#because it seems I had to explain it at length and better... there are so many confused commenters under that post

[heesdreamer]

BETTER THAN I KNOW MYSELF

PAIRING ➩ jungkook x reader

WC ➩ 13k

SUMMARY ➩ grappling with what it means to be helplessly inlove with your best friend

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Been an army since 2014 and been writing jungkook for about that long too and this is my first time actually posting for him somehow. Hope you enjoy!

Most of your friendships didn’t feel like such a frail connection, they didn’t quite make you tiptoe around certain phrases and bite your tongue when you felt like you were saying too much of something consequential. 

Albeit, most of your friendships were not with Jeon Jungkook. 

That happened to be singular and one of a kind in a way that left you tossing and turning throughout the night and fixing your hair for a few extra heavy seconds before you left to meet up for a casual coffee. 

You struggled with explaining how your friendship started to most people because you could almost feel the cliche surrounding your words and you felt their annoyed eyerolls they were keeping locked behind their polite nods and smiles. It naturally felt like you were bragging even when you weren’t.

It was ideal to have met your closest friend so early on, never missing a single birthday party and forming your personalities side by side in a way that led to you being in perfect sync despite being such opposites in most ways.

You had friends you had met a decade ago that would still get jealous of the length and depth of your friendship with Jungkook and you always met their groans and sighs with a soft shrug and a helpless smile, genuinely helpless.

They didn’t quite understand the hidden burden that came with having a connection so deep with somebody who was borderline perfect, the expectation and rituals that used to excite you now bringing you a heavy exhaustion. 

Jungkook thrived off of being a social battery and he always had a dozen different clubs, activities, and performances for you attend through school and they only seemed to grow as he did. Now you were his partner for important dinners and weddings of mutual friends that hadn’t talked to you in years but not Jungkook, never Jungkook, because no one could ever forget about him.

You had grown truly accustomed to being his side kick and blending into the background unnoticed otherwise but occasionally it got to you and tonight happened to be one of those nights.

Taehyung was celebrating his 27th birthday and this was a social event that you actually had not been dreading, considering how close you were personally to him. He was not just Jungkook’s friend that tolerated your presence and you actually felt emotional watching him blow out his candles and squeeze his eyes shut during an exaggerated wish. 

“What did you wish for Tae?” Your voice was quiet when you found him half an hour after the cake had been cut and the drinks had been served, waiting for everyone to be tipsy and distracted before you made your own individual birthday greeting. 

“I’m not 17 anymore Y/N and you can’t trick me into saying it this time. We all know it doesn’t come true if you do.” He had a tendency to lightly banter in a way you were envious of, always knowing what to say in rebuttal to teasing and jokes while you would freeze up and stutter through an awkward reply. 

You had slid into the booth he was in the back corner of the diner you all frequented, otherwise empty except for a trio of older women at the counter who didn’t at all look like they minded the way your group was scattered about and having various loud conversations. 

“If you can’t tell me your wish can you atleast tell me why you are hiding over here at your own birthday party?” You raised an eyebrow and leaned onto your hand so you could watch him closely, less serious than your face might have showcased you as. “Some would say it is the event of the year.”

He laughed a little at your dramatic wording and serious tone before shaking his head and sipping his drink. “Those people would probably be geniuses.” You had expected him to banter with you over getting at all genuine but you still watched him silently in hopes he would say more. “Just grappling with the number on the cake a little.”

You understood what he was getting at as soon as he said and you nodded while you sighed and leaned back in the booth seat. 

He was older than you by two years but turning 25 a few months ago had felt like somebody put a heavy ball and chain around your neck and threw it overboard the deck of a rickety boat, leaving you to fight the weight of it or fall over the side too.

Taehyung was a lively soul and while he had matured greatly in the last five years, he definitely still had a boyish energy to him that you always admired. He seemed almost embarrassed about it now and it made your stomach turn a little.

“Sometimes I still wake up in a sweat thinking I forgot to study for an exam.” Your tone had gotten lighter to try and make him feel better while also letting him know you understood where he was coming from.

He glanced at you from the side of his eye and smiled the same smile he’d given you since you were teenagers, your heart warmed when he leaned his body over to bump his shoulder against yours and you knew the conversation was over before it ever really began.

His eyes left you in favor of scanning over your other friends from different walks of life all mingling and yours stayed on the same person your gaze was always on in a crowded room.

“There’s one thing that hasn’t changed.” His tone was teasing and you rolled your eyes although keeping them on Jungkook. 

Taehyung was one of the only people that seemed to realize the way you felt about your best friend and suddenly you were glad he wasn’t the type to get serious with people, not knowing what you would do if that information got to the wrong person. 

You weren’t exactly pining and losing your mind trying to wrestle with your feelings towards somebody who strictly saw you in a platonic way but it also was not simple. You had already spent years grieving any chance of a relationship with Jungkook and you were barely an adult when you accepted nothing would ever happen.

Now you were just stuck with a lifetime of affection stuffed into a locked part of your heart that rattled violently everytime he smiled at you or looked in your direction. 

It was a good thing you were the more emotionally reserved one of the two of you because he rarely questioned the times you were short and cold with him in an attempt to save atleast a fraction of your broken heart. 

Jungkook was, in your biased eyes, perfect.

And you didn’t mean that in an unrealistic way that celebrated the fact he could do no wrong and he was the most pure soul to ever exist because that certainly wasn’t the case but he was perfect to you. With all of his flaws and messy edges, you still couldn’t find a single thing about him you disliked.

You saw beauty in his loud awkward laugh and his short temper and you had fallen inlove with the fact he was always a few minutes late to things and never seemed to have a matching pair of socks on.

It was almost more annoying because you were otherwise a pretty overly cynical person, quick to evaluate and judge in the most matter of fact way. 

He must have felt two sets of eyes on him because suddenly he was looking in your direction and you felt that damned box start to rattle again. His already doe like gaze was widening even more and he broke into a boyish smile that almost made you outwardly sigh, charismatically excusing himself from the conversation he was having in favor of making his way over to you. 

Taehyung silently slid out of the booth in a way that could only be meddling and you sent his back a glare.

“Where’s he going?” Jungkook’s tone was soft when he finally reached you and he flopped down beside you, close enough that your sides were pressed together and you could smell the 

faint scent of alcohol rolling off of him.

“He needed a smoke.” You had considered lying and saying he had diahrea just to get back at him for ditching you but you remembered your conversation about aging and decided against it. 

Jungkook hummed in agreement like he figured it made sense and you hated how much more relaxed you felt now that you had him next to you. It wasn’t necessarily stemming from the fact you were harboring feelings for the boy but moreso because he just felt like your other half, you better half according to you and most likely other people.

“Are you having a good time?” He was turning his head to be able to watch your face as you answered, a habit of his that he picked up around middle school when he realized you didn’t care much for social events. “We can head back whenever you want, I’ll walk you home.”

“I’ll finish my drink and then we can say our goodbyes.” You took a hefty sip after answering, ignoring his first question in a way that let him know your mood anyways. 

He didn’t say anything for a few long seconds that caused you to raise an eyebrow and sit up a bit so you could turn to look at him without your faces being overly close, your face scrunching in confusion when you saw the ridiculous fond smile he was sporting now as he started to laugh at your casual response. 

“What?” You glared at him playfully as he get chuckling and you put your drink down in favor or pushing against his chest. “What did I say wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He was raising his hands in mock surrender but laughing even harder, only stopping to catch his breath when an uncharacteristic pout formed on your face. You internally blamed the alcohol for causing it and he kissed his teeth in apology, cupping your cheek. “Just the way you said it was funny, I’ve never seen you so eager to ditch a party.”

You were back to rolling your eyes at him and pulling his hand away from your face but keeping your grip on his wrist for a few seconds even when it was back down in his lap. He kept the goofy smile on his face although more subtle now and you watched him for a few seconds that made you squirm awkwardly in your seat.

“Say bye for me?” You cleared your throat and moved to stand up as he nodded, knowing the drill. 

It was alot easier for him to go and individually say the goodbyes, tagging your name onto the end as you slipped out of the door and went to wait for him.

You were pleased to find Taehyung had actually gone outside to smoke and you smiled at him, pulling him into a hug that was reserved for your closest friends and laughing into his shoulder when he started to sway your bodies back and forth. 

“I’m glad you came, thanks for indulging me.” He kept you tightly in his grip as he spoke and you recognized a vulnerability in his voice that you didn’t hear often. 

Clearly this birthday was casting a certain type of melancholy over your friend and you squeezed him harder, rubbing up and down his shoulder blades in an almost maternal way.

“I will always attend your overly social birthday parties Tae.” You hoped you sounded as sincere as you felt despite your joking tone and luckily it seemed to work judging by the way he lightly lifted you up for a second before putting you back down and pulling out of the hug.

“Interrupting?” Jungkook’s voice was behind you and you turned to watch him approach with a raised eyebrow and a friendly smile as he pulled Taehyung into a similar embrace, wishing him happy birthday under his breath and patting his back roughly.

“Always, I was just about to propose.” Taehyung was easily playing into his joke as he winked at you over Jungkook’s shoulder and you rolled your eyes even though you had a bright smile on your face, feeling suddenly struck by both fondness and the vodka you had in your cup.

Jungkook weirdly didn’t reply to his flity comment and you almost found that funnier, watching the way he slightly stumbled away from the hug and realizing he might be a bit more buzzed than you had initially taken him for. 

The two of you paid him one more sincere goodbye before you were turning away from the diner and starting your walk back to your apartment, only a handful of blocks away. You actually wished it was further, enjoying nothing more than a late night walk with Jungkook through the quiet city. 

He seemed to be in his own head and you snuck your arm between his and his chest, forcing him to link elbows with you as you walked together. It wasn’t unusual for you to be connected physically in some way or another especially late at night and a few drinks but you felt the box rattle again and almost regretted it. 

You both stayed quiet for most of the walk but you didn’t mind the silence, your social battery drained even though you didn’t exactly count him as something that did that to you. He was the only person you could spend weeks straight with and not feel like you were crawling out of your skin, an exception in more ways than one. 

“Do you think Taehyung has a crush on you?” His voice cutting through the night air felt sharp and disoriented and you almost stopped walking from the shock of his sudden question, pace faltering slightly as you looked up at the side of his face. 

He kept his gaze locked on the sidewalk infront of you and you weren’t sure if it was because he felt awkward or because he was drunk and had to apply extra effort into not tripping. Awkwardness was not a thing he typically seemed to experience so you hoped it was the latter and you were just applying your habit of overanaylzying useless tidbits of information. 

“Is that a joke?” You know it wasn’t but you certainly felt like it could be one considering how ridiculous it was. “Did he say something like that?”

“No, well atleast not to me.” He emphasized the final word like it was more important and your head tilted in confusion. “Just thinking about the little comments he makes sometimes.”

You didn’t disagree that Taehyung could come across as flirty but that was just his persona and how he was with most people, closeness and gender be damned. You were used to it and you knew Jungkook was too so you weren’t sure where this thought process was stemming from. 

“That’s just Taehyung.” You shrugged your shoulders and felt his arm tense where it was intertwined with yours, like he had thought for a second you were pulling away and wanted to stop you. 

Jungkook didn’t respond and the silence now made you uncomfortable instead of the peaceful air it had held a few minutes ago. You didn’t know if it was possible for him to be mad at you, something you really hadn’t experienced much, but you wondered if this was what it looked like on his end of things.

“I mean maybe.. would that be so ridiculous?” You posed the question with a sincere want to know but a childish and selfish nudge was wondering if there was any part of him that would care. “Someone like him having a crush on me?”

“Someone like him?” He seemed almost offended at the way you had phrased it and you rolled your eyes at his tone, overbearing and protective like he had been in highschool whenever you got asked out by a boy. 

“I just meant that he’s so extroverted.” You shrug again as you start to feel more awkward, never really discussing this topic with him. 

The two of you had very little boundaries when it came to what you talked about between each other but you had never really gone out with somebody long enough to bring them up to him and you made a point of shutting down talks of the girls he hooked up with.

You played it off like you were disgusted at the idea of hearing about his girls to try and hide the fact your entire body felt like it was going to shrivel up and die whenever he brought somebody to a party or introduced you to one of his girlfriends that never lasted more than a month or two.

Jungkook was actually weirdly romantic for a guy who had only cared about sports and liquor growing up but for some reason he never could keep anybody around for long, although never seeming too upset when it eventually fizzled out. 

Thankfully you were finally arriving to your apartment building and you watched as Jungkook typed in the code, leading you inside and silently informing you he planned to stay with you tonight. It was more often than not that he ended up at your place or vice versa so you didn’t need direct confirmation to understand his line of thought.

“Sure he’s well liked but so are you.” He broke the silence again and you outwardly groaned at the resurrection of the tired topic.

“I am hardly anything especially not well liked.” You rolled your eyes and you know he could see it even if you weren’t looking at him, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open with your foot so he could step inside. 

You’d untangled your arms in favor of pressing the buttons required to get to your floor but Jungkook didn’t seem to notice, standing close enough that your shoulder was against his bicep and you could feel every inhale he took. 

“I hate when you say things like that.” He was mumbling under his breath but you heard it clear enough, stomach clenching as the rattling returned again.

You didn’t respond to him, mostly because you didn’t know what else to say about such a ridiculous topic and you felt a wave of relief when the elevator came to a shaky stop before releasing you into the familiar hallway.

He stood there silently, leaning against the wall on his side and watching you closely as you fumbled through your purse for your keys. You didn’t need to look at him to know he had that soft smile on his face and a fond look in his eyes, taking a breath when you finally felt the metal on your fingertips.

It was a instant comfort to enter your apartment even though you had only left a few hours ago and you suddenly felt glad that he had come up with you, chest tightening preemptively at the reminder he would have to leave at some point.

Jungkook and you had lived together right after highschool, moving out of your small town half an hour away together and feeling the rush of the big city you had only taken daytrips to. He had sworn since he was thirteen and wearing thick eyeliner that he was meant for bigger things in bigger places and you had decided that following him around was better than staying behind alone. 

Although you doubted he would have let you stay back in your home town anyways, a slight relief considering how ridiculous you felt when you occasionally remembered you had only moved for him. 

You’d felt all the emotions when you moved, the sadness of leaving behind a simple life that you had finally started to appreciate and the excitement of getting to start over somewhere with so much life and possibility.

There was finally a chance for you to be your own person, to fit into the mold in your own special way. 

Then Jungkook had thrown a housewarming party and you listened to everybody all night congratulate him on his new place.

There was almost a chorus of praises on ‘his furniture choices’, ‘his choice of neighborhood’, even the gasp from an old highschool friend that struck a particular nerve ‘Oh Jungkook what a beautiful place you have’.

You stood there in your living room, full of things you had brought from home and things you had spent hours thirfting while Jungkook trailed behind you looking bored, and watched yourself be erased from your new life before you even got a chance to appear in it.

Two years ago you had decided to move into your own separate places and your own internal battle was not on the list of reasons why, infact it was the hardest decision you had ever made. There was nothing easy about it for both of you but you found yourself becoming roomates instead of best friends and suddenly it was a chore to hang out and you stopped seeking eachother out for comfort, the constant presence almost exhausting.

The final straw came in the form of your office relocating a few blocks over and the few blocks made all the difference. 

You had both spent the night with tears in your eyes, passing a bottle back and forth and cuddling on the couch as you recounted the best and worst times of your time in the shared space.

Jungkook had decided to renew his lease there individually and he stood there with a conflicted expression as you packed up the stuff you deemed yours. You had wondered if he even realized how much you left behind so he didn’t feel like the space was suddenly empty but you knew that he had because Jungkook always noticed everything you did for him.

It had ended up being exactly what your friendship needed and you had grown closer together in the last two years than your entire lifetime of a friendship but sometimes you missed the unity that came with living together.

He had multiple drawers of clothes in your apartment and you still came over a handful of times a week to cook meals in his but there was a difference. 

Like the way he was slightly lingering in your bedroom doorway like he wasn’t sure he was supposed to come in just yet.

You gave him a look and a raised eyebrow as you sat on the edge of your bed and began to unlace your boots, the green light he needed to come in and flop down on your blankets like he owned them. 

He was unusually silent as you stood up to go into your closest and change into something comfortable, bringing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie to toss at him as you emerged. He was propped up on your pillows and eyeing you with a thoughtful look that made you sigh and cross your arms where you stood at the end of the bedframe.

“Just spit it out already.” Your tone was sharp because you could tell whatever he wanted to say wasn’t going to be something you liked hearing but he smiled gently at the sound of it, not capable of being intimidated by your attitude. 

“I don’t think you should date Taehyung.” He said it in a rush like he knew you’d shut him down and you groaned loudly, grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it in his direction. “Just hear me out okay! I think it would be weird for the friend group.”

“That’s ridiculous. Not that either of us are even considering dating but if we were, he’s my bestfiriend, how weird could that be?” You circled around to join him on the mattress and you almost frowned when you saw the look on his handsome face.

His eyebrows were furrowed in childish upset and his bottom lip was pouting subtly, just enough for your gaze to circle down to it.

“I’m your best friend.” He raised a hand like he was appalled at your wording and you spit out a laugh at the ridiculous of that interjection. 

“You know what I mean Jungkook. You have like a hundred best friends.” You leaned onto your side, propping your head up on your palm and yawning softly as you watched his expression morph again.

He was shaking his head and whatever styling gel he had in his hair for the party was long gone by now, leaving it fluffy and falling into his face whenever he moved. He was dramatically laying down in the same position as you so he could look intensely into your eye, his slightly wide while yours were crinkled in a silent laugh.

“I have a hundred people who think I’m their best friend, you are my only actual best friend.” He sounded extremely serious about a very childish topic and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing in his face.

Jungkook was always baffled at the fact you did not realized just how cool you came across to people, even your closest friend groups. 

He had made a very strong attempt at the mysterious and edgy guy thing in high school, only wearing dark clothes and spending an hour every morning on a single dash of eyeliner but he could not keep his mouth quiet to save his life and absolutely nobody who met him for more than a handful of seconds would consider him any type of mystery.

You had a naturally closed off demeanor but a strong sense of style and energy that he had never seen somebody even purposefully replicate, which made it even cooler than it just came naturally to you.

Most people at parties would ask him about you in an attempt to get closer but he knew better than to spill your business to anybody who asked and he also felt a little lucky that he got to know you so intimately.

The phrase ‘a guy like him’ had bugged him since you said it and now he figured you must have totally lost it to be calling Taehyung your best friend. Sure the guy had been around since high school and he definitely was alot closer to you than any average joe but he was still just Taehyung.

“You can be such a sap sometimes.” You couldn’t help the smile on your face and he matched it, pleased he had gotten such a reaction out of you especially since he could tell you were not enjoying his topic of conversation. 

“Only for you.” He shot you a cheesy wink and you rolled your eyes in hopes he would be too busy laughing to be able to hear the box rattling obnoxiously in your chest. 

You were glad he didn’t say anything else about it after that and you quickly pushed any thought of Taehyung and a potential crush to the very back of your mind. You didn’t have time to think about any of that, not when you could barely stand to see the sight of your best friend and that annoyingly perfect twinkle in his eye. 

You were rolling onto your back with an exaggerated groan that let him know you were too tired to keep up with the small talk, grateful that he had stayed for the company but not quite for the sake of entertainment. 

Jungkook could read you like a book and he sat up so he could pull the lamp string and turn it off, throwing the covers over both of you and settling back against the pillows that, more often than not, smelled like his shampoo. 

You could see the irony in the fact that you were hopelessly internally pining over the same man who slept in your bed like it was his own and treated you like you were his number one priority constantly but that was just Jungkook. You considered yourself lucky that you were the main source of his affection but he would treat a stranger like they were family and you knew he didn’t think twice about pulling you against his chest and throwing his arm over you.

You let him get comfortable as you urged yourself to sleep, ignoring the persistent rattling.

-----

The sight of Jeon Jungkook in the morning was truly a dangerous thing for a heart as fragile as yours so you kept your eyes sharply on the mirror once you noticed him start to rustle around behind you in the reflection.

You had been awake for hours and already cleaned up the kitchen, showered and gotten ready by the time he began to stir. Your gaze was naturally drifting to the right as you saw his bed head perk up from the mess of blankets, eyes squinting like he was trying to remember where he was. 

“Why are you up so early?” His devastating morning voice was making your lips turn up just enough for you to feel foolish, shaking it off so you could continue with your mascara. 

“It’s almost noon.” Your reply was flat and detached in a way that told him you were focused, interrupted by a groan from behind you as he stretched his arms above his head and tried to wake himself up more. “There’s pain killers on your table.”

You stopped your precise movements so you could watch his expression morph with interest, leaning over to his assigned bedside table and quickly tossing the three small pills in his mouth to fight any possible sign of a hangover. 

He had the same habit of taking off his shirt in the middle of the night since you were teens and it had bugged you as much then as it did now. You almost smacked against your heart to shut the rattling up but instead you took a deep breath and averted your gaze as he stood from the bed, finishing up your eye makeup and moving to put your hair up. 

The magnet that seemed to always draw him to you was making it so he was slowly moving in your direction, stopping behind you and watching you in the mirror and you fiddled with a few stubborn pieces of hair.

“I like when you wear it like that.” His voice was gentle and nostalgic and you once again found yourself meeting his eyes in the reflection, bobby pin between your teeth as you affectionately furrowed your eyebrows.

You almost told him that you knew that and that’s why you did it so you were thankful for the object keeping your mouth occupied at the moment and stopping you from admitting such a silly thing. 

“Where are you going?” He sounded half curious and half worried that he had potentially forgotten plans you had made together. He waited patiently as you tucked away a piece and took the pin out of your mouth, silently passing it to him as he gently took it and nudged it into the back of your updo. 

“Some work thing with Taehyung.” You hoped he had mostly forgotten about the conversation from last night even though you knew he was not the type to forget and he was not even that drunk. 

You locked eyes again and his hands froze in your hair like he was caught off guard and thinking of what to say. You stayed still, both so you didn’t mess up your hard work and so he didn’t lose his train of thought. 

Eventually he was humming thoughtfully and his hands were moving again to tuck away pieces as he looked down. “An artsy thing then?”

You were nodding your head even though you were not exactly sure what it was going to be. Taehyung was somewhat all over with his work as a freelance artist and it was only a few years ago that he started to make actual money from his paintings and sculptures, being noticed during one of his busking events by a woman who worked at a gallery.

It was honestly borderlining on lucrative so you felt a bit touched that he had invited you, possibly spurred on by your semi deep conversation the night before. 

“Well I hope you have as much fun as you can without me around.” He was finishing up with your hair with a satisfied soft clap and you smiled at him in the mirror before turning around, thankful he had dropped the weird demeanor and returned to his usual goofy character.

