiding his gaze.

“Two…babies…I think theres two,” you confessed after a minute of trying to get yourself together enough to speak.

The tears are still falling as you stand up and keep your back facing him but that doesn’t last long, he reaches out for you and locks his hand in yours. He turns you around and pulls you closer so you’re standing between his legs and he’s looking up at you.

“I’m scared…so fucking scared that this is gonna go really wrong,” you confessed, your other hand on your forehead as you cry quietly.

His eyes had gone wide at first but now they were squinted, looking up at you with his brows curled up at the front.

“Hey…hey, there are plenty ‘a doctors here—“

“None of them are OB’s, Joel. Giving birth to one baby is one thing but two? Two is…dangerous, more dangerous than it already is and without a real OB at that! Nobody here has even had fucking twins and I don’t want to be the first it means I’m the test subject for them to know what not to do next time on other people!” You exclaimed and his brows raised as his lips slightly parted.

He took in a deep breath, you could tell he was trying to find the right words to say but there weren’t any.

“I didn’t want to scare you…I—“

“But you’re scared.” He finished off, looking up at you with an expression that was far from pleasant.

“C’mere,” he gently nudges you towards him and spreads his legs a bit for you to sit.

“Joel I’m—I’m heavier now and you have bad knees…” you pulled back a little and he groaned and gave you thigh a little swat.

“Don’t care. Sit down,” he grumbled as he pulled you down onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you.

“How long you been holdin’ this in?” He questions sharply, his brows furrowed not from fear but in defeat.

You didn’t answer him but he knew the answer and the truth was it’d been going on for more than a month now. He can see the truth written all over your face and that breaks his heart more than anything else. He rubs his hand over your thigh soothingly and you lay your head against his shoulder.

“I didn’t want to scare you…you don’t deserve it. You never have,” you shook your head against his shoulder, your tears being wiped in the process as you held onto him and he took in another deep breath.

“And you do? Fuck, sweetheart…you can talk to me, even if you think it’ll scare me. We’re partners, ain’t we?” He rubs your thigh a little harder this time as he looks down at you and you nod slowly.

“I don't want to—"

"Shh, you ain' gotta say it...cause it's not gonna happen, alright? You're gonna be just fine, sweetheart," he shushes while holding you warmly against him.

"T'morrow I'll tell Tommy to find someone to cover my shifts...we'll go see Dr. Brown about this...get it all figured out," he reassured you as best he could.

You stay like that longer than you probably should with how Joel's knees are but doesn't even care, doesn't even feel the way they ache when he's got you in his arms in need of his comfort. Joel's never been a man of many words but in situations like these, you especially love that about him. He just holds you, leaning back a little into the couch while holding you for as long as you need. You could fall asleep like this if it were under different circumstances, there was no where else you felt this safe and secure.

While getting mroe comfortable, you feel some kicks that make you jolt a little. Joel's tired eyes flash wide at you jolting but you grab his hand and place it over where the first baby is kicking, then you drag his hand over to where you believe the second baby is kicking.

"Twins..." he whispers in amazement when the second baby kicks and you lift your head up and nod slowly.

"Guess I should start building another crib, huh?" he lets out half a laugh, doing his best to make light of the situation which gets a little smile out of you.

“I should’ve told you sooner…’m sorry,” you said softly and he just shakes it head.

“Ain nothin’ to apologize for. Didn’t think I’d be havin’ a kid at this age let alone two now,” he murmurs while continuing to rub over your bump.

“I don’t…I don’t wanna tell anyone. If that’s okay with you?” You hummed and he tilts his head up before nodding real slow.

“I’m just already scared as is, I don’t want people adding to it,” you confessed and he nodded faster this time in agreement.

“ ‘course. Let’s get you up to bed,” he stands up carefully before turning you around and guiding you towards the staircase where he walked behind you like usual.

You held onto the railing like usual all the way up the steps and waddled to the bedroom, you could hear him snickering at the sight of your little waddle.

“Don’t test me, Miller,” you said warningly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles and follows you into the bedroom.

“I wanna sleep in with you tomorrow…we haven’t in a while. That alright?” You questioned while opening up the closet and finding one of his shirts to put on.

“Sounds good to me,” he hums and comes and stands behind you, sliding his hands around your bump with his head on your shoulder.

As you’re looking through his shirts, finding it harder to find ones that will accommodate your growing bump you feel him placing kisses on your neck. You can’t help but grin, though he may not say it as much as you, he’s missed you just as much as you’ve missed him. Probably even more. His kisses moved up to your cheek and before you could even grab a shirt, you turned around to lock your lips onto his.

The kiss was sweet and sloppy, teeth clashing as you smiled through the kiss. Your headed tilted to mirror the motion of his head tilt too, you slid your arms up to the back of his neck as he held onto your lower back.

"You're gonna be jus' fine," he grumbled through the kiss and you pulled back a little just to look at him, take his handsome face in.

You'd been together so long now that you hardly even felt the way his beard would brush against your face as you kissed. It used to bother you but now it was just a reminder that he was here. He had more grey in his beard with the years that passed but it was still a decent mix of dark brown and grey, white scattered throughout. Even in his age, he'd still kept a good figure, though a part of you looked forward to when his stomach got softer, you secretly made it your goal for him to be so comfortable and settled in that way. Plus, it'd make laying on him a lot more cushiony.

For now though, he needed the muscle with how much he stilled helped out around Jackson and outside. Going on patrols, clearing houses, even the ones falling apart just to find everything you two would need for the baby babies. You had no complaint of course but you didn't think there was anything that could change how attractive you found him.

"What're you lookin' at me like that for?" he hummed with a slight squint, his rough voice cut your little daydreaming short in an instant.

"Was thinkin' about how intresting it is I didn't get pregnant sooner with the way I want to pounce on you when I look at you," you answered honestly, your own honesty even caught you off guard a bit.

He laughed at that, genuinely, teeth 'n all and that alone made your heart fluttered.

"Come on, let's get you to bed 'fore you wear me out," he chuckles and slides past you smoothly to grab the first shirt his hand lands on.

—

The sun came practically blazing in through your sheer curtains, waking you up but leaving Joel unaffected. You squinted with a soft groan before opening your eyes fully and seeing Joel laying there. His lips were slightly parted, his hand comfortably resting on your bump and the other under his cheek. You grinned at the sight, he looked so at peace, not tired, not stressed, just there. You took in the moment as much as you could, laying there with your eyes on him.

You lifted your hand and brushed your fingers through his hair, scratching over his scalp because you knew he was unlikely to wake from that. He stirred in his sleep a little, licking his lips but keep his eyes shut. Suddenly his hand is slipping to your lower back and nudging you closer to him.

You giggle playfully and he doesn't move, just keeps you close with his eyes still shut and his mind still focused on sleeping. Moments like these were rare to come by, he was such a hard worker, always wanting to provide for you in physical ways because he was far from a man of many words. But you knew he appreciated you, even if he had a hard time saying it, he showed it to you every damn day.

