#Or both. Or maybe something else entirely.

[luna-azzurra]

Tips on Writing Breakup Scenes

✦ People don’t always cry. shocking, I know. sometimes someone just sits there like a polite zombie, nodding and saying “okay” while their soul quietly packs a bag and moves out the back of their skull. They might want to cry, but also they might just go numb and stare at the salt shaker for ten minutes. Both are valid guys.

✦ Most breakups aren’t a single moment, they’re a slow unraveling that ends in a conversation, so even if your character feels blindsided, it should still carry that surreal “I should’ve seen this coming” haze. Because breakups rarely just drop out of the sky.

✦ The dumbest details stick, like seriously, no one remembers the whole speech, but they’ll remember the scratchy napkin, the weird buzz of a light, that their ex had mustard on their cheek and didn’t notice.

✦ You can always feel a breakup coming. no one says “we need to talk” out of nowhere, because people act different right before. overly nice. extra distant. weirdly cold or weirdly warm. characters should notice that, even if they can’t quite name what it is yet.

✦ Sometimes people still love each other. like, actually still love each other. it’s not always about the love being gone, no. It can be timing, fear, baggage, a hundred other things that get in the way. let your characters say “I love you” and still not stay. It hurts and it’s real.

✦ Closure? lol. most people don’t get it. a lot of breakups end with “wait, that’s it?” or a message that never gets sent or that one thing you almost said but didn’t. There’s rarely a satisfying ending.

✦ No one speaks in perfect sentences mid-breakup. people ramble. they say sorry three times and mean something different every time. Someone’s trying to keep it light. someone else is cracking. sentences trail off. someone forgets how to use words entirely.

✦ After it’s over, people don’t always sob into a pint of ice cream. Some people shut down, some go out and party, some clean their entire room, rewatch a comfort show, or post a spicy selfie with “new era” energy. Everyone breaks differently, so let your characters be weird about it.

✦ And if your character is the one doing the breaking up, let them feel complicated... just because they’re ending it doesn’t mean it’s easy. They might feel guilty and relieved, or they might cry after. Maybe they might mourn the version of the relationship that only existed in their head.

[moonstruckme]

hiii bb

first off all GURL YOUR WRITING IS LITERALLY TOP TIER I CANNOT WITH IT—

and second, i saw you had your requests open and while i’ve never done this before i really, really would love it if you could write a poly!wolfstar with reader coming from a pretty similar family background as sirius and gets triggered by loud noises and remus is in a bad headspace because it’s just a few days before full moon and he accidently yells at her and reader just shuts down and tries to brush it off because she thinks she’s being dramatic and tries to act unruffled but sirius sees through it and overall just hurt/comfort, pretty please? ILY

Awe thank you lovely! For both the sweetness and the request <3

cw: migraine, reader panics because of shouting/aggression

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.4k words

Remus has told you to leave him alone more than once. You know that you should, that you really ought to make yourself scarce because these moods before the full moon almost never yield good things. The issue is that you care about Remus more than consequences, and as a result you’re not very good at doing what you should. 

“Hey,” you say gently, when he passes you by on his way back to his desk with another cup of tea. “That’s too much caffeine, lovely. You’ll make your headache worse.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Remus grunts. He continues on his way, and, despite Sirius’ look, despite knowing better yourself, you give chase. 

“You’ll regret it if you have another,” you reason, following him to his work-cluttered desk, which has been shoved temporarily into the darkest corner of your bedroom. “I know some caffeine helps, but too much—”

“I know how it works.” Remus’ voice is low. Low, but not thin. He doesn’t look at you as he sits down. “I need it, alright?” 

You take a breath. Yes, you can see how you explaining Remus’ own migraines to him might not be well received. But it’s not easy to watch your boyfriend act against his own self-interest. 

Remus has described the feelings leading up to a full moon to you before. He said it feels like something sizzling under his skin, or crackling. It’s not entirely pleasant, but it gives him more energy than he ever has otherwise. Makes him restless, productive, lively. Eventually, though, that energy builds into something he can barely tolerate—that’s when the migraines usually start. Remus gets irritable, his joints ache, it’s like his body is trying to hold something no human can, waiting for the full moon and the chance for Remus’ not-human body to expel it all. 

When you think about how much energy he’s storing, that electric sizzle under his skin, caffeine hardly seems necessary. Until you take into account that Remus has hardly slept for the past three nights. Then you wonder if perhaps his brain can no longer keep up with the tireless dynamism of the rest of him. 

“Maybe you should rest for a while instead,” you try. 

“I have work to do.” 

“It’ll still be there after a nap.”

“And I suppose I may as well just wait until after the full, then, yeah?” 

“I mean, maybe.” You pick up on Remus’ sarcasm, but you don’t disagree. “You can’t be expected to just power through when you’re having such a hard time.” 

“Really?” There’s bite in your boyfriend’s voice now. Enough that you retract the hand you were about to set on his shoulder. “I can’t be expected to? That’s exactly what’s expected of me. I don’t just get a week off every month.” 

You push out a frustrated breath. “I know, and that’s not fair—” 

“None of this is fair.” Remus turns in his seat, glowering with such virulence it shocks you despite the argument you’d thought you were prepared for. “There aren’t allowances made for lycanthropy. If I told my boss that I need a lighter workload and he made the connection, he could report me to the ministry. I can’t afford to complain about how my head hurts or indulge in naps and breaks when everyone else keeps working.” 

His voice rises, and he’s suddenly taller than you, looking down on you. He stood up. Your ears are ringing. 

“If everyone else is able to handle their workload during the full, I have to, too. Do you understand that?” 

You find you can’t speak. There’s a horrible ache sitting in the base of your throat which won’t let anything out. You nod. 

“Do you?” Remus seems exasperated. Baffled by your naïveté. “I don’t want to be told that I shouldn’t be working. I don’t want to be told that I can’t have caffeine to get through it, because I know what I have to do, and that’s not something you can understand. Alright?”

“Alright,” you choke out. 

“Do you get that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Remus,” says another voice. You don’t turn, but you don’t need to; Sirius always follows the sound of shouting. It’s habit for him. “That’s enough, love.” 

“I was done,” Remus snaps. 

Sirius’ hand wraps around your elbow. His fingers feel cool, or maybe you’re only hot. You feel very, very hot. 

“Hey,” he prompts softly. Now you look at him. Sirius’ expression is all tenderness, and it feels like whiplash. “You okay?” 

You dismiss the question with a shake of your head. Your ears are still ringing. “Yeah.” 

You look back to Remus. You can’t help it. You want to fix, and to leave, and to dissolve. But Remus is the epicenter of everything, and you feel as though taking your eyes off him even temporarily is a danger. 

“Let’s be done squabbling for now,” Sirius says, his voice unnaturally light. “We’ve all said our piece, yeah?” He gives your arm a gentle tug, and you take a step back. You’d been nearly right up against Remus, you realize. Frozen to the spot where you’d gone to rest your hand on his shoulder. Sirius runs his thumb over your skin before asking again, “Are you okay?” 

Tears invade your eyes without warning. Your face burns, and you feel it screw up in an attempt to keep them from falling. “Yeah,” you say unsteadily. “I’m just—so—sorry.” 

Two things happen seemingly at once: your voice fractures, and Sirius crushes you to him. 

Remus exhales. You hear the creak of his chair taking his weight again. “Shit.” 

“Shh, I know,” Sirius murmurs, petting your head while your tears spill over to wet his jumper—Remus’ jumper, which smells like both of them and probably also you. “I know, baby, it’s okay. You’re safe here.” 

“I’m sorry,” Remus says. His voice sounds muffled, as though he’s speaking into his hands. 

“No, it’s—I’m sorry.” You sniff, trying to wipe under your eyes. Sirius keeps you held to his front. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is my fault.” 

“I believe I said we were done with the squabbling.” Sirius kisses your head firmly. “What do you need, sweetness? Some quiet? Time to breathe?” 

“I’m okay. Really, I’m fine.” You give Sirius a grateful squeeze before letting him go. He lets you, but watches you concernedly as you swipe a knuckle underneath your eyes. The ringing in your ears has faded to near nothing, aftershocks trembling through your fingers in its wake.  “I’m fine. I just—needed a second. Sorry.” 

Sirius makes a quiet sound. “Stop that. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

Remus nods his agreement. His head is in his hands, you can see now, but he lifts it up to look you in the eyes. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you.” 

You shake your head. “You were right. I was insensitive. And I don’t know why I reacted like that, I’m just being dramatic.” 

“Oi,” Sirius cuts in sternly, though half as stern as he’d usually be even to tease you. “I’m dramatic. Get your own personality.” 

That gets your lips to twitch a little. You watch as Remus sends him one of his fond, exasperated looks. 

“You weren’t being dramatic,” Remus says to you. “I shouted at you. However angry I was, that’s not alright. I’m sorry I scared you.” 

“You didn’t scare me.” Your eyes are beginning to burn again. You try to blink through it. “It was just—it was—” 

“I understand,” he says, softly. His expression is still taut with pain, but some of the harsher lines have melted away. “I’m sorry anyway. Do you want to come here?” 

Sirius hums satisfiedly when you go sit across Remus’ lap and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He draws his hand up and down your back slowly, with enough pressure to ease away any lingering tension coiled around your spine. You breathe out. Sirius doesn’t hold out long before he’s there too, curled around the two of you and squeezing heartily. 

“You two aren’t allowed to fight,” he mutters, kissing your head and Remus’ in turn. “In order for me to be petty and vain, I need you to be the sensible ones, understand? This is a delicate ecosystem.” 

“I don’t know,” you hum. “I think Remus should get breaks some way or another around the full moon. Can’t you take a sensible shift once a month?” 

Sirius lets out a sigh like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, but you hear the gentle sound of him pressing another kiss to Remus’ head. “Suppose so. Only once a month, though.” 

[swordgrace]

𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰 — john walker

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: john walker smut with "im serious, right here, right now (from reader)" prompt!! myb make it semi-public

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), porn with little plot, jealous john, semi-public sex, risk of getting caught, dirty talk, making out, biting, unprotected p in v sex, rough sex.

[ 4K CELEBRATION. — PROMPT LIST. ]

John’s been watching you for the last hour.

Hooded blues have followed your movements throughout the gala event, narrowing whenever someone got too close or you laughed at a senator’s joke.

He isn’t as talented at masking emotions as he thinks he is, jaw clenched hands shoved into the pockets of his suit.

It’s tailored, Armani; Valentina was all about optics, about appearing marketable to those interested.

His blazer fits too snugly through the shoulders, crisp, white dress shirt tight over his musculature. There’s a sour look on his face, wanting to be anywhere else.

The last time he remembered wearing something like this was high school prom.

Being stripped of all military credibility and his rank had put a foul taste in his mouth. He used to be excited about the premise of rubbing elbows with politicians, but now, it only embittered him.

You were in your element; visibly, anyway.

The bright, sunshiny disposition you wielded seemed to magnetize any who stood around you, John included. As you chatted with shareholders, you had some light about you.

A begrudging sigh pushed through his nose, blonde brows pinched together as he took a swig of his champagne.

It was difficult to remain hushed about your relationship, especially being scrutinized beneath the public eye. John wilted when faced with backlash, and he didn’t want to subject you to it, either.

He played watchdog for a majority of the evening, keeping an eye on you from afar, watching as you entertained investors and representatives.

When you finally broke away to get yourself something to drink, John followed, mirroring your movements as the both of you arrived at a polished table.

Hundreds of glasses of champagne and vermouth sat on top of a pale tablecloth, pink-and-cream liquid fizzing at the top.

“I think I’ve had enough socializing for tonight,” You mumble, discarding your empty glass amongst the rest, rubbing a hand against your forearm. “How are you holding up?”

John hovers, perhaps too close to be considered strictly neutral. He’d played the indifferent role well whenever you were in public, but tonight, he wanted something else, something more.

“Suit’s too tight,” He grouses, scratching over his jaw, covered in a scruff of strawberry-blonde. “I don’t like being paraded around like a goddamned show-pony.”

That’s what he was when he was Captain America — a government weapon dressed in spangled colors like a mascot, living by their mandates.

Agitation ticks up in his voice as he shakes his head, and the temptation to grab another glass of champagne is present.

The strain of irritation laced like venom in his tone, and you feel yourself becoming concerned. “Do you want to take a walk? There’s an exhibit upstairs.”

His chest heaves with a tired sigh, and he nods, conceding to you with a threadbare smile. “Yeah,” John turns apologetic. “Sorry, this is just … It’s ridiculous.” He murmurs.

“That’s alright,” With a reassuring smile, you gently skim your fingers over the back of his bicep, the gesture fleeting. “I’ve been wanting to see you.”

John perks up when you mention wanting to see him; maybe preens, too. He used to despise how easily he fell for you, feeling entirely undeserving of it, and he still does — not as much anymore.

“Hm,” There’s a low warmth to his grunt, and he leans inward, catching a whiff of your perfume. It’s the one he’s complimented you on before. “Aren’t you sweet?”

Departing from the table, the both of you make your way toward the grand staircase at the back of the ballroom, weaving through patrons.