You were gifting him a quick kiss goodbye on the cheek and a reminder to lock up before he left, grabbing your purse and heading out the door so you were not late.

The train ride to the gallery had activated the anxious butterflies in your stomach and you found yourself thinking more actively about the little things Jungkook did and the things he had been saying lately.

It was just beginning to drive you to insanity when you reached your stop and you were happily rushing out onto the platform and ascending the stairs out onto the noisy street, searching intersection signs and shop names as you looked for the unfamiliar place.

You weren’t sure Taehyung had ever invited one of your friends to his place of work so you felt a bit bumptious at the ask, smiling to yourself when you finally saw the fancy sign above the building with large windows.

Your friend put his cigarette out against the brick as soon as he saw you and you were beyond grateful he had waited outside for you, knowing it would have taken alot for you to walk in on your own and actively look for him.

“You look perfect.” His compliment was genuine in a way that made you want to do a twirl just to show off and you grinned brightly at him, turning your face in acceptance as he went to kiss both of your cheeks in a uniquely Taehyung way.

“I wasn’t sure what to wear, I’ve never been to an art show.” Your voice was soft as you nervously glanced at the building, realizing now how many people were scattered around inside.

“There isn’t a dress code but if there was then you would have nailed it.” He had a hand on your back as he moved you both inside and you were a bit fascinated by this professional side of him, much more intense and pointed than you were used to from your childish friend.

There was no surprise that you had a pleasant time considering the mix of good company and atmosphere. You fully understood the appeal to this type of setting after an hour of quiet conversations and halfway awkward greetings from people who seemed to just as anti social as you.

Even Taehyung was unusually tame and reserved, matching the energy of the buyers and viewers around him while still coming off beyond charming and poised. It was almost magical to watch him work casual small talks into somebody buying his work or commissioning their own custom piece.

“You’re good at this.” You had taken a moment to break away from the now mingling crowd and you sent the compliment his way in a hushed whisper.

He gave you a look that told you he already knew that but you could tell he was still thankful somebody was there to witness and confirm it. You watched him take a hefty sip of his wine and you raised an eyebrow at the sudden nervous look on his face, following his wandering gaze over to the front door where a handful of people had just entered. 

“Why did you invite me and not somebody else?” You weren’t sure why you figured that line of questioning would get some answers out of him regarding his behavior recently but it seemed to work considering he turned to you with a heavier gaze.

“Somebody else wouldn’t have understood any of this.” He was vague enough to leave you confused until his eyes moved back over to the newcomers, lingering on one just long enough for your mouth to part slightly in realization.

Taehyung had never publicly dated somebody in your entire decade of friendship and while he was more androgynous in his style and personality, he also hadn’t come out to any of you with a particular label.

The way he was looking at the man standing in the corner silently was enough for you to understand what exactly he might have been hesitant to showcase to your other friends. None of them would have judged him from your knowledge but you imagined he didn’t want the lighthearted teasing from your male friends or the insistent meddling from the extroverted girls.

“He’s gorgeous.” Your eyes stayed on the man, similar to your friends and you heard him let out words of agreement accompanied by a longing sigh you were all too familiar with. “Have you spoken to him?”

“He owns a gallery downtown with his sister.” He was quick to respond and you got the feeling he had been waiting to talk to somebody about this for a long time. “I did a show there and we got dinner afterwards, it was mainly business.”

You were nodding softly as he spoke on and on about the pretty man who was now laughing softly with an older woman and you suddenly wanted to laugh when you remembered your conversation with Jungkook last night, realizing just how wrong he was.

You wanted so badly to tell him about it but later that evening Taehyung had softly gripped your forearm and asked you sincerely to keep this a secret, his tone the most serious you had ever heard it.

The entire train ride home your head was buzzing with both pride for your friend and the urge to do something more with your own life, almost feeling envious of his passion for both art and romance. 

There was a part of you that wanted to get home as fast as you could so you could start to figure out what direction to take your life at the ripe age of 25 and the other half was considering taking the subway past your stop just to see where you would end up.

You were sensible enough to head back to your apartment with the knowledge the sun was quickly setting but your feet faltered when you saw a familiar frame sitting on the steps outside your building.

“Did you lock yourself out?” You practically jogged the rest of the way over to Jungkook, concerned he had spent the entire day outside of your apartment but you felt a wave of reassurance when you realized he was wearing clothes you definitely didn’t keep in your small drawer for him.

He was dressed nice or atleast as nice as you had seen him get in a while, ironed shirt tucked into a good grown up pair of pants with a leather belt. You watched him semi suspiciously when he pulled a small bouquet of flowers out from behind his belt and presented them to you. 

“Oh god, what did you do?” Your eyes widened in a slightly panicked manner and he glared at you harmlessly, thrusting the flowers in your direction and only smiling once you took them from him and sniffed them curiously.

“First off, very rude to assume I did something wrong.” He was stepping off of the steps so he was closer to you and you eyed him and his unusual outfit. “Second, can’t I just get you flowers?”

“They are very pretty Jungkook, thank you.” You felt guilty for your initial approach even though you knew he wasn’t actually offended and didn’t mind your teasing. You lowered the flowers away from your face so you could give his outfit another long scan that told him you wanted a better explanation. 

“You looked nice earlier and it made me realize it had been awhile since we had gone out together.” He was shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world and your eyebrows furrowed. 

His casual compliment was not lost on you and you felt that stupid chest rattling so hard you almost tipped over in your heels, shifting on your feet to remain steady as he watched you closely. You were sure your hair was messier now and your back was slightly hurting from standing all day at the event but you were not able to deny him on a regular occasion let alone when he applied effort into something for you. 

“We’ve never ‘gone out together’ Jungkook.” Your tone was teasing as you wobbled a bit. “We just end up places.”

You weren’t exactly lying, despite your hundreds of lunch outings and adventures around the city, they had never been planned and never been mature enough for you to consider it a night out. 

Jungkook seemed to be allergic to a stable job and luckily he was charismatic to be constantly pulling money from half a dozen half committed hustles. You had been barely above an intern when you first moved here and lived together so most of your meals consisted of quick serve ramen places and cheap street food just to stop the rumbling in your stomachs.

“What, Taehyung is the only guy who can take you to a nice outing?” He was smiling teasingly as he said it like he felt like he had figured you out and your mouth parted, almost forgetting you were not supposed to tell him what you had been told earlier.

Instead you pushed a hand against his chest and rolled your eyes, allowing the box to rattle when he was laughing boyishly and grabbing your wrist so he could tug you with him as he stumbled backwards, linking your arms together as he began to walk. 

You didn’t bother asking him where you were going and you weren’t even sure he actually knew, letting your feet fall in unison with him as you allowed yourself to pretend you weren’t exhausted so you could indulge him. 

Selfishly, it was mostly for you and the opportunity to pretend you and Jungkook were just a normal pair who were heading out for a typical date night and not two best friends who had a little too much time on their hands.

Jungkook was telling you all about his day and the story that came along with how he got your flowers, exaggerated like always as he tried to entertain you. It worked as you laughed along with him and his sound effects and hand motions, listening to him as you walked together. 

He shocked you by leading you back to the subway entrance and you glanced at him suspiciously, the two of you typically sticking with your local spots whenever you got dinner together. 

“What are you up to Jeon Jungkook?” Your voice was low and mimicking an interrogation as the wind from the approaching train sent your loose hairs flying around your face.

His was in a similar state as he stood infront of you to block you most of the gust, fluffy locks falling forward above his eyes and making him frown as he reached up to push it back. You laughed at him and how ridiculous it looked and he sent a glare your way although you avoided it by boarding the now stopped subway car.

He was right behind you when you turned to face him in the packed space, leaning against one of the free support poles and smiling when you saw the infectious one he had. His hand was above your head so he could hold the metal as the train lurched forward and you tried to ignore the way he caged you in made your head spin.

“So I don’t actually have a plan.” He had to lean closer to you to be heard over the rattling of the car and the stackiy robotic voice over the speaker making announcements. 

You couldn’t help imagining what the two of you looked like to the various strangers around you, both dressed nicely and standing closer than the space called for. Your flowers were clutched tightly in your hands and you knew exactly what anyone who saw your eyes as you stared at him would see, anyone except for the recipient.

“I figured you were winging it.” You shrugged softly and huffed out a laugh when he was scrunching his face up in offense, free hand over his heart like you had hurt his feelings with your correct assumption. “As long as you feed me I am happy.”

“Taehyung didn’t provide food on your date?” His eyes were curious but you could sense something else that you couldn’t put your foot on, pushing his shoulder.

“Will you cut that out?” You tried to sound firm enough that he would get you were actually uncomfortable without ruining the positive energy of the night. “It’s not like that.”

He raised an eyebrow down at you like he didn’t believe a word you said but he thankfully didn’t push any further for now even though you imagined it would be brought back up eventually considering how persistently annoying he was being regarding it. 

Jungkook was taking your hand in his as the train stopped a few minutes later and you let him drag you out of the busy station with a sigh, weaving your way through the post work pre dinner crowd as you stayed behind his large frame with your arms dangling between you. 

It was easy to fall inlove with him for the thousandth time as he glanced behind his shoulder routinely to make sure you were keeping up despite his tight grip on you already ensuring that, his wide eyes so patient and affectionate it almost made you want to throw up.

There was something about him against the landscape of a city at dusk that was completely devastating to your fragile heart and you had to look away before the rattling box full on exploded. 

The two of you were making easy conversation as you walked together and you were overly aware of the fact he had no removed his hand from yours, most likely due to the heavy foot traffic around you but it pained you nonetheless and your skin felt like it was burning.

You were laughing so hard your stomach hurt and he was smiling at you like it was his singular goal and you barely realized you had been walking for so long until he was stopping infront of a deli and telling you to wait outside for him.

You stood there with a stupid smile on your face and your flowers in hand, tricking yourself for just a moment that this was something more than what it was.

“Those are pretty.” A voice from beside you pulled you from your dazed train of thought and you glanced at the man ruffling through the newspaper stand, pausing his movements to gesture towards your bouquet when you gave him a confused look.

“Oh.” Your mouth parted in surprise and your cheeks turned pink at the unexpected small talk. “Thank you, I think so too.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly and shuffled on your feet, glancing through the dirty glass to see if you could catch sight of Jungkook inside without making it too obvious that you felt ready to run away just to avoid an easy going conversation.

“From a boyfriend?” His eyebrow was raised and you shook your head instinctively with a soft shocked laugh at the realization he was potentially flirting with you. “Good to know, I’m Hoseok.”

His hand was jutting out towards you and your eyes widened, shifting the bouquet between your forearm and chest so you could shake it. It was weirdly formal in an endearing way and you mirrored your name back to him in a soft whisper that made his eyes crinkle like he thought you were cute. 

“I have to go but..” He paused and glanced at his watch with a sigh that made your head cock paitently. “Is it too forward to say I think you are beautiful and I would love to get your number so this interaction isn’t so brief?”

You felt like you had somehow entered a different dimension today, one where you wear clothes that had been in the back of your closet for years and go to art galleries before a handsome stranger flirts with you outside of a corner store. 

Your mouth is just opening to respond to him, not quite sure yet if you are going to agree or make up some excuse that you hope he doesn’t see through, before the soft chiming bell of the door is ringing above you and Jungkook is wandering back out with two bags in his hands.

He is smiling when he sees you and then it fades when he sees your company, eyes narrowing a bit before he glances back at you and moves to stand by your side, hand on your lower back. 

“Ready to go?” His voice is stiffer than you were used to and you dumbly nod as you give Hoseok an apologetic look to which he gives you a polite understanding smile as he lifts his hand in a quick wave goodbye before going to cross the street. 

Jungkook moves you forward down the street with his hand still on your back, an unfamiliar touch in this type of circumstance. You and him were no strangers to a touchy friendship but his hold felt almost pointed and you felt confusion swirling in your chest.

“What was that?” Your voice was hushed and you looked briefly at the side of his face as you walked together, his side profile showcasing no emotion you could understand or read. He was looking straight ahead and shrugging softly. 

“You look uncomfortable.” He said it simply like it was an easy given answer but you knew him well enough to know he didn’t really believe what he was saying. 

“I did? I didn’t feel uncomfortable.” You were pushing it further than you typically would but you were a bit annoyed with how unusual he was being lately. Not annoyed in any way that mattered considering his hand on your back was still lighting your stomach on fire and you were deluding yourself into believing there was another reason for his interruption.

He shrugs again like he isn’t sure what to say and you drop it, walking closely together as he silently leads you to a small park near one of the cities waterfront points. 

You watch his large frame as he reaches into one of his paper bags and pulls out a small plaid blanket, throwing it down on the soft grass before he looks at you and gestures for you to sit. He seems awkward now and you give him a soft smile to let him know you aren’t upset and he can relax. 

“I pretty much just cleared them out.” He laughs a little as he joins you on the small blanket, close enough that your legs are pushed together and you watch with excitement as he pulls out various food items from the bags.

He ends it with a small single serving of cake in a plastic box and two drinks that remind you of the cheap liquor you used to sneak from your parents in high school. He presents with a small exaggerated noise and both of his hands stretching out to frame the display.

“Wow just wow.” You’re teasing him by raising your voice a bit and covering your mouth in mock gratitude, giggling as you pretend to wipe a tear from your eye. “This is just above and beyond Jeon Jungkook. How did you know I loved bodega salads?”

His grin is bright like he hadn’t expected you to play along with his theatrics and he waves you off casually like it was no big deal. 

You are still laughing as he opens the containers and hands you things to try but you are genuinely a little taken back by the gesture, giving yourself a second to take in the view of the water with the city directly behind it. The sun had set by now and the lake seemed endless, wind blowing your hair over your shoulder as you looked back at him.

He was already watching you and you raised an eyebrow in question, not getting a response as he looked back down at the food.

“I think this is better than any dinner I’ve had since we moved here.” Your voice is soft as you finally speak, taking small pieces of things from his side of the blanket and tossing them into your mouth. 

“Are you making fun of me?” He looks at you suspiciously and you laugh a little at the skepitcal tone he has, shaking your head and watching him fondly. “Then I think I agree with you.”

You stayed like that for atleast another hour and a half, eating the food slower than you usually would to keep yourselves there longer and you once again let yourself forget that this meant nothing at all. 

It was easy to pretend when he was pulling out his small digital camera and taking candids of you as you laughed and told him to cut it out, easy to imagine when he was making you sit in the soft grass while he cleaned up your picnic, and devastatingly simple to feel like you were inlove in a different way when he was making you get on his back instead of walking back to the subway in your heels.

“Did you have a good time?” He sounded unlike himself when you finally got there, managing to get a seat now that most people had gotten home from work. You were leaning your head on his shoulder and watching your muddied reflections in the dirty and scratched window across from you.

Jungkook never sounded unsure or insecure, especially not when it came to something regarding you and your friendship and your stomach tightened at the realization he might actually be looking for the reassurance you were so typically seeking from him. 

“Silly question.” You had a tired smile on your face that he couldn’t see but you figured he would be able to hear it surrounding your gentle words.

“Indulge me?” He pushed for specifics and you only then realized he was very serious about this, picking your head up so you could look him in the eyes.

He easily met your gaze like he always did and the intensity was a bit much for you to handle although you weren’t capable of looking away just yet. 

There was a large part of you that knew exactly what to say, exactly what would be an easy answer that would both satisfy his random need for verbal feedback and also keep your ridiculous secret hidden for atleast another night more.

A much tinier and more pathetic piece was begging you to push just a little bit more, say something that would make him cross any singular line. You didn’t need him to step out of your fairytales and profess his desire for you but maybe just enough of a hook to keep you from feeling so pathetic and almost conniving.

You knew he would probably take personal offense if you told him that you felt that way about yourself but you almost couldn’t help it, knowing there was something more than friendship in this for you. It felt almost evil to keep something like that from him even though you could almost picture how gentle and amazing his rejection would be.

He would probably lecture you about how it’s not you and it’s him and he would give you a look so pitiful that it would make you sick.

“What was this Jungkook?” 

The stupid part of you wins and you want to blame it on the low alcohol bevarage you had chugged in an attempt to quiet your stupid box down but you knew there wasn’t a single moment in life you were more sober than you were now and you were just plainly outrageously deluded. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He says it softly with an edge of confusion but you see it. 

As the train pulls to a stop at a station that isn’t yours, you see the telltale sign that he lying to you. His expressive eyes are almost wide and he is trying his best to act casual but you had spent almost a decade telling similar lines and your mind starts to spin. 

“Yes you do.” Your voice is firmer now and you sit up a little bit on the smooth seats, turned sideways so you are facing him while he still has to turn his head to look at you fully. “I think you really do.”

He doesn’t say anything and you are not stupid enough to say the words outloud, to accuse him of the exact crime you are guilty of would have consequences you can’t even begin to think about and you almost look away if it wasn’t for that look in his eyes. 

You want to pry and pull it out of him, reach deep into his chest and see if you had gotten it all wrong or if he had a box of his own somewhere in there. 

It lurches again as it begins to move and he sways with it, eyes shutting for a second as he turns to face forward and get away from your intense and almost knowing gaze. 

“Let’s not do this.” His voice is tight and pained now and you had heard it a million ways but never like this, never like he is scared of what is going to come out. 

“Do what, what am I doing?” You are genuinely puzzled and you’re almost frantic to keep him talking about this. “What are we doing?”

He takes awhile to not speak again and you almost think he is going to sit like that until the train stops again, leaving you in the non silence and weight of the things he will not say. His eyes open and they are colder when they look at you again and it’s in a way that knocks the breath out of you.

They are not angry but they are detached and such a vast difference from the adoring expression he normally gives you and now you wonder again what you look like to other people riding home late after a long day. Maybe two strangers in a disagreement or a couple bickering about trivial things, something much simpler than what it actually is.

You suddenly feel like you’re going to vomit when you realized how similar his frustrated is to the one you’d been feeling since before you even had your drivers license. It is far too familiar and you turn in your seat so you are facing forward again and your hand comes to your mouth, either to catch the puke or your next words.

“How long have you known?” You wince as you say it and you hate that he is the one looking at you now, eyes boring into the side of your face as you fight to not look at your reflections. 

Your question is vague enough to avoid putting it into the verbal world of existence but if your thoughts are correct then he knows exactly what you are referring to. 

How long have you known I was inlove with you, how long have I been failing at deceiving you, how many years did you know our friendship was a big fat scam on my end and how long have you tried not to detest me for it?

“Maybe forever? I don’t know.” He sounds exhausted and his pitch raises a bit as his hands jut into the air before landing back on his legs with a smack that almost makes you jump.  

Your mouth parts in surprise, both at his answer and the tone he says it in. You’re standing up before the train has a chance to stop fully and you aren’t sure if you’re stumbling because of the way it pulls or because you genuinely feel like you are about to be sick if you have to sit here for another second and listen to him sound so upset about this. 

Your feet tangle together as you rush out of the station and you know he is close behind you because he always is but you can’t bring yourself to look at him anymore.

The universe must be laughing at you for finally getting your camera because the clear skies of the night are gone and it’s beginning to sprinkle now, making your walk to the next block over much faster as you nearly run towards your apartment.

“Y/N.” His voice is loud behind you and your body whips around on instinct, not able to ignore him in any circumstance but especially not when he sounds so wounded. “It.. it doesn’t have to be a big deal, you won’t hurt my feelings if you just pretend this didn’t happen. We don’t need to change things.”

He almost sounds like he is pleading for you to forgive him and the irony of that hits you hard. 

You aren’t even sure what he is really asking for you to do here, is he suggesting you go back to pretending (quite awfully apparently) you aren’t inlove with him or is he saying he doesn’t quite mind if you are. You can’t decide which answer hurts you more and you glare at him for being so selfless and kind. 

“What part of this makes you think this won’t change things?” You have venom in your voice now and you watch his face flinch just enough for you to feel terrible.

You aren’t sure why you are suddenly so angry at him or why you just want to scream and leave him standing in the light rain that is slowly picking up like its mocking your emotional state. 

It is not his fault he is so easy to love and that he can read you so easily, of course the boy who can tell when you are upset or hungry or tired off of a quick glance would know the feeling that never leaves your mind and heart no matter how hard you try.

He didn’t even do anything wrong in his attempts to fix what you had broken, willing to take any course to keep your friendship the same because he thinks it is what you want. You decide you are angry that that is his solution because it is all he can give you, friendship, and you are more fucked up than you realized for being upset at him for that.

“I’m sorry.” His voice sounds hurt and pleading still and he takes quick steps towards you that make you want to sob but you won’t, not here and not with him staring at you like that. 

“I am.” You shake your head and sigh, suddenly feeling very cliche and stupid for yelling at each other in the rain like some shitty cheesy romcom. You easily slip your hand into his and pull him in the direction of your apartment, hoping he is willing to stay with you despite the potential awkwardness and isn’t planning to run away as soon as he gets you home safe. 

He squeezes your hand in his and you close your eyes just as tight, wishing he would be a little less sweet just for a few moments.

You don’t think he is capable of being cold to anybody, especially not you, but it makes it all the more painful to know you don’t deserve it. 

You are back to heavy silence as you enter your apartment and you glance at his hoodie from last night still draped over your arm chair, looking away and kicking off your heels that are collecting water inside of them as it drips off of your clothes. 

The urge to change into something dry and warm is surging your entire being but instead you head into the kitchen and you hear him take slow hesitant steps before he is sighing and going in the direction of your bedroom. You grip your counter and close your eyes to stop from asking him what he was going to say.

Instead you busy yourself with the stove and a familiar recipe that makes you sigh in premature relief just from the scent alone. 

Jungkook eventually returns and follows the smell to find you setting too warm mugs down on the coffee table in the living room, dressed in a large shirt and the same sweatpants from last night. His hair is damp from the rain and falling over his forehead in a painful way and you awkwardly glance at him. 

Any other day you would warn him that it is too hot to drink before going to change too but now you just watch him as he shifts awkwardly before sitting down slowly on the carpet infront of the table. You clear your throat and walk down the hallway, moving on autopilot as you pull off the wet clothes and replace them with pajamas. 

You are back in the living room with him before you even process your feet moving and you listen to him sip the hot chocolate before wincing at the scolding liquid and placing the mug down.

“It’s hot you know.” Your teasing remark is meant to break the tension and bring a sense of normalcy back into the heavy room but it comes out forced and awkward and he barely manages to pull a chuckle out. 

You sit next to him with a sigh and pull your sleeves over your hands so you can nurse his hot mug, blowing on it gently and ignoring your steaming one next to it. 

It’s a habit you had always had but he was looking at you like it was his first time realizing you did that and it was another nail in the coffin of change. Things were going to be different now no matter what he said or how hard you tried to avoid it.