By now he would've been up already, out on patrol or fixing something in someone's house for anything they'd offer him. The nursery was getting fuller by the day and now that you'd shared the news that you were probably having twins, you took this time to think about ways you could help his workload. Obviously, nothing physical and that was where your dilemma came in.

As much as you wanted to continue laying down, with all the kicking to get up it wasn't exactly comfortable. You didn't want to wake Joel so you stifled your groan and sat up as quietly as you could. Your efforts proved a failure when you heard Joel reach out for you, grabbing you by your wrist.

"What's wrong?" he asked sharply, his voice deeper than usual from sleep.

"Nothing...just getting kicked in the ribs right now...must be hungrier than I am," you mentioned with a careful slow rub over your bump and Joel got up as fast as his age would let him.

"I'll make ya some breakfast. Pancakes sound good?" he scanned the floor for his pajama pants he tore off last night, he liked to pretend that he didn't prefer sleeping in boxers but when he woke up sweating he always threw them off.

"Joel Millers world famous pancakes? What did I do to be treated so well this mornin'?" you teased with a gentle smile and he grabbed his pants off the floor.

"Guess 'ts my way of sayin' sorry for the michief going on in there...reckon the restlessness has somethin' to do with my genes," he gestured towards your bump before sitting down on the bed and leaning over to gently kiss your bump and then you.

"I'd have to agree with that," you shrugged and he gave you a playful wink before getting up and heading out the room to go get stared on breakfast downstairs.

Slow mornings were your favorite, your life felt so zoomed in on these moments with your husband. It was everything and more. You eventually made your way downstairs with the smell of food calling your name, Joel was flipping pancakes when you entered the kitchen, humming a song you didn't know. You liked watching him do things like this, any moments that felt like he was calm or at peace made your heart race in the love you had for him.

Unfortunately for you, the moment was interupted by heavy bangs on the front door. You snapped your head around at the sound and so did Joel, he quickly turned off the stove and plated the pancakes before rushing to the door. You steadied yourself with your hand on the wall as you slowly approached the front door while Joel opened it.

It was Ellie. Ellie standing there panting like a dog and her fist raised ready to hit the door again.

"Dina's in fucking labor and I can't...I can't get her and Jessie's out on patrol so—" she spoke so fast it took you a second to understand what she said.

"In labor? Ain' it early for there—and the hell do you mean you can't get her?" Joel's eyes flashed wide at the sight of Ellie in a state of panic.

"She fell in the garage between these boxes with car parts or some shit in them! She said her water broke when she fall but I—all I fucking know is I can't move the boxes and the space is too narrow for me to lift her up without hurting her and—" She was rambiling even faster, out of breath and eyes wide as she progressively got more red in the face.

"Ellie...I need you to take a breath," Joel breathed while reaching for his coat hanging inside the closet behind him, there was an old t-shirt in there too so he threw that on.

He looked back at you but before he could even say anything, you nodded and granted him permisson to leave.

"Let's go," Joel rushed out with Ellie, shutting the door after himself as you stood there.

You stared at the closed door, seconds turned into minutes and minutes allowed fear to flourish in your mind. You put your hand over your bump, just resting it there in homes to gain some kind of comfort but you found none. You chewed the inside of your cheek as you stood there, unbalanced as usual as of late, exhausted and breathing heavy. Joel had reassured you well enough to feel safe but every bit of secureness you felt from his yesterday died the moment Ellie told you Dina went into labor early.

[bruiseddollface]

Epistolary Lovers IV

Word Count : 8k

Pairing : real!Verso x writer gn!reader

Summary : After days of waiting, the books finally left your room, placed between the two of you. You'd had the courage to show them to him, but will you have the same courage to explain to him what they're for? Worse still, what would his reaction be?

Author's note : This chapter is very fluffy, lots of tension... Enjoy!

chapter III

The words spun in your head like dead leaves carried by the wind, disjointed, floating, unable to settle. You felt them rising to your throat, pressing against your palate, but nothing passed your lips. You stared so intently at the two books lying on the ground in front of you, as if they could somehow help you know where to start. But you didn’t even know if you were supposed to start. Maybe you should just leave them there, on the ground, like a simple gift, an ordinary book. But even that idea didn’t feel right. And something inside you refused to treat them like ordinary books. The more seconds passed, the more tangled your thoughts became. You didn’t even dare look at him anymore. The silence grew heavy, almost searing against your skin.

Finally, his voice reached you. Soft. Almost amused, “You’re giving me… a book?”

You looked up. He had that crooked smile, the kind that danced on the edge of mockery and tenderness. But it faded almost immediately. His expression shifted, an instant of hesitation, restraint, as if he already regretted breaking the silence. His ice-blue eyes observed you without judgment. Just… curious. Attentive.

You finally inhaled. A real breath of air, the first since you'd placed the books on the ground, “It’s not really from me. It’s… a friend who gave them to me,” you began, as if to shift the blame for whatever trouble might follow. You felt bad throwing your friend under the train, but it was the truth, the idea hadn’t come from you, “They’re… special. An old magic…” you didn’t say more. Not yet. It wasn’t the right moment, you felt it.

“And the mirror on the cover… is that part of the magic?” he asked, voice sincere and curious, almost naïve.

You shook your head, a faint smile forming despite yourself, “No, that’s just… her artistic taste. Her… unique aesthetic.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. You thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch, amused. A brief moment of lightness settled between you, like a breath between two heartbeats. Then the silence returned. Softer now, less cutting. But the knot in your stomach remained.

You ran a nervous hand through your hair, hesitating one last time, “I’m just… really scared to tell you what they’re for and… how they work.”

You stared at the ground as you said that. The flower-covered earth under your feet suddenly seemed more comforting than his gaze. You were afraid he’d become suspicious, afraid he’d laugh, or worse, walk away. But he said nothing. Didn’t even move. When you finally dared look up again, his blue eyes were still watching you. Calm. Deep. Cold, yes, but not unkind. The murmur of the nearby river filled the space between you. The wind rustled the branches of the willow overhead, and now and then a leaf brushed against your shoulder or his, as if trying to soothe whatever still trembled inside you.

And he stayed. Not a word, not a step back. Just that calm, present gaze, as if he too were thinking, weighing the risks without fleeing. You weren’t sure what he saw in you, or why he stayed. Maybe he was just curious. Maybe he had nothing better to do. But maybe… maybe he cared enough to trust you. The thought warmed a corner of your chest. You sighed softly.

“Promise me something…” you said quietly, hesitating. You lifted your eyes to his, “Promise me that… you won’t be afraid. That you won’t… think I’m crazy. Or leave. What I want to say, what I’m about to say… I know it sounds… absurd. But I have no bad intentions, I swear. None. Ever.”