One of the senators calls after you, but you pretend not to hear, side-by-side with John as you grace the steps. The heels of your stilettos click over marble, and you catch him staring.

He’s been staring all night like a man who’s walking the thin line of restraint.

Sage satin clings to your frame, and the gown you’re wearing is nothing short of simplistically beautiful. Despite Val’s insistence to wear something flashy, you don’t; it’s better that way.

John’s gaze carefully traces over your frame for the hundredth time that evening, hand briefly hovering over the small of your back.

The pavilion upstairs houses a humble art gallery that has seen better days, no longer the primary attraction of the venue. Though, it’s significantly quieter, voices drowning into mere background static.

An open archway serves as the frame for the gallery, strewn with several pieces of artwork, some contained behind glass panes. The walls are smooth, lit in a low, golden glow.

When you’re both out of-sight, tension unfurls from his shoulders, bleeds away as if it’s been cut from him like a wound. In private glimpses, he seems to soften around you.

“You look handsome,” It’d left your mouth before you left for the gala, but you make sure to remind him. “The suit highlights your shoulders, even if it’s too tight.” You smile.

John scoffs, mouth curling into a sardonic smirk, standing close beside you in the middle of the room. The hush clears his head, but the thoughts are a farcry from wholesome.

He’s thinking about you; you in that dress, with a wide beam and an ethereal glow about you, as if you’ve been touched by sunset.

“Haven’t worn a suit since prom.” He admits, and the sentiment is somewhat cute, especially for you. His vulnerability only slips through the cracks in private moments.

“Really? You should wear them more often,” You pause, deciding on how best to broach your question. “Didn’t wear one at your wedding?”

Expecting a streak of bitterness, John surprises you by being open about the ordeal. His divorce still hurts, but it’s something he’s worked through. “No,” He laughs dryly. “Too broke. I wore jeans.”

Amused, a glitter reaches your gaze, warm and saccharine, a look of fondness that he clings to. It’s that shred of affection he wants desperately; he only wants it from you.

“I can’t remember the last time I wore something this beautiful,” With a shrug, you smooth your hands over the bodice. “If I ever did.”

“You’re the prettiest thing in the room,” John murmurs, jaw tightening. “Only one worth looking at.” His tone drops, palm steady over the small of your back.

“John …” Smitten, you’re mesmerized by his boldness, throat tight as he draws you closer. It’s as if his restraint snaps then and there, already frayed to begin with.

“Jesus, you’ve been torturing me all night.” He gruffs, pressing a kiss to your jaw. Even if he can kiss you a few times, that’ll be enough to satisfy him until you’re back at the Watchtower.

A low, excitable exhale rushes from your mouth, lips parted as your hands grab at the front of his blazer. He kisses over your throat, taller frame caging you in against his musculature.

“That wasn’t the goal,” Little more than a content utterance, your voice hums low, savoring the feeling of his lips scraping across your neck. “Whatever’s gotten into you, I like it.”

“Couldn’t take my eyes off of you, sweetheart.” The strained, needy sound he makes catches you off-guard, heightening the spike of want in your belly.

Part of you is wanting to finish this back at the Tower — until you aren’t, and a lascivious fantasy soon blossoms within your mind. It’s reckless, but the feeling it gives doesn’t go away.

Mouths meet in a heated collision, bruising enough to pull a grunt from his lips, and a soft moan from yours. His hands steady over your hips, gripping you with urgency.

He’s half-carrying you, hoisting you an inch or two higher, kissing you again and again. Your hands hold tightly to his suit jacket, lungs stinging with excitement.

Wordlessly, the both of you are walking sideways toward the nearest wall, and he doesn’t intend for it to become so heated; it just does.

Your hands lock over the nape of his neck, beginning to trail through blonde tresses, bodies wedged together. Each kiss sends you reeling, but you don’t recoil, reciprocating with enthusiasm.

The kiss is an unbridled thing, smoldering with a mutual want. He kisses you as if you might cease to exist, hands roaming your hips, anchoring your body to his.

John begins to slow to a crawl, lips tugging into a smirk, but your insistence starts to bleed through.

“Why did you stop?” You whisper, pupils dilated and tone stretched thin with desire, the cool marble kissing your spine.

“You want everybody to know what we’re up to?” He murmurs, kissing a steady, passionate trail across the side of your face. It’s teasing, but he realizes that you’re genuine with your question.

“Maybe I do,” When it slips past your mouth, John feels a spike of excitement strike at his gut. It’s white-hot and primal, as if you’ve flipped a switch. “I want you, John.”

Something raw and wanting blisters through him, scorching his bones like a wildfire. Resolve slips, already threadbare, and he grabs you tight, his hold ironclad.

“You really want this?” He rasps, as if something inside of him is actively waging war. God, he wants you — wants to fuck you rough and lose himself in you.

“I’m serious — right here, right now,” The insistence and urgency within your cadence conveys everything that he needs to know, lips parting to make room for a gasp. “Please.”

Mouths connect with a gnawing hunger, a knot of teeth and tongue, lips clamoring as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do. He groans when you bite his bottom lip, teasing him further.

“Pull your dress up.”

John’s growl sends shivers down your spine, rough and commanding, as if time is of the essence. You’ve already been gone long enough for it to warrant some attention.

Scrambling to act, you’re grabbing at the train of satin, wrestling with it as you bunch it into eager fistfuls. Labored breaths and excitable sighs serve as idle ambiance.

He can barely focus, hungry and wanton, hands flying to unclasp the buckle of his belt. Every kiss is a collision — teeth, tongue, lips, and then the cycle repeats itself.

As you hitch your dress up around your hips, his hand follows, calloused as his digits push past the waistband of your panties.

You’re wet, and he stifles a noise at the sensation, parting your legs with his thigh. He’s much bigger than you — more muscle, more man, more to grab onto.

John gazes at you through eclipsed hues and half-lidded lashes, incendiary enough to burn a hole straight through you. Fingers slide over your pussy, momentarily grazing your clit.

“Shit,” You choke, hips jolting into the friction instantaneously. “John, please, please just fuck me.” The sound of your borderline plea clouds every rational thought he might’ve had.

“Want it that bad, huh? Don’t want my fingers, sweetheart? Just my cock?” He doesn’t know what’s come over him, but it’s shadowed and lascivious; he wants you.

“Yes, yes —please!” With a whine, you watch with doe-like eyes as he nearly rips at his pants, body flush against yours, adjusting your legs. He bites at the juncture between your throat and shoulder.

A low grunt tears through his throat, lips hotly sealing themselves to your neck, sucking a bruising hickey into the sensitive flesh.

It earns him a pretty moan from your mouth. The hot swell of his cock soon presses into your navel, incessant and throbbing.

“Jesus, you’re killin’ me.” He gruffs beside your ear, breathing hot, nostrils flaring like a bull. One hand grabs your thigh, the other steadying over your hip to keep you afloat.

Restraint crumbles completely, dissolving as the flushed head of his cock bullies past your folds. He’s quick about it, knowing that your time is limited.

With a brusque snap of his hips, he buries his cock into your pussy, a guttural groan escaping his mouth. It’s smothered into your throat, faces pressed close together.

All it would take is for one person to come strolling up here — neither of you were subtle.

He fucks you so well, pouring all of his built-up tension into every thrust of his hips. John isn’t cruel, but he isn’t sluggish this time, cock nearly kissing your cervix.

A string of muffled growls plume over your flesh, and he kisses at your jaw, beard scratching ragged across your skin. You cling to him, legs parted, hand fisitng into his shoulder.

The pace he sets is quick, needy, desperate; he’s all bite and no bark, shuddering at the feeling of your cunt, tight and clenched around him.

“You asked for this, and now you’re shy,” John grouses, teeth snagging against the spot beneath your jawline. “Talk to me.”

Each brutal thrust of his hips sends his cock deeper, fucking into you like a battering ram, chasing after a release. He’s actively trying not to fall apart, too.

“Need you so bad,” It’s instinctive, the way your voice hums to life when he’s fucking you raw, pitched with want. “S—Shit, you fuck me so well, John.” You moan, and he nearly gasps.

He drives you into the wall with each urge of his hips, cock kissing your walls, filling your pussy with him. The hint of praise only spurs him on, hands holding you tight.

John’s head rolls forward, jaw slack, eyes half-lidded, loosing a primal groan that makes your cunt clench around him.

Each slap of his cock lewdly urges against your slick cunt, arousal thick and honeyed around him, making everything easier.

The hum of patrons and shareholders drones on somewhere beyond the door frame, and fortunately, there aren’t any footsteps nearby. It’s just you and him, fucking against a wall.

“Fuck, you’re mine,” John grits out, grasp hard enough to leave bruises, but you don’t care. He fills the void inside of you, hammering away at your aching pussy. “My girl.”

“M’yours, yours.” You pant, wound-up and coiled, feeling that ball of heat threaten to burst within your abdomen. Bliss curls over your bones, slithering through, ceaseless and burning.

He’s fucking you as if it’s the last thing he’ll do, grunts resonating beside your ear, breath hot as it tickles the nape of your neck.

Lewd, crass noises fill the space between bodies, perspiration lingering over your spine, even when wedged against the wall. You’re scratching at his shoulders even still, mouth agape and eyes closed.

Scarlet clings to John’s features, handsome and pink, jaw strained as if something might shatter. He’s rutting into you as if he might come apart, his sounds borderline animalistic.

His cock throbs, pulses desperately inside of you, and it’s heightened when your cunt clenches around him again. Every little sensation sends him into a near-frenzy.

“Don’t stop, I’m — Mm, almost there,” With a whimper, you let him take what he needs, and he’s pistoning into you like a man starved. “Fuck, keep going.”

John nods, knowing he’s on the verge of crumbling, hips snapping — it’s a vigorous push and pull, quick, desperate, and feral.

As his cock pounds lewdly into your pussy, you use his tie to tug him in for a wet kiss, mouths molding together. It’s all heat and want, pulling a strangled grunt from his chest.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” John rasps, throat thick with desire, coarse as he feels himself slipping over the edge. “Perfect like this.” He grits, cadence husky and low.

Another moan leaves you, and he fucks you hard, right into that spot that makes you writhe. It’s an instantaneous wave of bliss that takes you, and you squeeze around his cock again.

“Fuck, I can’t — Shit, honey …” There isn’t any warning, but you don’t care in the slightest. He shudders, face pressed into yours, fucking you full of his cum.

Warmth floods your insides, veins simmering with liquid fire as it washes over the both of you, white-hot and consuming.

It almost makes you dizzy, head spinning, brain dissolving into a mess of static. The hum persists even after you cum, clenching around his cock, leaving you feeling dazed.

He knows he’s disheveled, but he doesn’t care.

Blue eyes snare on you, on the blissed-out look in your tender gaze, the smitten smile you wear as if you didn’t ask him to fuck your brains out against the wall.

John’s tangled within your beauty, in the way you bask so effortlessly in the afterglow, features illuminated by crystalline colors. He exhales, low and drawn-out, almost in disbelief.

The both of you are panting, ragged as if you’ve just run a marathon, but he’s never felt better. There’s a contentment he feels afterwards; happiness.

When he pulls out of you, it’s sticky and warm, coating the insides of your thighs, over your cunt as you awkwardly tug your panties up.

Hurriedly, you attempt to fix your hair and smooth your dress back into place, but anyone with eyes can tell that you’ve been up to debauchery. John’s smirking, seemingly nonchalant.

“How do I look?” You murmur, visibly flustered as he plants a kiss against your brow, playfully pinching at your hip. You smile despite yourself, thighs still shaking like leaves.

“Like I might have to carry you out of here.”

[jo-com]

pls alex albon fic next🙏🤞parang awa mo na teh

──★ ｡🫧⋆｡˚ The Backup Plan

Alex Albon x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: You’ve had a long-standing pact with Alex: If you’re both still single by 30, you’ll marry each other...You’re engaged to someone else now… until Alex drunkenly posts the pact on Twitter. It blows up—and fans vote that you should dump your fiancé.

୨ৎ Genre: Slight angst?, a little smau and a happy ending or nah? read to find out ;)

୨ৎ Note: Send request y'all, also hope you like this! has some grammatical error and stuffs

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

They were sitting on the roof of his apartment, legs dangling over the edge, two beers between them and an entire city below. It was 2:08 AM, the kind of hour that made everything feel quieter, closer, truer.

You were both twenty-one. Young enough to believe in forever, dumb enough to talk about it like it was something you could schedule.

“I’m never gonna find someone,” Alex said, head tilted back to look at the stars. “They either want the driver or the version of me they think lives on yachts.”

You snorted. “Yeah, god forbid someone loves you for your sparkling sarcasm and sleep deprivation.”

He smiled, soft and sideways. The kind he only gave you. “You’re not exactly thriving in the romance department either.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the breeze catching your hair. “I’m holding out for a golden retriever in a human man’s body. Loyal, dumb, likes snacks.”

“That’s literally me,” he said, deadpan.

You turned to him, smirking. “You’re not dumb.”

He blinked. “That’s what you took from that?”

You were quiet for a moment, the laughter settling into something gentler.