“I really am sorry.” His voice was soft and a whisper that struck you harder than anything he could have shouted. You gave him a sad smile and nodded your head in understanding. “Do you want to talk about it or are you tired?”

“We can talk.” You shrugged like it was a casual choice but you weren’t sure what the alternative was. You had anxiety thrumming in your chest that he might leave before you were ready and talking about it kept him here for atleast a few more sentences, atleast until your mugs were empty.

Your agreement didn’t kick start him into any type of conversation and it fell silent again outside of your soft breathing on the mug and the rain pattering against your window. 

“Are you upset about how I feel?” He finally spoke again and you paused your blowing in favor of watching him, setting the glass down on the table and giving him your full attention. The distraction wasn’t working anyways and you felt sick again.

You shook your head because you didn’t trust yourself to speak and he looked more pained at your silence, eyes low and wounded. Your suddenly felt watery and you knew you would truly have to dig a hole for yourself if you cried, the last thing you wanted to do was to make him feel bad about any of this.

“You can’t help it.” You internally winced at the way your words shook and cracked, very telling signs of somebody who was about to pathetically sob. “But I can’t either.”

He looked equal parts confused and accepting of this answer and you got the urge to just lay it all out in the open since everything was already falling apart in a way you could not control.

“I thought I was doing a better job at hiding it and I’m sorry if I made you feel weird or like I didn’t value our friendship because that isn’t true at all, it means the world to me. I am just an idiot and I-I don’t even know what else to say other than I am so sorry Jungkook.” You are speaking so fast you feel dizzy at the pace and you are suddenly facing him again so you can be positive the words reach their destination.

You had practiced a hundred times how to tell him how you felt and none of those scenarios ended up sounding like this, a jumbled and desperate plea to be forgiven.

His mouth had parted halfway through your speech like he was wanting to interrupt you and you wanted to run out of your own house when you saw his eyes widen in surprise, maybe at the realization of just how fucked up you actually were.

The room fell silent again and this time it was tortuous, your soft breaths from speaking so quickly being the only thing you could focus on. 

“I’m confused.” 

His voice cut through the air and you almost wanted to scream, knowing you could not repeat any of that again. You gave him an intense stare as you tried to figure out where exactly you had lost him in your spiel and his eyebrows furrowered at your look.

“I thought you were mad at me for liking you.” He was pointing between the two of you as you spoke and suddenly the box was rattling so hard you weren’t sure if it was just an imaginary metaphor anymore. 

“What?” It came out loud and aggressive but he didn’t react, sitting up a little straighter and watching you with an almost frustrated expression. 

“Do you have a crush on me?” He was pointing at his chest again and you wanted to smack his hand away.

You weren’t sure how to answer that because it was honestly the most ridiculous thing you had heard outloud all night and there quite a few contenders. You were dumbfounded both by the fact he had to ask what you thought he realized forever ago and also because the idea of having a mere crush almost made you laugh.

A crush was not what you had but you dumbly nodded your head, settling for accepting the vague notion that you had some sort of romantic feelings for him.

His hands were covering his face and he let out a groan so loud you flinched. His noise turned into something that you thought was a sob until you realized he was laughing at you, almost hysterically laughing so hard that he was leaning over onto his knees before rocking backwards again.

The tears that were sitting on your waterline were falling freely now and you were frozen in shock at the fact he was actually laughing at you.

You had never felt so hurt in your entire life and you were even more blindsided that your sweet best friend was apparently capable of this kind of cruelty. The idea of him being upset or disappointment in your firm confirmation was way more appealing than him finding you straight up comedic.

“You should go.” You had never uttered those words to him before and you had hoped they came off as fiery and angry as you felt under the devastation but instead it was said in an unchareristic choked sob that had his hands immediately flying off of his face.

His eyes were wide and guilty as he took in the expression you had and your wet cheeks and he was shuffling forward to cup your face.

“Oh shit, fuck.” He was wiping your teary trails as fast as they came and staring at you with remorse, only making you cry harder. “Wait don’t cry.”

“You’re laughing at me.” You sounded childish and whiny but you didn’t know what else to be in this situation, too comfortable to be truly cruel to him despite the want to be. How can he be so hurtful and then hold you like he wasn’t responsible for your extreme reaction?

“What? No I’m not.” He was shaking his head and his face was creasing with confusion like it was the most ridiculous thing you could have said. “I’m laughing at us, at how stupid we are.”

You were exhausted from this entire night and you had no response to give him despite your confusion and want for him to explain what could possibly be so fucking funny about all of this stupidty. You sat there silently crying and staring at him as he sighed like he only just realized he needed to speak what he was thinking and was finding it burdensome. 

“You have to know that I like you too Y/N.” He was whispering it like he was still trying to keep it a secret and that damned box flew open, sending its lock and chains flying around your chest in a million sharp pieces. “You’re the last person in the world to figure it out apparently.” 

You had absolutely zero idea what to say to that or how to even begin to process the level of misunderstanding and blurred communication that had happened in just a few hours. His apologies on the way home and guilty expression suddenly made alot more sense considering he wasn’t sorry about breaking your heart and instead apologicetic he had made you break his. 

“I thought you were messing with me until I saw you were crying and, god you don’t like to mess with people anyways. I really fucked this all up didn’t I.” It was his turn to ramble now and you watched him with a quivering lip and soft sniffles as you stopped crying slowly. 

“You’re not rejecting me?” You’d be caught dead before talking in this tone around anyone else but he wasn’t just anyone and his eyes softened like you were the cutest thing in the world to him.

“I may be stupid but I’m not that big of an idiot.” He was laughing a little at himself or maybe the idea of ever rejecting you and now it was your turn to groan. “I thought you were inlove with Taehyung.”

“Taehyung’s gay.” You were blurting it out from the frustration of the situation and you covered your face like he had a few seconds ago. 

His mouth was parted in surprise when you gathered the courage to look at him again and you almost laughed, mouth barely turning up from the ridiculousness of everything transpiring. 

“That actually makes a lot of sense.” His slow reply made you burst into delirious giggles and he smiled at your reaction. 

It seemed like the hard part of the conversation was finally over and you leaned on your side against the footrest of the couch, sighing softly. 

“We have to be the two stupidest people alive.”

“You’re not stupid.” He was shaking his head and there it was again, that familiar offended tone he always had when you insulted yourself. 

You suddenly felt like you must be because it was increasingly obvious to you that he must feel some sort of positive non platonic way towards you. The look in his eye was so apparent now that you weren’t sure how you ever missed it before, so stuck in your own attempts to disguise your own gaze. 

“I don’t know what to do now or what this means.” You’re staring straight ahead but not really looking at anything as your mind spins and reels. It all is starting to feel a bit far from reality and you let out a humorless disbeliving laugh. “I mean you are you and I’m..”

You trail off but he knows exactly where you were going with that statement and that same annoyance he radiated when you made the comment about Taehyung was back tenfold. His glare was on you but you knew it was directed towards that mean insecure voice inside you and not anything else.

“Maybe you are stupid because you really have no idea what happens to a room when you walk into it.” He looks angrier than you’d ever seen him but it’s the type of anger that comes when he tastes a particularly delicious bite of food or sees a cute dog on tiktok, nothing like the face he has whenever his dad calls or when a job falls through. 

Everything about what he is saying makes no sense to you and you suddenly have the urge to crawl into your bed and sleep this off, hoping you can wake up tomorrow either ten steps backwards or four years in the future.

There is a lengthy silence where the two of you just stare at eachother and you keep waiting for it to feel wrong or feel like you made a grave mistake that you can’t take back but your heart seems to recall who you are sitting with much faster than your brain.

You can’t think of a time where you had ever felt wrong when you were in the same space as Jungkook and the uncertainty of the future and what this conversation means for your connection and friendship has nothing on the tie between you that flows with every look and nervous smile.

Loving him was as easy as any breath you could take and you looked away with silence in your warmed chest as you took another sip of your hot chocolate.

[silver-horse]

some of you are confused under the post that shows astarion's date of birth and date of "death". so first of all, it's a fact that in dnd 5e elves do grow up the same way humans do. a 39 year old is still that age. he wouldn't look like a child or a teen! "not an adult elf" is not literally true. it's a social thing among elves. think about it... someone who is hundreds of years old would look at a 70 year old human/elf and think... that's a baby. they also view humans that way, but surely we don't think a 39 year old human is not mature. it is just a fantasy thing, it makes sense that if such old people existed they would view younger people this way. so "not an adult by elven standards" is simply because of how old elves view younger people, elves included. let's just clear that up.

Also this made you all wonder how he could have been a magistrate. He is from baldur's gate which is a mixed society, not a society of elves. I highly doubt baldurians have a rule that only hundred year olds are allowed positions of power. then humans could never have positions. in elven society they might not give such a position to a 39 year old because they respect their elders more. but there is no difference between 39 year old elf and 39 year human mentally. ofc he can legally have a position in a place like baldur's gate.

plus during early access, he had the noble background. Why are you so confused that he could be a magistrate at the age of 39? As if rich/noble families don't ever use their connections to help someone in the family get a high paying job. lol He wouldn't need to grind for hundreds of years.

(and one more thing... in the tags under that post I wrote that the rune for 6 and 9 are similar so there is a chance that the date of "death" is 30 years later... which would make him 69. but from what I have seen, others also translated the year as 1268 and not 1298. still, if he was 69 that would mean he was turned nearly 200 years ago, but not quite 200 which is what he says in most dialogues. but it doesn't even matter because 69 is still below 100. so we could have the same conversation... under 100 does not mean not an adult.)

[nereidprinc3ss]

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn’t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough. 

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was. 

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 

[davinawritings]

An Alien Thank You

Pairing: Alien X Female Human Reader

Warnings: Smut, Oral (Female Receiving), Multiple Tongues, Squirting

You had never thought aliens were real until one appeared in your backyard. When it happened, you had only been in your new home for about a month. As a writer, you had moved to a small, secluded house in the countryside for some peace and quiet while working. Other than the bi-monthly trips to the food market, you were completely alone with your work and thoughts.

The day had started like any other. You had made breakfast, showered, and even got in a few hours of writing. Suddenly, there was a noise outside your office window. Upon looking, you had seen nothing and waved it off, but moments later, you heard it again. No longer able to ignore it, you had gone out back to see what it was. 

Imagine your shock when a massive creature stood in your backyard, poking around your garden. The creature stood about eleven feet tall and was a dark blue, almost black. Its chest was broad, double the length of your shoulders, and seemed packed with hard muscle. Its shoulders had sharp ridges that nearly looked like thick scales. Its thick thighs had similar ridged scales along the outside. Strong arms lead down to large hands that look terrifying with their sharp nails. The creature’s head was all sharp angles, and its eyes were solid black as they stared at you. 

The scream had been stuck in your throat, but the creature must have seen the panic on your face because it quickly held up its hands and claimed that it meant no harm. You still kept your distance as the creature explained that he was not of your planet but was currently stuck on earth while working out how to build a way home.

You had taken pity on the creature and, against what most would consider better judgment, had decided not to freak out and instead befriend the large creature. You learned his name was Oltuth, and he came from a planet you had never heard of. He was traveling and exploring when his ship malfunctioned and crashed a few miles from your secluded home. Your house was the first place he had come upon that wasn’t just open land, so he had been looking for sustenance in your garden.

You knew you probably shouldn’t invite some strange alien creature into your home, but you felt bad for him, and you couldn’t deny that it was kind of nice to have someone to talk to. You also knew that most people would probably just attack Oltuth without hesitation if they found him, so you offered him refuge in your home under the promise of him being peaceful and kind. He quickly promised, and you were very glad he did.

He became a great help around your house and an even better friend. He helped you around the house and with your now flourishing garden. You both built a routine together while you worked on your book, and he worked on a way to rebuild and repair his ship. The days passed much faster with him to talk to, and before you knew it, months had passed. You both grew closer, and you grew almost sad when you thought about him eventually leaving you to return home. 

Today had gone like any other with Oltuth, and you now sat with a nice cold glass of sweet tea, simply enjoying the late-night sky full of stars while you both talked about the different ways of your species. 

Oltuth clears his throat before he says, “I would like to thank you for the kindness and generosity you have shown me these past few months. If you are okay with it, I would like to show you how the males of my planet thank our females for caring for us the way you have for me”. Excited to learn something new about his species; you quickly agree with an enthusiastic, “Yes.” 

He grabs your smaller hand in his own and brings you inside to the couch. He gently guides you to sit, your butt on the edge of the sofa. Your breath hitches as Oltuth moves his large body between your legs, gently prying your legs open. He kneels before you, gently removing your shorts along with your panties. His long, pointed tongue starts gently lapping at your clit as soft mewls leave your mouth. His jet-black eyes stay trained on your face as you wriggle on the couch. 

His hands grip your thighs tighter as he shifts his tongue into your wet hole. The thickness makes you moan as he licks along your inner walls. You lay back against the cushions, hips thrusting against his face as you slowly feel that beautiful high building. Without warning, you feel something wet, flicking against your swollen clit. Your eyes snap open, and you look down. His large tongue is still buried deep in your cunt, but another slightly smaller tongue is now playing with your needy clit.

You whimper and moan out his name at the double stimulation, tears gathering in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling. The tip of his tongue flicks along that special spot deep inside you, and you try to close your legs on reflex. Oltuth growls and pulls your thighs further apart, speeding up both of his tongues. 

Your knuckles turn white as your grip tightens on the couch. The tongue inside you practically vibrates with how fast it’s thrusting inside your dripping cunt. Your back arches as the smaller tongue moves to match the speed and vibrations of his bigger tongue. 

You look down again to find Oltuth staring right at you, and with one more thrust, you cum hard, clenching on his tongue, your juices squirting out of you as a scream is ripped from your body. Each clench of your cunt is met with another thrust from him, making your orgasm feel like it lasts for hours. He finally slows down as your legs twitch in his hands, giving you a few final licks to clean you up.

He stands before picking you up and bringing you to your room to lay you on the bed. You give him a smile and say, “I really like how your males say thank you, Oltuth.” He gives you a grin before saying, “That was just to get you ready for the real way we say thank you.” Your eyes widen as you look down at his body. A slit at the apex between his thighs opens as three large cocks extend out, one by one, each a little bigger than the last. 

Your eyes flick back up to his face, and all you can think is that your next book is definitely going to be a smutty alien romance story.

❤️💕🖤🖤💕❤️

[mixingandmelting]

hey so how do you thinkDick, Tim and Jason would deal with having been with their s/o for an entire year and they finally come clean about their secret identity and s/o is just like “:) I was wondering if you were ever gonna tell me” and s/o gifts him a shirt that says “congratulations for finally telling me”, someone personalised it for them. And s/o has known since a week after their first date pretty much. (Would explain why s/o seemed oddly understanding to him being late despite some of their excuses getting ridiculous sometimes. Sometimes you run out of good excuses if you know someone long enough).. They have a sense of humour about the entire thing clearly and made this shirt at some point? (Or if you want. S/o could have a cake specially delivered to their apartment with the same words on top and it gets delivered to their front door and s/o shows their boyfriend it)?

Dick:

He gulps, clear cerulean eyes looking deeply into yours. He can hear his heart pound in his ears, nervousness racking his entire being. He knows it’s a lot, to be suddenly told that he’s Nightwing. So if you need a breather he gets it. Take a second, ask for some time off- 

“I was wondering if you were ever going to tell me.” 

Or that you knew- you knew? 

“You what?” He blinks, mind blank where it barely registers your form approaching him.

Rather than answering him directly, you giggle and stuff a present into his hands. His eyes flicker back and forth between the gift and you, noting the pillowy softness it feels that leads him to carefully unwrap it. Ribbon and tissue paper flutters down, he scoffs with an incredulous grin once he holds the t-shirt at arms-length. 

He knew something was up. The way you easily accept his excuses, never once getting mad or upset even when he misses probably thousands of dates night - all of it was fishy. Sure, it was relieving at first, giving him the same, comforting and understanding smile as you tell him he can always make it up to you when he has time. But now it’s been one whole year and you’re still acting the same way. Same smile, same words, same acceptance despite him making up the most ridiculous stories that a normal person wouldn’t believe. 

Where to start he doesn’t know, too busy huffing at the black t-shirt with the words “congrats, you finally confessed” in his signature Nightwing blue in front of the Nightwing symbol. 

“Let me guess, you knew since day one?” 

“Try second week of being together.”  He quirks an eyebrow, lips threatening to tug down into a frown at your cheeky reply. 

One, that was meant to be a rhetorical question. Two, you knew for that long and didn’t bother telling him? He brushes a hand through his hair, puffing out a breath until a memory of a certain conversation from yesterday pops up in his mind. 

“If I had known earlier, I would’ve made sure to keep showing those nice abs you kept saying about Nightwing. Or was it only because of the spandex?”

His expression matches the Cheshire Cat, coy, mischievous, and amused as you fluster and fumble over your words. Yet, guess he should’ve known better than to be overly smug though, when, after enduring all forms of teasing from him for over an hour, you decide to take away his morning kiss privileges for the rest of week (more like you being petty for not getting the one win you worked hard to get against him but that’s just him). 

Jason:

He keeps spreading his hands and making fists, head hanging low as he silently stands right in front of you. You deserved to know yet despite a year of being with you and knowing you wouldn’t judge him, all sorts of thoughts plague his mind. Are you disappointed? Are you going to leave now that he revealed he’s a former criminal-lord-reformed-vigilante? 

“Well, about time you told me.”

Cue him nearly choking on his own spit, not at all expecting that. 

“You-you knew?” He gapes at you in disbelief as you continue casually placing plates and forks on the table. 

“Yeah, for a while now.” 

How? Why? Even his family took almost a year to figure out who he was- just what? 

It’s ironic of him wanting to pull his hair  out considering it’s his job to cause headaches for others. But here he is, feeling an oncoming migraine ready to start pulsing inside his brain. All because of you, the person he loves very much and tried hiding his identity from, is telling him you knew. 

“Since when?” He makes his way across the room and grabs the cake box that had been covering your face. 

“Not going to guess?” He gives you a look, leading you to raise both hands in the air. “Okay, okay. It was probably around, uh I want to say, the week after our first date. With your built matching Red Hood, I kind of was able to put two-and-two together, y’know?” 

What the actual fuck. 

Placing the box down, he props a hand onto his waist while using the other to rub his eyes. He has no idea which part is sadder: the fact you were able to figure it out faster than his own family or him having spewed out all those stupid, obviously made-up stories for this long (though looking back, it makes sense why your responses were always oddly understanding). 

“Anyways, congrats for telling me!” 

As if intending to rub salt into his wound, your exact words are written in his signature red with Red Hood’s symbol scattered all over the white cake. 

“That better not be red velvet.” He pinches his nose bridge when you stay silent and avoid making eye contact with him. “It’s red velvet.”

It’s until you finally relent and promise a snuggle session and only wear Red Hood merch he stops being petty and sulking. Though, he won’t lie, he enjoyed getting you worked up every time he brought up everything you told him about your hot opinions of his vigilante-persona as he successfully stays unfazed every time you brought up his excuses he used back in the past. 

Tim:

He squeezes his eyes tight shut, the desire of becoming one with the wooden floor visceral. Point-one percent of him feels liberated that he finally revealed who he is. The rest? He’s consumed in fear. All the what ifs including break-ups and you not wanting to see him again playing over and over. 

“Finally. I was getting tired of waiting.” …Huh? 

He snap his eyes open, wondering if he’s hearing things. There’s no way you already knew, right? Not when he was being careful and keeping things wrapped nice and neatly- 

“Do you know how awkward it felt knowing for this long?” 

…You can’t be serious. Slowly, he looks towards you with every emotion a human can experience on his face. 

“You…know I’m Red Robin?” 

The nodding, ruffling of your hair with a hand, avoiding eye contact - his eye twitch, realizing all of his worries and panics were for nothing. Hell, you’re looking more relaxed than ever albeit bashful while here he is, having a new reason to, once again, become part of the floor out of sheer embarrassment. He even had a whole speech planned to convince you to not break up with him involving you being the most insured person in Gotham to not worry about finances for the next twenty years. 

What’s worse is the sudden epiphany you dropped hints, he just never noticed. He did find it odd for you to take his oddly believable yet dumb excuses at face value but…

He places his hands on his face, heat building up underneath from dusty pink to fire hydrant red. It was five days ago he said he tripped down the stairs that led to the nasty bruise on his rib cage. Now, it’s making sense why you were snappish about it and pushy for him to get it checked out. 

“Tim?” You gently place a hand on his arm, smiling softly at him. “I’m glad you told me.” 

He should’ve known better than to believe everything’s over when he sees you raise your hands up between his fingers. Lips curled into a smirk, you show him a t-shirt. And not just any t-shirt, a red t-shirt with his symbol on it while in black, bold letters “congrats on graduating sneaky-boyfriend era”. 

For a while, the two of you bicker and squabble over everything that led up to the current event. He did end up giving in, not because he enjoyed you clinging and hugging onto him as a last resort to get him to stop being grumpy nor the fact you told him Red Robin was your favorite out of everyone in the Bat family.

[mercurial-chuckles]

Don't Flip your Wig, Steve

Pairing: Steve Rogers x F!Reader Summary: Steve and you time travel. Your Steve is not happy meeting his older self because he shows interest in you. Warnings: My attempts at 40s slang | Unabashedly jealous husband | Fluff | Your Steve being annoyed by the old-era Steve | Not so accurate time travel depiction | I benched all my science logic in this | No existence for Peggy ('Coz why even) | Language | Lemme know if I missed anything. A/N: This is a part of Steve Rogers Bingo Round 3 | @steverogersbingo |Prompt | D4: Steve Variant(s) | Modern Steve referred as Your Steve or husband Steve. 40s Steve as old-era Steve. That's all I can think. | I'm a fairly new writer here! So, Reblogs would be great! Follows would be fantastic! Thank you! :) Note: Do not Steal, Copy, or Plagiarize any part of my work! GIF credits to the creator. Thank you :) Divider credits to me. Check out my other works: Masterlist

Indulge Away!

Steve Rogers was testing your bloody patience.

It was a bad idea to bring him here, except Bucky was a bit too beaten up after his last mission and couldn't join you in the mission as he was the only other person from the era who could navigate you to Howard without any suspicion.

Tony said the mission was easy peasy. As if.

It had been more than two days now. Some things went south, like the machine you were here for, which apparently had gone into repair a week ago. So, Howard was fixing it before you took it home.

The issue you mostly predicted was the difficulty explaining to Howard Stark that Steve and you quantum jumped, but to your surprise, that went far better than you imagined.