You stumbled over the words, uncertain if he’d understand what you meant. But you meant every one of them.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t frown. Instead, he stepped a little closer, just enough to place a hand on your shoulder. His palm was warm, reassuring, steady.

“Alright,” he said calmly, “I promise… if you promise it’s not dangerous.”

Your heart clenched. You opened your mouth, then closed it again. Could you really promise that? You didn’t know. The books were a mystery even to you. You didn’t know their cost. Were they just connected? Simply a form of communication, as your friend claimed? Or did they hide something more dangerous? But you wanted him to trust you. You wanted him to stay. You wanted to give this relationship a chance, your friendship, or something more.

“I… I promise.” you finally said. Your voice trembled, but you held his gaze.

A short silence followed. Then, unexpectedly, he held out his hand… and raised his pinky. Looking very serious. You raised an eyebrow, surprised. Then a smile tugged at your lips, despite yourself, “A pinky promise?” you asked, amused.

He glanced away, his cheeks tinged a faint pink, “Alicia,” he admitted, grimacing slightly, “She always does that when she makes a promise… I… picked up the habit. Bad one, maybe.”

You let out a brief, sincere laugh. The kind that eases tension without dispelling it entirely. The kind that says I’ll be okay, even if you’re not sure. You lifted your pinky and hooked it around his, sealing the promise, “Then it’s a promise.”

You stayed there for a moment, pinkies entwined, as if that simple gesture could truly stop everything, doubt, fear, the possibility of rejection. It was a child’s game, a custom borrowed from a little sister, but it comforted you more than you wanted to admit.

It was silly, maybe naïve. A promise wouldn’t protect you from anything. It wouldn’t stop him from being afraid if the truth scared him. It wouldn’t stop him from stepping away, or leaving. But you had managed to tell him you meant no harm, no matter what happened, that it was never your intention. And he had believed you. He was still here. That was something.

You took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the books between you, still avoiding his gaze a little before diving in. Then, you straightened up slightly, finding the words, “They’re… books, obviously,” you began with a nervous smile, “But… they’re connected. Linked. We each take one. And when one of us writes inside… the words appear like magic, in the other. On the same page. In the same spot.”

And finally, saying it lifted a weight from your shoulders. You felt lighter. Braver. You looked up. Verso was staring at the books like he was seeing them for the first time. He leaned forward slightly, as if to examine the cover more closely, without touching it. His eyes shimmered, not with fear, but curiosity. That spark of fascination found in creators faced with something beyond explanation.

“I didn’t know that was possible,” he whispered, as if realizing what writers could truly do. You smiled a little, relieved. It was a good reaction. But not yet the hardest part. He tilted his head toward you, raising an eyebrow, “So why were you afraid of how I’d react..?”

Your smile faltered, then faded. You lowered your gaze, fidgeting with your sleeve, your fingers twisting the edge nervously, “Because…” you started, voice lower, more fragile, “That’s not everything.”

He remained silent. Patient, “For the books to work… our names have to be written on the first page… in both books.” you paused. Your breath was shallow, your heart pounding, “And… we have to write them… in our blood.”

You didn’t look at him as you said it. You stared at some invisible point on the ground, as if that could soften the truth. You feared what you’d see on his face. Feared he would finally step back. Break the promise. Feared your hope, fragile like a flame in the wind, might be extinguished with a single breath.

The silence lingered a second too long, suspended in the warm afternoon air. Beneath the shifting shadow of the willow, sunlight danced on the closed books, like a silent invitation. You still didn’t dare look up. Cold sweat began to bead on your back, trickling between your shoulder blades despite the pleasant day. Your heart pounded too hard, too fast, and suddenly your body felt foreign, frozen by a fear you had long carried alone. Everything in you went cold, motionless, while the world around remained bright, peaceful, almost mocking in its indifference.

You cleared your throat softly, then whispered, “It’s forbidden magic…”

The words slipped out, barely audible, but you couldn’t take them back. You continued, your voice firmer despite the nervousness gnawing at you, “An old scroll she found in the archive zone at the Grand Library, apparently… I swear I wouldn’t have brought these books if she’d said they were dangerous. But they’re not. And I believe her. It’s not destructive or corrupted magic. Just forgotten. Forgotten because… maybe it was too intimate.”

You risked a brief glance at him. He hadn’t moved. But his expression wasn’t closed. Intrigued, mostly. Quiet. You paused again, eyes drifting to the rippling river, “Because of our districts, because of your name… even talking for too long could be seen as a provocation. A betrayal. I don’t want… to put us in danger. You even less.”

Your throat tightened slightly, barely letting air in, “But this magic… if it works as it should, it could let us keep talking. Without sneaking through the central district. Without being seen. Or questioned. I thought… it could be a way to exist more freely. Even if only through a few pages.”

You stopped, unable to say more. The weight of what had already been spoken held you in suspense. You almost regretted it, not because you thought it was a mistake, but because waiting for his reaction was unbearable.

Verso remained still for a moment, arms crossed, gaze resting on the two objects between you. He didn’t look afraid. It was something else, more complex. As if he was both fascinated and deeply thoughtful.

Then, slowly, he looked down at his hands, then yours, still trembling. A faint smile brushed his lips, “So… to sum it up,” he said softly, “I’m supposed to write my name in blood in a book that isn’t magical yet, hidden under a willow by a river, with a young writer I barely know, but who believes it’s worth it, just to talk to me without risking the shaky peace between our districts exploding?” he raised an eyebrow, eyes twinkling, “That’s… romantic. In a completely insane way.”

His tone wasn’t mocking. It was sincere, surprisingly gentle. He ran a hand through his dark hair, slow and a little nervous, before adding, “I think I get it now. Mostly. And yeah, the blood part makes me… hesitate. But what matters is that you could’ve said nothing. And you chose to tell me everything anyway.”

He stayed thoughtful for a few more seconds, eyes fixed on the two books in the grass. Then, without a word, he stood up slowly. A breeze stirred the long willow branches, brushing your faces like a shiver from elsewhere. You watched as he slowly stepped around the books and came closer. His footsteps were silent on the grass. He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t need to. Verso sat down beside you. Just close enough that your shoulders touched. That simple contact sparked a quiet, contained tension. You felt your breath catch, your heart race, as if he had unknowingly brushed something fragile in you. The fabric of his sleeve touched yours. A discreet warmth, but real. And you didn’t dare move, not even an inch.

He remained still for a moment, then slowly reached out toward one of the books. He picked it up gently, handling it with a kind of reverence. Then, he opened the cover, revealing the first blank page, “It’s here, right?” he whispered.

You nodded, unable to speak, eyes fixed on the blank page awaiting names, just paper, but perhaps enough to change everything. Your relationship. Your lives.

Verso carefully opened the second book, placing it beside the first. Now you were seated side by side, facing two open books. Two names. A few drops of blood. Two silent promises. And suddenly, the distance between you felt impossibly small.