And then you said it—half a joke, half a wish:

“Okay, if we’re both still single at thirty, we get married.”

Alex didn’t laugh. He didn’t even hesitate. He looked at you with that warm, steady certainty that always threw you off.

“Deal,” he said, holding out his pinky.

You looped yours with his.

“We’ll probably forget we even said this.”

But deep down, you knew you wouldn’t.

Neither of you ever did.

...

Years slipped through your fingers like sand—quiet, unnoticed, until they weren’t. Now, at twenty-eight, you and Alex were two almost-strangers orbiting around what used to be everything. Birthdays, wins, late-night calls—once sacred little rituals—were now reduced to muted texts and empty-hearted “miss you’s.”

The milestones still came. But they came alone.

The big 3-0 was creeping up now—no longer a distant joke or a silly pact sealed on a rooftop, but a deadline that loomed like a memory you hadn’t made peace with. It sat in the corners of your thoughts, like dust you kept forgetting to clean.

Only this time, something was different.

You were engaged.

To someone steady. Kind. Good. To someone who wasn’t him.

And for the first time since that night on the roof, the deal—the pinky promise you once held like a lifeline—felt like something you had quietly buried in the past. Not because you forgot.

But because remembering it hurt.

...

The proposal had been perfect.

A quiet dinner. Your favorite restaurant. Warm lights, soft music, a ring that sparkled in just the right way. He’d gotten down on one knee and asked, and you’d said yes with a smile that felt real.

It was real. But it wasn’t whole.

Because the first person you wanted to tell—the one person who would’ve rolled his eyes and said “finally, someone’s dumb enough to marry you”—wasn’t there. Not in your inbox. Not in your messages. Not even in your life the way he used to be.

You sent him a picture of the ring anyway.

No caption. Just that. He didn’t reply.

And maybe that should’ve been enough for you to let it go. To finally move forward with both feet planted where they should be.

...

username NOT ALEX ALBON SOFT LAUNCHING HIS HEARTBREAK AT 3AM 😭😭😭

username whoever that girl is… break up with your fiancé. it’s for the grid. for the sport. for the legacy 🏁💍🚩

username no bc if alex tweeted this about ME i would be at his door in a wedding dress IMMEDIATELY 👰‍♀️💅

username the way this man just said “i’m emotionally unavailable but loyal” in one tweet 🥲

username imagine being engaged and the ENTIRE F1 fandom is telling you to go back to alex albon. i would simply fold.

username this tweet has more chemistry than most paddock couples. i fear this ship is sailing with or without her 😭🚢

username alex albon said “what if i caused emotional damage AND chaos in 140 characters” and honestly? he succeeded ✨

username “they forget” — YOU KNOW SHE DIDN’T FORGET BRO 😭 this is pain. i’m feeling it in my chest.

...

Two months later—on a regular Tuesday, when the sky was gray and your phone was face-down—he tweeted it.

Your eyes widened instantly as you red between his tweet— Your breath caught without permission.

And that feeling—the one you'd spent months, maybe years, trying to bury—rose fast and vicious in your chest. That familiar tightness. That ache between your ribs. The one that only ever belonged to him.

Confusion hit first. Then came the anger.

What was he thinking? why now? why publicly?

And then came the other realization.

Why do i care so much?

Because everything was different now. You had a ring on your finger. A man who loved you. A wedding date marked in ink.

You were getting married.

Just not to the boy who once pinky-promised you forever at 2:08 a.m.

And that’s the problem.

...

You didn’t hear him come in.

You were still sitting on the couch, phone limp in your hand, the tweet burned into your retinas like some kind of confession you hadn’t meant to write—but somehow belonged to you anyway.

“Y/N?”

Your head snapped up. He was standing in the doorway, coat still on, holding a takeout bag and a look that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed. “Hey. You’re back early.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just walked in slowly, set the food on the counter, and stared at you in that quiet way he always did when he was thinking too hard and trying too hard not to show it.

“You’re trending,” he said.

Just like that.

You opened your mouth, but there was nothing ready to come out. Not an excuse. Not an explanation. Nothing that could make this better.

He sat across from you. No anger. No raised voice. Just… restraint.

“That tweet,” he said softly. “The one about the marriage pact.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

He let out a breath. It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a scoff. It was disappointment, paper-thin and sharp.

“Do you love him?”

Your heart stuttered.

“No,” you said too quickly. “I mean—not like that. Not now. I don’t—”

“But you did.”

Silence.

He nodded, slow and defeated, like the answer had already been written in every pause, every time you’d flinched at Alex’s name, every time you smiled too softly at an old memory.

“I know I’m not him,” he added, barely above a whisper.

And the worst part was—you didn’t even know if that was meant to comfort you or remind you.

“I’m trying, Y/N,” he said. “I’ve been trying. But I feel like I’m holding a place someone else still owns.”

The room felt small. The air too still.

“I chose you,” you whispered. “I said yes.”

“But have you let him go?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it?

[ackermanrage]

heyyyyy yaaaaa i am in love with the way u write levi. i would like to request a levi x fem!reader myself where its the scene where everyone’s at the beach. hange pushes reader in the water and reader comes back up all drenched and soak, her shirt is all wet and see thru. she looks like a scene in a movie where the female character emerges from the water all hot looking lmao 😂. levi is immediately flustered and enamored by how she looks, but then notices the other male scouts are also gawking at her, so he moves to cover her with his cloak.

ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴅᴀʏ ʙʟᴜᴇꜱ (ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴅꜱ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀꜱᴋ ʟᴇᴠɪ)

levi ackerman x fem!reader warnings: none :) an: I made the reader a captain too, because i dont like age gaps :3, hope thats fine with u and thanks for the request!

The sun was brutal.

Not in a punishing way—no, this was the kind of heat that softened even the coldest soldier. The kind that made you forget titans and death and strategy meetings. The kind that melted war-worn muscles and coaxed laughter from quiet mouths. Even Levi was shirtless, lounging beneath a shaded outcrop of rocks, eyes hidden behind narrowed lids.

He hated it. But not enough to leave.

You were with Hange, squinting out toward the horizon, your boots abandoned on the sand, your shirt loosely tucked into your waistband. The water sparkled under the sun. Hange, grinning like a maniac, nudged you with her shoulder.

“Captain~” they urged. “You’re sweating like a pig. Wanna take a dive?”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to resist. “Only if you go first.”

That was all it took. Hange’s hands shot out.

A yelp escaped your throat as she shoved you clean into the water.

SPLASH.

Levi’s eyes snapped open.

At first, it was nothing. Just a splash. Scout teasing scout. He’d seen you tossed into lakes, shoved off training platforms, dragged through mud. But then—

You emerged.

The water clung to your body like it had a vendetta. Your shirt, once plain and white and innocent, was now soaked through, nearly transparent. It clung to every curve, leaving little to the imagination. Your hair was slicked back, droplets sliding down your jaw and collarbones, your mouth open as you sucked in air, laughing.

It looked like a damn movie scene. Like the kind of poster teen boys would hang in their room.

And that’s exactly what was happening.

Jean choked on his water. Connie let out a low whistle. Eren's mouth was half open, a beat away from saying something stupid before Armin nudged him hard. Even Reine, stone-faced, deathly quiet Reiner, was very much looking.

Levi saw red.

Or maybe pink. Or some humiliating combination of both, because holy shit, you were gorgeous.

His jaw clenched. His hands twitched.

Then he was moving.

Fast.

By the time you were stepping out of the surf, Levi was already shrugging off his cloak. You blinked up at him, dazed, still half-laughing.

“Levi—?”

He didn’t answer. Just threw the cloak around your shoulders, yanked it tight, and glared daggers at every other man in a 30-meter radius.

“What?” Jean coughed, looking away. “It’s just water—”

“You got something to say, Kirstein?” Levi’s voice was flat. Lethal in a way that made Jean’s entire spine straighten.

“Nope. Nothing at all. Great beach day. Love the ocean.”

Levi turned back to you. You were still blinking at him, wet lashes fluttering, half-hiding your smile.

He scowled harder, arms crossed.

“Your shirt’s see-through,” he muttered.

“I noticed.”

“Everyone else noticed too.”

“I noticed that, too.”

A beat passed. Then two. You tilted your head.

“…Are you jealous?” you asked, voice low, teasing.

His ears turned pink.

“I’m not jealous. I’m pissed.” A pause. “—at Hange.”

“Uh-huh.”

You grinned, taking a slow step closer beneath the cloak. The fabric smelled like him—clean soap, metal, and something stubborn and sharp, like pine. You could feel the heat off his bare chest, see the faint rise and fall of his breathing.

“I think you’re cute when you’re flustered,” you said.

His eyes narrowed.

“Shut up.”

You reached up and tugged the cloak tighter around yourself, letting your fingers brush his.

“Make me.”

His lips parted. His heart kicked somewhere in his chest. His brain short-circuited for a solid two seconds.

“…Tch. Brat.”

But he didn’t move away.

Instead, he planted himself right next to you—between you and the rest of the scouts, arms folded like a human wall, cloak draped protectively around your shoulders. His expression said don’t even think about it to every single one of them.

And later, you caught him sneaking a glance at your lips as you bit back another laugh.

©ackermanrage - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Unraveled in her arms - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Smut - Been a while since I really deep dived into the smut... - probably not the best smut but it's something

It's been five months of loving Alexia with your whole heart. Though your relationship is still new, it feels like you've known each other forever. Everything between you just feels so natural. Like it's always meant to be.

But even though it feels like you've been together forever, you’ve both chosen to take things slow. You haven’t gone public yet. Partly because Alexia has an entire fan army behind her, and not all of them understand boundaries… or basic human decency.

Of course, the fans have been speculating. relentlessly. Sometimes it feels like they’re private investigators, and honestly, it’s a little scary. But Alexia always reassures you. She reminds you that what you two have is real and that no amount of noise from the outside world can touch it. With her, you feel safe. And that makes all the difference.

You woke up nestled in her arms this morning. Still heavy with sleep. Maybe you could drift off again… but probably not. You can feel her soft steady breathing against your neck. Her arms gently wrapped around you. She's still fast asleep. Completely at peace.

But you? Not so much. The thing is… when you're ovulating, everything feels heightened. Your body. Your mind. Your desire. And right now… with her warmth pressed against you. Her scent. Her skin. Things are starting to feel really hot. Sleep is officially off the table.

Two weeks ago, the two of you finally took the next step and became intimate. It took time. You're naturally shy, and sometimes your insecurities get the better of you. Alexia, patient as ever, mirrored your quiet hesitance. She was a little shy too, which meant neither of you rushed anything or pushed beyond what felt right.

But two weeks ago, something shifted. It wasn't planned or dramatic. Just a quiet, perfect moment where everything aligned. The trust. The closeness. The love. It all built up into something tender and real. And in that moment… you both let go of the nerves. The second-guessing. And simply reached for each other. It was soft. A little clumsy. Full of whispered laughter and quiet understanding. But it was yours. And it changed everything.

Alexia gained confidence quickly. Especially after seeing the effect she had on you. How vocal and uninhibited you became in her arms. She made you feel safe in a way no one ever had. And without that safety, you know you wouldn’t have been able to let go the way you did.

Since that night, though, things have been quiet. Not out of distance but out of life simply getting in the way. Alexia had to leave for camp and you’ve been buried in work, coming home more drained than anything else. The timing just… hasn’t aligned.

But this morning is different. Today, finally, is a day off for both of you. No alarms. No obligations. Just time. Slow. Quiet. And yours to share. And as the sunlight spills across the sheets and her arm tightens slightly around your waist in her sleep… you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, the space between you is about to close again.

Of course, the insecurity creeps back in. Because as much as you want to just turn around and jump her bones. A small part of you holds back. You're worried about comng on too strong. About ruining the quiet comfort of the moment. You don't want to scare her or make her feel pressured.

And then there’s the other thing. You know how intense your desire can get when you’re ovulating. How wet you get. How needy you feel. It’s not something you can control. But past partners didn’t exactly handle it well. Some made you feel embarrassed, even ashamed. Like your body was too much. Too messy. Too inconvenient.

Before your thoughts can spiral any further, you feel a small shift behind you. Alexia stirs.

A soft breath escapes her lips as she nuzzles closer. Her nose brushing against the back of your neck. Then comes the quiet, sleepy murmur of your name. Her voice still heavy with dreams. One of her arms tightens around your waist. Grounding you instantly.

"You're awake," she whispers, warm and close.

You nod, heart racing. And before you can even begin to untangle all the worries clouding your mind… she presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

"Been thinkin' about you," she adds, a lazy smile in her voice.

And just like that, the storm in your head quiets. Because she's here, holding you like she never wants to let go.

You turn slowly. Pressing your lips to hers in a lingering kiss. She shifts onto her back, pulling you closer. Wrapping her arms tightly around you until your bodies are flush against each other. Your core presses against her thigh and a sharp bite to your lip betrays just how good it feels.

She notices. Her eyes flutter open. A knowing smile curving her lips as she whispers, “You like that, don’t you?”

You nod, but then gently pull back just enough to catch her gaze. Your breath hitching slightly. There’s a quiet vulnerability in your eyes as you search hers. Silently asking if this is really okay.