However, the major predicament came in the form of the 6' 2" golden boy Rogers of that era, who came to Howard for some help. When he saw himself standing before him, he straight-up beat Your Steve without a second thought. Your Steve defended, and did his best not to punch back his older self. He simply held him down until Howard drugged him to calm the poor man's nerves.

Steve Rogers of that era was not accustomed to the convoluted possibilities of science, so it took him a great deal of effort and time to gauge the situation. Were you in his position, you'd have scoffed if someone said they traveled time! Plus, at that time, there was not much material or cinema for the common man to rely on familiarity with traveling through time and space. Maybe if older Steve had read 'A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court,' he'd have been a bit familiar. But, you knew, as a matter of fact, that your Steve did not read a lot of fiction back then.

So, Steve, old-era Steve, thought it must be Hydra's gimmicks, which seemed less bizarre.

That whole fiasco was two days ago. Since then, old-era Steve had been nothing but hospitable to you both, helping you sneak in and out and arranging food and shelter. Everything was good, except he started showing great interest in you and got a bit awkward around you.

Your Steve tried his best to distance you from him. It was very hilarious, to be honest, and you were having a ton of fun.

When the machine was finally here, you all gathered at Howard's lab. Howard was setting up the machine, and you were standing near the table with your Steve. Steve approached you to the annoyance of your Steve.

"Who are you...to me?" he asked curiously.

That era Steve wore trousers and a checkered grey shirt very similar to your Steve, who sported black trousers and a sky blue shirt and looked slightly more appealingly rogueish than the innocent-looking blond. Still, hands down, he had always been handsome, irrespective of the beard or length of hair. He looked truly fucking gorgeous and aged like a luxury wine you couldn't afford without dipping into savings.

"Umm, I'm..." you hesitated, surprised by the question and worried about how he'd take it.

"She's my wife," your husband flung an arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him.

Old-era Steve's eyes widened as he looked from his future self to you.

"No gobbledygook?" He chuckled in awe. "Our wife, huh?" he exclaimed in utter astonishment.

Gobbley…what now?

Your Steve stepped in front of you, a bit closer to his older self, ready to punch.

"My. Wife," your husband pronounced, sneering at the man.

You don't want to be a part of this discussion. It was giving you a headache.

"Steve," you chastised your husband, pulling him aside.

"Excuse us," you mumbled at the other Steve, and he looked at you amused.

"What?" your husband frowned when you walked him to the corner of the huge lab. He stood defiantly, hands folded on his chest.

"Don't give me the attitude, mister. I'm gonna beat your ass," your reprimands went to deaf ears as his frown grew deeper.

"I don't like him," he exclaimed in anger.

"What?" Your surprised laugh caught Howard's attention as he looked from where he was working. You simply smiled, giving him a thumbs up to ease his worry.

Your husband shrugged.

"Are you hearing yourself? He's you," You poked his chest, whisper shouting.

Placing his hands around your waist, Steve pulled you towards him. Winding his hand around you, he held you there, kissing your lips passionately in a surprising urgency. Steve Rogers was a private man, though he always held onto your hand and kissed your cheek or forehead, but he never kiss kissed you.

You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but his lips consumed you. Your heart skipped a beat as he deepened the kiss once you yielded.

Somewhere in the corner of your still-working logical mind, you understood that Steve's insecurities were showing. All this time travel definitely made him nostalgic, especially vulnerable. When you broke away from the kiss, you embraced him tightly.

You felt like you were looking at a much younger Steve, a lanky Brooklyn man at that moment. You sometimes forget that the version of Steve was always lurking at the surface of his insecurities. Technically, he had only been with you his entire life, his one true love, his only girlfriend, and his wife.

"You know that I love you, no matter what," you whispered, smiling softly at your man.

"I just... I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I love you."

"It's okay, let's get what we are here for, and go home, Okay?" You looked up at him expectantly.

"Can't wait. He is annoying, and he is showing way too much interest in you," he snickered in distaste.

You placed a kiss on his chest, which usually calmed him.

You broke apart when Howard motioned you to come closer to show the workings of the machine and the technicalities.

Your husband walked closer to you; old Steve stood beside him, a bit amused having heard your conversation, what with his enhanced hearing and all.

Steve Rogers couldn't wait for his future, whatever it held in it, he was sure he would meet you one day. That rejoiced him, and until you both traveled back to your home, he couldn't help but poke fun at his future self.

Okay, if you were wondering ...🤭

Gobbledygook: talking gibberish or nonsense Flip your wig: losing composure or control

If you wanna be tagged in my works, add yourself here. <3 Please send me a message if you wanna be removed from the Tag list. :)

Tags: @nekoannie-chan @salvatoreitmeanssaviour

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

David Gaider: "Just to clarify the "they're probably why you'll never see Fenris" thing, as it's spawned commentary: 1. It's the reasoning as was explained to me back then. 2. Obviously, if Bio *really* wanted to, they'd find a way around it. But it was a complication that meant he couldn't be included casually." [source]

[smutoperator]

Art of Escape

Kim Minjeong (Winter), Fukutomi Tsuki x Male Reader

Tags: ahegao, boat sex, creampie, cum licking, doggystyle, dream girlfriend, facial, kissing-and-fucking, (a little) lesbian, mating press, passionate sex, (lots of) oral sex, prone bone, public sex, pussy eating, riding, threesome, voyeurism

Word count: 5155.

Hyundai Yacht Seoul Club, May 9th, 2024

It was just a regular morning for a rich dude like you, anchoring your boat at the Hyundai Yacht Club, completely unaware it was about to host an event for a major brand. As you got there, a blonde girl caught your attention.

Once the event was finished, you approached her. "What's your name?" you asked. "I'm Winter," she said. "Are you sure? Because you're hotter than summer," you told her. "You're not the first to tell me this," she said.

Your first attempt seemed to have backfired, but Winter quickly opened herself up. She was very cute and witty, and you two were quickly talking a lot. After a while, you made an invitation to her.

"Want to ride on my boat?" you asked Winter. "Oh, I would love it," she told you. You detached the boat from the pier and set sail on the river, quickly leaving your boat on autopilot to spend time with Winter on the yacht's main deck. You two had just known each other but were already hugging and kissing like longtime lovers.

"It's so beautiful in here," Winter said about the view. "But is it more beautiful than you?" you asked her, making Winter blush. Her pale skin turning red made her look even prettier. Little did you know, she was about to get much bolder.

"Can I take your pants off?" She asked you, who at first hesitated. "Nobody will see it," she said. Indeed, after the yacht had set sail, you two were just a pair of dots that could barely be seen from the river's banks.

"Let me suck that cock," Winter said to you. Who didn't know such a cute girl could be this naughty? Getting a public blowjob wasn't a fantasy you had on the top of your list, but surely it was quickly rising up your rankings as Winter slowly wrapped her lips around your shaft, kissing and licking it while slowly bobbing her head down it. Her very calm pace of sucking your dick made every licking she gave it even better, as she took her time to run her mouth all over your length.

"I love your taste," Winter said as she kissed your tip. You just gave her free reign, amazed at her great cocksucking skills. Her cute smile contrasted with her sexy tongue, which was making killer moves on your pecker. "Oh, my love, you're so good at that," you told her. "Because I want to have it all," Winter replied.

Winter continued to suck your cock in the middle of the river, not caring about the surroundings. As a matter of fact, if a boat spotted both of you, even better. The cute girl turned into a naughty slut when no one was looking. Her mouth was full of cock, just the way she liked it. But little did she know she had company alongside her on the yacht itself.

"You seem to be enjoying it, Minjeong unnie," Tsuki said out of nowhere. She had followed Winter and you to the boat and was watching her sucking your cock for a couple minutes. "Who is she? Also, Minjeong? Didn't you tell me your name was Winter?" you asked. At the event in the yacht club, you were so focused on Winter that you forgot there was another girl beside her at the event. 

"Her name is Tsuki; she was at the Polo event with me. And yeah, my real name is Minjeong; Winter is just the stage name." Winter explained. "So, are you a model? Actress?" you tried to guess. "Well, not quite; we are singers," she continued. "I wish I had seen her there, because she's very cute as well," you told Winter. "So, Tsuki, do you want to join us?" you asked back.

"You didn't even have to ask," Tsuki replied. "Come here and try it," Winter said to her. "Wow!" Tsuki was impressed by the size of your cock. "She's good, isn't she?" Winter asked you. "Very good," you replied.

But more than Tsuki's abilities to suck cock, what impressed you the most were her facial expressions while doing so. They were a treat on their own. The way she rolled her eyes and moved her facial muscles with your cock in her throat was something else. You weren't aware it was what made her famous in the first place, so it was fairly new to you to see a girl sucking cock while making such crazy expressions.

Tsuki, let Winter have your cock again. Even without it in her mouth, she kept doing her crazy moves, especially while licking your shaft to the side. Her and Winter shared a kiss with your tip right in the middle of it, making you go crazy. "That's such a dream," you told them.

After a couple more minutes of cock-sucking, Winter and Tsuki stripped themselves naked and started kissing each other. You watched them before you took your clothes off yourself. "You like that?" Winter asked as Tsuki gave her a big smile. The two kept the kissing going, with Winter now moving her mouth all over Tsuki's neck, which made the Japanese girl pull off another hot facial expression. 

"She's so tall and pretty." Winter praised Tsuki's visuals as she now kissed her bare tits. "So beautiful," she said, massaging Tsuki's boobs further, a move she was very well-versed at after doing it so often to Karina in Aespa's dorm rooms.

"I'm getting so horny massaging her tits," Winter tells you. "Me too," Tsuki says right after. "Me too," you say, but it takes too long, as the girls are back into kissing each other under your watch.

You soon join the fun, surprising Tsuki from behind as you run your hands into her body. "Ready to share her?" Winter asks you before commanding Tsuki to lay down on her back.

Tsuki spreads her legs and lies down, showing off the fat outer lips on her pussy. "Such a pretty pussy," Winter tells you as she bends over. "I wanna taste it," she says, diving down the Japanese girl's folds. Tsuki rolls her eyes and keeps doing her facial expression show. "Let's try it together," Winter kisses you as you take your first dibs into Tsuki's clit.

Winter moves into kissing Tsuki's thighs, letting you take care of her pussy by yourself. Tsuki starts to moan as she now looks like an anime character with their eyes closed. But things get even hotter as a trio of lips now share a kiss: yours, Winter's, and Tsuki's pussy.

You and Winter move your tongues together along Tsuki's folds, paying special attention to her clit. Tsuki just moans as both of you move your tongues up and down her folds, blowing the air from your noses into her insides. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you would be kissing such a beautiful girl while licking another's cunt at the same time. This feels like heaven on Earth.

Winter and you trade blows eating Tsuki's pussy. It turns out Winter's oral skills aren't just applicable to cocks; she really knows how to eat a pussy well, feasting all over Tsuki's meaty folds, making them throb and pulse each time she licks them. Winter does it so well that you make sure to kiss her as soon as she is done, trying to taste as much as you can of Tsuki's pussy flavor in her mouth.

Minjeong spreads Tsuki's pussy lips further for you to tongue the Japanese girl even deeper. You two keep teaming up as Tsuki's moans grow louder. "Wow, I've never had my pussy eaten like this before," Tsuki says. Winter is clearly the star of the show; her kissing and tonguing of Tsuki's pussy are otherworldly and drive the Japanese girl wild.

"I think he wants some attention too," Winter says, letting Tsuki stand up to kiss you. Minjeong is truly selfless, putting her partner's pleasure over hers. Tsuki and her team up on your cock once again, but Winter goes straight to your balls, letting Tsuki take your shaft all by herself. Groans come out of your mouth as they prove to be a killer combo, with Winter even trying to match Tsuki's ahegao antics while engulfing your testicles.

"Fuck," you curse for the first time as Tsuki deepthroats you and gives you a big smile, bobbing her head without needing to use her hands to work on your shaft. Down low, Winter is just amazing, heating up your balls perfectly while letting Tsuki lick your shaft like an ice cream.

"I want it too," Winter says in a rare selfish act, snatching your cock away from Tsuki. I can't blame her. That shaft is just too big not to get a good taste of Minjeong's sexy mouth. Winter is really horny, her nipples already fully erected as she fulfills her public sex fantasies staring at the amazing views from the Han River.

Winter clearly brings some extra heat compared to the first time sucking your cock. Tsuki smiles as she watches Minjeong go full slutty for your big dick, kissing you while massaging your balls. Winter stays focused, showing off how well she has perfected the art of oral sex. On and off the stage, Winter is a real ace.

"Wow, she's so hungry," Tsuki says as she takes another turn on your cock. Winter doesn't rest, though, going right back towards more ball-licking. "Oh my God, you two are killing me," you tell them. "Glad you like it," Winter says.

You passionately kiss Winter's cock-flavored mouth. She truly feels like a girl who's from another universe, sent by some mystical creature that wanted to bless you. It doesn't hurt that she has a hot, sexy friend as well.

"Let's take it together," Winter says as Tsuki and her team up to lick your shaft. The girls get their mouths close to each other and lick your snake like a pair of snakes poisoning their prey. Tsuki moves down to your balls while Winter keeps licking that hard pole. Even the birds want to watch them work on your cock as a few land on your yacht, just as the two beautiful girls increase their pace of sucking.

"Suck that cock," Winter tells Tsuki using a soft voice, pushing the Japanese girl's head down that dick before doing it herself. The two keep taking turns getting your cock covered in spit. Until Minjeong finally tells her next move.

"I want it inside me," Winter says to you. "Ohhh, you're really horny today, unnie," Tsuki says right after. "Come to me," you tell Winter, putting her head on Tsuki's belly, who assists you by inserting your cock right at Winter's pussy.

You groan the moment you get inside Minjeong. Her walls are ultra tight and squeeze you right from the beginning. You slowly push it up as Tsuki fingers Winter's pussy. "Get deeper inside me," Winter demands. "Let me see that big cock penetrating my pussy," she continues.

"Put it all in. Fuck me," Winter says. She's so cute giving you those commands; her nipples are fully hard as Tsuki rubs her hands on them. You two quickly develop great chemistry as you passionately fuck Minjeong, as she sexily moans every time your cock bulges under her skinny belly.

"It feels so good," Winter moans as you get deeper inside her tight pussy, picking up the pace as you share kisses with Tsuki before moving down to kiss Winter herself. "I love your cock," Minjeong tells you, who never thought missionary fucking could be this hot.

"I want more; take it deep in my pussy," Winter cutely commands. You happily oblige, as if you were using the keys to open the gates of heaven every time you stretch her out. The clapping noises emanate from her body as you fuck her faster and harder.

"Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah," Winter keeps moaning as you go even deeper. "Yes, fuck me," she moans again as Tsuki rubs her. You get addicted to her pussy. "You like it?" you ask her. "Yes, I love it so much," Minjeong replies. Everything about her is so genuine. 

"Fuck that pussy, ahhhhh," Winter demands. You are amazed at how cute she still looks, even with that long cock deep in her cunt. Winter becomes fully submissive to your cock as you now pound her in a mating press. "Ahhhh, such a big, big cock," she says, emphasizing your size.

"Ahhh, make my pussy cream," Winter orders to you. Her juices can be seen at your shaft every time you pump out of her hole. You take her balls deep as she praises your cock every time you hit it in her cunt. "Ahhhh, you're so deep inside me," she continues.

"Keep going, all the way in," Winter says. You fuck her harder than ever. "Yeah, yeah, just stretch that pussy," she continues. You can't focus on anything except pounding it. Tsuki becomes just an afterthought in the background as your eyes are all on Minjeong. And more than your eyes, your cock is hyperfocused on destroying her tight pink pussy.

Winter's walls squeeze your cock just as you kiss her beautiful lips. You can't resist anymore, and you paint her insides white. It feels like you fucked her for over an hour, but you could barely last for five minutes inside her tight pussy.

But Minjeong isn't done. "I want to cum all over that cock," she tells you, making you put your cock back in her cream-filled pussy and quickly regain your erection. "Make me cum, baby," Winter tells you, who slowly fucks her pussy as a mix of cum and juices coats your shaft, with Winter getting closer to orgasm as Tsuki rubs her perky little tits and kisses Minjeong's moaning mouth.

"Faster, baby," Winter says as her voice gets more and more out of breath. She fingers herself and starts cumming nonstop as you kiss her while burying your big cock deep in her pussy. The warmth of her wet insides filled with your cum is such an amazing feeling that you make sure to enjoy every second of it.

"And now me?" Tsuki asks as you finally pull out of Winter. "My friend can't wait," Minjeong comments. "I'm very horny, just like you," Tsuki says. "Then come here," you tell her, after giving Winter's pussy a final kiss.

Tsuki gets on all fours as you and Winter rub your hands over her body, paying special attention to her cute butt. "Put your dick inside me; I need it," she says. After a little tease, you grant her wish, with just the feeling of your tip inside her cunt making Tsuki moan.

You and Winter share kisses as you slowly thrust inside Tsuki's pussy. Once again, Tsuki pulls off an incredible show with her facial expressions. But Winter's smile as you fuck her friend is just as good. You let Winter have a taste of your cock, now mixed with her juices and Tsuki's. Winter savors it for a good 30 seconds before putting your shaft back inside Tsuki.

Tsuki closes her eyes and moans even harder as Winter puts her tongue in the Japanese girl's asshole. "Fuck my pussy and eat my ass out, ahhhh" is all Tsuki can say in between more and more moans. "You like it?" Winter asks Tsuki. "Yes," she replies, struggling to even say those simple words as you put extra heat in her pussy.

Winter lays down in front of Tsuki, letting her friend finger her perfect pink pussy. "Come here, baby," Tsuki tells her, pushing Winter's body further close as she dives into Minjeong's pussy. Just as she does it, you pick up the pace much further. Tsuki smiles as your cock makes her pussy cream and her mouth makes Winter's do the same.

"That's so fucking good," Tsuki says as you pump her pussy harder and make her tits jiggle. "You look so pretty getting fucked like this," Winter tells her. She buries her face in Winter's pussy even further in response. "Hmmm, you like that big cock inside that pussy, don't you?" Winter asks. Tsuki answers positively, but it gets muffled by her mouth being all over Minjeong's folds.

"She's such a good girl, being the perfect sleeve for that cock," Winter says about Tsuki to you. "Ahhh, fuck," Tsuki moans as Minjeong does it. You rub your hands all over Tsuki's ass, giving it a little tap. "You like to be slapped?" you ask her. "Hmmmm," Tsuki says.

"Make her pussy cream; slap her hard," Winter orders you, who obviously follow. Tsuki's pale skin is built to get slapped; you love how quickly her ass turns heads. "Ouch!" she screams as you tap her sensitive and cute ass. Winter and her share kisses as you pound Tsuki hard and deep.

"I've never done something like this before," Winter tells Tsuki as she massages her tits. "Me too," Tsuki says, already out of breath as you keep fucking her. "Show her who's in control; get on top of her," Winter orders you, ready to get much spicier.

You mount on top of Tsuki while your cock is still deep in her pussy. "Oh, fuck," Tsuki says as she's about to get turned into a submissive cocksleeve. You and Winter kiss each other as she enjoys watching Tsuki get plowed. But no one enjoys it more than the Japanese fucktoy, who smiles and makes a lot of naughty faces as you manhandle her cunt.

"YEAH. OH. OH. OH. OH." Tsuki moans. "Fuck her like she's your bitch," Winter keeps demanding. You hammer Tsuki like a bull while staring at Minjeong's beautiful and lustful eyes. Tsuki just closes her eyes as her pussy gets utterly destroyed. "OH MY GOD," she says as you pound her to submission, looking now at the perfect sight of her body on all fours while Winter licks her chops, wishin she was at Tsuki's place.

"Put it back; I want more," Tsuki asks when you give her a little relief. She rests her head on the boat's floor as you keep plowing her, fingering herself as she approaches her orgasm. "Yes, yes, yes," Tsuki says in a barely audible manner, her mouth fully open like the one of an onahole. 

But you just can't stop fucking that juicy and tight Japanese pussy. Winter gives Tsuki's head a little kiss and then asks her, "Ready to cum?" Tsuki can't even answer as she looks at you, fucking her like a toy and wishing you could do this to her forever. "Keep going like that," she says, but her voice is so weak now that you barely hear it.

"I'm gonna cum," Tsuki whispers, but loud enough for both of you to hear. Winter loves when those words come from her mouth, making a shocked expression of her own. "Make her cum," she just says, smiling as she watches Tsuki close her eyes and open her mouth to the fullest as her pussy creams all over your cock. With it still deep inside her, you give Tsuki short but fast thursts. "HMMM. HMMM. HMMM. HMMM. HMMMM," she moans, reaching her orgasm with your cock hitting all the way into her cervix.

"Oh God," Tsuki says with a big smile on her face as she stares at you. But Winter is quick to give you another kiss as you slow down until you pull out of Tsuki. "Come here to taste it." You stand up and tell both girls as they get on their knees, ready to worship that cock. Winter arrives first on the scene. "Let me taste your pussy," she tells Tsuki, sucking your big cock without using her hands. Tsuki then follows suit as the two sloppily bob their heads on your prick before placing it in between their mouths.

"Stay like this," you tell the girls, who smile at each other. Winter is the happiest one, as she looks behind and sees you getting ready to take her pussy again, this time from behind. You line your cock up against her entrance so perfectly that you don't even need to use your hands to adjust. Minjeong closes her eyes as her pussy gets slowly stretched out.

"Ahhhh," Winter moans with a sexy smile on her face. You take it slow as her moans get more prolonged with each thrust you give her. "Tell me about it," Tsuki asks Minjeong. "It's... so... big," it's all she can say. But it's the truth after all, as she enjoys your nine-inch monster stretching her out in a prone-bone position. "Ok," Tsuki tells her in such a manner that you can tell she's bragging about taking it like a champion just moments ago.

Winter kisses Tsuki as your cock gets deeper and deeper inside her. You're very passionate, not wanting to hurt your beautiful lover. "Even full of dick, you still look so cute, Minjeong unnie," Tsuki says. She's telling the truth. Winter is truly capable of being the cutest girl in the world, no matter what she's doing.

Winter gets surprised when you finally commit to getting into the depths of her cunt. "Ahhhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhhh," she lets out successive moans. But you stay deep inside her as Minjeong's walls clench around your cock. "Oh, my God," she says. You don't even need to thrust inside her anymore; your meat and her cunt are perfectly interlocked now. It's like the sword in the stone myth, and whoever manages to pull you out of Minjeong will be crowned king.

"This is so good; you're so tight," you tell Winter. "I'm curious to see how your friend takes it," you continue, moving sideways to take on Tsuki next. "She's ready for you." Winter says this as you two kiss each other again.