You weren’t entirely sure you had heard correctly. Your mind still lingered on the softness of his voice, on the almost unreal calm with which he opened the book, on the words he had just spoken, that strange way he had of summarizing the situation, as if he found it less absurd than you did. Less dangerous. Less frightening. Your gaze slid toward him, hesitant, almost wary in your surprise. You tilted your head slightly, slowly, your eyes searching his, questioning. He was still there, quiet, just inches from you, the light filtering through the leaves casting pale flecks across his cheek.

"Are you sure?" you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

He turned his head in response, his eyes finding yours. And what you saw in his gaze disarmed you. No doubt. No fear. Just a clear tenderness, a calm warmth, resting there like a hand offered in the dark.

"You promised me it wasn’t dangerous," he replied calmly, "And I… I promised I’d believe you."

You froze. It wasn’t much, just a few simple words, said without emphasis, without oath, but they had a strange effect. They swept away everything you could no longer carry alone, the doubt, the dull anxiety that had knotted your stomach for days, the fear of ruining everything. They were replaced by something even more fragile: a kind of relief you didn’t quite know how to welcome.

You lowered your eyes, turning your face away for a second, just long enough to swallow the emotion threatening to spill over. Then, almost mechanically, you opened your bag and pulled out your quill. A quill that might have seemed ordinary to other writers, but to you held an emotional value that made it more special than any other. Something inside told you it was perfect for the situation you had walked into. You placed it gently near the books, in the center, between you, like a bridge.

But just as you looked up, another thought seized you, a cold pinch in your chest. Your brows furrowed. You looked down at your hands, the books, then the quill. That detail, probably the most important, you had forgotten. Too stressed, too focused on everything else. But… how were you going to do it? How would you sign with blood if you didn’t have anything sharp? And he… he didn’t seem to, either. You had assumed it would be obvious, that improvisation would come naturally. But now that you were here, both of you, inches from the blank pages… you had nothing. No sharp object, no possible alternative. Nothing to make even a single drop of blood flow. You felt your face flush, first with embarrassment, then worry.

And when you looked back up at him, you realized he had already figured it out. He was watching you, a small amused crease at the corner of his lips, not mocking, though. Tender. Almost touched. You made a small, helpless grimace. And without saying a word, he took your hand. His fingers wrapped gently around yours, with the same careful slowness that seemed to define everything about him. He guided your hand toward him, holding it carefully, almost reverently. His palm was warm, firm. Your heart skipped a beat.

Then, without hesitation, he brought your hand to his mouth. You watched him, not quite understanding, or maybe, refusing to understand for one heartbeat longer. But his intention became clear in the slow movement of his head, in the way his eyes lowered to your thumb. In that sudden, almost unreal closeness that shifted everything.

His lips brushed your skin. A caress. A breath. Your breath, on the other hand, caught sharply. You felt every millimeter of your finger against his lips, his mouth. Not like a kiss. Not exactly. More animal, more ancient. He slightly parted his lips. No bite yet, but that rasp, that soft, almost sensual growl, you felt it more than heard it. His eyelids lowered halfway. He was focused. As if he didn’t want to hurt you. As if he were holding back.

And you understood. Your heart pounded in your chest, your ribs, your throat. It was too much. Too slow, too close, too real. The warmth of his mouth, the moisture of his breath, the tension in his jaw. You knew what he was going to do. You knew what he wanted to do. He was going to bite you. Break your skin with his teeth. And you… you were going to have to do the same. You would have to bite him back.

The thought alone made you shiver. You stared at him, fascinated, frozen. He seemed no longer fully present, absorbed in the contact. A kind of complicit silence had settled, too dense to be broken. Your shoulders still touched. But now, it was far more than that. The world around you no longer existed. There was only that tiny link, that invisible red thread, stretched between your thumbs that you were about to make bleed.

You stayed silent, his breath brushing your skin like a silent promise, but fear didn’t dissolve so easily. Not this time. It wasn’t violent dread, not a refusal, but a deep, intimate resistance. That visceral hesitation you feel when approaching an invisible border, a tipping point, and you know that one more step will change everything. You knew it. Your body knew it. Your fingers trembled slightly, just enough for him to stop. The contact remained, his lips still resting gently against the pad of your thumb, warm and unmoving, but he didn’t shift. Attentive. Patient. No pressure. Just a quiet, taut waiting. Devoted, almost. Your gaze wandered, seeking a landmark, his tense jaw. Everything about him seemed controlled, but tension coursed beneath the surface, visible in the way he held your wrist, gently, but firmly. He was waiting for your consent. He wouldn’t cross the line without you. And yet, everything inside you screamed that you couldn’t do it. Not really. To bite someone… truly. Enough to draw blood, it wasn’t a poetic metaphor or an old romanticized myth. It was raw. Animal. An intimate, irreversible act. And you were afraid. Not of him. Not of yourself. But of what it meant. Of hurting him, failing, doing it wrong.

But when your eyes met his again, you understood, they reflected only that same calm, immense softness, like a bottomless lake you could fall into without ever hitting the rocks. He was offering you space, silent trust, a calm that wrapped around you. A quiet light, reassuring, telling you everything would be okay without needing to say a word. That you could do it. That nothing would be broken. Not between you. So you nodded, slowly.

That tiny gesture, simple as it was, was enough to break the tension. He barely loosened his grip on your hand, still holding it in his, his palm resting against yours, warm, reassuring. Then, he leaned in slightly, as if to accompany you to the end. His other hand rose to your face, slow, precise, as if he were afraid of startling something inside you. His fingers brushed your cheek, then slid to your lips. His thumb gently caressed your lower lip, slowly, as if trying to tame it. The gesture took your breath away, but you didn’t look away. You opened your mouth, slowly, without resistance. And in that suspended moment, the world around seemed to stop breathing. So did you. He slid his thumb between your lips, and your tongue, hesitant, brushed against it, a timid, almost curious touch, as if to sense its texture, its warmth. There was nothing wild in it, nothing rushed. Just a dense, silent tension binding you more and more. You had never approached anyone like this, especially not with such ease that felt both natural and unreal. But the contact of his thumb on your tongue quickly pulled you back to the present. Your eyes stayed locked on his. He hadn’t moved an inch. Present. Offering.

Your jaw closed. Gently. Just as his did on your thumb. The bite was brief, but sharp. A jolt. A shock. The pain, acute, flashed under your skin. A muffled whimper rose in your throat, quickly swallowed. You felt his teeth. His warmth. His restraint. And the metallic taste of blood. Bitter, ferrous, almost warm. Intimate, in a way. A trickle slid along your tongue, an ancient, primal sensation, like a pact whispered into your veins. Something deeper than words. Your hands eventually separated. Slowly. Almost regretfully. From your twin wounds dripped a thin, vivid red line, enough for what was to come. You didn’t need words. Just a look. A silent agreement. Together, you let the blood flow onto the blank page, your blood mixing. The living ink, natural, formed a stain of strange texture, almost alive. The quill touched the fresh blood on the page, letting that red ink soak into its fibers. Then finally, you let the tip glide across the page.