She smiles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Hey,” she murmurs, “you don’t have to hold back. I want this. Us. Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, then admit softly, “I think I’m ovulating right now… and, well, things can get a little messy. I just don’t want to freak you out.”

She looks at you, eyes warm and steady, and shakes her head gently. “Hey, that’s natural. Nothing about you scares me. We’ll take it slow, whatever you need.”

She reaches down and gently pulls you closer by your hips. Guiding you to shift so your core presses firmly against her thigh. Through your panties, she can feel the wetness. Warm and unmistakable. Tracing against her skin. A slow, satisfied smile spreads across her face as she leans in, whispering, “God, that’s so hot.”

You freeze for a moment at her words, heat rising even more as her breath fans against your ear. Her fingers trace lazy circles along your back. Grounding you. Inviting you to relax.

She moves her hand down to rest on your hip, squeezing gently. “Don’t hold back,” she murmurs, her voice low and inviting. “I want to feel every part of you.”

Encouraged by her confidence, you start to move just a little more. The friction sending a delicious warmth between you both. Her thigh presses harder against your core, and you feel her smile deepen as she leans closer. Lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“God, you’re driving me crazy,” she whispers. “I want you. Right here. Right now.”

Encouraged by her words and the warmth of her touch, you let yourself give in a little more. Soft moans slipping past your lips as your body responds. You press closer, letting your neediness show. Your breath growing heavier.

She smiles against your skin, her fingers tightening gently on your hip as she murmurs, “That’s it… don’t hold back.”

With every sound you make, every movement closer to her, the air between you thickens with desire. Raw. Honest, And entirely yours.

Still learning each other’s bodies, she notices you growing a little too close and gently lets you pause. You glance nervously at her thigh. Noticing the wetness there and worry you might be overwhelming her.

But she quickly reassures you with a soft smile. “I just want to switch things up a bit.”

With that, she slips off her sleep shirt, inviting you to press gentle kisses to her bare skin. She settles back against the headboard, hands reaching to help you out of your soaked panties and her shirt.

Then, you settle between her legs. Your back resting against her chest. Feeling the warmth of her body wrapped around you. The closeness is intimate and comforting. A new rhythm unfolding between you both as you continue to explore each other with tender curiosity.

Her hands begin their slow, deliberate exploration. Teasing along your skin with featherlight touches that make your breath catch. Fingers trail over your curves. Tracing the delicate lines of your ribs and dipping lower. Every brush sending shivers through your body. Then, with a gentle boldness, her fingers find your core.

Her breath hitches sharply at the slick heat she feels beneath her touch, and you can’t hold back. The soft whine and moan that escape you are raw and needy. Your body arching into her fingertips. She smiles against your skin, Her touch both teasing and sure. Moving in slow, tantalizing circles that make you writhe beneath her. Desperate and achingly close.

But she doesn’t rush. Her fingers pull away, traveling back up your body. Tracing the sensitive spots along your sides and collarbone. Keeping you on the edge. Craving more. Then, just as you start to lose yourself… she returns. Her touch firmer. More focused. Coaxing every ounce of your desire.

Her voice is low, sultry but sweet as she whispers against your ear, “You’re so beautiful like this… so open, so wet for me. I love how sensitive you are. How easily I can make you lose control.”

You shiver at her words, every nerve ending alive. The fear rising that you might come just from her talk alone. But she senses your tension and presses a soft kiss to your neck. Her voice calming and confident.

“Don’t be afraid, baby. I know exactly how to take care of you.”

She presses a soft, lingering kiss to the curve of your neck. Her lips warm and tender against your skin. The sensation sends a fresh wave of heat through you. Grounding you in the moment. Reminding you that you’re safe. Wanted. Cherished.

Then, without hesitation, her fingers slip inside you. Slow. Deliberate. And utterly attentive. Every movement is measured, perfectly in tune with your body’s responses. She takes her time. Exploring. Coaxing. And bringing you deeper into a space where pleasure feels limitless and completely hers to give.

You lean fully against her now. Your back flush with her front. Feeling the steady, comforting weight of her body wrapped around you. Your hands instinctively reach down to her thighs. Gripping the soft, warm skin just as her fingers move with more confident urgency inside you.

Her breath catches in a low, breathy moan. Feeling you gripping her thights. Vibrating against your neck as you move together. Her touch and your desire intertwining. The sound of her pleasure only fuels yours. Your body trembling with every stroke. Every sigh, . Every whispered word shared between you.

She pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes. Her gaze dark and hungry. Lips curved into a slow, knowing smile.

“God, you’re so fucking hot like this,” she murmurs, voice thick with desire.

“And don’t think I’m done… because I’m soaked too. Looks like we’re definitely going to need a round two.”

[starsinthesky5]

joe answers questions about his relationship with songbird at fanatics fest?

a/n: back to our normal programming

the stage at fanatics fest was buzzing, floodlights bright and hot, the sports and entertainment fans electric with anticipation as kay adams sat across from joe on the sleek interview couch. his fingers played absently with the wristbands on his wrist, the black "reputation" one receiving most of his attention—spun around twice, then tugged flat against his skin. he looked good. stupidly good. black pants, navy blue button-up marini shirt, chain peeking out from his neckline, his curls still damp from the humidity outside. his posture was loose, legs spread comfortably apart, one ankle resting on his knee, but there was an ease to him that only surfaced when he was being asked about her. present in a way he rarely let himself be in public.

he blinked out at the crowd, eyes catching on the blur of phones held above, glittery poster boards waving in the lights, the rolling tide of cheers vibrating through the stage beneath his sneakers. there were a thousand faces trained on him, every one of them waiting for a quote, a headline, a spark. but none of it made him glow the way he did when he spoke of her. when her name passed his lips, it was like something unlocked behind his eyes—like tension rolled off his shoulders and the corners of his mouth tipped up without thought. it wasn’t just that he smiled, it was the kind of soft, unguarded brightness that curled into the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the kind that made him blink slow, like he was savoring the feeling. he didn’t just light up. he lit whole rooms on fire with it.

kay smiled wide, leaning forward just a little, her cue cards forgotten in her lap. "okay, joe. we gotta talk about it," she said, voice dancing with mischief. "everyone’s seen the photos, the clips, the way you two were looking at each other at nfl honors, at fashion week, the grammys...the people want to know...how are things with you and america’s favorite lover girl?".

joe’s ears flushed pink before the grin even reached his lips, slow and irrepressible, like a rising wave he had no hope of stopping. the mention of your name settled something in his chest, like something was clicking into place. his fingers paused on the wristband he’d been fidgeting with, smoothing it once more before letting his hand fall to his thigh.

he looked out at the crowd, then back at kay, then away, like if he held eye contact too long he might spill something private without meaning to. but the crinkle near his eyes deepened, that soft little line she loved so much. the one that only came out when he was truly happy. "things are good," he said at first, the words clipped, almost like he was trying to hold back. then, softer, more certain—"really good,".

he paused for a second, glancing down briefly like he was centering himself before continuing. :we’ve both been busy, you know. i'm training for the season, she’s in album mode right now. reputation comes out in july, and i’m not just saying this because i’m biased, but it’s...insane. like, she poured everything into it. it’s sharp and honest and big, but it’s also really vulnerable in places," he laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck with that sheepish look he only ever wore when talking about her. he just couldn't help himself from singing her praises, even when the question was about how their relationship was going. "some of the songs...i mean, she definitely called me out a few times in there. in the best way. in the way only someone who really knows you can,".

he looked up at the crowd then, scanning their faces, but his eyes were somewhere else entirely. back in their kitchen, maybe. "she played me the final mix of one at home, on this beat-up little speaker we’ve had forever. she had pesto sauce on her shirt, hair a mess, dancing around in socks and talking over the chorus. and then mid-bridge, she just pointed at me and went, 'that’s your part', i didn’t even know what to do. i just stood there, frozen. like...that’s a moment you don’t forget. i wasn't used to the whole 'muse' thing, but it honestly felt more rewarding that anything i've done with football. there's something special about being the reason someone writes like that, with so much love and infatuation,".

there was a small murmur of laughter and soft "awws" from the crowd, and kay leaned in, intrigued. "are we talking heartbreak songs? love songs? power anthems? give us the scoop,".

joe smirked, tapping his fingers lightly on his knee, but there was a fondness blooming behind his eyes. "all of the above. you know her range and versatility. she's everywhere. but the love songs? those hit different. i remember last october, we were just lying on the floor in the living room after dinner, don't ask why, and she played me a track straight from her phone, still rough around the edges, an unmixed demo, just raw. she was playing delicate i think. when it ended, she didn’t say anything for a second, and then she looked at me and said, 'that one’s yours' and i was—," he let out a breath, eyes glassy with something close to awe. 'i didn’t even have words. i still don’t, honestly,".

kay grinned knowingly, “people are saying you’ve gone full simp, burrow. that you're done for,”.

he didn’t flinch. just nodded, slow and sure, like that was a label he didn���t mind carrying. "yeah. i am," he said it with quiet conviction, his voice steady and warm. "i don’t care what anyone says. i’ve never had someone care for me like the way she does. so completely, so fiercely, without any hesitation. and i’d be a fool not to meet that kind of love with everything i have. every piece of me. she deserves it more than anyone,".

the crowd erupted in a symphony of cheers, a cascade of sweet, playful whoops sweeping through the stands like a warm breeze. joe lowered his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously again. his other hand fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, as if seeking solace in the familiar fabric. his eyes darted down momentarily before rising to meet the sea of faces, blinking quickly as a rush of overwhelming emotion surged up his throat, leaving him momentarily lost for words.

"she’s kind of...redefined everything for me," he said after a beat, voice quieter, like he was admitting something inviolable. "i used to be real private, real closed off. not because i didn’t care. just 'cause i didn’t know how to share any of it. the pressure, the highs, the lows. but she sees through all that. she doesn’t just tolerate it—she understands it. she makes me softer, but not in a weak way. in a real, stronger way. like i can be all of me. and still be enough,".

"aww, how sweet!" kay smiled while pouting, then tilting her head with curiosity. "okay but i’ve gotta ask—what’s something about her that no one sees? something that isn’t in the interviews or on stage?".

joe huffed out a soft laugh, eyes glinting as his thumb drifted to the chain around his neck—his tell when he was speaking from someplace deeper. he didn’t rush the answer, just let the silence stretch for a beat as he sorted through the thousand tiny memories that surfaced all at once. when he looked up, it was with a smile that softened every angle of his face. "she’s so damn funny," he said, the crowd rippling with laughter. "i know the world sees her as this force—elegant, intimidating, magnetic—but she’s a total menace in private. i mean, she does full-on skits. cartoon voices, dance moves, fake commercials. she once made up this ridiculous song about the pasta sauce we ruined—i’m talking backup vocals and all. it was stuck in my head for days. and it wasn’t even good, it was just her," he paused, lips quirking into something fond and disbelieving. “but that’s the thing. she’s brilliant. a literal genius. and somehow, she’s also the girl who hides under the comforter to scare me when i come out of the shower, who steals the covers in the middle of the night, eats the last bite of dessert, and makes me laugh when i forget how,".

kay burst into laughter, tipping her head back as joe leaned into the joke. "okay," she said, grinning, fanning herself theatrically, "that was way too sweet. you both are genuinely everyone's obsession for all the right reasons, i mean come on," she added, joe shrugging playfully in reponse as if he wasn't sure if that was true or not even though he knew it definitely was.

she gave him a playful elbow, eyes still sparkling. "so when’s the collab coming? is joe sheisty dropping a verse on reputation?".

joe laughed, leaning back with his arms crossed like he was really thinking about it. "i think the world is not ready for that. she says i’m tone-deaf—which i won’t argue with—but maybe i’ll make the ad libs on the next album,",

"she better at least let you do the thank you note inside the physical copy packaging," kay joked.

"she doesn’t have to. every lyric she writes is already a thank you to me, to her fans," he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice softened even the loudest corners of the crowd.

she smiled as she shook her cue cards at him, "you two really are something," she said through a grin, eyes shining like she was genuinely delighted by everything he'd told her. "the internet’s boyfriend is officially off the market, folks. you hear that? all of tiktok just gasped in unison,".

joe looked right into the camera, voice low and steady, the barest hint of a smirk playing at his lips, "happily. no trade clause in this contract,".

[vaginalvr]

can u pls do an enemies to lovers with Spencer were he goes from calling her beloathed to calling her beloved (pls let it be smut and make him be a dom 😝)

content warning: enemies to lovers, dom!Spencer Reid, spanking, rough sex, dirty talk, hate sex turned love sex, hair pulling, praise kink, degradation kink, orgasm control, soft aftercare.

a/n: IM TALKIN BOUT INITTTTTTTTT

word count ~ 1.4k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You don’t know when the petty bickering between you and Dr. Spencer Reid turned into a full-on war.

It probably started the day you joined the BAU. He was condescending—brilliant, sure—but arrogant and short-tempered with you from day one. And you gave it right back. Mocking his facts. Smirking at his statistics. Calling him “Dr. Know-It-All” with a sickeningly sweet tone that made his eye twitch.