Tsuki softly moans, as she's next in line. The slow pumps you give her already make her roll her eyes. Winter smiles as she stares at Tsuki, who's struggling to take your cock deep in her pussy. "Yesss, ahhhhh," Tsuki moans as you start clapping against her cheeks. Winter, as the dream girlfriend, gets all the kisses. Meanwhile, for the slutty Tsuki, all she gets is pounding after pounding from your hard cock.

You quickly increase the speed, brining a lot of heat into Tsuki's pussy, her body getting pressed to the floor at each thurst. Winter never thought of herself as a voyeur before, but she really enjoys watching her friend get plowed. "Ohhh, God, fuck," Tsuki says as you pin her completely to the floor, stretching your hands to grope her perky tits.

"YESSS, AHHHH, AHHHH," Tsuki moans under Winter's watchful eyes. At this point, Minjeong is licking her chops, amazed as she watches both of you engage in a torrid sex session. Tsuki is really the perfect fucktoy to pound against the floor of your boat, as she covers it with the juices leaking out from her pussy. "You're hitting her so deeply; I love it," Winter says. Tsuki can only laugh to hide how she gets increasingly sensitive and throbs harder at each new thrust you give her.

"So deep, I like that," Tsuki says as you get completely on top of her, all while sharing kisses with Winter. Her eyes roll, and her tongue sticks out as you make her cum. "That's so good, oh yeah," Tsuki says, barely able to feel her legs now. You even give her a double massage: your hands press her shoulders up top while your meat presses her cunt down low. Even after she cums, Tsuki wants more. "Go back, please," she tells you, who obliges and gives her a few extra thrusts into her throbbing vagina, kissing her and Winter when you're finally done.

"I want something from you girls now," you tell them. "One of them is riding my cock while the other sits on my face," you say. Tsuki kisses you and quickly offers the pussy you just destroyed for you to savor. Winter dives into your cock and warms it up for the ride of her life. The Japanese girl gets the early pleasure, as you are already licking her folds before Winter can even position herself to get impaled by your monster cock.

Winter starts riding your cock, and you feel blessed. The view. The girls. The sex. This day couldn't have gone more perfect for you. It feels like heaven to have two girls using your body as a way to please themselves to the fullest.

As you tongue Tsuki's pussy harder, Minjeong increases the pace of her ride. Their moans blend with each other, and you can't tell which one is getting the most pleasure. But by the way their folds gush all over your tongue and cock, you can tell they are having a lot of it. Tsuki runs her hands over Winter's pale butt as the snow girl gives you such a hot ride that it could make your cock melt. "You're working on this cock so well," Tsuki says, impressed at Minjeong's riding skills.

Winter spreads her cheeks as she lets you thrust upwards against her tight pussy. Every time you get to hit her cervix, she lets out an out-of-breath moan, and her asshole involuntarily winks. Loud noises come out as the hips of both of you clash against each other. Minjeong doesn't hold back, meeting your thursts full of enthusiasm and moaning the loudest she's done so far.

The riding keeps going on as Minjeong shows no signs of slowing down. Out of all positions, cowgirl might be her favorite. She loves the feeling of taking control and stuffing herself full of cock, and she seems to be easily winning the battle now, bouncing on your pole at full speed and enjoying when Tsuki pushes her further down and impales her to the max against your cock.

More time passes by, and Winter keeps going on with her cock-riding show. You and Tsuki basically forget about anything, taking all your focus away from watching the Queen Minjeong ride spectacle. Winter feels flaunted as all eyes are on her, giving all her effort. She is truly the living proof of the planet getting warmer than ever, because you've never seen a hotter Winter than the one on top of your cock.

Tsuki gets out of your face to take a privileged seat at Winter, making your cock melt. The Japanese girl masturbates herself as watching Minjeong get impaled proves to be a massive turn-on for her. "Ahhhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhh, Oh my God, Oh my God," Winter manages to outdo herself in cuteness once again, coming up with the softest moans you've seen. Tsuki watches all of it, all her fingers now deep in her cunt. Both she and Winter closed their eyes at the same time and even managed to say the same words together:

"I AM. CUMMING.".

Winter's legs get weaker as she rests her body on top of yours, only to be surprised by a gush of squirt coming off Tsuki's pussy. You're so addicted to her pussy you don't pull out at any moment, kissing Minjeong as her face gets within your range and giving her waist and butt a little massage. Winter finally pulls out, staring at Tsuki creaming herself, and then gives the Japanese girl the final command.

"Finish him," Winter tells her, getting your cock wet for one final round of pussy pounding. Her heavenly mouth almost makes Minjeong fulfill her own command by herself, as you have to pinch yourself not to cum. Tsuki saves you at the last second, offering you her tits and mouth for you to kiss. 

Tsuki gets a taste of your cock before she sits on it. Doing so in reverse cowgirl, she tells who the audience of her cock-riding show will be: she wants to do it looking at Minjeong's beautiful face and show her first and foremost her best facial expressions.

Winter pushes Tsuki's hair down to get a better view of her face as the Japanese girl finally takes a sit on your prick. Tsuki rides it as Winter stares at her stretched-out pussy. You two put on a great show for Minjeong to watch as Tsuki runs her hands all over your shaft while bouncing on it. Winter stays with one hand fully attached to her pussy, the other rubbing your thighs to get you even closer to the edge.

You grab Tsuki's waist, trying to tame her, but she barely flinches. Fully committed to the mission Winter gave her, she rides you even harder, massaging your balls to add some extra spice. Winter aides her, licking her chops as she sees some sticky liquids straight out of Tsuki's cunt coating your shaft.

"Fuck him hard, make him cum," Winter keeps ordering as Tsuki gets your cock inside her all the way down to your balls. You start losing control and plow upwards against her pussy, making splashy noises when you hit her deep, as her cunt is extremely wet now. Tsuki opens her mouth to the fullest every time you hit her cervix, her ahegao getting crazier the more cock she takes.

Tsuki turns into a moaning mess as you two fuck like crazy animals. Winter can't believe what she's seeing, making shocked expressions as she watches you stuff Tsuki's cunt. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, I'M GONNA CUM," Tsuki says as her legs close and she starts orgasming, expelling your cock out of her pussy. "Put it back, put it back," she demands, her voice completely lost at this point. Tsuki masturbates herself as she creams all over your cock.

"Wow, that's beautiful," Winter says as Tsuki opens her legs back up. Minjeong places her hand over her lips and licks her chops as the intense pounding gets replaced by a passionate fucking, with Tsuki making one final wish.

"I want to see your cum covering all of my face," she tells you. As soon as you pull out, you start jerking off to Winter and Tsuki faces side by side. It doesn't take long before blasts of semen come out of your dick and paint Tsuki's face white as she sticks her tongue out in glee after you grant her wish.

Winter quickly comes up and licks the cum from Tsuki's face as the two swap it in their mouths in front of you. "Thanks; that was amazing," Minjeong kindly says. "I can't wait to rock your boat again," Tsuki completes.

The girls get dressed as you bring them back to where it all started. As they leave your boat at the yacht club, it seems like another typical fashion event for the brand they were endorsing.

But the truth is, in that day, Kim Minjeong and Fukutomi Tsuki mastered the art of escape. 

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I'd like to give a shoutout to @haiabd as they wrote a very similarly themed smut also featuring Winter and that boat event from last month. We went with slightly different focuses and partners (I picked Tsuki, they picked Chaewon, their smut features anal, mine doesn't). But every time something like this happens, I mention the other author. In the end, I wholeheartedly agree with them when they started their story saying: "These Winter pics are so good so I had to write about them", so I did the same.

[howlettsangel]

— pretty girl

tags/warnings: smut mdni 18+ sugar daddy!dofp logan howlett x f!reader, implied age gap (reader in her 20s), logan is some sort of ceo, probably ooc logan, a little pda, use of pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, pretty girl duh), needy logan, he's kinda demanding, dry humping, fingering and short foreplay, unprotected p in v, creampie RAHH, implied aftercare

a/n: i'm so awful at smut so bear with me. i'm definitely not proofreading so there will be mistakes in grammar and punctuation

wc: 1.8k

For months your friends had been trying to convince you that having a sugar daddy wasn't rock bottom. It made an excuse to get spoiled by an older guy, have your rent paid, get a new wardrobe. The whole works in exchange for him to get a few nights of shitty sex and cheat on his wife. And you believed them, until you started talking to Logan.

He wasn't married with kids or a family to fall back on like some of the other men you were used to. And, he insisted from the get go that he wasn't just doing it for himself or for your body, that it was his way of "giving back." Of course, he never refused it when you offered, but it wasn't what his mind was set on. Still, you always tried to call his bull.

It was good to begin with, the whole sugar daddy and sugar baby thing. He took you to dinner every other night, lunch if he wasn't busy with work, bought you whatever new thing you were asking for or set you money so you could get it yourself. He pampered you like no other. But then you both started to get comfortable, and that's what scared you.

It started as simple things like spending the night at his place or wearing his clothes after a long night together which eventually became a daily thing. Texting and calling just because you missed his voice, going with him to work events, telling friends about him behind his back. And the worst part was the fact that he didn't stop you. He wanted to let you in.

There was a big client dinner coming up in the spring that Logan was expected to attend, and he was going to make sure you showed up on his arm. So, like any gentleman would, he took you out to shop for dresses. A favorite past time for the two of you.

He sat on the small loveseat outside of your fitting room, waiting for you to show him the next dress option. It was taking longer than he expected, which wasn't very surprising considering the other times you've gone on shopping sprees, but he still tended to worry.

"You need help baby?" he called from his place outside the curtain. Your focus never faltered as you stared at your reflection in the floor length mirrors, fiddling with a particularly stubborn zipper. Hearing his voice, you peeked out from behind the divider, a pout stuck on your face as you held the fabric over your chest.

"The zipper won't go up," you explained, and Logan was pushing himself to stand without a moment's notice.

"Seems like you've been in there forever, girl," he teased lightly as he guided you back into the privacy of the fitting room. He stood behind you in the cramped space and inspected the issue. His fingers fumbled while toying with the zipper, tugging it down a few times before it eventually managed to slide up. "There."

"How do I look?" you hummed, hands sliding over your sides as you admired your own appearance in the rather form fitting dress. Logan grumbled a sound of approval and leaned in closer to your ear, his big hands squeezing either side of your biceps.

"Looks gorgeous," he murmured, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his beard tickling your skin. He's said that about every single dress you've tried on so far, but there was something about this one he enjoyed a bit more.

It hugged your body in all of his favorite places, the ones you seemed to hate at times but he never saw the reason behind those insecurities. His hands slid down to your hips as he pulled your back flush against his chest, lifting his head so he could get a better look at your reflection.

"This one's my favorite," he confirmed, punctuating his sentence with a nod.

"You've said that about the last three," you huffed amusedly. At this point it seemed like he was eager to get the trip over with.

"This one's really my favorite," he repeated, a small grin forcing it's way onto his lips. He wouldn't lie to himself, he did want to get you home, but he would be patient if you had more options.

"You're not just saying that so we can leave?" you added as a way of calling him out, but it was more of a tease than anything. When you did that he dismissed your words with an eye roll and patted your hip.

"You got more to try?" he questioned as he moved to give you a bit of space, not quite outside of the fitting room just yet. You shook your head no and decided he might be right, that this one was your favorite too. It was the perfect color, one that brought out your eyes, and it was a style that felt appropriate for a fancy dinner with a group of old fashioned men.

Logan gave you a few minutes to change back into the clothes you had on before, waiting near the registers for you to come out with the dress. The crowd of people in the store had dissipated as it got later in the afternoon, so it didn't take long for you to find him across the store. He extended a hand to pull you in against his side, giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

"Ready?" he asked, to which you answered promptly through a hum. You couldn't help it, how your body instantly molded itself against his, tucked safely under his arm.

It felt almost addicting when you watched him swipe his card through the scanner. Sure it seemed mundane, but it never got old. With other guys, other sugar daddies, it felt like they were just doing you a favor. With Logan, he made it an act of love.

The drive back to Logan's place was painfully slow. You agreed to come spend the night, and that usually ended the same way every time. His hand stayed on your thigh in a familiar gesture, that same touch lingering against the small of your back as he took you upstairs to the penthouse floor.

It was a nice place, nicer than what you were used to. Before you could even take in the details, you heard the door shut with a kick of Logan's boot, his hands wandering over you within a matter of seconds. It was startling at first, but welcomed.

"Logan–" you gasped out softly as the force of his body pinned you to the wall of the entry way. He kissed down your throat hurriedly, sucking soft splotches of pink into every inch of your skin.

"Felt like we were in that store for fuckin' hours," he practically growled, holding your body up with little strength as he continued his ministrations down your collarbone.

A pathetic moan left your lips, your head falling to his shoulder as you gripped the pleats of his suit jacket. His knee was pressed right against the growing heat between your thighs, his quickening pace only serving to intensify your desire. Your hips starting to grind against the clothed fabric of his thigh and your back arching off the wall, that was his undoing.

"Greedy thing, huh?" he purred into your ear as he pulled your legs around his waist to carry you down the hall. His tone was condescending, hypocritical even with the way he was itching to free you of your clothes.

He tossed you against the firm mattress settled in the middle of his bedroom, your body helplessly splayed over the sheets as he crawled over you. You spread your thighs so he could settle between them, his weight supported by his forearm as he reached down to unbutton your shorts.

There were no words shared while he undressed you and himself in succession, just heavy pants and a few needy groans escaping both of your mouths. He tossed the fabrics into a messy pile before sinking back into the mattress on top of you. He coated his fingers in the slick of your arousal, one of the thick digits easing gently into your entrance.

A moan tumbled out of your throat, his lips peppering against yours to hush your needy sounds. "I know, darlin'," he mumbled against your mouth, scissoring you open at a torturous pace. Even with his impatience, he still wanted to savor every moment as much as he could. It had wore him thin trying not to put his hands all over you while out shopping.

"Please," you whined, begging him silently for more relief than just his hand. It was embarrassing how easy it was for him to have you squirming.

"Shh," he hushed you again, his fingers leaving their place inside of you so he could soon replace them with his cock. With a few mindless strokes to work himself up his weight was pressing against your pelvis, bottoming out before you could protest the intrusion.

Your soft little uh uh uh's punctuated his thrusts, your back arched into his palms as he held you up off the mattress. He felt the small tremble in your legs and watched as your head tilted to the side and buried itself into his pillows.

"Ah ah ah, keep those eyes on me." He coaxed them back with a gentle tug at your chin, his thumb swiping your pouty bottom lip.

You could feel him press deep inside you, one hand managing to find your clit between the valley of your bodies. Your toes curled and uncurled into the sheets, your hands doing the same as you fisted the bedding beneath your head.

Logan saw every twitch and squirm you made beneath him, his hungry eyes peering into your half lidded ones.

"Gonna come," you babbled softly, your hand reaching out to grip his bicep. He hissed at the sting of your tight grip, but the pace of his hips only increased at your warning.

"Yeah? Gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he mocked in your ear, his voice breathless as the pad of his thumb fondled harder at your clit. "Go on, I've gotcha."

When the base of his cock hit your body once more, you came hard around him. He groaned at the soft sensation of your walls fluttering, his own movements slowing into single, heavy strokes, before they came to a pounding finish.

Your nails dug further into his arm as he painted your insides, both of your bodies falling limp against the mattress. Every part of you felt heavy from your release, still pulsing as Logan's hands forced your hips to stay pressed against him.

"Fuckin' beauty," he growled into your ear, praising your spent body. He helped you shift comfortably into his arms, his hands uncharacteristically gentle as he pulled the duvet over top of your entangled forms.

"My pretty girl," you heard him whisper again, the sweet name he used on you putting a smile on your weary face.

tags: @ellaynaonsaturn @ellaynahowlett @nymphoniah @all-of-these-vampires @blah-blah-bee

[alchemistc]

She's not ...entirely sure this is a good idea.

Even as she raises her hand to knock she's second guessing herself.

The thing is - the thing is there aren't a lot of people in her life who don't take one look at her and make assumptions. She's petite, she's blonde, her face is eerily symmetrical.

When people see her, they think they know her.

Cap is great. The sort of man she wishes she'd known more of, growing up. The kind of man who stood in front of the entire crew and doled out cleaning duties and cooking duties to his men and didn't blink an eye handing her inventory, but pulled aside a guy six years into the job to inform him that if he made a snide comment about having to do Mona's job again he'd be looking for a new station. Respectfully.

The kind of man who let his crew cut loose and created a kind of family behind those bay doors, but didn't take their shit when they got out of hand

The kind of man who looked at her and just saw another firefighter.

Cap is great.

It's just...

Well, the guys don't go to Cap for advice, and she knows once upon a time that kind of hurt his feelings, but this feels like one of those things his husband is better equipped to handle.

("It's because he's older, right?" Cap had asked once, failing miserably at holding in a pout while the team around him demolished the roast he'd obviously spent hours prepping the night before.

Fred had still had half a loaf of bread in his mouth when he explained that talking to their boss about their sex lives just felt like an HR nightmare.

"So you go to my boyfriend instead?")

Mona's still considering turning heel and leaving the way she came when she hears whistling around the side of the house, and before she can make a break for it, Cap's husband is rounding the corner of the porch, winding his hands in a grease rag, and he's catching sight of her, raising a brow, slowing his steps.

He must see the panicked look in her eye.

"I can turn back around and pretend you were never here," he murmurs, the slightest hint of a smile on his face, and Mona feels every ounce of flight just seep from her bones.

Yeah. Okay. She gets why the guys all think he's the one to go to when they've royally fucked something up.

There's an ease to him, a gentleness that she knows for a fact was hard fought.

"No, I..."

The brow ticks up a little more.

"I just found a new sour Evan won't touch with a ten foot pole, if you're gonna be here a minute," Tommy says, and any resistance left vanishes. Mona's been to enough of Cap's barbecues to know his husband always has the best beer in the county.

"Yeah, okay."

Tommy crosses the length of the porch and glances glumly at his greasy hands. "You mind grabbing the door? Evan throws a fit every time I leave fingerprints behind."

She's interrupting his day, she realizes. He's a weird sort of semi-retired - flies for the county sometimes during wildfire season, flips classic cars from their huge ass garage around the side of the house, spends a month teaching courses to new pilots every year out of state and it's always the crankiest they ever get to see Cap. People charter his chopper, sometimes, although lately it seems like he only keeps the thing around so he can take Cap up to watch spectacular sunsets because they're the most sickeningly perfect couple she's ever met.

Mona grabs the door. Shuffles in ahead of him when he shows no signs of moving, and makes her way down the hall to the kitchen because she's been here enough times by now not to feel as weird about how welcoming they both were right away.

He uses his rag to pull open the sink cabinet and grab the heavy duty soap from underneath to wash his hands.

The scent rolls over her in waves, throwing her back about fifteen years to her parents tiny little apartment over the shop, her father's rough and callused hands soaking under shitty water pressure, the grease under his fingernails he could never quite scrape clean.

Tommy tips a chin at the fridge. "Grab me one, too? Bottle openers on the side."

There's an ease to the way he says it, like this is a normal occurrence, like Mona's ever stepped foot across the threshold for anything that wasn't a station-wide get together. She supposes for him it probably is. At least a few of the guys act like he's their dad, wandering into the house without even bothering to knock, gathering around him when he shows up at the station like lost little puppies.

He's used to it.

He hums his thank you when she sets one of the bottles on the island beside him, and Mona glances around to distract herself while he's drying his hands.

A couple dozen pictures of Cap and Tommy, in various stages of their lives.

The fridge is plastered with pictures. A couple she recognizes as Cap's sister and brother-in-law, two adorable kids at their knees. A guy standing next to a kid wearing a cap and gown and leaning on two crutches. An older man she's lovingly heard Cap refer to as basically his dad - the reason they eat better at work than anyone has the right to. A couple she'd seen at the wedding, standing with a kid she remembers Cap staring at like he was seeing a ghost. There's so many people that she doesn't know, but - there's the station pictures too. Candids of the boys when they were living in the Captain's house, back when Cap first got here, when she'd still been a year and a half from graduating high school and didn't have a fucking clue what she wanted to do with her life. The Christmas that Fred had cursed them with the q-word and Tommy had spent the day in the station kitchen putting together a meal they'd all stuck around to eat after shift despite the exhaustion seeping into their bones, all of A shift crammed together around a tiny wobbly table to squeeze into the picture.

She gets stuck on the picture of the two of them in hard hats, building what she's pretty sure is the wrap around porch she's snuck a few cigarettes on when the house gets a little overwhelming. There's something about the way they're looking at each other that makes her want to cry, a little.

Fuck.

Damnit.

Tommy leans over to tap the picture with a grin. "We had a blowout fight the night before our buddy took this picture," he says, the deep grooves of his smile stretched wide across his face. "I'd left my job and sold my house six months earlier to chase him across the country and he was convinced if he didn't find a way to turn every half-thought-out desire of mine into a reality that I was gonna vanish in the night. He bought the lumber without telling me and I came home to him and his best friend ripping out the stairs to the front door."

Mona's instantly drawn in.

He makes them sound like a train wreck.

If she's got the math right, that was her senior year. She remembers seeing them around town and thinking they were annoyingly sweet. She remembers her mom baking Tommy a casserole for the excuse of getting all the gossip about the Captain's mysterious paramour so she had the upper hand at her book club that weekend.

Tommy taps another. The two of them under a pergola, the expressions on their faces so disgustingly smitten Mona remembers wanting to blow a raspberry in the middle of the ceremony. She'd been so convinced she'd never let herself be so fucking dependent on another person for her happiness.

"He kept it a secret that he'd invited my father to the wedding until the night before. I spent most of my night with a punching bag instead of Evan." He points out another photo from the wedding. "The photographer tried to murder me when she saw my knuckles. Evan could barely fit the ring over my finger."

"Who snitched?" Mona asks, narrowing her eyes, and Tommy grins, huffs a laugh. He gestures vaguely at her face.

"You've got the look," he tells her, which doesn't really explain a whole lot. "And none of Evan's crew ever makes their first visit anything but love life issues."

"It could be something else," Mona argues, gesturing with her beer, and one of his brows ticks up. "It's not, but it could be."

"You want something to eat? Evan's been experimenting with cakes again, and the red velvet white chocolate escaped the discards."

"Is my so called look that bad?"

He grins. "Mostly I'm looking for an excuse for cake before noon."

Christ, he's good at this. It's actually a little eerie, how quickly he's set her at ease. It's been over a year and the guys still call her prickly when they think she can't hear them, but she never calls them out on it because they're not wrong. It takes her forever to warm up to people.

"Is that how this usually works? You butter us up with Cap's food and get us to spill our guts?"