Your name was the first to take shape, tracing its letters in reverent silence. Slightly trembling calligraphy, but whole, driven by new resolve. Just below, he wrote his name, with the same care, the same quiet respect. The blood had barely dried when the light appeared. At first faint, a pale shimmer trembled on the surface of the letters, then stronger. A soft, lunar glow, pulsing like a heartbeat. The two names vibrated on the page, as if breathing in unison.

You repeated the gesture, the second book signed in the same sacred silence. A few more drops of blood mixing again. Two signatures. Two glimmers of light responding to each other. The silence was no longer heavy. It had become solemn. Serene. Once the last letter was written, the quill fell gently from your hand. You were bound now. Finally bound by an ancient, forbidden act, long forgotten. By your names engraved in the fibers of what was once ordinary paper, now enchanted. By your mingled breaths, your reciprocal bites, and that invisible but indelible tension, ready to awaken at the slightest touch.

The books vibrated faintly, then the light intensified, before slowly fading. The magic had accepted your pact. It was done. Complete. But in the air, something else lingered. No longer magic. Nor fear. Something older. Something neither of you dared name just yet. A silent shiver, charged with all the things you hadn’t dared say, but your bodies, your gestures, your breaths had already whispered to each other.

You remained still for a moment, your eyes fixed on the pages still glowing with light, your breaths held, as if the mere act of breathing too loudly could make what you had just created vanish. You didn’t even blink, captivated by the slow and gentle dance of light across the paper, like a silent wave gradually fading, leaving behind a supernatural calm. These were no longer just books. They were a pact, a seal, a bond. And when the light finally faded completely, there were no words. Only your eyes meeting again, uncertain, yet intense.

You didn’t know what to say, or even if you were supposed to say anything at all. Yet, despite the strangeness of the silence, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just a fragile, suspended space the two of you shared. You felt a timid smile tug at the corner of your lips before you even realized it.

You reached out to pick up one of the books, but before your fingers could touch it, he gently took your hand in his. The one marked by his teeth. You frowned slightly, questioning, but he said nothing. Slowly, he guided your wounded hand to his mouth, and you flinched a little at the warmth of his lips against your skin. Not to bite. Not this time. He licked the cut with unexpected gentleness, almost reverence, his lips barely brushing the wound, his tongue tracing a soothing circle around the bite. He sucked your thumb slowly, cleaning the blood, as if the act carried some deeper meaning.

His gaze remained locked on yours, steady, intense. You felt yourself blush, a warm flush rising up your neck and into your cheeks, and you looked away for a brief second. He didn’t smile. He looked at you with that rare seriousness, like nothing else mattered but you, here, now.

He released your hand slowly, then picked up one of the books, and you followed, grabbing the second and placing it on your knees. Your heart was still racing, perhaps too fast, but you didn’t want it to slow. You suggested trying it right away, a new excitement lighting up in your stomach. But as you rummaged through your bag, you remembered you only had one quill.

Before you could even say it out loud, he delicately took the quill, without waiting, without asking. Just a fluid, natural gesture. Then he looked at you, almost playfully this time, “Do you have something to clean this? And a bit of ink?”

You nodded, pulling out a small cloth rolled carefully, and a little glass jar filled with simple but reliable blue ink, which you handed him silently. He cleaned the quill meticulously, wiping off the fresh blood from the tip, each movement precise and deliberate. Then he dipped the tip into the ink, staining his finger slightly in the process. The inky finger and the still-bloodied thumb contrasted strangely with the white of the paper.

He settled more comfortably against the gnarled trunk of the weeping willow, the venerable wood seeming to envelop him in its protective shadow. He turned a page, his eyes drifting over the blank sheet before lifting briefly to meet yours, then returning to the page. You watched as he began to move the quill and, curious, you turned the page of your own book to follow along. And then the magic happened. The strokes he traced on his page appeared, mirrored perfectly, on yours. But he wasn’t writing. He was drawing.

The curves came alive, the lines became shapes, and little by little, you recognized yourself. Your face, your hair, your posture, just as you were now, seated in the grass, book on your lap. You didn’t dare move. The quill paused, resumed, traced every detail with almost painful precision. You felt his gaze on you, even as he looked down at the page. You lowered your eyes, partly out of shyness, partly afraid to disrupt the moment.

And yet, you heard his voice, soft and deep, finally break the silence: “You’re the perfect muse… You haven’t moved a muscle. And you’re beautiful, you know.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, maybe two, and remained still, fascinated by the lines forming on the page. After a while, you noticed the heat rising in your face. Your cheeks burned, and you were almost certain your neck had started blushing too, as if the tenderness of his gaze had imprinted itself under your skin. Still, you didn’t look away immediately. You studied each stroke, each curve that shaped you, drawn by a hand that seemed to know you better than you knew yourself.

Then his voice rose again, lighter this time, slightly teasing, but without any malice, “Red suits you, you know.”

Again, as if your heart had suddenly forgotten how to function properly, it skipped a beat. Your cheeks flushed even deeper, and you looked down, as if that simple motion could hide the intensity of your fluster. Your fingers clenched slightly around the book’s pages, careful not to crease them. You didn’t want him to see how deeply his words affected you, how he made you feel. But it was too late. He had seen. He knew.

He said nothing more. He let you breathe in that silence that wasn’t stifling, but embracing, then resumed his drawing, attention returning to the quill, the paper, the smooth and steady movement of his wrist. The minutes passed, long, strangely gentle, and you felt that something had settled between you, halfway between closeness and that delicate tension you didn’t dare name, for fear of creating false hope.

At last, he looked up. A discreet smile curved his lips, tinged with quiet satisfaction. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze searching for yours, “There. Do you like it?”

You simply nodded, unable to speak, your throat tight with confused emotion. Your eyes slid over the frozen portrait of yourself, as if seeing it for the first time, or as if seeing yourself for the first time. It wasn’t just a drawing, not to you. It was a gaze. A gaze that had watched you silently, translated into lines, shadows, light.

He gave you a broader smile, then handed you the quill and the inkwell, the tip still stained a deep blue. You could see the excitement on his face, innocent and curious, like a child discovering something new, “Your turn! I want to see what it’s like too, to watch the lines appear like magic.”

You hesitated only slightly, but your movement was careful. You reached out and took the quill as if it were made of glass, fragile, precious, almost sacred. Your fingers closed slowly around it, seeking the right angle, the perfect balance. The object felt too loaded with meaning to handle casually. You looked down at the book resting on your knees. The page awaited, silent, almost intimidating. You didn’t know what to do. Should you write a word? Draw symbols? Abstract shapes, maybe? Nothing came. The emptiness stretched between you and the quill, suspended. Then, instinctively, you raised your head, looking around for an answer. And you fell into his eyes.