And in return?

“Good morning, beloathed,” he’d greet you with a tight-lipped smile.

You wanted to slap that smug mouth.

Or maybe you just wanted to kiss it.

—

The tension between you and Spencer was unbearable. The entire team noticed. You argued over files. You’d fight in the car about case theories. You even had a shouting match outside a crime scene that ended with Hotch physically stepping between you.

But the moment it shifted from hatred to something else?

That happened in a hotel hallway in Miami.

—

“Stop looking at my file,” Spencer hissed under his breath as you both sat on the floor outside the last unsub’s apartment. “You're too slow, anyway.”

You scoffed. “Just because I don’t read three thousand words a minute doesn’t mean I need your assistance, Doctor.”

He leaned in, smirking. “No, but it’s cute that you think you’re contributing.”

Your nostrils flared. “You’re such a smug, overgrown high school debate kid.”

He leaned closer. “And you’re a brat who wants someone to put her in her place.”

Your eyes locked.

The air sizzled.

You didn’t realize how close your faces were until he was whispering into your mouth.

“Bet you’d like it if I did.”

You didn't speak.

Neither did he.

The moment passed… until the case wrapped, and you found yourself walking back to the hotel, your heart still pounding.

He followed you down the hallway.

Neither of you said a word.

And then he grabbed your wrist and shoved you against your door.

—

“Spencer—”

“Shut up.”

His mouth crashed into yours. Hard, fast, rough. His hands tangled in your hair. His thigh slid between your legs. You gasped, and he took advantage, licking into your mouth like he owned it.

You were still fully clothed. Still standing in the hallway. But it was already the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.

“I fucking hate you,” you breathed against his lips.

“Yeah?” he growled, hand curling around your jaw. “Let’s see if you still hate me when I’m making you beg.”

—

Your hotel room.

You barely made it inside before Spencer slammed the door behind him and shoved you against it.

He kissed you again, all tongue and teeth and heat. His hands yanked your shirt over your head, tossed your bra aside.

“I knew you’d be like this underneath all that attitude,” he rasped, cupping your tits, thumbs flicking your nipples. “So fucking needy.”

“I hate you,” you whimpered, even as you arched into him.

He grinned. “Say it again. Louder. So I can fuck it out of you.”

You moaned as he dropped to his knees.

And he ate you out like a man starving.

One arm wrapped around your thigh, the other pressed to your stomach to pin you to the door. His mouth buried in your pussy, tongue licking deep and flat and wide, nose nudging your clit just right—

“Sp-Spencer—”

“Be quiet,” he said sharply, lips glistening. “I’m not done yet.”

Two fingers pushed into you, curling perfectly. You cried out, one hand slapping against the door, the other tangling in his hair.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, “you’re so good—”

He chuckled darkly, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“That’s Dr. Reid to you.”

—

Later, in bed.

He fucked you like he had a point to prove.

Like every stroke was a lesson. Every thrust was punishment. Every smack of his hips against your ass was a war won.

“You think you’re smarter than me?” he growled into your neck as he took you from behind, one hand gripping your hair. “Huh?”

“N-no,” you gasped, drooling into the sheets.

“Exactly. Say it.”

“You’re smarter—fuck—you’re so much smarter—”

He slapped your ass hard enough to make you cry out.

“Say you need me.”

“I need you, Spencer, please—!”

“Say you want me.”

“I want you.”

He slowed, hips grinding deep. His hand moved from your hair to your clit, circling gently.

“Say you’re mine.”

You sobbed.

“I’m yours.”

And just like that, the rhythm returned, faster, rougher, unforgiving.

You came with his name on your lips, and he spilled inside you a second later with a groan that vibrated down your spine.

—

After.

You laid curled into his chest, still panting, skin slick with sweat.

Spencer kissed your forehead.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured.

“What? That I’m a brat?”

He smirked.

“No. That you’re mine.”

Your cheeks flushed.

You looked up at him. “Still gonna call me beloathed in the office?”

He chuckled, hand running up your bare thigh.

“Only if I can call you beloved in bed.”

—

The next morning.

You arrived at the BAU with a limp, a new appreciation for genius-level dominance, and a very smug Dr. Spencer Reid holding your coffee.

“Good morning, beloved,” he purred as he handed it to you, and winked.

Hotch just sighed.

“I don’t want to know.”

[xuchiya]

the bare minimum? || choi jongho || one-shot

| genre: fluff. slice of life. small tinge of angst. | mentions: no label yet but jongho is making it official soon.

word count: 3.9k

You tossed your phone onto the bed — harder than you intended — the dull thud swallowed by your pillows, but not enough to silence the frustration blooming in your chest. The group chat, once filled with light gossip and memes, had taken a sharp turn. It always did. One moment you were laughing about someone’s new haircut, and the next, it was unsolicited advice cloaked in concern.

"You don’t fall for someone because of their bare minimum."

The words stuck to your skin like sweat — irritating, impossible to ignore. You could still hear your friend’s voice, sharp and sure, echoing like an uninvited narrator in the background of your thoughts. Maybe they were right. Maybe they were just trying to protect you from another heartbreak, another almost-relationship with someone who gave just enough to keep you around.

You dropped onto your bed with a quiet thud, limbs heavy, head even heavier. The ceiling above you blurred slightly as your eyes stared past it, unfocused, as if hoping it might offer answers the world refused to give.

Your fist rested lightly on your chest — not clenched in anger, but curled in quiet hesitation, like your heart was trying to protect itself from breaking open again. You could still hear their voices. Friends who had seen you unravel before, who had picked you up when your heart had turned into a battlefield of “what ifs” and “should’ve known betters.”

"You always love too hard. You give too much."

Maybe they were right. Maybe you were walking straight into the same fire that burned you before. The memory of that past version of yourself — raw, fragile, sleepless — made your stomach twist. You didn’t want to go back to her. You weren’t sure you could survive her again.

You exhaled slowly, then turned your head to the side, not expecting much — just something to distract you from the chaos inside. That’s when you saw it.

A photo strip, slightly bent at the corner, tucked beneath the edge of your journal. Four small squares — moments frozen in time — each frame capturing pieces of something you didn’t quite have the courage to name yet.

It was from that afternoon at the mall. You’d passed by a photo booth and without hesitation, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward it, “Come on,” you had grinned, heart racing. “We’ve got time for four clicks.”

The first was a blur — you both weren’t ready, caught mid-laugh. The second, he leaned in closer, eyes soft, almost too soft. The third, you were the one looking at him instead of the camera. And the fourth was the one that stuck. His hand resting over yours, your shoulders touching, your heads on top of each other as you both smile as the camera flashes, faces calm like the world could end and you wouldn’t notice.

You reached for the photo strip now, fingers brushing over the glossy surface. The quiet warmth of that moment crept into your chest like light seeping through cracks. Maybe you had loved too hard before but Choi Jongho made it feel different. He made things more soft. Safe and real.

And maybe — just maybe — this time, it wouldn’t end the same. 

Because Jongho

He was not the bare minimum. Jongho didn’t just show up. He stayed — in silence, in mess, in moments when it would’ve been easier to walk away. So no… maybe you shouldn’t fall for someone who only gives you crumbs.

But Jongho? He was the whole damn bakery.

Like that when it always starts with something small. Just small things. Quiet, almost forgettable to anyone else — but to you, they mean the world.

i

You’ve always been the one to fall asleep first. It wasn’t even a question anymore. Two hours before Jongho’s usual bedtime, your eyes would start to flutter shut mid-conversation, your words slow into sleepy mumbles before trailing off entirely. You’d curl up into your blanket like muscle memory, drifting off before the clock even struck midnight.

And Jongho never minded.

Not once.

While your breathing settled into a soft, rhythmic pattern across the call — or when he saw your "last seen" flicker away for the night — he’d simply plug in his charger, shift his weight on the bed, and settle into his own quiet time. Sometimes he worked on homework. Other times, he’d scroll endlessly through his phone — music playlists, dumb memes, chaotic group chats, random reels that made him laugh under his breath.

Then, like always, he'd come across something and think, "She'd like this." But he wouldn’t send the video right away. No. Jongho knew better than to let your phone buzz at 12:42 AM and risk waking you. He remembered the way you stirred the last time, half-conscious and confused, whispering “Huh? What’s going on?” with your hair a mess and voice thick with sleep when he came over to work on your project and you tend to take naps mid-way.

So instead, he did what he always did. He tapped ‘copy link’ then pasted it into messages. And added /silent before pressing send. Just a small detail. Just a tiny slash and a word most people would overlook. But it mattered — because you mattered. Because he cared enough to make sure your sleep stayed undisturbed. Because even when you weren’t awake to notice, he was still thinking of you.

Sometimes it would be three or four links in a row — a chaotic thread waiting for you like breadcrumbs in your inbox. Funny reels. A puppy wearing a costume. A scene from a show you once said you loved when you were twelve. No message. No “LOL” or “this reminded me of you.

Then you wake up, check Messenger first thing in the morning, scroll with tangled hair and bleary eyes, your thumb pausing on the softness of his words. And even before a smile reaches your lips, the warmth hits your chest. A whisper escapes. A soft, disbelieving question, like a prayer only meant for yourself.

A feature most people don’t bother with. But he does. Every single time.

Because he knows. Knows you’re a light sleeper. Know the way your body tenses even in your dreams when your phone buzzes at night. Knows how sacred your sleep is after long days that drain you from the inside out. So he never sends messages with noise. No pings. No vibrations. Just… silence.

And still — even at 3:02 AM — when his mind is wandering, when the world outside is asleep but his thoughts are too loud to silence, he writes.

About music. About the stars. About you.

Short, half-formed sentences. Late-night ramblings about his day or a song that reminded him of you. Thoughts that probably made more sense in his head than they do on the screen. But they’re there. Waiting. Gentle, sleepy words sitting quietly in your inbox like petals placed on your doorstep — fragile, deliberate, sincere.

ii

Then there’s movie night.

Which, with Jongho, is never just movie night.

It’s Discord screen shares and careful audio checks. It’s him adjusting his mic again and again until your voice—already muffled by the layers of your blanket—says, “It’s okay, I can hear you,” even though the connection crackles every now and then.

You weren’t in the mood to go out. Not just today — but most days. Your body was still shaking off the last traces of a stubborn fever, skin too sensitive, eyes too heavy. And even if the sickness hadn’t kept you in, the world outside still felt too loud, too uncertain, too much.

You were never really the type to seek noise or crowds anyway. Your soul was quieter, more private. You liked your room — the way the walls curled around you like a soft shell, familiar and safe. That space had become your theater, your whole damn planet on the days where even the hallway outside your door felt overwhelming.

It was in the way he queued up movies you mentioned once during your lunch break when you were scrolling on your phone and would show him some clips of the movie you wanted to see, or the way he synced subtitles just right so your reading pace could keep up. It was in how he'd listen for your yawns — the sleepy kind, where your responses turn into soft hums and you forget the plot entirely — but he never teased. Never say “you’re boring” or “you always fall asleep halfway.” 

Instead, he’d smile to himself, watching the tiny green light on Discord flicker less and less as your voice faded away. When he was sure you were asleep, he would slowly slide the volume bar down to zero, like dimming the last light in a room you’d just left behind. The scene might still be playing — dialogue, explosions, laughter — but you were already somewhere in your dreams. And then, in the soft glow of his monitor, Jongho would mute his mic.

You don’t know this. You don’t hear the chair creak as he leans back, or the way he stretches his arms over his head with a quiet sigh. You don’t see the subtle clicks as he adjusts the Discord channel permissions — limiting who can join, just in case someone stumbles in and shatters the quiet he’s carefully protected around you.

You fall asleep thinking you drifted off during a movie. But really, you fell asleep in a space Jongho built — gently, intentionally, like tucking someone in without ever touching them. A space made of low volumes, hushed breaths, and unspoken devotion.

You sleep in silence. Not realizing just how much love went into making it that way.

iii

Or when days weren’t filled with softness, you and Jongho had snapped at each other over nothing and everything—too-little sleep, too-many worries, a single text read the wrong way. The fight had been quick and messy, like dropping glass– sharp words scattering across the floor, impossible to sweep up without cutting yourselves.

So you’d gone quiet, convinced a little distance would soothe the sting.

The sun had long since set when the knock came—three hesitant taps that rattled through the hallway. You froze on your steps, frowning in confusion. You padded to the door in mismatched socks, glancing up at the wall clock, heart pounding worse than it had during the argument, I mean who knocks at 8:47 p.m. in this neighborhood?

You cracked the door—and time stuttered.

Jongho stood on the mat, chest rising in ragged pulls, summer sweat plastering his fringe to his forehead. His T-shirt clung to him, half from the humid night, half from the frantic back-and-forth he’d just confessed to.

“I—uh—think I looped your street… twice.” He gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he felt out of place. “Can you remind me which house is yours?”

You blinked. “Why are you here?” The question slipped out, small and startled. He stared at his own shoes, scuffing one against the concrete. “To say sorry,” he murmured. “Text felt… too easy. Too small for how badly I messed up.”