He's already digging plates from a cabinet next to the stove. She can't see his expression, but she can picture the grin on his face. "Usually they raid my fridge and put their feet up on my coffee table before I've fully registered that they're here. It's sort of a novelty to get to act like a host in my own home."

That checks out, if she's being honest. They're all a bunch of rabid animals who've been emboldened by Cap's open door policy and his infectious smile and his incredibly hot and talented husband. She's never quite sure if the guys want to be him or screw him - not that Tommy's ever looked twice at anyone who wasn't Cap.

"I think I'm broken," Mona admits, the words coming out in a rush, her eyes on the dutch oven tucked under one of the wide kitchen windows.

Tommy slides a slice of fucking delicious looking cake her way and takes a swig of his beer. Waits.

Mona reaches for the fork and spills her guts.

---

"Oh, hey Mo," Cap says, stumbling his way over the threshold, eyes lighting on his husband and his expression going gooey.

Tommy broke into the rack of Banquet's an hour ago and Mona's pretty sure she's one with the couch. It's a good couch. When she'd told Tommy so twenty minutes ago there'd been a gleam in his eye she didn't understand.

She's still a little too buzzed to worry about the fact that she's oozing into the cushions and emotionally wrecked. She hasn't cried in front of another human being in at least six years. Tommy's probably a wizard, or something.

"Everything good?" Cap asks, and she knows that they've got a sort of agreement - unless Tommy thinks something is gonna affect the work, whatever Tommy talks about with them doesn't reach Cap's ears.

"Men," Mona huffs, and Cap pauses, shoots another look into the living room.

"Yeah. Men."

"No Cap. Men," she repeats, and he nods, a corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Oh. Men," he enunciates, and Mona feels the scowl on her face grow wider when the two of them share a sappy look. It's super fucking inconvenient to be surrounded by the proof of true fucking love when she's trying to convince herself she's already too jaded to find it. "If you wanna stay for dinner I can tell you the story of the time Tommy tried to leave me because he thought he could make my decisions for me."

Even Tommy's scowl is sappy as hell. It's gross. Shes having a hard time convincing herself it's not the best thing she's ever seen.

She tips her neck against the back of the couch to glance up at him. "Who snitched?"

Cap's laugh filters through the room, and right across from her, where the whole world and Mona can see, Tommy's expression goes warm and vulnerable, like the sound has soothed a few decades of wounds. "Word of advice? Never leave Harry with a secret and a crowded room."

[postracehair]

trust me

max verstappen x reader | 2.3k

after an incredible (and wet) weekend in brazil, you have a confession to make.

cw: a loving relationship! discussion of anxiety/fear/worrying about your race car driver bf, healthy communication, and softness galore.

a/n: being a wag must be so stressful. like, damn! also, rain races stress me out, personally. this fic is about that.

__

The triple header comes to an end in the best way possible.

Max Verstappen wins the São Paulo Grand Prix from a 17th-place start! It's the stuff of dreams. The fist around your heart unclenches just a little bit as you watch him smiling, roaring, hoisting his well-earned trophy aloft. It's your best day in a long time, watching your darling boyfriend like that, and you celebrate with everyone late into the night. The Championship battle looms in the background but tonight is about the hard work from the weekend. The stress, the frustration, the damn rain. All of it worth it for the pride you all feel right now.

But what comes after -- that, you can admit, you enjoy even more. Three weeks until Las Vegas and Max and the team have plenty of work to do before then, but for now? For now, it's this: rest.

Everyone gets to go home, finally. And for you, home is wherever Max is. You've spent the first few days of the break thus far at his place. On the floor with the cats, on the couch watching movies. In his bed, sleeping, sometimes, other times... not so much. Hours and hours just being together. You'll have plenty of time for this once the season ends but you can never get enough of him.

You're on the couch, sprawled across the length of it with a book in hand. It's a good one, so much so that you don't notice Max until he taps your ankle and you jump.

"Jesus," you gasp. His lips are pulled up at one corner in the precursor to a full grin, sweatpants slung low enough that you can see the branded band of his underwear between the drawstrings and the hem of his t-shirt. "Where did you come from?"

"Watching race replays," he says with a shrug. "Scooch." You tug your legs back and sit up a little, bookmarking your page as he rounds the couch and plops down where your feet were.

"Max," you whine. "I like to watch those, too. So you can do that thing where you narrate like, every second." You're teasing, but only a little. For all the jokes about "maxplaining," you really do love how he explains things. He tells you what he was thinking at every turn, what the trick is, how long it took him to get it right. He points out his mistakes and those of the other drivers. All of it thoroughly and with enthusiasm, answering your questions like you're the best student he's ever had.

"Yeah, well," he says, sinking into the couch, arm stretched across the cushions towards you. Your eyes rake over the line of his bicep as he talks. "You don't like rain races very much. Wasn't sure you'd want to see it again."

That gets your attention. "How did you know that?" You've never told him outright that they stress you out. It's really important to you that you keep your cool at the track, that you don't do anything to let on that he should worry about you.

But you should know better, it seems.

"I can tell," Max says, looking right at you. "I pay attention."

You hum, not sure what to say. "You've got me there," you confess. "I'm sorry."

"Hey," he tuts. "Why the apology? You can feel however you want to. This weekend was complicated."

He feels too far away. You set your book on the ground and shove your toes under this thigh. He keeps his eyes on your face but you fuss with the hem of your t-shirt rather than look back.

"They're exciting. Rain races, I mean." You sigh. "But I can't help but worry, Max. From the garage, it's so --"

You lose track of your words because Max grabs hold of your legs and tugs them over his thighs as he moves closer to you, almost crowding you against the arm of the couch. He reaches for your collarbone to pick some lint from your shirt, his other arm slung across your calves.

"Were you scared?" he asks. "This weekend, I mean."

Frankly, you avoid telling him things like this because you don't want to distract him. You don't want to detract from his performance in any way and maybe that's selfish, because you know he's very good at what he does and how you feel isn't going to derail his weekend. But you know he loves you, and you know how deeply he feels things. How much he wants to be a good partner, a good driver, a good man. And you try really hard to let him know that he is all of those things.

The reality of your position in his life is that there will always be people who heavily imply that your presence, your actions, your choices could be at fault. It's ludicrous -- Max has said so many times -- but it makes you hype-aware. You don't want to overstep. It's something you know you should articulate to him properly, but you know he'll be upset that you think you can be anything but a good part of his life. It's an endless cycle.

"Hey," he says, mistaking your silence for emotion. "Liefje, I'm fine." He reaches for you, cupping your cheek with a warm hand. You look up at him and find him frowning.

"I know," you say, leaning into his palm. "I know you are. I just -- I don't want it to sound like I'm a whining baby or something."

"Whining baby?" Max gently rubs the skin under your eye with his thumb. "Psh. We've got some of those on track. You couldn't come close to them if you tried."

That gets a laugh out of you and he cracks a smile at the small victory.

You sigh. "I was scared," you admit, voice soft. Max presses a little closer to you, his hand falling from your face to catch yours, fingers twining together.

"Are you always scared?" he asks. "You're more tense on rain weekends, I can tell that much. But you've never really talked about this. I guess I--" He frowns again. "I've never really asked you."

"That's okay," you say. "It's nothing, really."

Blue eyes bore into yours. "No, I want to know," he presses. "Please, tell me?"

You tip your head back a little, eyes on the ceiling. How to say it?

"I guess I'm always a little scared, yeah," you say. "I don't know how I wouldn't be."

He tugs on your hand so you'll look at him. "What is it, do you think?" The question comes out in his typical way. This must be how he is in driver briefings, you think fleetingly. Max is analytical, methodical, always looking for the root of the problem so he can understand it and adapt.

But how do you explain this?

"Well, it's a dangerous sport," you explain. "As you know. And I -- Max, I love you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

The furrow of his brow lessens a bit and he presses a light kiss to the back of your hand. Your stomach flutters, even after all this time.

But Max has no time for your mooning, apparently. "Were you scared before we knew each other?" he asks.

You think about it. "It's different, I guess. I was worried, generally. For all of you. I'm still worried for all of you, but --"

His eyebrow quirks and he fails to hide a cheeky smile. "Me the most?"

You roll your eyes and squeeze his hand. "You the most. But don't tell Carlos that."

Max tuts. "So, now it's just worse? You feel it more?"

Nodding, you try to explain. "I don't even like watching on TV, now, because I'm so far away. I feel so helpless."

You can't make it to every race but you try your hardest, not only to support Max but for your own sanity. It's easier to calm yourself down when you're around other people who believe in him, when you have access to all the details and when he's only a few steps away when he's out of the car.

"I don't want you to be worried," he says, softly. "You don't let on that you are when we say goodbye before the race, aside from being a little tense."

One of your favorite pieces of race weekends -- those few moments when all of his attention is on you. He makes sure you have everything you need and leaves you with a kiss and a smile and a see you later. His confidence and his competence are like balms.

"When I'm looking at you, I'm not as stressed," you say, a bit shy. "You're very good at your job, you know. And your confidence is convincing."

"I know," he says, seriously. "That's why I know it'll be fine. Do you not know that?"

If he was less determined, you'd ask him to drop it, since you're starting to feel embarrassed. But you know he won't let it lie.

"I know it, too, Max." You reach for his face to push back some fringe from his forehead. "I'll always be worried about you, though. You get in the car and drive away and I just -- sit there. And wait for you to come back."

He frowns, deeper this time. You keep your hand on him, cupping his jaw and running your thumb along his stubble.

"And I love it. You know I was a fan before I met you and it's a dream to be there to watch you race. I love seeing you do crazy things like win from p17. It's so much fun."

He knows this about you. You've got a bit of a reputation for your facial expressions in the Red Bull garage, always the first on your feet when he overtakes, jumping up and down when he extends his lead. It's an infectious kind of joy and energy and you lean into it every time, even if your stomach is churning with anxiety.

Max is quiet for a few moments. He covers your hand with his and leans into it further.

"You trust me, right?"

"Of course," you say right away. "Always."

"I've never really thought about it," he says, slowly. "I mean, in the car. I don't worry about you because I'm not worried, so I just thought you knew not to be, too."

"I'll always worry, Max. Even though I trust you."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Your cheeks heat and you look away from him, pulling your hand free to cradle it in your lap.

"You've got a million other things to worry about besides me," you say. "I don't want to distract you."

Max says your name with a scoff, literally waving his hand as if swatting away your silly notions. "Distract me? Come on," he says. "I wouldn't be a three-time world champion if I could get so easily distracted." He leans into your space, nosing at your jaw. "Even if you are very distracting."

You allow the attention for a few moments before pushing him back with a laugh. His cheeks are flushed, hair a bit of a mess, like after he takes off his helmet. And, god, he looks relaxed. You're so proud of him you can hardly stand it. The season is almost over and you know he's got a lot of work ahead of him, and you've got a lot of worrying. But he's motivated, and you know he can win. You know he'll come back to you.

Max leans his head back on the couch and casts his gaze sideways at you, nose scrunched. "I can't fix this, can I? You're still going to worry."

He sounds so resigned, so disappointed in himself that you tug on his hand so he'll get closer. This time, you frame his face with your hands and kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. Both of you sigh into it, and you drag your mouth along his cheek until you reach his ear.

"I'm still going to worry," you whisper. "But I love you and I trust you. And I know it'll be okay."

Max sighs and presses his forehead to your shoulder, practically pulling you into his lap so he can wrap his arms around you.

"You better hope it doesn't rain for the rest of the season," he mumbles.

"That damn VSC," you groan, pulling back from him a bit. "I was going to tear my hair out!"

Max laughs. "It kept things interesting," he says lightly. "Rain isn't really a problem for me, schatje, you know this --"

"Because you're Dutch, I know, Max." You roll your eyes. "Even Fernando couldn't keep it together! I mean, the gasps from the garage when --"

The seriousness of your conversation fades as you trade tidbits about the race -- you've done this already, hashed it out in the hotel room and the flight home and in bed since Sunday. Max watches you talk, elbow braced on the couch and his head resting in his hand. His eyes sparkle and you know you're amusing him as he corrects you on the turn names and who went in the wall when. Max loves you: you've never doubted this. He loves you and he cares about how you feel and doesn't want you to be worried.

And while you will be, because you love him, you know that it'll be alright.

"Hey," Max says, interrupting your opinions about start procedures. "I love you, okay? Thank you for worrying about me."

"Graag gedaan," you say. Well, you try to say. Max laughs and corrects your pronunciation. You're welcome, he says, over and over, a kiss to your cheeks, your nose, your forehead each time. Ik houd van je. Your lips, your neck, your jaw.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[missadangel]

The Heart of Rome (Marcus Acacius x OC)

All Chapters List

VIII. The Lust, Threat, Tension (+18, Smut, MDNI)

De omnibus dubitandum.

Everything must be doubted…

C.S.

The warmth of the morning sun hits your skin and wakes you up, freeing you from the torturing effects of the strange dream and bringing you back to reality. You hadn't opened your eyes yet, trying to start the new day happily by reliving last night's memories. You heard the first chirping of birds, then a cheerful rooster, then the murmur that you thought came from the small courtyard. Then you felt a gentle but insistent pressure between your eyebrows so you decided to open your eyes.

You were surprised to notice that Marcus had his index finger just above your face. Your head was resting on his arm so you lifted your head to look at his face, he was smiling.

"What were you dreaming about?" You felt his fingers tracing the contours of your spine.

"How did you know I was dreaming?"

"I was watching you sleep and your peaceful face suddenly changed. Was it a bad dream?”

It was not the kind of dream you'd want to talk about, especially on such a romantic morning. Despite all the unpleasant feelings, you smiled at him. "No, it was just a silly dream, I don't even remember it," you lied. 

“Hmm,” He seemed convinced. “How do you feel?”

You made yourself put the dream completely out of your mind to answer sincerely. "Reborn and grateful,” your cheeks burned as you remembered every single moment about last night.

“Reborn?”

“As if my life has just started now,” you explained." It may sound silly, but it feels like everything is better and new. The sky seems brighter, and the sun's light seems to give off a different glow. It's like my life has meaning now.”

A boyish grin appeared on his face. Every time he smiles like that, it blows your mind as if he wasn't the same man who days ago fought fearlessly in the arena, slaughtering gladiators. “Then I must be silly too, because I feel just like you.”

He leaned over and kissed you gently. Your hand went to his hair as you enjoyed this moment, running your fingers through it. You felt that the effect of your dream was completely gone now, Marcus' presence was like an invisible shield, keeping your worries and fears away.

Then, he began to kiss you more passionately, his mouth greedy and hungry for more. His hands move to grab you behind the waist and pull you closer to him. Your heart raced as you realised what he was doing. He pinned you to the bed with his muscular body, leaving no gap. His hands roamed from your hips to your legs, not hurried but eager. This time you opened your legs instinctively, without any concern but with a lot of desire. You could feel him smiling beneath your lips, his light breath through his nose caressing your cheek. You let out a moan of pleasure as he teased you with his touch, brushing against your walls. You clenched the sheets as Marcus' full length entered you roughly, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. He grasped your hand and guided it to his own neck, his eyes sparkling with desire. As his thrusts quickened, you instinctively found yourself digging your fingertips into the back of his neck and back, unable to resist the incredible sensation. Then, he swiftly changed positions, leaning against the head of the bed before pulling you in front of him, your breasts brushing his chest, and causing your back to turn towards the room so you were facing him. You gasped with delight at the sudden shift. He eagerly prodded himself at your entrance once again. This was completely new to you, and you opened your eyes in surprise and looked at him. He smiled mischievously.

"Each other's likes, remember?" he purred into your ear, his hot breath showering your cheeks.

His free hand moved to your hip, pushing you down as he led you on the awaiting shaft underneath.

"A new thing for you to learn, my love," he whispered again, his eyes alight with excitement.

You giggled naughtily. You wrapped your arms around his thick neck and gave yourself to him, feeling safe and excited. This time, it went smoothly. Your wet walls accommodated him with a slick sound while a deep groan was forced out from your lungs. Your back arched at the sight of his full length getting inside you once more, almost as if trying to ease the penetration. Exhaling pleasurably, he didn't waste time as he resumed moving, playing, licking, and sucking your breasts in the process. From this angle, he could push himself deeper with less effort, reaching your sweet spot with more precision and force. Your body bounced up and down at each thrust, eager for Marcus to have you even harder. But as this new position puts more pressure on your walls, on your sweet spot, you are overwhelmed by the sudden wave of pleasure and quickly reach your climax. As you moaned loudly, Marcus couldn't help but snicker and kiss you passionately. "So impatient?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you were pleasantly surprised that your body wanted more. You never thought you'd enjoy it so much that you'd want more every time. Was this lust? It was certainly amazing.

“Get ready for more, princess,” he cooed.

As if in approval, you felt your walls stretching with a pleasurable warmth. He gripped your hips tightly lifted and thrusted hard. He repeated, and then repeated again. He was almost at his limit, and he knew from experience it wouldn't have been long by now. But was determined to make you reach your climax once more. This time his strong fingers dug into your back down to your hips, his hot tongue running between your breasts as you took in short, sharp breaths, gasping when you felt his teeth on them. Soon he was combining his force with a faster pace. His loud moans became mixed with yours, like music in your ears.

A few more strong shoves, and he realized he couldn't hold back any longer, not matter how hard he tried. So he came hard with a wild groan which turns you on hard and thus brings you more pleasure. You threw your head back as he filled you with his warm liquid, sending you over the edge for the second time. As your breathing became regular, he kissed you again, this time adoringly. He broke the kiss, and pressed his forehead to yours, both of you still breathing heavily. "Now that you've completed your duty of pleasing your husband," his fingers slid down the curve of your spine, "Perhaps a hot bath would be a welcome treat, my lady?"

You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. "That sounds like a wonderful idea, General."

He kissed you one last time before getting out of bed.

Tullia and Norell had already prepared your bath, as it was the morning of the wedding night of their Dominus and Domina. The Balneum was filled with a warm, steamy atmosphere, gently blended with the subtle aromas of various flowers floating on the surface of the hot water in the tub. Marcus helped you in and then sat you on his lap. You were amused by the way he treated you as if you were going to run away at any moment. You wouldn't have changed the feeling of being in his arms for anything; it was so wonderful and simple, as easy and natural as breathing. It was as if your bodies had been created for each other by the God Prometheus.

The soft movements of yours caused the lavender flowers on the surface of the water to dance in unison. You picked one and placed it in your palm, leaning your head back against Marcus' chest and inhaling its refreshing and comforting scent. He gently lifted your hair and massaged oil into your neck with his strong fingers. As you relaxed in the tub, enjoying a blissful moment of tranquility, the only sound that could be heard was the soothing burbling of the hot water.

You suddenly felt you missed his voice and his face. It was a pretty unusual feeling, missing him even when you were with him. You turned towards him and offered to give him a massage, just as he had given you one. Your hands traveled over his broad shoulders, neck, and arms, stopping at the wound on his shoulder. It was not fully healed. You swallowed hard as you remembered how sharp the sword was that the gladiator was holding. He noticed your frown and smiled, wrapping his arms around your waist. "I've been hurt worse, so don't worry. Besides, you healed all my wounds completely last night and this morning.” He smirked.

His implication made your cheeks flush, and you smiled shyly. Marcus caressed your cheeks with his wet hand, which smelled like lavender. "You're so beautiful when you blush," he murmured.

You were sure your cheeks turned completely red when you felt him hard between your thighs, right under your hips.

He laughed. “I suppose that this is my way of blushing to you my lady.”

In one quick move, he grabbed you by the hips and lifted you up, pulling closer, causing some of the water to flow out of the tube along with the lavenders, splashing the floor.

Marcus seemed to be quite passionate, having you there, in the water. He didn't seem to tire at all; he was still as thrilled as ever. As strong and determined as he was in battle, he was just the same when making love to you. You wondered if there was a limit to his lust and how much you could keep up with it. This unfamiliar physical pace was so beautiful that you never wanted it to end, no matter how exhausted you felt afterward.

You didn't do anything different on the rest of your first day as newlyweds. Marcus had asked them to bring the food to the room, and you didn't really want to get out of bed with the sheets freshly changed. When he called you to the table for something to eat, you saw Mau at the entrance to the balcony. You realised how much you missed her and ran to take her in your arms. She was purring as she played with your damp hair with her paw.

“It seems like she's pleased to see you again,” Marcus said.

You turned towards him, curious to know what he thought about cats.

“You look like you've met Mau.”

“Mau?' Did you name it? You never cease to amaze me, my lady.” He laughed.

“I had a cat like her in Egypt, she reminds me of it,” you ran your fingers through her black fur.

“We became good friends in your absence,” he said, pouring wine into his glass.

You raised your eyebrows. “I didn't know you liked cats, General.”

Marcus took a sip of his wine. "It.. Mau, keeps our kitchen pantry rat-free. She's a hunter. I'm grateful to her."

You smiled at him, appreciating the softer side of him that he lets you see.

“Come now, sit, you need to eat some food.”

You nodded and put Mau down, she was meowing, she must have smelt the food on the tray. You took a piece of food from the tray, went to the balcony, and put it on the ground. She meowed impatiently and quickly ran towards the food and started eating.

“I'm getting jealous of her,” Marcus complained.

You let out a little giggle and moved towards him. Just as you were about to sit down in the chair opposite him, he stopped you with a flourish of his hand. “Here,” he said, opening his arms wide and pointing to himself.

As you stared at him with confusion, he reached out grabbed your wrist, and pulled you to him, and you found yourself sitting on his lap. You looked at him, batting your eyelashes. His dark brown eyes stared intently into yours, and you felt your heart flutter. “When you look at me like that with your long eyelashes, it feels like an arrow through my heart,” he said with his velvety tone. You blinked again, “Like Cupid's arrow?”

He laughed gleefully. “Like Cupid's arrow,” he repeated. He pressed his forehead to yours and kissed the tip of your nose. “Now, my lady, allow me to feed you.” He took a spoonful of food from the plate on the tray and fed it to you. As you swallowed, you realised how hungry you were. Meanwhile, he was watching you intently. Then you took a piece of bread and brought it closer to Marcus. “I should too, feed my husband, shouldn't I? Open up, General.”

He smiled and opened his mouth. You watched as he chewed, your eyes wandering over his mouth and lips. It was a delight to watch.

While you two were enjoying your romantic lentaculum (breakfast), you decided to ask him about something that had been on your mind for a while. “If I may ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“When I first came here, I heard you'd been married and divorced before.”

Marcus slowed his mouth movements as he chewed his food and locked his eyes on the food on the tray. You regretted asking that question when the joy on his face gave way to seriousness. He nodded with a half smile. “That's correct. It was an arranged marriage. I was young and dumb.” There was disappointment and sadness in his voice.