His irises were waiting for you, calm, with an almost disconcerting patience. He wasn’t smiling, not this time. He simply waited, ready to receive whatever you chose to give. And that’s when the idea struck with the clarity of the obvious, you would draw him. Even though you had no idea how to draw, not even the basics, you wanted to trace his gaze the way he had traced yours. And you weren’t sure anymore whether it was to show him how the book worked, or just to admire him for a while. Maybe both.

You didn’t look away immediately. You observed him. You memorized every detail, as if you knew what you were doing, even though you didn’t. His jaw half-relaxed, the shifting shadow of the leaves on his cheek, the way his shirt opened slightly, giving you a perfect view of his throat, his collarbones, the hair on his chest, his shoulders leaning against the willow’s bark, the rebellious strands of hair falling across his forehead. He was still, and yet you felt the quiet hum of energy emanating from him. He was alive. Intensely alive.

You let your gaze fall gently back onto the blank page. Your fingers, still wrapped around the quill, hesitated for a moment, then you placed the tip on the paper as softly as a breath. But nothing came. You froze, the quill’s point barely touching the page, unsure where to begin. A line? An eye? You had no idea. You didn’t know how to draw, didn’t even know where to start. Part of you, paralyzed by doubt, thought of closing the book and putting the quill away with an embarrassed smile. But another voice, more mischievous, whispered in your mind: so what? Worst case, he’d laugh. Maybe he’d even find it endearing.

And… wasn’t it him, earlier, who had smiled when he saw your cheeks redden? Who had read your fluster in a single glance, without mockery, without judgment? If anyone could receive your drawing without cruel laughter, it was him.

So you took a deep breath, and began. The first stroke was a circle. Not very round, a bit wobbly even. That would be the face. Then two tiny dots for the eyes, a straight mouth for the expression, neutral, like him, when he observed silently. Then you drew that lock of hair. The one that fell just over his right eye, always a bit rebellious, a little serpent of black ink, unsteady in your uncertain hand. You added some squiggly lines around the face to suggest his hair, then a dotted beard, trembling, and you did your best, truly. Then came the body, a simple vertical line, two more for the arms, two for the legs. You hesitated, then in one of his hands, you drew a little rectangle, vaguely tapered at one end. A brush. A stick figure, nothing more.

While you drew, you could hear his reactions. First, a little breath, a soft sound, quiet but full of wonder, like a child seeing snow for the first time. A faint “oh” escaped his throat, as if he already knew what you were about to do. Then silence… followed by a small laugh. Clear, genuine, impossible to hold back.

You finally looked up, and your eyes met, again. This time, you both burst into laughter, spontaneous, joyful. It was so ridiculous, so unexpected, and yet so perfect in its simplicity.

“That’s… me?” he asked, eyes shining, half-amused, half-bewildered, “I don’t know if I should feel honored… or slightly offended.”

You set the quill down, trying to keep a straight face, but your lips were already trembling, “Don’t laugh!” you protested, stifling another giggle, “I’m doing my best, okay?”

You shook your head gently, unable to stop smiling. He continued to look at the drawing with almost fond attention, as if, despite the shaky lines and absurd proportions, something real was there. And maybe there was. Maybe, in the clumsiness of those lines, you had drawn something else. Something only he could truly understand.

Verso tilted his head slightly, eyes still fixed on your stick figure with its blurry gaze and stubborn lock of hair, "Do you want me to teach you how to draw a face?" he asked, in an almost nonchalant tone, as if the idea had come to him without thinking, fslipped in between two heartbeats.

A silence fell, suspended, almost luminous. You turned your head toward him, slightly surprised… then a smile touched your lips, one of those you couldn’t suppress, even if you’d tried. The idea ,so simple, pierced through you, and something inside you lit up. To learn. With him. Here, now. You nodded with a sort of childlike eagerness.

"Yes!" you breathed, your voice a little brighter, "I’d love to."

He closed his book gently, unhurriedly, then set it beside him in the grass. You watched his movements closely, almost fascinated by the calm fluidity of them. He reached a hand out to you, palm open, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Then come here," he said, voice soft, almost conspiratorial.

You didn’t hesitate, not even for a second. You took his hand, your fingers sliding naturally against his, as if that contact had been long awaited, long foreseen. You kept your book clutched to your chest like a talisman, and sat up, moving toward him. You were about to sit beside him, but he gently held your hand, stopping you. With a smooth, effortless gesture, he pulled you toward him, and you tipped forward slightly before his arm wrapped around your waist to guide you. You found yourself seated on his lap, your back against his chest.

The impact was soft, but your heart suddenly raced. You froze for a second, your cheeks flushing violently. You hadn’t expected this. Not this sudden closeness, so intimate. Not the warmth of his body against your back, not the casual ease of his arm resting around your waist. And especially not the breath, almost imperceptible, that you felt in your hair, on the skin of your neck. The hairs on your nape stood on end.

He said nothing. Made no comment. As if it were normal. As if he knew the moment didn’t need explaining. His chin came to rest gently on your shoulder. You felt the light pressure, comforting, and the warmth of his skin against yours. You kept your eyes down, clinging to your book like a lifeline to keep from drowning in this new wave of emotion he made you feel. Emotions you’d never felt before.

"Open it," he murmured, just inches from your ear.

You obeyed, wordlessly. Your hands, slightly trembling, lifted the cover and turned back to the stick figure page. It was still there, proudly planted in the middle of the sheet, with its rebellious lock of hair and paintbrush in hand.

Verso reached out, took the quill, and whispered, "Watch."

He drew a gentle, slightly curved line to outline a face. He didn’t speak much. You could feel his focus, calm, precise. His movements were steady, fluid. Then he handed you the quill, unhurriedly, "Your turn. Try."

You took the quill between your fingers, this time without trembling. You were nervous, of course, but another emotion had taken over. A quiet excitement. A kind of new intimacy, made of shared gestures, nearby warmth, simple teaching offered sincerely. You reproduced the shape. It wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t matter. Verso took the quill again. Drew the centerline of the face, a guideline splitting the circle in two. Then handed it back. You did the same, slower, more carefully. And so, the quill traveled between your hands and his, from his back to yours. The shapes became clearer. The features added, one by one. Eyes. A nose. A mouth. Two faces gradually appeared, side by side. His, precise, balanced, assured. Yours, trembling, hesitant, but sincere.

You had no idea how much time had passed. The space had shrunk, contained in the protective shade of the tree, in the warmth between your two bodies. There was nothing else. Just the two of you, and the ink lines on the page.