The porch light buzzed overhead; a moth circled lazily between you. In that glow you noticed the smudges of city grit on his sneakers, the faint tremor in his hands where adrenaline still rattled his bones. Your heart cracked open—clean, sudden—like a mug slipping from the counter and shattering the silence of the kitchen tiles. All at once you pictured him missing the correct turn, doubling back under flickering street lamps, stubbornly refusing to give up because ‘I’m sorry’ deserved eye contact, not pixels.

Who does that? Jongho apparently. Someone who refuses to let mis-fired anger be the last thing hanging between you. Someone who thinks an apology should travel the same distance the hurt did—maybe farther. Someone who, even lost, chose to keep walking toward you.

You stepped aside without a word, letting the porch light spill into the hallway, “Come in,” you whispered, voice cracking like the rest of you. And as he crossed the threshold—sweat, nerves, and all—you realized getting lost might have been the surest way for both of you to find your way back.

iv

And you couldn’t forget that moment where you were in the zone — or at least, trying to be.

Hands busy, screens glowing, a half-empty mug of cold coffee pushed to the side of your cluttered desk. Notes scattered like fallen leaves. The air was thick with unspoken pressure — from deadlines, from expectations, from the loud, echoing voice inside your own head that wouldn’t shut up until everything was perfect.

You barely noticed how still the room was. Just the quiet hum of your laptop fan and the occasional clack of your keyboard breaking the silence. Your breathing was shallow, your jaw tense, your fingers flying — until they stopped.

Because your stupid, stubborn hair had slipped loose again. You’d tied it up in a quick bun hours ago, but now, strands had come free and were sticking to your cheeks, brushing across your forehead, falling right into your eyes every time you try to focus. You pushed it back once, then again, more impatient each time.

A sharp breath escaped your nose. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t even make a sound loud enough to complain — just a little annoyed huff and a flick of your fingers, trying to twist the strands behind your ear. But it didn’t stay.

Jongho lowered his phone on his lap, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back to your bed. Jongho had been there the whole time, on your bed watching you spiral in slow motion. You hadn’t even realized he was still there, honestly — he was so good at just being, without taking up space. Not in a way that begged attention. He never did. His gaze kept drifting back to you — to the way your shoulders rose with every exhale, to the faint frown etched into your forehead, to the way you huffed, frustrated, as strands of your hair fell again.

So when he moved, you barely caught it. No words. No teasing. Just the subtle shift of the mattress, the creak of floorboards, and his footsteps approaching — soft, unhurried.

You felt him before you saw him. He stood behind you, and in that still moment, the world seemed to pause. Not in an awkward way — but in the way it always does when someone does something gentle for you. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t question it. You just let it happen.

And then — his hands.

Fingertips brush across your neck as they gather your hair, removing the non existing messy bun on top of your head. Slow. Careful. He moved like he’d done this a thousand times before — like your hair had a rhythm he’d memorized. There was no tug, no tension. Just the warmth of his palms and the deliberate sweep of fingers, smoothing down flyaways like they were delicate petals.

He pulled your hair into a low ponytail, tying it off with the scrunchie from his own wrist — one he always kept there, whether he admitted it was for you or not. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t styled. But it was secure. It fits. It was exactly what you needed — even if you hadn’t asked.

Your breath hitched slightly when his fingers lingered for just a second too long. The tie settled at the nape of your neck — light, comforting. But it felt heavier somehow. Like it carried meaning, “Your hair always distracts you when you’re trying to focus,” he said finally, his voice just above a whisper. Soft. Almost sheepish. “Thought I’d save you from it this time.”

You didn’t turn around. Because at that moment, everything in your chest unclenched. All the noise in your head quieted, like a radio fading into static. The tension in your shoulders eased. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding yourself together until he stepped in.

And it wasn’t just about the ponytail. It never was. It was about the way he paid attention. The way he remembered. The way he didn’t ask, didn’t wait, didn’t make a scene — just helped. It was in the silence. In the space he made around you without ever asking for space himself. And somehow … somehow his hands on your hair felt more like home than your own ever did.

You took a slow breath, exhaled, and returned to your work — not because the pressure had vanished, but because you weren’t carrying it alone anymore. And as you sat there, posture a little more relaxed, focus finally returning, you smiled to yourself.

You sighed, long and tired, the kind that left your chest feeling a little lighter and a little emptier all at once. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of your night lamp, and the ceiling above you stared back in silence — like it was holding your thoughts for you, just for a moment longer.

You weren’t even sure why your heart felt like this — full, but aching. Like you were overwhelmed by something too soft to name. Your chest heaves in a deep inhale before another sigh escapes.

“What got you so worked up that you sigh like you have fifteen unfinished projects and three babies to feed?” You yelped — actually yelped — twisting to the side, heart skipping like a scratched record. There, leaning casually against your bedroom door frame, was Jongho.

Arms crossed. One brow raised. The corners of his lips quirked in that boyish way that meant he was trying not to laugh at your startled reaction. His hair was slightly tousled, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, and his whole presence felt warm — like a late-night tea you didn’t know you needed.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked, pulling your blanket up like it could shield your flustered expression.  “Long enough to watch you battle the air with that dramatic sigh,” he teased, pushing off the door and strolling toward your bed. You opened your mouth to deflect, but nothing clever came out. Just a small huff as you turned to face the ceiling again, blinking fast, hoping the blush on your face wasn’t obvious under the lamplight.

Instead, Jongho sat on the edge of your bed, careful not to pull you out of your cocoon. His fingers brushed lightly against your ankle through the blanket — grounding, patient.

“You okay?” he asked, this time quieter. And you nodded, then whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Just remembering things.”

“Good things?” he asked again, his voice low now, more careful — like he was stepping into a space inside you he didn’t want to rush. You nodded against your pillow. “Too good.” There was silence then. Not awkward. Not empty. Just… still. Full of air that felt too thick with things left unsaid, and yet, somehow, safe.

Jongho’s hand brushed over your blanket again. This time slower. His thumb pressed gently into the edge, grounding himself there, “Guess I’ll just have to keep making more of them, huh?” he murmured with a small, hopeful smile.

Your chest ached — the kind of ache that feels like warmth stretching. You glanced at him, eyes catching the light of the lamp. “Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time?”

He blinked. “What?”

“All of it,” you whispered. “The silent messages, the scrunchies, movie nights, showing up when you didn’t have to. You’ve been... making memories for me.”

Jongho’s mouth opened, then closed. Like the truth had been sitting on his tongue this whole time but he wasn’t sure if now was the moment. But something in your voice, your eyes, must’ve made the decision for him.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I have.”

You felt the words settle into your chest like puzzle pieces falling into place. He exhaled, fingers now tugging lightly at the edge of your blanket, a nervous habit. “And I think… maybe I don’t want to keep doing all of that as just a friend.”

Your heart stumbled. “Jongho…”

“I mean,” he laughed gently, eyes flicking up to meet yours, “I think I passed the ‘just a friend’ stage back when I started carrying backup scrunchies for you.”

You could feel your heartbeat in places you hadn’t noticed until now — your fingertips, the hollow of your throat, deep in your stomach. It was the way Jongho said it. Quietly. Carefully. Like he wasn’t just asking a question — he was handing you something fragile. Something real.

“Can I… make it official?” His voice was barely more than a breath, but it cracked the air between you like a soft truth being unfolded. He was still seated on the edge of your bed, one leg turned toward you, but not pressing. Always waiting. Always gentle. His eyes searched your face not for permission, but for clarity — for a sign that you felt it too. That all the small things he did hadn’t gone unnoticed. That he hadn’t just been loving you in silence.

You stared at him for a moment, your chest too full to speak.

He looked nervous. Not because he was scared you’d say no — but because he wanted this to mean something. All of it. The /silent links he sent at 2 a.m. because he didn’t want to wake you. The way he tied your hair without a second thought because he knew how it distracted you. The scrunchies on his wrist. The muted screen shares. The apology he walked in circles just to give you in person.

He’d been writing a love story in the margins — and now he was finally turning the page to show you.

You sat up slowly, blanket sliding off your shoulder. The cool air kissed your skin, but all you could feel was the warmth of him — of his words, his presence, his intention, “Jongho…” you said his name like a secret, like something precious you didn’t want to drop.

“I’m sorry,” he added quickly, voice tighter now. “I know the timing isn’t perfect or — or maybe I should’ve asked sooner, but I just—”

You reached for his hand. Instinctively. Like it was the next natural step. His fingers were warm. A little clammy. He’d been nervous the whole time.

“You already were,” you said quietly, watching the way his eyes flickered at the sound of your voice. “You’ve already been mine. You were just… waiting for me to catch up.”

His breath hitched. You didn’t need to say more. That one sentence carried everything — your knowing, your feelings, your realization that all this time you weren’t just falling for Jongho — you were already in it. Fully. Deeply. Unknowingly wrapped in the love he’d been giving you in ways no one else had.

A laugh slipped out of him — not mocking, but light, airy, like he finally exhaled something he’d been holding for too long, “So…” he said, glancing down at your intertwined hands. “Do I get the whole package now?”

You smiled, laughing softly even— slow, genuine. The kind that crept up from your chest, not just your lips.

“You do.” Something in his face softened completely. Like his entire being melted — his shoulders relaxed, his lips curved into the smallest, most beautiful smile, and his eyes stayed locked on yours like you were the only thing that made sense anymore.

And then, he did something simple.

He brought your joined hands up and pressed his lips against your knuckles — just once. Not possessive. Not dramatic.

"How can anyone say this is the bare minimum?" Not a single thing that is close to being bare minimum. Because it really isn’t in the first place.

It’s love, tucked into silence. It’s choosing you — even in the quietest hours.

[jordiipordii]

need jerejean to lay in bed and spoon at least once in tbc because i need jeremy to feel the warmth of jean’s chest against his back as jean curls himself around him and holds jeremy in his arms like he has a fear of letting go. like if he did jeremy might up and disappear into thin air like everyone else has: elodie and kevin and nathaniel. need jean to finally allow himself to hold onto something he considers very dear to his heart and for jeremy to let himself be held even if he thinks he might be dreaming. even if maybe at the time he still doesn’t find himself entirely worthy of jean’s affection. it might take time but jean will soothe away his worries and insecurities thru nothing if not genuine love and care. just need two soft boys being soft with each other in a way that no one else has ever bothered to even though they’ve both been worthy and deserving all along. also yes gimme all the forehead and cheek and nose kisses.

[diabolicalevil]

Which Primarchs would beg during a break up?

inspired by @ladyoflucky 's post thank youu for letting me do this

https://www.tumblr.com/ladyoflucky/787103199830081536?source=share

Lion El'johnson: highly unlikely. he would keep up an arrogant front to the bitter end of the break up. but in private he is a disaster, especially stuck on anger and depression of the stages of grief. in the 6 months he'll magically start appearing around you again

Fulgrim: oh my god, he's begging, he's crying. it's embarrassing. bar, I don't know, a war council infront of the emperor there is no place he wouldn't get on his knees and proclaim his love. he will stop at nothing to get his lover back

Perturabo: absolutely not. very stone faced the whole time but as soon as you leave he is flipping tables and destroying anything he made for you. very petulant man!

Jaghatai Khan: one of the more normal ones. by that I mean no, but he would ask why and ask you to stay. ultimately he is accepting of you moving on and he will too

Leman Russ: no, he's also too proud and quite rude during the break up. extremely torn up over it though, cause let's be honest he probably did something that warranted this. within time he'll calm down and maybe try to re-enter your life. if this is successful you'll get the full "baby baby please take me back baby baby please" (space wolves as back up singers included!)

Rogal Dorn: kind of paralysed the entire break up but obviously distraught. mere hours later after realising that by "over" you mean over he's knocking on your door and tripping over himself to make amends. he's expressive as a piece of paper but he folds like one too

Konrad Curze: You Will Not Be Breaking Up With Him. Sit Back Down.

Sanguinius: yeah,,, somehow more embarrassing than fulgrim. he looks like the world is crashing down on him. not many on this list would truly get on their knees and cry and grovel but he would and he'd mean every word of it

Ferrus Manus: no but he's hanging on by a thread internally. he immediately goes to self loathing and while he does understand and accept your answer every bone in his body is telling him to start begging for forgiveness

Angron: no :( he's sad about it too. he thinks this was inevitable and once the initial anger subsidies the misery is all consuming. but he probably couldn't bring himself to face you again

Roboute Guilliman: hes being very sensible about it in the moment., but perhaps a few days later he sees something that reminds me of you and it punches him in the dick SO hard. immediately launches a campaign to win you back so intense it might as well be begging

Mortarion: no, probably not. like angron hates himself and thinks this would have always happened but his anger manifests outwardly. days later he understands he blew it for good resigns himself to the lonely life he imagined before you

Magnus: yeah, I think so. not much begging in the moment but if that fails, he'll start doing a little bit of dream invasion privacy. pleading with you to take him back in your dream and if that too fails, he would consider altering your mind to a more favourable opinion of him

Horus Lupercal: yes but not in a screaming crying kinda way. he's on his knees but only to meet your eyes and speak to you on your level. waxing poetics about how you're the only respite from his never ending list of expectations and how every moment has brought him nothing but peace. asks for one final chance to make it right

Lorgar Aurelian: oh my god. oh my God. he's not just on his knees his head is on the floor, he would kiss your feet if not for the fact he wouldn't deign touch the divine without permission. his begging starts getting jumbled with scripture as he starts to believe this is divine punishment

Vulkan: if you're breaking up with him something out of both of your control has gone terribly wrong. from the bottom of his heart understands but he can't help but kneel infront of you and ask to embrace one last time if nothing else

Corvus Corax: no, but he understands and perhaps a part of him expected it. you're far too different to have stayed together long. he still vows to never let harm come to you

Alpharius/Omegon: another firm you are not breaking up with them. however if you did somehow get such a silly idea nothing is off the table to make you stay. if it's begging you want, then they beg. if all else fails diva ur going in the dungeonn

sorry if this is a bit dramatic but im truly of the opinion that astartes and primarchs experience emotion and sensations far more intensely than humans do. don't got shit to back it up but that's my opinion

[thewertsearch]

Rumbled!