“What happened?” you asked softly.

He swallowed slowly, then took a fig from the tray and split it in half. “My father didn't want me to join the army. He thought he could prevent it by marrying me off. He wanted me in the senate like him.” He peeled the fig and fed it to you.

“But you joined anyway?” You asked as you chewed the fig.

“I had to. It was the only way I could stay away from this villa.”

You looked at him with a hint of surprise in your eyes. Marcus responded to your expression with a smile, gently touching your cheek with his hand. “I never loved her. I tried so hard to, but it just wasn't meant to be. As it turned out, she was already in love with someone else.” He slid his hand into your hair, his fingers stroking it slowly from top to bottom as if combing it. “I tried to satisfy my unhappiness on the battlefield, and my physical needs as a man. You can imagine where.”

Your stomach hurt, but not because you swallowed your food without chewing. Suddenly you felt a wave of jealousy sweep through your body. As if the fact that he used to be married didn't torture you enough, now you were sure you will be tormented by the thought of him sleeping with who knows how many women in the whore house. Yes, you definitely regretted asking him that question.

“Did I upset you?” He put his hand on your knee and rubbed it softly.

You quickly recovered your expression, forcing a smile.

“No,” you shook your head. “Please continue, I wish to know everything about you.”

He narrowed his eyes and read your expression, then sighed and continued.

“Well, when I found out she was busy with her lover while I was on the battlefield.” His eyes darkened to black. “I killed him.” His voice was sharp, making you tense. However, you kept your expression still, locked in his eyes. “I divorced after my father died, and I had no one left in the villa. I was alone, a soldier widowed at a young age.” He forced a smile.

“It must be so hard for you. I'm so sorry.” Your voice cracked.

He placed his arm around you and kissed you on the shoulder. "There is no need for you to be sorry, my love. Everything is in the past now." He smiled gently as he stroked your upper arm. “I consider myself extremely fortunate that the gods brought me you. You have not only healed me physically but also emotionally.”

Your heart began to race with excitement as his lips traced a path over your shoulder once more. 'My beautiful Aurelia,' he whispered in your ear, his voice full of love and desire. You inhaled the delicious scent of lavender from his masculine skin, and you felt your eyes closing of their own accord. You felt his lips on yours, right where they belonged. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and you didn't care that the fork in your hand dropped to the floor as he kissed you passionately.  Marcus put one arm under your legs and took you in his arms. Without breaking the kiss, he stood up and rushed to the bed, your giggles echoing through the room.

The soft glow of sunlight that filtered through the window gently roused you from your slumber. As you listened to the birds outside, you became aware that you had perhaps lost track of time. You hadn't left the room for a day except to take a bath. You were having some pretty intense, passionate moments, and you spent the rest of the time discovering your bodies and their needs. As you yawned, you realised you were still tired. All the sexual activity between you and Marcus had made you feel more tired than ever. Your muscles were a little sore as if you had run a long distance without stopping. But it was still so good, being in this room with him, cut off from the outside world, was the best feeling you had ever had or could ever have.

When you opened your eyes and saw Marcus's stunning face right next to yours, you felt your sense of fatigue dissipate. He looked so peaceful asleep, almost as if he were a little boy. As you listened to his breathing, you found yourself wishing for a way to make this moment stop. If only you could stay in this room forever, just the two of you.

You were surprised to feel a warmth and a purring near your feet and looked up. Mau was peacefully sleeping on the sheets, curled up next to your feet. You were about to turn away so as not to disturb her when Marcus's arm reached out to pull you back. You felt his chest against your back and he buried his face in your hair.

“Are you trying to run away, beautiful?” he mumbles, still sleepy.

“Of course not, I-” He tightened his arm.

"I'll find you, no matter where you go, my love." He smells your hair, tickles your neck.

“I'm sure you will, General, I have no such intention.” You turned to him. Mau was awake by your movements, she yawned and stretched then jumped down from the bed.

“So, we’re going to stay in this room like, forever?” You ran your index finger along his collarbone.

“My lady, are you already bored with your husband?" He enquired cheerfully.

"Of course not," you said, looking at him. "How about you?"

"That's not even a possibility. You make the most delicious love noises, whimpers, giggles, and at times, little mewls. Your sweet scent compels me. You drive me crazy. I'll never get enough of you."

You snuggled against his chest contently and inhaled deeply.

He kissed your head, right at the top. "I would love to. Believe me." He said, his warm breath caressing your forehead. "To stay like this forever. I wish that it could be possible."

"Me too," you murmured.

With your head on his chest, eyes closed, listening to his heartbeat, he plays with your hair, letting a few strands brush his face and lips. You're both savoring the moment in your own ways.

Then he sighs. “Another hot bath?”

You nod without lifting your head from his chest. He smiles and sits up in bed, his hands on your shoulders.

“I'll leave afterward, I have to go to the barracks.” He leans down and kisses you on the lips. “But not without having breakfast with my beautiful wife, of course."

“Sounds great.” You smiled.

After a very hot bath with Marcus, he told the slaves to bring breakfast to the room again. Just like yesterday, you had another romantic breakfast together. Then he had to get ready, so you helped him put on the burgundy tunic he usually wore under his leather armour.

"Are you sure about this?" Marcus asked.

"As your wife, I want to dress you, including your armor. Can you teach me how?"

He pouted and smiled. “Hmm, alright then.”

He took the leather armour and came to you. "Hold it carefully, it might be heavy for your delicate arms." You stretched your arms forward with a determined look on your face. Marcus suppressed a smile by pursing his lips and handed you the armour. You were surprised by the weight of it and almost stumbled. Why was it so heavy? Marcus laughed. "Are you alright, my lady? If you want me to help you-"

“I'll manage, thank you.” You didn't want to give up, you tried to hold it with all your strength.

"If you wouldn't mind, could you keep holding it while I put on the focalia (scarf) first?"As he wrapped the focalia around his neck, you realized that he was taking too long. Was he stalling?

"Marcus," you said with a little whine in your voice. He let out a little laugh and then came over to you.

"You know, you could really benefit from building up your arm muscles a bit. They're a little on the skinny side, don't you think?"

"Are you really comparing your muscles to mine? That's not fair, General."

He leaned forward to put the armour over his head. "You just need to be strong enough to protect yourself." He took your hands and led them to the side of his armour where the leather straps were. "Make sure to tie it tight," he demanded.

“Enough to protect myself?” You asked as you tied the straps with great care. You got this part just fine. Marcus took hold of the armour as you tied it and made sure it was fitted snugly against his chest.

"Yes, I've been thinking about it for a while."

You looked at him with one eyebrow arched.

"You need to learn to protect yourself."

“Protect from what?” You asked him as you tied the other side.

He turned his head towards you. "From any danger, my lady."

"I am reassured to know you will protect me, as my husband." You said, smiling at him.

He smiled back, but it seemed as though he was pondering something. You looked at him when you finished tying. "The leather strips are next, aren't they? I'll get-“

He suddenly took hold of your wrist and pulled you towards him. "I will protect you from all harm, Aurelia. I would never let anything happen to you. But, if anything were to occur to me, or if..." It seemed as though he was seeking for the right words. "I would never want you to be left without defense when I am not there to help." His voice trembled slightly.

It was torture for him to imagine you like that.

“Nothing will happen to you, Marcus, I won't let it.” You felt a pang of sadness at his words.

He smiled and embraced you, you rested your head on his chest, feeling the surface of leather underneath your cheek. You placed your hand on the medusa, your fingers tracing her eyes.

"It would be wise for us to be prepared for anything, though. I'll teach you.”

“Learning to fight? I’m sure I'll be a terrible student.”

He laughed at your expression and kissed you gently on the lips, lovingly.

“Well, as a General, I am a good teacher.” He said, breaking the kiss.

You pouted your lips. He caressed your cheeks with the back of his hand. Then, as he was showing you how to put leather strips on the shoulder, there was a knock at the door. Cato came in and looked at him in surprise.

“Sir?”

"Cato, my dear wife dressed me in your absence.”

Marcus leaned on the edge of the desk and stretched his arm forward as you tied one of the armbands.

"I'm apologizing for that, sir." He bowed his head.

"Have you completed the task I instructed you to do earlier?”

As you tied the other armband, you wondered what it was but didn't think much about it. It was obviously something to do with his work.

"Yes sir.”

“Good.”

"Here." You said, your voice brimming with joy as you finished tying it.

"Thank you, my lady. I feel safer now that you've dressed me with your blissful hands." He kissed your hand and then your cheek, making you giggle.

Cato seemed embarrassed and looked away.

Marcus cleared his throat and stood up. "Let's get going, Cato," he said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

You also accompanied them as they exited the room. On your way down the stairs, you observed Norell sweeping the floor in the courtyard. When she saw you, she paused and bowed her head. Cato looked at Marcus as he descended the stairs. “Sir, if you'll excuse me, I have something to say.”

“Say it,” he said without looking at him, gesturing with his hand.

“I was wondering if I could start training with the troops as a real soldier now. Since my lady can help you with the armor.”

Marcus stopped and looked at him, a frown forming on his face. "A real soldier?" You think you're ready to join the army already?

Cato gave a little nod, looking a bit unsure.

Marcus gave a stern look and commanded, "Draw your sword!"

Cato was a bit confused at first, unsure of what to do, but he reached for his holster to draw his sword. But he was too wound up, his hand was shaking, and he had just reached for his sword when Marcus, with great skill, quickly drew his own sword and pointed it at his throat. "And you're dead."

“Gods!” Cato opened his eyes wide and took a deep breath.

You and Norell laughed at Cato's expression.

Marcus quickly sheathed his sword and punched him on the shoulder with his fist as if in a warning. "You can't even draw your sword properly. How can you join the troops and fight the enemy on the front line?"

He rubbed his shoulder. "I was caught off guard, sir. I apologise."

"We'll practice sword drawing today. Now, go and wait for me by your horse. Move!"

“Yes sir!”

You stepped towards Marcus as Cato left the courtyard. "That little rascal." He muttered.

"Aren't you being a little hard on him, General?"

"It's for his own good. He sometimes has a hard time keeping up, but he's a determined boy. I should pay a little more attention to his training now. I have been very busy with the other commanders lately."

You suddenly remembered what Julia told you earlier.

"Are you talking about your legates?"

"That's right."

"Do you have confidence in them?"

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "I'd be lying if I said yes, but why do you ask? May I know?"

"When I was staying at the Domus Severiana, Julia said something to me the night before the game." You swallowed as you remembered that moment. Marcus was listening intently. "She said there were soldiers in the Legates who could take your place if you lost the fight."

Marcus crossed his arms. "I think I have a guess." Then he put his hand on your shoulder. "I appreciate you letting me know," he kissed your forehead. "I need to take my leave now," his fingers ran through your hair. "Wait for my return." He leaned close to your ear. "I'll be looking forward to the night, my beautiful wife.” He gave you a wink and a smile, then turned and left the courtyard at a brisk pace.

You inhaled deeply feeling like you missed him already, but this was the only place you felt completely relieved. His home, your home. You turned towards Norell who was still sweeping the floor and seemed a little shy, so you went over and gave her a hug.

"I've missed you a lot," you said, stroking her ginger-coloured hair.

She was a little hesitant at first, but then she hugged you back. "I missed you too, Domina, I mean my lady, um, princess Aurelia.”

You chuckled. “Please, just call me Aurelia when it's just us.”

She nodded happily.

"Where is Decima?”

"She was feeding the chickens. Um, she told me everything, I'm glad you got her out of there.”

"It's good to see you've got on so well with her.”

A little later, Decima showed up in the courtyard. You called her over, held out your hands, and she held them. "How are you doing, my lady? Is the marriage going well?" She winked at you and gave you a quick look over. "You look a little tired."

You felt your cheeks burning, and Norell let out a little chuckle.

“Because you're keeping your Domina up, let me some rest.” You joked and sat down on the triclinium (couch) in the courtyard. Tullia came running over and looked at the girls angrily. You yawned involuntarily as you leaned on the couch.

"Don't you girls have any manners? Get your Domina something to drink now!”

Norell gave a gentle nod and poured you a glass of wine, which she then handed to you. "Here, my lady," she said, offering you.

"Is there anything else we can get you, Domina?" Tullia was quite a bit older than you, and you felt it would be inappropriate to order her around.

"No, thank you, Tullia."

"Once you've finished your rest, I would like to show you something, my lady," Tullia said. "The General instructed me to do so.”

You took a sip of wine and looked at her, your curiosity piqued. “Now that my husband has instructed you, first, I would like to see what it is.”

Norell and Decima exchanged glances, they must have known already. You took their arm as Tullia led the way.

“Now, tell me, what's going on?”

“You'll see in a minute.” Norell smiled.

"I'm sure you'll like it," Decima assured you.

Tullia stood in front of a door on the other side of the small courtyard where the kitchen was. She opened it and invited you with her hand.

“Please, come in, my lady.”

You released their arms and stepped inside. The room was modest in size, with an array of shelves, a desk, and a mattress. As you perused the shelves, you were amazed to find herbs, vials, tools, and other essential items for a medicus. On the table was a leather bag that seemed similar to one you had previously owned. Your face lit up with a beaming smile. "Did the General have all these items prepared for me?”

“Yes, they are all fresh and new, and will be replenished as you need them, my lady,” Tullia replied.

How much more can I possibly fall in love with this man? You thought to yourself, your heart brimming with love and admiration.

As you were looking at the shelves, observing the herbs, you noticed a smell that immediately caught your attention. It was the same smell you had heard before, the smell of that deadly dangerous plant. Decima reached for the shelf, but you quickly pushed her hand away. “Don’t!"

“It's hemlock, don't touch it.” You looked at Tullia. “Has anyone touched this plant?”

She opened her eyes wide. “Y-yes, one of the slaves-“

“Is that why he's sick?” Norell interrupted.

“Sick?”

"He hasn't been feeling well since yesterday," Decima explained.

"Take me to him," you ordered. "And put this plant in a jar, but hold it with a cloth, don't touch it with your bare hands.”

They nodded in agreement. Norell and Decima took you to the slave boy. He was in the east courtyard with the other male slaves. Fortunately, he was in better condition than you thought. You went back to your little clinic and prepared a mixture of herbs for him. Decima helped you and Norell took it to the slave boy to drink. As you went through the shelves again, organizing the herbs that needed to be stored and dried, footsteps echoed in the courtyard and one of the slaves hurried over to you. You could tell from the look on his face that he was about to say something you wouldn't like.

"Domina, a guard has arrived from the palace. He says you are summoned from Palatine Hill.”

Decima looked at you, but you were looking at the slave. It's only been two days since the wedding. What the hell was this?

"Please tell him that I am unable to leave until my husband returns." You placed the plant you had in the jar and closed the lid. The slave nodded and promptly exited the room and returned to the courtyard.

"Could it possibly be Emperor Geta?" Decima asked.

"I am uncertain, but it does not seem to be an urgent matter. I will speak with Marcus when he returns. I might visit tomorrow.”

At that moment, the footsteps from the courtyard were louder, and it was evident that the individual approaching was clad in armor.

"Princess, Emperor Caracalla requests your presence. I urge you to accompany me," he stated in a tone that was both authoritative and ominous.

You knew Caracalla well, so it seems likely that he would have given this guard clear instructions. You felt sure that he wouldn't leave without you. You took a moment to find your composure and then stood up.

“I'll be ready shortly. Could you wait outside?”

The soldier nodded and walked out of the courtyard.

“Are you sure you'll be back by the time the General arrives?” Decima asked. She followed you out of the room.

“I hope so. Can you give me a hand with my attire?”

She nodded, “I'll come with you, my lady. I can't leave you alone.”

Norell rushed to your side. “Let me help too, my lady.”

You remembered how she dressed you back then. “Yes, please.”

Now that you were a married woman (matrona) you had to wear the stola, which only married women and Vestal priestesses could wear. Your clothes and jewellery had already been brought and placed in Marcus' room.  As you got dressed with the girls' help, you thought about what Caracalla wanted. It was tricky to know what he wanted, and there were lots of possibilities. Norell put a light pink stole over your long tunic, with gold and pearl embroidery from the shoulder to the end of the sleeve which came up to the elbow.

She proceeded to wrap a palla (shawl) of a similar hue and design around your waist and over your head. You then held the ends in your hand and adjusted it by tugging a little. She proceeded to gather your hair to one side, braid it and pin it with gold-embroidered hairpins. She then placed a jewel on top of your head, which resembled a crown. You then became aware that you had missed her dressing you; she did it with enthusiasm and seriousness. Even more so than Geta's slave girl.

“Thank you, Norell."

She smiled at you, but her expression also conveyed a hint of concern.

“We should leave now, Decima. I want to be back before dusk.”

She nodded and followed you. As you exited the courtyard, you felt somewhat unusual being wrapped in this new dress, but you liked it. The guard was waiting for you by the carriage and helped you into it, after all the stola was long enough to cover your feet. Decima sat next to you, and you held her hand the whole way, as you felt more secure having her with you.

Upon your arrival at the Domus Severiana, the sun was nearing the horizon. As you entered the great courtyard, you first paid respects to the statue of your father. You were informed that Caracalla was awaiting your presence in the great hall. You said Decima to wait there, and headed with the guard to the long hall to meet your half-brother. It was not often that they were in the private hall, which was reserved for political and policy meetings. These meetings were only convened when something of importance occurred or when documents required stamping.

However, it is clear that Caracalla was more interested in that sort of thing, whereas Geta did not take it seriously at all. As you approached the imposing door of the hall, you looked around. Geta was nowhere to be seen. You had only wanted to see him, not the other one, but still. Two guards greeted you and opened the door for you to enter. Caracalla was standing in the center of the hall with a sword in his hand. He was looking at someone on their knees with their hands tied behind their back. When he recognized you, he opened his hands wide.

"Ah, my dear sister, you have made it. Come dear, come closer." Said with a gesture that includes all ten fingers.

"I'd like to know why you've summoned a married woman when my husband is not at home.”

Your eyes met those of the man on the floor, and you realized with a start that it was Gaius. His face was rather disfigured, with a noticeable amount of blood and bruises. That was rather unexpected. "It is an urgent family matter, something your husband doesn't need to be involved in," he said, in a somewhat abrupt manner.

"Why is Sir Gaius tied up like that? What's going on?"

"We will decide his fate. I have ideas that will be fun to execute, but I wonder what you think."

You swallowed, you didn't like Gaius, but Caracalla's 'ideas' were usually the most bloody and violent ones.

“You can't do this!” Gaius barked. “My reputation-”

Caracalla hit him with his other hand. “Shut up, you cunt! If you cared about your reputation much you should never have returned to Rome!”

Gaius grunted as he spat on the floor.

You were getting tense. “Why exactly are you doing this?” You asked him.

“Why do you think he wanted to marry you? Was it because he was in love with you? Why did he retain that letter? To usurp the throne, of course." He brandished the sword at his throat. "That is what he had always intended.”

He was right, Gaius already admitted it to you before.

"Whoever threatens me will face the consequences." He then pointed the sword at you. "That includes you.”

You gasped, and stumbled back. Then you heard the sound of the door opening.

"Are you insane? What the hell are you doing?" Geta rushed through the door and stood in front of you. "Brother, we're here for this cunt, Gaius. What does Aurelia have to do with this?”

"Cease your dramatics. We're just talking.” Caracalla growled.

“Point your sword at the traitor then, not our sister.” Geta barked.

Caracalla rolled his eyes and passed the sword to the guard next to him. Geta turned to you and gave you a hug, which startled you. He pulled back and smiled. “I missed you, sorry to call you over for a filthy rat.” He turned his gaze to Caracalla. “Our brother was eager to butcher his cousin.”

"You could have managed it yourselves, then. Why did you feel the need to summon me?" You crossed your arms, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.

"So what do you say? The game?" Geta asked Caracalla, his eyes alight with excitement.

"Yes, I want that! It makes total sense."

Geta turned to you, his grin widening. "What do you think, should our cousin set foot in the arena? Oh, it's just so much fun even thinking about it."

You observed Gaius's concerned expression. “ I wouldn't say it's fun since he can't even fight.” You said quietly, surprised at yourself for feeling a little sorry for him.

“It'll be when he finds himself before the tigers.” Caracalla laughed.

Gaius swallowed hard. You tensed up, too, remembering how big and fierce the tiger was.

"Can't you just kill him?" you asked, voice cracking a little.

But your brothers had already made up their minds.

"It's two to one, the decision's been made," Geta said.

Caracalla looked at the guards. "Take this one to the dungeon. He'll be lunch for the tigers in the arena tomorrow.” He laughed so loudly, his voice reverberating off the marble walls of the hall.

"NO! YOU CAN'T! NO!" Gaius wailed.

Geta watched him dragged roughly outside by guards. Then turned towards Caracalla.

“It's so hard to wait until tomorrow.”

Their laughter hummed in your ears as you focused on Gaius' protests and shouts, it was horrible to see a man punished like this, no matter what his crime was.

As the guards forcibly led him away, you turned your eyes Caracalla. "He is, after all, one of our blood, a member of the Severan dynasty. It is unlikely that news of his execution will be well received in Leptis Magna."

A self-confident expression spread across Caracalla's face. "I am the emperor, and as such I am entitled to act as I see fit. It is unlikely that they will dare to interfere with me."

"With us, brother," Geta looked at him sharply.

Caracalla forced a smile. "Yes, of course.” Then he turned towards you. “I told you you'd be a widow if you chose him,” he said with a smirk.

“But I didn't,” you said, unsure of the implication on his face.

"Oh yes, you chose the General, although he is not entirely without fault."

You felt a shiver run down your spine.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Do you truly believe that the reason he married you was entirely innocent?"

You turned your gaze to Geta, who was crossing his arms, his expression matching his brother's.

"What do you mean?" Your voice was trembling.

"Oh, our sister is unaware of her own significance," Caracalla muttered.

“I agree.” Geta snapped.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to calm down. "The General didn't know who I was when he met me. He married me because he fell in love with me."

Caracalla's laughter startled you. "Of course, I'm sure he did. We know of his plans with some of the legates. He hides himself well, but we can't be entirely sure. Has he told you about his plans? Perhaps you can find out for us?"

You crossed your arms, angry. "Oh so that's it, that's why you called me here. You want me to sell my husband out to you?"

Caracalla was looking you in the eye. 'Are you putting your husband before your family?' His voice was threatening.

Geta stepped between you and extended his hand.

'She didn't mean that, brother.'

You remained still. "General Acacius is my family, just like you. If he hasn't betrayed you all this time, he never will."

"He better not." Caracalla stepped back and sat back in his chair.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return home." You said and turned round.

"I shall accompany you," Geta said. You left the hall together. While you two walked by the fountain, he turned his head towards you. “Do not praise General Acacius in Caracalla’s presence,” he said in a stern voice.