At one point, you thought you felt something. A gentle pressure. The faintest brush of his lips against the curve of your neck. Your breath caught, suspended. You didn’t move, not daring to turn, afraid it was only fantasy, a figment of your troubled mind. Had he really done that? Or was it your imagination, fed by the warmth of his chest against your back, by the softness of his voice? You no longer knew.

And then he spoke, so low you felt the words vibrate against your skin before you even heard them, "For someone with no experience… you’re doing surprisingly well."

You felt the compliment seep into you, slowly, like a shiver. He hadn’t just complimented you. He had seen you. Recognized you. Seen what you were capable of. You barely breathed, heart fluttering. Your fingers tightened slightly around the quill still in your hand. You didn’t respond right away. You didn’t want to shatter this fragile moment with clumsy words.

Instead, you turned your head just slightly, just enough to catch his gaze from the corner of your eye. And he was there. Still. Ice blue, but soft, strangely warm. Present. Open, "Thank you," you whispered simply.

He tilted his head a little, his chin still resting on your shoulder. He seemed to be thinking, but said nothing. You could hear his breathing, steady. And your heart was beating fast. Too fast. You gently laid the quill down on the page, beside the two faces, then rested your hands on your knees, breathing more slowly. He didn’t move. His arm still around you, his chest against your back. He wasn’t holding you captive. But he wasn’t letting go either. You felt his presence like an anchor. Like a thread strung between you, fragile but solid. And you understood that it wasn’t the drawing that mattered. It was what you were building, right there, in silence, between two gestures. You lowered your eyes to the two faces, side by side on the page. They were almost looking at each other. Yours looked shy. His, more confident. And somewhere between the two… there was a truth you weren’t quite ready to name. But maybe he already had.

The hours passed, slow and supple, as if the world had slowed down around you. The books remained there, forgotten in the grass, their pages open to the wind, but neither of you paid them any attention. As if the magic now being written didn’t need ink. As if your voices, your silences, your gazes were enough to bring something into existence, something more powerful, more real than anything you could ever read or write.

You were still sitting on him. Your back now rested against his chest, no longer tense, no longer hesitant. You felt the warmth of his body like a blanket wrapped around you, and his arms, wrapped around your waist, held you with that strange combination of strength and gentleness. Not tight enough to suffocate, but just enough that you’d never want to move. A quiet embrace, as if he were saying without words, stay a little longer.

The shyness you had felt earlier had slowly faded, melted away into the intimacy of the moment. Verso had that gift. That strange ability to disarm your defenses, to make the unknown feel soft instead of frightening. You had relaxed without even realizing it, his cheek now resting on your shoulder, your breath calm, almost peaceful. Your bodies had adjusted to each other as if they had done this a hundred times before, as if they were already used to it.

And you talked. Not loudly. Not quickly. But for a long time. You had spent those hours weaving invisible threads between you, discovering each other through the simplest of things. Your hands resting on his, your palms against the backs of his hands, your thumbs lightly caressing his fingers, absentmindedly. Movements so subtle, you weren’t even aware of them. You couldn’t say how the topics came. Sometimes it was a question, sometimes a smile, sometimes a word half-whispered, like a secret given to the breeze. And you spoke about yourselves, not what you did, but what you were. What you loved, what you hated. Little things. Anecdotes, dropped like crumbs on a path you were discovering together. And with every word, you felt a little closer to him. Not like getting to know someone, but like remembering something you’d always known.

At one point, he admitted, almost laughing, that he liked trains. Then he added, in a quieter voice, “And I prefer piano to painting.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly, and this time, you turned your head to truly look at him, searching his gaze. That wasn’t what you had expected to hear. Not from a painter. Not from him. But then again… maybe it made perfect sense. Maybe you understood better than anyone what he meant. You were a writer yourself, with no great talent for writing. A writer who always doubted, who hadn’t yet found her place in the world of writers. You knew what it was like to love an art you didn’t always feel you belonged to. You knew that tension, that pull between passion and frustration.

So you didn’t ask questions. You didn’t ask why. You didn’t need to. You simply let a small, companionable silence fall between you, then murmured softly, as if offering something of yourself, “Will you play the piano, someday?”

He turned his head slightly too, and his calm blue eyes met yours. He didn’t smile right away. He just looked at you, as if storing your question, as if weighing each word, each intention. Then a smile slowly formed on his lips. Not wide. Not fast. But genuine. One of those smiles that reached your heart without making a sound.

“If you want…,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “I’ll write a song. Just for you.”

You felt your heart clench a little, in a sweet, warm kind of ache. Your gaze drifted, looking for an escape in the landscape, but nothing around you felt as real as he did. So you closed your eyes for a moment, just to etch that phrase into memory. To keep it. To hide it somewhere inside you, safe.

His arms tightened slightly around your waist, and you felt his breath in your hair, closer now. You were no longer afraid of the closeness. It no longer scared you. On the contrary. It grounded you. It made you feel alive. You could have stayed like that for hours. And maybe you would have.

Verso turned his head a little, and you felt his hair brush your temple. His smile was still there, amused and peaceful all at once. Then, in a playful tone, he said, “So… I have to show you my dogs, teach you to draw, and now play piano for you? What do I get in return?”

His voice vibrated softly against your shoulder. You let out a small laugh, quiet, but real. A part of you wanted to give him something, truly. To offer him a corner of your world, something intimate. And the thought came to you, fleeting: the Writers’ District. You would have liked to take him there. To let him step into that part of your life you usually kept locked away. But you knew it wasn’t possible. Not with his notoriety. Not with that surname of his, echoing through every district. The risk would have been too great, and the stares too heavy.

You thought for a second, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. Then, as if to dispel your own hesitation, you replied, half-joking, half-serious,“I’m offering you my presence. Isn’t that already something?”

The silence that followed lasted a breath. And then you felt him shift gently, his chin lifting from your shoulder just enough for you to hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re offering yourself to me? Should I take that to mean you want to be mine?”

Your heart leapt in your chest, and heat immediately flushed to your face. Your cheeks were on fire. You gave him a light smack on the arm, more symbolic than anything,“That’s not what I said!” you protested, your voice a little too high to be convincing.

He laughed softly. That low, warm sound. You could have listened to it forever. He was about to say something else, you could feel it in his breath, but a sound interrupted him. In the distance, the chime of the central district’s clock echoed. Distant, but clear. A bright, regular ringing that cut through the air like a reminder. Four bells. Four o’clock in the afternoon. You froze for a moment. Four o’clock. The whole afternoon had passed. You hadn’t noticed the time. And judging by the way Verso didn’t react either, neither had he. You had lost track of everything, as if the universe had wrapped you inside a fragile bubble, a silent cocoon beneath that tree, far from the world. But the world hadn’t disappeared.