TG: was havin important chats GG: Oh? GG: With whom? […] TG: di stri

Which would have ruled out my guesses of Dale and Drew. I still think I'd have gone with Dick, because of the, uh, everything, but Hussie decided to avoid the low-hanging fruit this time around.

GG: […] I was just the target of another assassination attempt. […] GG: Two, in fact! One here in the real world, as I attempted to retrieve the mail. GG: Luckily it was thwarted by a certain cat who shall remain nameless. […] GG: But in the process of being rescued from the explosion, I was knocked unconscious. GG: And in my dream, there was another assassination attempt. GG: This one I believe was successful! […] GG: I'm becoming convinced that our "dream selves" are being picked off by violent hooligans. […] GG: The one who accosted me was a knife-wielding lunatic. GG: And it's reasonable to deduce the same forces were responsible for Jake's death on Prospit as well. GG: It looks like we are in the clutches of an actual caper. A real life mystery!

It's funny that she's being so twee about this whole thing. Describing her attempted assassination as a caper makes it feel like a Nancy Drew mystery - and honestly, if Jane's going to treat Sburb's intrigue as if she's the protagonist of a detective story, I'm all for it.

I mean, we need this sort of thinking, don't we? We need someone to absorb the facts of the case, detect their way to the culprit (English), and discern means, motive and opportunity. With Jane spearheading this 'investigation', we might finally trace things back to the ultimate source of all our problems.

GG: Shortly before I was stabbed, I had a rather long gander at Skaia. […] GG: I saw things in the clouds. […] GG: Things happening in the future, I think. GG: Many events pertaining to us. All of us, and other people I didn't recognize. GG: It was a bit overwhelming. […] GG: It made me feel pretty foolish too. […] GG: I began to wonder why I ever had the audacity to think I know much of anything about the world we live in or the journey we're about to take. GG: Or to think I could ever rule anything out. GG: I have a feeling that whatever I saw, it means you've been telling the truth all along.

It's almost as if it's easier for your mind to comprehend the truth when you're asleep. It's as though your Dream Self's brain is free of the Tiaratop's corruption, allowing you to finally blow the cobwebs off your - artificially sedated - sleuthing instincts.

GG: And I'm starting to feel like a complete idiot for doubting you. […] GG: I've been one great big horse's caboose, and I think you're owed an apology. GG: Do you think you can forgive me? TG: jane TG: damn TG: ur makin me feel like shit here GG: Why? TG: uuuun TG: eh no reason

Can’t think of what this could be, to be honest.

Roxy seems entirely above board, and there's no evidence that she's, like, secretly working against Jane or anything. Maybe this is when her allegiance to the Horrorterrors is finally revealed.

TG: what were we talking about again TG: soory im just worked up ovr it GG: I don't blame you. GG: Where we were, by my estimation, was a place wherein I was about to awkwardly attempt to swallow a helping of humble pie. GG: To somehow make it up to you for my years of stubborn mistrust. TG: hey jane TG: wasnt that a bunch a splip infinitives… […] GG: Oh!!! TG: lul so busted GG: Oh gosh, what a doofus. GG: You see?? I clearly don't have all the answers! GG: I really had some nerve challenging anyone, on practically any subject. TG: dont beat urself up too bad we both know that rule is bullshit anyway TG: you hold yourself to too high a standard and those standards kinda leak out and start gettin applied to other people i guess sometimes

Does she? That's not really something I've noticed. Sure, she's corrected a couple of typos, but beyond that, I don't see what standards she's been applying to everyone else.

I suppose she's probably been telling everyone to be 'rational', and ignore this silly Batterwitch conspiracy, just like she does. But is that really a 'standard'?

[lynnsenpai]

Big Life and Comics Update

Hey, remember that time last April when I finished Chapter 6 of MIS, and I was all like, "I'll be back to posting in May." And then it's the end of June now and I've been mostly quiet the whole time. Heck, I meant to make new character profiles for Esther, Seir, and Marchosias during this break and none of that happened either.

The super short version is that at the time the last chapter ended, depression and burnout hit me hard. On a personal level, our apartment was (and still is) in disarray after our landlord had to come in and do a ton of work on our bathroom only to have to stop partway (for honestly legit reasons). This is an ongoing thing, and due to the current heatwave, he probably won't be back to finish until next week, leaving the busted up look of everything to continue to be a source of stress. All the while, I'm worried about my elderly mother who has dementia, and my elderly father who's been having cardiac concerns. And none of this to even speak of the stress cause by the horrifying goings on in my country.

It was making me feel helplessly, perpetually tired.

I'm not going to claim everything is all better now. But I have been taking it slow for the better part of two months while I dealt with life for a bit. I was able to take a fair bit of time for me to rest and zone out as needed, and I finally took a long needed visit home to see my family. So I'm not all better, but I am… better. And I couldn't ask for more right now.

During the last few months, though, what I didn't do a lot of was draw. I contributed to a handful of collabs where I didn't want to let my friends down, and I managed some new rat doodles here and there. But I only have the cover and two pages for the next chapter and basically nothing else ready to go (although the script is done for the next two full chapters). Again, I needed that time, so ultimately, it was for the best. But this does put things in an awkward position right now, because I can't exactly say "stay tuned for new pages next week!" because I'm simply not ready, and that's just a recipe for rebooting the burnout I literally just got over.

My original plan was to finish chapters 7 and 8 to reach what I felt was a good "season finale-like" stopping point, and then take an extended break to shift focus entirely towards the final Rain book until I get it done. I also thought Chapters 7 and 8 would probably be done by now, or maybe next month the latest. I didn't anticipate the two breaks I would need in the middle of Chapter 6 or the extended one I've been taking now. So I'm thinking I want to pivot to a new approach.

My new plan is to expedite the latter. I want to prioritize focus on the last book, to give it a hint of a chance of actually finally coming out this year (it's the 15th anniversary of Rain this November, so I'd really really love to see it release this year).

I sincerely apologize for those of you chomping at the bit for more MIS. But I promise, it will return. And once I complete my previous story once and for all - for real this time - then I can go all in, with MIS finally allowed to have my full attention without an air of guilt hovering over me that I still need to do something else, and overwhelming all the time.

It may be a longer than usual wait, but I think it'll be especially worth it in the long run. The final Rain book will be better for it, and MIS will be better for it.

Here's a little visual of my girls taking turns, so they can both come back all the stronger. ^_^

Sorry again for the extended break, but thank you so much for all your love, support, and patience while I work through everything. I love you all. Please stay safe, stay happy, and stay healthy.

Until next time! 💜

[kamisobsessed]

The Date

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: after your first date with Dean, you invite him into your place.

Warnings: mdni 18+. smut. oral (m receiving). making out. male masturbation.

A/N: my friend had an experience and so I turned it into a Dean fic for her. you're welcome boo

masterlist — taglist

The movie ended, the screen fading to black as the credits rolled. You barely remembered what the plot was, you may have fell asleep halfway through. You felt comfortable though, and that doesn't happen often. The way his arm had rested behind you, how his fingers had lightly traced over your shoulder, how he smelled—cheap whiskey and leather.

Afterwards, the ride back was silent, but loud. He looked so good. You tried not to stare but you couldn't help it.

"See somethin' ya like, sweetheart?" He smirks.

"Maybe I do."

By the time you got back to your place, the building tension had reached a boiling point.

Dean leaned against the door as you unlocked it, that smirk still on his face.

"You comin' in?" You ask.

"You always invite guys in after a date?"

"Only the hot ones that I can't stop lookin' at."

His eyes darkened. He stepped forward without hesitation, closing the distance between you. His hands went to your hips, pulling you against him as his mouth found yours, rough, hungry, and entirely too much to handle all at once.

You kicked the door shut behind him and dragged him to your bed room, straddling him as he sits on the edge of your bed, your lips never parting. His tongue exploring every inch of your mouth.

He turned, lifting you as if you weigh nothing as he lays you on the bed, but before he can undo your jeans you stop him.

"Wait...I—um...I'm on my period—"

"Okay. That's fine, if you're not comfortable with it, we won't do anything too much," Dean says, gently.

You nod and he presses his lips to yours again. You can feel him straining against his jeans, so you reach your hand between the two of you, palming him through his jeans.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" He hisses through gritted teeth.

"Is this okay?" You ask, your voice soft, as you begin to undo his belt.

"Yeah." He whispers against your lips, kissing you slowly.

He rolls you both so you're on top of him, you unbutton his jeans and slide the zipper down, tugging them gently to take out his, hard, leaking cock.

You lean down taking the tip of him in your mouth slowly, swirling your tongue around, getting a taste of him.

His hand finds your hair, not pulling, but just to grab onto something as you take him completely in your mouth, running your tongue over his slit as you come back up.

You spit down onto him before taking him back into your mouth, setting a steady pace.

"Fuck—" He groans, his hand tightening in your hair slightly as his hips buck up once, his cock hitting the back of your throat, but you keep going.

"Goddamn sweetheart, I ain't gonna last—"

You hum in response, the vibration making his hips buck up again, his hand tightening in your hair.

"Yeah, sweetheart, just like that—"

You feel him twitch in your mouth before warm white hot ropes of cum hit the back of your throat as you swallow it all down.

Dean lays there catching his breayh, "Fuck...that was..."

You chuckle as you move up to lay next to him.

He turns over to face you, "you're somethin' else sweetheart."

He leans in and presses his lips to yours again, shifting so he's on top of you as his tongue slides into your mouth again.

His one hand finds the headboard above you, his other reaching between the two of you, wrapping around himself as he jerks himself, his mouth never leaving yours.

The kiss was sloppy, hot, and wet as your tongues and teeth collided.

He groans into your mouth, pulling back slightly "M'gonna cum on you, that okay?"

You nod.

He let out a low sound, almost a growl as he kisses you again, his hand working himself faster.

You pull away, needing to catch your breath from the kiss, as his head falls back and he moans your name as he spills onto your stomach.

"Damn—" He says breathlessly with a soft chuckle, "Where the hell have you been all my life?"

You let out a breathy chuckle as he climbs off of you, moving to your bathroom to get something to clean you up.

Oh yeah, there definitely will be another date.

A/N: Wrote this quick and didn't edit it. But I hope it's good anyways!

taglist: @animelucky @mystic-writings @magster196 @soldierboysdoll @skywalker0809 @winchesterwild78 @cas-is-my-angel7 @mostlymarvelgirl @chevroletdean @waynes-multiverse @sunshinegirlreads

[hannahsturniolo]

ʏᴏᴜ’ʀᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪsᴋ

Warnings: smut, p in v, f receiving, car sex

Part 1 HERE.

Summary: you started sneaking around with your brother Nate’s best friend Matt.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

You slipped into Matt’s car, and the second the door shut, he looked over at you with a smile that made your stomach flip.

“You look beautiful,”he said, voice low, eyes lingering a little longer than they probably should’ve.

You were still wearing that same yellow dress from earlier, the one that hiked up just a bit too much every time you sat down. And Matt definitely noticed.

The tension between you was thick, almost electric. It was like the second Nate was out of the picture, Matt dropped the act. The way he looked at you now, it wasn’t friendly. It was something else entirely.

There was a hunger in his eyes,like he’d been holding back all day. And now he wasn’t hiding it anymore.

It just felt right. The air between you was thick with anticipation, and without overthinking it, you leaned in.

Matt met you halfway, his lips crashing into yours like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. The kiss deepened quickly, heated, hungry, and full of everything you’d both been holding back.

His hand slid up, fingers curling gently around the back of your neck as he pulled you closer, your mouths moving in perfect sync, tongues tangled in a messy rhythm that made your whole body ache.

He brushed your hair off your shoulder, his lips trailing down to your neck, sending shivers straight through you.

Your heart was pounding, breath shallow, every nerve on fire.

You wanted him, badly. There was no doubt about it now. You definitely wanted to hook up with Matt.

In the middle of the kiss, a sudden wave of panic washed over you. Your heart was still racing, but now for a different reason.

You pulled back, breathless, your fingers gently pressing against Matt’s chest.