You took a slow breath. It was time to leave. You knew it. So did he. But neither of you moved right away. He released you gently, and already you felt the ache begin to settle, subtle but cruel, where his arms no longer held you. You sat up slowly, adjusting your clothes a little, your heart heavier than expected. He picked up his book from the grass, tucked it under his arm with a casualness that contrasted with the quiet sorrow in his eyes. You packed your pen and notebook in your satchel, your movements slowed, as if trying to gain a few more seconds. When you finally stood, the air felt different. Cooler. Emptier.

“I can walk you to the border of the central district, if you’d like,” he offered, stepping toward you.

You shook your head gently, a shy smile on your lips. “That’s kind, but I’ll be fine. It’s not far.”

He nodded, but you sensed he still wished he could. Just to stay a little longer. To delay the ending. There was something in the way his eyes followed you, as if he was afraid to let you go, afraid that you might really be leaving, beyond this day.

“Thank you… for today,” you said softly, almost reluctantly.

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you. And in his gaze, there was something strangely painful. As if he already felt your absence. “Thank you,” he finally said, his voice a bit deeper, a bit lower.

You walked together toward the park’s exit, the path to the square where the great carousel stood painfully silent. And then you stood there, face to face. Unable to part. As if your feet refused to move. As if your bodies already knew what your hearts were still trying to hide. The very idea of leaving felt unfair. Almost cruel. You felt like you were at the edge of something breaking, even though you were just friends. Officially. But maybe what you had built today wasn’t quite friendship anymore.

Finally, almost at the same time, you both stepped back. Then again. Then once more. You slowly moved apart, reluctantly, not turning your backs just yet. Your eyes still searched each other, held on in the space between. And at the same instant, as if your thoughts were linked, you both turned. Your eyes met one last time. And your hands lifted. A simple gesture. A silent goodbye. Then you watched him walk away. And you did the same.

The walk back felt both longer and blurrier. You couldn’t say how long it took to reach the Writers’ District. The entrance looked different that day. Less cold. Less intimidating. That peculiar silence was still there, that chill in the too-orderly streets. But you didn’t pay attention to it anymore. You heard nothing but his voice. Saw nothing but his smile.

You thought of his eyes, how deeply they had looked at you, as if seeing straight through. His laugh, soft and teasing. His way of being present, fully. Every memory still vibrated inside you, like a warm pulse that wouldn’t fade. And suddenly, the entire district seemed more colorful. The walls, the streets, the faces around you hadn’t changed. And yet… something in you had shifted. As if you’d opened a window in a room you thought was sealed shut.

You suddenly remembered your thumb. That moment when he had bitten it, the blood, the sting. Then the unexpected gesture. His lips on your skin, soft, far too soft, to clean the wound. You remembered his eyes in that moment, that quiet boldness. He hadn’t hesitated. He had caught you off guard, completely, giving you no time to think. Your thumb no longer hurt now. The small cut had healed. But you knew you’d never be able to look at it the same way again. You slowly raised your hand, and without even thinking, you pressed your lips to your finger. A light, silent kiss. One he wouldn’t see. An indirect kiss, filled with everything you hadn’t known how to say. A way to keep him a little closer. Even now that he was no longer there. And you kept walking. The streets felt less cold. Your life, a little fuller. A little more alive. And somewhere inside you, a melody had begun to form. A song. Just for you.

chapter V ( in progress )

[revelboo]

Hey Revel, I hope you are doing well. I'm sure your request box is full, but I just wanted to ask you if we could get some Everything is alright stuff, my favorite accident, or Gladiator Megatron x reader. Also, I finished with the first 30 seconds of my animatic, but my computer decided it had had enough of my shenanigans and decided to stop saving my clip studio art unless I give it maintenance to get more space. So, it's going to take longer to finish than I thought. Anyway, here is a silly little wip (I hate drawing him differently every time)

Look at him! 💕

Everything Is Alright Pt 166

Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Stretched out beside your sleeping daughter, you glance nervously over at where Megatron, Soundwave, the Seekers, and Shockwave are talking strategy. A lot of it going over your head, but it’s important so you’re trying to pay attention, smiling faintly when she kicks in her recharge, little peds brushing your belly. And you go still when a shadow falls across you, skin prickling when you look up and see Shockwave looming over you. Just staring. How the hell is he so silent when he’s so big?

• “Ore 13’s too unstable to be used for more than maybe a joor at a time,” Starscream mutters, shaking his head at Megatron. “Any longer and we risk it doing permanent damage to fuel lines and pumps. And we don’t know how it will interact with outlier abilities.” Turning to Shockwave for the scientist’s support, his wings tuck close to his frame then flare aggressively spotting the other mech leaning over you and his sparkling on the berth. “Shockwave,” he growls.

• Rumbling softly as he drifts over to nudge the scientist away from you, Soundwave sees Shockwave reach a trembling servo out. Sees you wrap an arm protectively around your daughter as Shockwave slides the tip of his servo against your arm, the touch almost affectionate as you lean away. “Your input is needed,” Soundwave says, gently laying a hand on the other mech and turning him away from you. Nudging him back over to the others. And he can feel your worried eyes on him. Doesn’t understand the broken mech’s interest in you, but he doesn’t like it.

• “Ore 13,” Megatron prompts impatiently, glancing at you as Starscream wanders over to you to check on you and he wants to do the same and can’t. Can’t risk being associated with you. For anyone to realize you matter to him, because Starscream isn’t the only one hungry for power. And you and your tiny, helpless sparkling are far too tempting a target. If the other two seekers are to be believed, the whole of the Nemesis is aware of the sparkling. Had felt her field flare into upset existence. Watches Shockwave glance back at you and it rankles him. Doesn’t know why the scientist is interested in you, but it worries him. Has seen some of his experiments and while everything he does has been done under the banner of for the good of Cybertron, it’s not always clear who really benefits. Can’t quite trust Shockwave, because he knows he doesn’t truly care about the Decepticons, the cause had simply aligned with his needs at the time. And that makes him dangerous. Unpredictable. “We can’t use it to augment Skywarp’s ability, send him in to assassinate Optimus in his berth?” A cowardly move that bothers him, but it would end this without a figurehead to really behind, the Autobots would fall. Who else would they follow? Optimus is a symbol, a beacon that unites them.

• “No, the Seeker is correct. Outlier abilities are inherently unpredictable,” Shockwave growls as your daughter reaches clumsily, little servos grabbing your shirt as she warbles. “We need an expendable weapon. I want the clone recaptured.” Hear Starscream hiss at that and you watch your mate pacing. ‘You didn’t destroy that abomination?’ Starscream snarls, wings flaring as he gets in Shockwave’s face and the scientist’s antenna flick as his head tips like Starscream’s anger is fascinating. ‘That thing is insane.’ What are they even talking about? Offering your daughter your fingers when she fusses, she chirps and mouths at your hand.

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@the-little-hermit-that-could yup, I mixed up joors and vorns 🤣 thanks for catching it. I’m blaming the 3% gin and whiskey candy bars my boss brought me from a trip overseas