“I—I don’t know if we should be doing this,”you said softly. “I’m scared Nate’s going to find out, and freak. I mean, you’re his best friend. And I’m his sister.”

The reality hit you like a wall, you were kissing your brother’s best friend, wanting to do more. It was thrilling, but risky.

Matt didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, eyes locked on yours, his voice calm but serious.

“Nate’s not going to find out. I promise. And even if he does, it doesn’t change how I feel about you.’

There was something in the way he said it,steady, sincere, that made your panic slow just a little. Like maybe, just maybe, this could be more than just a moment.

You looked into his eyes and, for some reason, you believed him. You trusted Matt, more than you probably should have.

Without saying a word, you leaned in again, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him toward you. Your lips met his in a kiss that picked up right where you left off, intense, needy, and full of everything you both had been holding back.

His hand found your thigh, fingers grazing your skin as he slowly slid his hand upward. The warmth of his touch sent a rush of heat through your body, and all you could think about was how right it felt to be this close to him.

You pulled away from the kiss, breathless and smiling, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

“We should probably not be making out down the street from my brother’s house,” you whispered, giggling.

You brushed a hand through your hair, still catching your breath.

“Let’s go somewhere a little more private, before we really push our luck.”

Matt shifted the car into drive, stealing a glance at you with a smirk before pulling into a quiet, empty parking lot nearby.

Without saying a word, he nodded toward the back seat. You knew what that meant.

You climbed over first, your heart pounding, and he followed close behind. The air was thick with anticipation.

Matt pulled off his shirt in one smooth motion, then leaned in and helped you roll the top of your dress down a little, his touch gentle but eager. Your boobs popping out.

His eyes immediately dropped to your bare chest, his hands following soon after, warm and exploring. He cupped you carefully, tracing his thumbs over your nipples, making you let out a soft moan.

He gently guided you down, helping you lay back across the seats, his touch firm but careful, like he didn’t want to rush, even though the urgency between you was undeniable.

He leaned over you, kissing you again, deeper this time, with a kind of hunger that made your whole body respond. His hands kept moving, exploring your upper body like he couldn’t get enough of you, sending shivers down your spine.

You wanted him, badly.

Your body ached for more, a heavy, desperate need building inside you. You were aching for release, every nerve on fire, craving the moment where tension would finally snap.

In between kisses, your voice came out in a breathless whisper.

“I need you,”you murmured, the desperation in your tone making your heart race even faster.

Matt pulled back just slightly, a smug smile tugging at his lips. He could feel how much you wanted him, and he loved it. The way your body reacted to just his kisses, his touch, only fueled him more.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and slowly slid the rest of your dress off, letting it fall to the floor of the car. You were left in just your underwear, completely exposed under his gaze.

He glanced down, spotting the wet spot on the fabric, and raised an eyebrow with a teasing grin.

“All that from just a few kisses?”he said lowly, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

All you could do was nod, cheeks flushed as a soft giggle escaped your lips, part nervousness, part anticipation.

Matt slid your underwear off slowly, eyes never leaving yours, then lowered himself between your legs.

When his tongue traced a slow, deliberate line up to your clit, your whole body jolted in response, a breathy gasp slipping from your mouth.

He didn’t hold back. His mouth moved with purpose, lips wrapping around your most sensitive spot as he began to suck gently, then with growing intensity. One hand slid up your body, finding your chest again, fingers teasing your nipples in rhythm, adding layers to the sensation.

He wanted you to unravel under him. To feel everything.

Every shiver, every gasp, every pulse of pleasure , all for him.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The buildup, the teasing, the way he touched you, it was too much.

“I need you,” you whispered, your voice shaky, eyes locked on his. “I need all of you, now.”

That was all he needed to hear.

Matt sat up, and the sound of his belt unbuckling and zipper sliding down sent a wave of anticipation through you. Your breath caught,you were soaked with want, your body practically aching for him.

He moved closer, positioning himself between your legs, and without a word, he aligned with your entrance. The tip of him pressed against you, and he eased in just slightly , enough to make you gasp.

“Matt,” you breathed, your voice full of desperation. “Please. I need more.”

You were beyond ready, you needed to feel all of him, feel everything.

In a single, fluid motion, he pushed himself all the way inside you deep, fast, and full of the tension you’d both been holding back for far too long.

His rhythm was quick, desperate, as if every second apart had built up to this exact moment.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, voice low and breathless. “I want to hear how good I make you feel. let it out, baby.”

And you did. The sounds slipped from your lips without control, soft, breathy, overwhelmed.

He leaned down and kissed you, hard, deep, never slowing his pace. Each movement sent another wave of pleasure crashing through you, his mouth moving with yours as your bodies moved in perfect sync.

It was messy, intense, and everything you didn’t know you needed.

He couldn’t get enough of the way your moans filled the air , soft, breathless, beautiful. Every sound let him know just how good he was making you feel, and it drove him wild.

He was close. You could feel it in the way his rhythm faltered slightly, in the way he twitched inside you, trying to hold back.

But then you clenched around him, instinctively, desperately , and that was all it took.

A low groan escaped his lips as he released inside you, warmth spreading through you, the moment raw and overwhelming.

The sensation pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm hit hard and fast, crashing through you like a wave. You trembled beneath him, your body unable to stay still, lost in the intensity.

Matt kissed you through every second of it, slow, deep kisses meant to ground you both as you rode out the high together. He wanted you to feel everything, and you did. Completely.

You both sat up slowly, still catching your breath, limbs tangled for a moment before you reached for your clothes.

In comfortable silence, you slipped your dress back on, smoothing it down as you climbed back into the front seat next to him. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to fix the messy waves as the quiet between you shifted, from heated to heavy with something deeper.

Matt leaned in close, his voice low but sure as he spoke into your ear.

“I want more than just this’’ he said softly. “Yeah the tension’s always been there, but it’s not just that for me. I see more in you. I feel more. I don’t want this to be just sex. I want you. All of uou”

The honesty in his voice made your chest tighten, in the best way. This wasn’t just a moment it could be the start of something real.

You turned to Matt, your voice soft but honest.

“I want more too,” you admitted, eyes meeting his. “I really do.”

You paused, chewing on your bottom lip for a second before continuing.

“But I’m scared of how Nate’s going to react. You know how he is. He’s always said he didn’t want me dating you , said you were trouble, that you weren’t the right guy for me.”

You sighed, the weight of the truth settling between you.

“He’s protective. I get it. But he’d freak out if he knew I was even thinking about being with his best friend, let alone that I already am.”

Your voice dropped lower, more vulnerable.

“But I can’t help how I feel. I don’t want to stop feeling this”

Matt leaned over the center console, cupping your cheek gently before pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to your lips.

“Hey, don’t worry about Nate,” he said quietly against your mouth. “I’ll handle it. I’ll talk to him.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, concern still flickering in your eyes.

“Seriously,”he continued, his tone calm but certain, “I’ll make sure you get home tonight without him suspecting a thing. And tomorrow, I’ll take him out, just the two of us and I’ll tell him everything. That I want to be with you. That I care about you.”

He smiled a little, thumbing your chin.

“I’m not going to hide how I feel. You’re worth the risk.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Taglist❤︎:

@courta13 @riggysworld @heartsonlyforchris @mattssidepiece @matthewsangel @whore4chris @mattsturniolofuckingsexy @sturkneeohloww @leila-marie4 @sturniolo-szn2 @tezzzzzzzz @fictionalboysstuff @sturnixblogger @vall67 @chrissbxby @sturniolobananas1 @sophand4n4 @stvvrn1olo @xxxxxxlovesstuff @mattspillowprincess @moond0llie @emely9274 @briizysturn @sturniolooluvv @kenziesturniolo54 @d0llworld @kalel2005 @yourfavejules @rheaasturn @babyt0matoes @bambixz @spencer812003

[aheathen-conceivably]

And five six seven eight…

Violette lifted both of her arms above her head into a graceful oval. Timed with her next inhale, she arched her feet into carefully balanced points on the threadbare rug.

And five, six, seven, eight… 

One of her arms floated down from above her head, and then her left foot rose from the floor to meet the bend of her knee so that her entire body weight rested on only the tip of her big toe. She usually spent her Sundays this way, performing for an audience comprised of the ever-present ballerina in the box and a collection of dolls and Teddy Bears now beginning to collect dust in the corners of her room. They were her very own silent sentinels, keeping watch of her feet as they danced on the floor and helping her keep time with the count in her mind.

And five, six, seven… 

But wafting through the crack her mother made her keep in the door was the sound of humming. She hadn’t noticed it at first, drowned out as it was by the music in her mind; but as the lulling sound transformed into a melody with words, the rigid posture of her shoulders softened. Although quiet, the voice danced over the unintelligible lyrics with the perfect pitch and tenor, sung with a sort of wistful melancholy that made you long for something despite how sorrowful it was. 

She knew the voice, of course - from a thousand lullabies and absentminded chore-songs. Still, it never seemed to grow old, especially when it came to her mother unburdened and unselfconscious like it was now. One after the other, Violette let her feet go flat on the floor, listening to the quiet intricacies of the voice as she followed it the short distance down the hall.

She stopped in the doorway, twirling her fingers self-consciously as her mother looked into the mirror. She loved when she could catch her like this - getting ready for work with a sense of purpose that made her seem like a hummingbird in flight. She tilted her head sideways, looking at the neatly tied bow on her mother’s lapel and wondering if it was Monday after all.

Zelda seemed to notice her, and seamlessly transformed the hum already in her throat into spoken words. “Oh! Lottie! Perfect. I was just coming to find you. I have to run by the library to sign for a package. I should only be an hour. Maybe two. If you need anything just go by the cabin and tell Gio. Just - be nice to him, please?”

Violette watched her adjust her earring back again, admiring how the pearls always seemed to highlight her face. “It opens this week, right?”

Zelda stopped, leaving her hand curled beneath her ear as her eyes crept toward the figure in her doorway. “It does. Wednesday...”

“Do you - do you think I can go with you then? After school?”

A small smile played on Zelda’s face, twitching at the corner near where her hand was still suspended as if frozen in surprise. "Do you - would you like to come with me today? You can see it first. Before anyone else gets to..."

The front door of the library opened without a sound. The brass hinges had been shined and oiled only days before, simply waiting for the moment when someone would make use of them. From the newly organized entryway, the smell of old wood emanated out onto the porch. Only now it was accompanied by the scent of fresh paint and sawdust rather than the moldering dust and stagnant air that had lived alongside it before.

Violette took two steps inside, her wide eyes basking in every inch of the place. Zelda watched her, too happy to realize that she was doing exactly what she herself had done when Alexander had first taken her here months before. Careful not to ruin the spell, she silently angled the door closed, following Violette as her fascination took her into the adjacent solarium.

Surrounded by late afternoon sunshine, Violette spun in a circle, her gaze trailing all the way to the top of the two story bookshelves and then back down again. Every row was filled from one end to the other with books - dozens and dozens and dozens of them. She could feel tears forming in her eyes just imagining how many stories were up there. It seemed like nothing short of magic that they had been collected in one place just waiting for someone to walk through the freshly painted doors and discover them.

Awestruck beyond words she turned around again, facing the wall opposite the soaring windows where a half a dozen portraits and photographs were displayed. “Who are they?”

Zelda followed her eyes, looking sideways toward the patinated gazes lining the wall. “They used to live here. Well some of them - others are members of their family from before the house was built.” She stopped speaking, expecting Violette’s attention to have turned elsewhere, but instead her daughter turned toward her expectedly. An insuppressible smile pulled at both corners of Zelda's lips. 

“I’ve been researching them. For the plaques. It’s been difficult at points, especially without traveling to other archives. But - but the man all the way to the top, do you see him? He’s the oldest member of the family I could find. He came here from England over a hundred years ago, in 1820. I imagine there must be more records there but -”

“From England? The way you did?”

Zelda turned toward her, her mouth still open in speech but now suspended in suppressed surprise. “I - yes. I - suppose so.” 

Violette smiled at her before she turned back to the wall of portraits, her eyes moving down them like she was reading the lines of a story. As she reached the bottom, where the most recent pictures had been placed, she tilted her head sideways like she had understood something. Then she turned back to the windows over her shoulder, the light filtering through them with a peculiar magic of its own. She watched it dance, speaking toward the panes as she did so. “Did you really make all this happen?”

Her voice had been hushed - so full of awe and childish disbelief that it pulled at Zelda’s heart. “I - I like to think I helped.”

Although Zelda couldn’t see her face, a proud, emotional countenance overtook Violette. Zelda brought her hands together, trying to peek over her daughter’s shoulder as she addressed her. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

Violette turned around, directing her attention back to her mother as she finished the heavily impressed final words. 

“Would you like to see my office? It's just upstairs...”

A fervent nod and excited smile was all the answer that Zelda would have needed, but Violette skipped over to her, lacing her arm around hers as she pulled them forward as though she knew the way. “Can you tell me more about them? The family on the wall?”

Zelda nodded, her words hushed and excited as she began to tell Violette the stories that she had found in her research. As they left the room their voices echoed through the hallways. Their footsteps sounded alongside them, keeping time with one another with every step.

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