“What?"

“Don't make him become a threat, that's all he wants.” He warned you.

You looked at him, his expression was so weird that you couldn't make sense of it.

“What about you? Don't you see him as a threat?”

“I may not like him, but I have no intention of killing him. However, I don't trust him either.” He smirked.

You were surprised that Marcus had the same opinion about him. Geta was many things, but he wasn't the dangerous one.

“One more thing. Don't take what he says about your husband seriously, I know he loves you, otherwise I wouldn't have let him marry you.” His eyes were on you, watching you intently.

You cleared your throat and averted your eyes. Geta inhaled deeply.

“I've missed you, it's so boring here in your absence and mother too.”

“Where is Lady Domna?” You asked, not out of curiosity, but because you sensed the sadness in Geta's voice and to change the subject.

“In Syria, I think. With the other members of the Severan dynasty.”

“Why did Caracalla send her away, anyway?”

“Mother, she wanted to marry him off. You know, the emperor must have a son eventually. I'm fortunate he's the older one.” He grinned.

“But he didn't want to marry?”

“No, not yet, I suppose. It's pretty annoying that he trusts Macrinus more than our mother.”

Just then Macrinus as if he heard his name being mentioned, stepped into the courtyard. He recognised you from a distance, greeted you, and hurried over to the big hall to meet Caracalla.

“I thought this was supposed to be a family meeting?” You said sarcastically.

Geta was watching him from a distance. “As I said, sister, Caracalla trusts him more than anyone.”

At that moment, you had a sudden insight. Gaius... Macrinus was the one who brought Gaius to Rome. He put him before the council, before Caracalla, even though he knew his purpose. Then when Gaius wanted to marry you, he became an open target. But why? What did he get out of all this? Suddenly, what he said to you earlier echoed in your mind.

‘You're not seeing the whole picture.’ You felt your body froze, or was he trying to clear his path to the throne? Could it be? Gaius was the likely choice if something happened to Caracalla and Geta. Now that that option is gone, who is his next target? You looked at Geta. Was it him?

“Why are you looking at me like that?" Geta asked in surprise.

Could it be that the reason he sent Julia was to get rid of Geta? You suddenly felt a loss of balance and could no longer feel your feet. Geta quickly wrapped his arm around you.

“Sister, are you alright?”

“My lady!” Decima ran to you.

“I'm alright,” you said, gently pushing Geta's arm away. He frowned. “I'm just a bit tired, I need to go home, please.”

Decima put her arm around your waist as you walked out of the courtyard.

‘You are going to attend the game tomorrow with your husband. Make sure you inform him.’ Geta reminded you.

You looked at him with a hint of apprehension as he smiled warmly. “Have a good night, sister.”

You felt somewhat uneasy about leaving him alone under the same roof as Caracalla, but you knew there was little you could do about it.

You took a deep breath as the carriage moved off. You knew that coming here would put a damper on your mood. You hated to be right. Decima held your hand tightly.

“Are you sure you're alright?”

You smiled at her. “Yes, I am.”

The coachman let out a loud swear word and the carriage shook violently. You nearly fell out of your seat.

“My lady, forgive me, but this silly boy jumped in the middle of the road.”

“Get back here!”

Another man's voice rang out down the street, followed by the cries of a child. When you popped your head out of the car, you were pretty mad at what you saw. The man was beating the boy viciously.

You got out of the carriage, and Decima was a little unsteady in her steps as she tried to keep up with you.

‘Stop! Stop it! Now!’ You shouted the man.

The man's eyes widened as he eyed you up and down. You lifted the boy up and put your arm around him, he grasped the fabric of your dress hiding behind you.

'Why are you hitting a little boy?'

'But my lady, he stole apples from my stall.'

You looked at the boy, who was ashamed.

'Decima, could I have my pouch, please?' you asked, holding out your hand.

She nodded and got it for you, handing it over. You took some coins from it and gave them to him, which was enough to buy a sack of apples.

'Thank you, Gods bless you, my lady,' he bowed his head, squinting at the boy, then turned and walked away.

'Are you Princess Aurelia?' the boy looked at you curiously.

You smiled at him and crouched down.

'Yes, I'm Aurelia. May I ask your name, young man?' You looked at his face. He was dirty and his clothes were torn.

'I don't have a name, nobody in the poorhouse has a name.'

'Poorhouse? Oh, you stole an apple because you were hungry then?' It was heartbreaking. A little boy doesn't deserve to live like this.

'No, my mother just had a baby, but she couldn't eat anything, so I was taking it to her because the baby was crying all the time, and mother's breast milk didn't come in.’

This upset you even more. You felt your stomach tighten and your eyes well up with tears. You took the child's hand. 'Let's get some food for your mother, then.'

The child's eyes opened wide in surprise. ‘Really? Are you going to pay?'

You gave him a smile. 'Yes, my little dove.'

Decima approached you hesitantly. 'My lady, maybe you should ask the guards to do it? It could be dangerous.'

'Why? They're just poor people.'

'It's dark now, the General might be upset if he-’

'Don't worry about that, Decima, we'll be back when we're done. He'll understand.'

Decima gave a little smile. 'How can you be so kind-hearted like this?'

'They're my people, so it's my duty to look after them.'

'It seems your brothers have a different view on this.'

You gave her a look, and she swallowed. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-

“No, no. You’re right, they don't care about these people at all.’

When you got to the Poorhouse, you almost wished you'd done what Decima said. Life here was a different story to what you'd find elsewhere in the city. It was pretty brutal, grueling and painful.  There were a lot of people here. The situation was pretty dire. This was actually an old ruined insula, but these people had taken refuge here, living on the street and on the cobblestones. When they recognised you, they all looked a bit surprised. The kids ran over to you, looking you up and down, tugging your dress curiously, and taking a good look at the food in your hand. The boys’ mother was lying on an old mattress with the baby, and, she was really surprised to see you. The boy told his mother what had happened, she started crying with happiness. You were able to feed these people today, but you didn't know what would happen tomorrow.

The guard who picked you up from the villa came running to you a little later.

“My lady, the coachman said you were here. Did these rats hurt you?”

He looked at them angrily and pushed a boy away with his hand in disgust.

“That's nonsense! Why would they hurt me?”

You looked at the children and smiled. Decima was handing them the apples you'd brought, and they were singing as they ate. You turned to the guard.

"Come with me," you commanded, beckoning him outside. “You are to bring food supplies here every week.”

“But, my lady, they’re just homeless and poor people.”

“So? Are you suggesting that they are undeserving of life?”

“No, I'm saying-“

“Do as I say and assign two men here. One to distribute food and the other to bring supplies. I will come and check on this place every week, do you understand me?” You spoke firmly and with conviction, and it seemed to work.

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed his head.

“Good, now take me back to the villa.”

The imperial carriage arrived at the villa in the late evening. Decima helped you out and, since it had been a long day, you were feeling pretty tired. As the carriage drove away, you stepped towards Tullia, who was waiting for you at the courtyard gate of the villa. She smiled in relief.

“My lady, thank Gods you arrived before the General returns.”

“He hasn't arrived yet?” You were surprised but relieved as well.

However, just as you were about to step inside, the sound of two horses galloping was heard from down the road. All three of you suddenly became tense and looked at each other with wide eyes.

“Aurelia!”

The General's voice was loud and it came to you like ‘now you're in trouble’. You turned to look at him, he jumped off his horse and came towards you, his face stern and curious. Cato dismounted from his horse and grabbed the harnesses of both horses.

Marcus looked you up and down. “Are you going somewhere at this hour?”

You swallowed, Tullia and Decima bowed to the General and went inside. Cato and the others headed to the corral to tie up the horses.

‘I, uh-’

Marcus wrapped his arms around your waist. “Or are you dressed so elaborately for me?” He smirked. ”No need, my love, you're so beautiful already." He leaned down and kissed you. “I missed you so much, today has felt endless.” He took your hand and pulled you inside with him.

“I went to Palatine Hill.” you suddenly said. "Caracalla summoned me."

Marcus paused in the middle of the courtyard, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. His expression became somewhat stern. “What does he want at this hour?”

“Can I tell you while we eat? You just came, I assume you must be hungry.”

"That is correct,” he said and turned towards Tullia. “Bring our supper to the room.” He then proceeded to lead you by the hand towards the stairs. His grip on your hand was firm and somewhat painful, indicating his tension.

When you got to the room, he released your hand and removed the holster from his waistband.

‘Allow me,’ you demanded and approached him. Marcus stood still, his dark brown eyes on you.

'He actually called me over, earlier,' you said as you removed the leather strips from his shoulders.

Marcus frowned. He averted his gaze as you undid the strings of his armour.

'What did he exactly want?'

'He's going to throw Gaius to the tigers tomorrow.'

He raised his eyebrows, clearly thinking but not seeming surprised. 'It's not the first time for him to throw someone before animals, but I wonder why his cousin?'

'They're expecting to see us at the Colosseum tomorrow to watch the game.' You extended your arms to the other side but he stopped you by grabbing your shoulders.

'Aurelia, I asked you why.' His brown eyes piercing yours. You blinked your eyes a few times.

“He stated emphatically that Gaius had betrayed him and coveted the throne.” He narrowed his eyes, dissatisfied with your answer. He knew you well and needed to hear more. “Also he said that's why he wanted to marry me – that he'd always planned it so."

He released your shoulders and his expression softened as you began to untie the strings of the other side of his armour.

‘He didn't say anything about me?’

You paused for a moment but kept untying. ‘He suspects you're up to something. But he can't be sure, so he asked me to rat you out to him.’

Marcus took off his armour with your help.

‘What did you tell him?’

‘I said that I can't do that, of course.’ You reached for his arm to take off the armband, but he grabbed your arm first and pulled it to himself.

‘You should have done what he said,’ he murmured.

You looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Marcus, how could-’

‘To trick him, my love. You must lie.’ He wrapped his arm around your waist.

‘I see your point. You’re right. I should've. I will next time.”

He smirked and squeezed your cheek softly. “You’re just so innocent.” He kissed your cheek then.

You smiled, but you couldn't help but feel a hint of concern deep inside you. "Marcus, you know how ruthless he is. Please be careful.”

"There is no need for concern. I believe everything is going as I predicted. I found the rat among the Legates who was spying for him and Macrinus. I will take my steps accordingly.”

"Is his intention to seize the throne?”

"Macrinus? I think so, but I'm not sure how to prevent him from making his move.”

You were feeling a bit nervous that Marcus might be putting himself in danger. Macrinus was a dangerous and clever enemy. You were suddenly reminded of that dream you'd had. Your mother's voice echoed in your ears again. 'Think.' Could he be the real threat? To you? To Marcus?

Marcus was observing your face, “It bothered you, didn't it? Let's put that aside for now.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Norell brought your supper. 'Just the right moment,' Marcus said with a smile.

Once she left, Marcus turned towards you. "Let me help you out of that dress so you can eat more comfortably."

He helped you remove the palla and the stola, leaving you both in your tunics. You felt really relaxed.

"I'm going to have to get used to this dress; it covers me quite a bit," you said with a laugh.

Marcus smiled. "It looked good on you. I must say, though, that I prefer you undressed.”

He smiled when your cheeks flushed and pulled you closer, offering a kiss. Then he sat down next to the table and sat you on his lap again, which you got used to immediately because you liked it. You had eaten a little when Mau came running from the balcony and jumped on your lap. This caused you to reflexively pull your hand back, but you forgot that you were holding a glass, so the wine spilled on you and a little on Marcus. You looked at him with wide eyes.

“Apologies. Mau, look what you did!”

You took her off your lap, your white tunic was soaked with red color of wine.

“Too bad,” you mumbled, attempting to clean it with a cloth, but it seemed to be ineffective.

“I wouldn't say that.”  Marcus' eyes were locked on your breasts and nipples, which were on full reveal thanks to the wine. Like an open invitation for him. His breathing became heavy, and he supported you around the waist with one hand, lowering his head to your breasts. He was like a hunter approaching his prey. Your heart began to beat rapidly with a thrilling anticipation. As his prey, you stood still and waited impatiently for what he was about to do, closing your eyes. You gasped when his hot breath hit your wet skin, and you felt his tongue on your sternum, biting your lower lip hard. "Mmm, delicious. It is, without a doubt, the finest wine I have ever tasted." He smirked mischiveously.

You giggled and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I believe I have accidentally included myself on the menu."

His eyes met yours, and a spark of desire ignited in your soul. "I'm going to enjoy eating you.”

Then he kissed you passionately, hungrily. Meanwhile, Mau was enjoying the food on the tray, but you were preoccupied to pay her much attention. Marcus was holding you in his lap with one hand and undressing you with the other. His fingers were eager than ever, and in the process of undressing you, they ripped the fabric of your tunic. Which was a massive turn-on for you. Once you were completely naked on his lap, he stood up and hurried you to the bed, accompanied by your giggles.

please reblog, comment or like if you enjoyed thank you all <3

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[cottonlemonade]

The Business Trip

word count: 2038 || avg. reading time: 9 mins.

pairing: post-time skip coworker!Matsukawa x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff to spice

warnings: mdni, smut-ish, spoilers, swearing

“Oh, this is unfortunate.”

The door to the hotel room hardly had time to gently bump against the stopper at the wall when you noticed the issue.

“Maybe they misunderstood on the phone.”

“Because of the language barrier between Sendai and Tokyo, you mean?”, you asked sarcastically.

Matsukawa shrugged and promised to go back to the reception desk to switch rooms while you looked miserably at the singular queen-size bed. As soon as he left, you rummaged in your bag for your phone and dialed your friend’s number.

“What did you do?”, you hissed as soon as she picked up.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, she replied in an everything but innocent tone.

You threw a panicked look to the door in case Matsukawa magically reappeared after the 30 seconds he had been gone.

“I told you about this in confidence.”, you went on urgently, “I thought you were my friend!”

“I am. That’s why I’m helping you get laid.”, the other girl giggled, as if this was the most absurdly obvious thing.

“I didn’t bring anything nice to wear! I have comfy PJs and granny panties!”

“Should have thought that through before the trip.”

“Girl, I chose those because they make me look good when I’m dressed! They keep the tummy tucked.”, you explained helplessly.

“There is always the option to not wear any underwear. It’s better for you anyway and who knows? Chances are this freak is into granny panties.”

The heat in your cheeks slowly subsided and you began slowly spinning on the spot, looking around the room to calm yourself. After taking a few deep breaths, you said with a hollow laugh, “In any case, your plan won’t work. He is downstairs right now to ask for a new room.”

“Joke’s on you, I paid extra for them not to do that.”

Your reflection in the slim floor-length mirror next to the wardrobe raised its brow, “That feels rather illegal.”

“Nah, I told them you’re a married couple who want to rekindle their love. - There should be some champagne in the mini bar.”, she informed brightly.

The door’s keypad began beeping so you quickly hung up.

“Sorry, bad news.”, Matsukawa announced and closed the door behind him, “Seems like they’re out of rooms. Must be accounting’s fault.”

“Yeah, I just got off the phone with them. Sounds like it was their mistake.”

“Hm, well, it’s just for one night, right? We can make do.” He passed you to drop his bag by the little desk that had the room phone and a thin notepad on top of it.

Your heart beat faster.

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I’ll… take the floor then.” You had said it expecting he would immediately reject the idea and either valiantly state that under no circumstances would he allow that to ever happen or - a small hopeful voice in your head piped up - that he’d suggest sharing the bed.

But instead, your coworker just said, “That might be for the best. Thanks, Y/n.”

“Excuse me?”

He looked up with a frown, mid-unzipping his bag, “What? You wanna share? You always tell me how much you’re tossing and turning at night. I don’t need that for my sleep schedule. Besides, I have to stand in front of a bunch of people tomorrow morning and talk. I have to look good.”

“So do I.”

“Yeah, but you always do.”

You smiled in surprise.

“Oh, don’t pretend. Even with those dark shadows under your eyes, you’re cute. And if all else fails, you have makeup to make you even prettier.”

“I could make you prettier with makeup, too.”, you teased.

“We’ll leave that as plan B.”, he deadpanned and chucked his sleepwear haphazardly onto the sheets, “But sure, if you don’t mind sharing then have at it.”

“Thank you.”, you said loftily and went through the carry-on looking for your toiletries.

You had ordered room service so that Matsukawa could practice his speech on different wood types for coffins on you. You gave him some pointers on pauses and inflection and before you knew it, it was lights out and you were in bed with the guy you had been crushing on since you started working together. And while you were awkwardly staring at the dark ceiling on which a low glow was thrown through the thin curtains, Matsukawa was on his phone scrolling on the dimmed screen. There had been no comment on your sleeping attire, not even a look. You should have guessed as much but couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. With it nearing 11pm, you silently drummed your fingers on the blanket, just wishing you could go to sleep to get the night over with. The minutes trickled past and try as you might you couldn’t get to sleep. You considered making conversation and racked your brain for a topic suitable for the situation when, “Mmmmmh.” A loud languid moan came from the other side of the wall. The rustling next to you let you know that Matsukawa was stretching to look at the wall as if that would help.

“You heard that, too, right?”

“Yeah I-“

“Uh! Yes!”

Your eyes widened when as a final confirmation the bed next door began squeaking rhythmically.

Your ears were ringing with each cry and whimper from the adjacent room and soon both you and Matsukawa pressed your palms to your mouths to muffle your hysterical giggling.

“Sounds like a good time.”, you whispered with another snort when the second person began calling their partner’s name.

“The problem is, I can’t even yell at them to get a room.”, Matsukawa said under his breath, making you hide under the blanket to dampen another giggle fit.

“What should we do?”, you asked quietly, “Did you pack earplugs?”

In the half-darkness of the room you watched an idea slot into place in Matsukawa’s head and one second later he turned his head to the wall, groaning loudly, “Ugh, oh, that feels so good!”

“Oh my god, what are you doing!!?”, you whisper-yelled through a new wave of suppressed laughter.

But he just continued to join their moans.

“I’m literally answering their mating call.”, he explained during a short breathing break and then continued to moan. You tried to cover his mouth with your hands but he easily pushed you away, clearing his throat for another “reply”.

“Stop it!”, you pleaded, your voice coming out much higher as you tried to keep your urgings down.

“It’s fun, you should try it.”

You watched him for a moment, then sat up on your elbows and, after clearing your throat, joined him.

He gave you a thumbs up and for a while you just went back and forth with the completely unperturbed couple in the other room.

“Ugh, y/n, just like that!”

You locked eyes with him and he shrugged, “Too far?”

After a short pause, you let out, “God, Issei, yes!”

He nodded, impressed.

“Sounded a little fake, but I’d give it a 7/10.”, he said quietly.

You pushed against his shoulder.

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying, you can do better than that.”

Squinting at him you dug deep and, “Ngh, fuuuck, Issei! Please, harder… yes, yes… yes!”

You heard him swallow and saw his tongue quickly darting over his lips.

“Ahem yeah. That… that was better.”, he admitted with a decidedly dryer throat.

Seeing him like this, egged you on and throwing caution into the wind you let out your loudest moan of his name yet.

“Now, you see, that sounded fake.”

You hit him playfully. “No, it didn’t!”

“Yeah, it did.”

“How would you know?”

“No one sounds this good. Just doesn’t happen.”

“Why don’t you find out?”

The words had slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them and even in the minimal light of the room, you saw Matsukawa’s eyes flicker.

He only hesitated for a moment, “Wait, really?”

The spell between you two was momentarily interrupted by noises that sounded distinctively like flesh hitting flesh. The other couple seemed to have picked up some speed.

“Really.”, you brought the attention back to his question.

“You’re really gonna let me touch you?”

“And more, if you want.”

“Fucking finally. I thought you’d just drool all over me in silence forever.”

“You knew??”, you forgot to whisper for a second and clamped your mouth shut - the couple next door didn’t care.

“Gorgeous, you’re not subtle about it. - Aww, no need to hide.”, he chuckled when you dove under the blanket again only to pop back up at his last words.

“Didn’t pack a condom but I guess that can wait for when we’re back, hm?”

Your heart began to pound in your ears. This was really happening, he moved close to you.

“Let’s see here…”, he said quietly, brushing back the blanket to expose your entirely unflattering pajamas, but he didn’t seem to care. His large hand reached out, hovered for a moment over your waist to wait for protest, and then, when none came, rested on your hips. You were lying on the side now, facing each other. Your breath hitched when he roamed a little lower to gently squeeze a handful of your ass. The sheets rustled when you rubbed your thighs together and he grinned.

“If I may.” His palm brushed back up, moving the hem of your shirt with it. Too excited to feel self-conscious you helped him take it off, wrapped your arm around your chest which he noted with a small pout.

“Really, love?”

Deft, featherlight fingers brushed along the ridge between your forearm and breasts, really enjoying how the simple gesture made you shudder.

When you didn’t remove your arm right away he went on, “Well then I might have to start somewhere else?”

His hand went back to your waist, sending electricity through your body where his palm now made contact with your pudgy flesh, he slowly pushed the waistband of your shorts down your legs.

“Oh?”

You closed your eyes in realization. The granny panties.

He removed your shorts and flung them to some corner of the room.

“If you’re all quiet, I won’t know if you’re uncomfortable, love.”, he informed you.

“No no, you’re good. Proceed.”

“Will you show me your tits, beautiful?”

“If you ask real nicely.”, you chuckled nervously.

His hand dipped between your plush thighs, letting his long thick finger feel the growing wet patch on the fabric.

He pushed the pads of his fingertips against your clothed clit. “Pretty please.”

You began to squirm under his touch, dropping your arm, finally giving him the sight he wanted. He sucked in a sharp breath and rubbed small circles against you.

“Nngh, yes. Shit, don’t stop.”

“Louder, love. They should hear you.”

“Touch me more…”, you whined, not hiding your voice this time.

He leaned forward to catch one of your nipples in his mouth, kneading it between his lips and flicking his tongue over it while his hand moved way up only to slip into the high waistband of the panties.

“Oh god! Fuck, Issei!”

He played with your clit, ran the length of his fingers through your slick pussy, and shifted a little so that with a low, “Relax for me.” he could push a finger into you.

You let out a cry of pleasure, grasping at his shoulder for stability. The panties eventually joined the shorts on the dark floor. He was still fully dressed, marking up your breasts and pumping two, then three fingers in and out of you with increasing speed. The slick sounds echoed obscenely through the room, undoubtedly being heard by the other couple, too.

You grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling him closer against you, pushing his face into your flesh, begging him to go harder, faster. He laughed against your skin when he felt you clench around his fingers and screamed his name while you came.

Once your orgasm subsided, Matsukawa pulled out his fingers and studied them in the dim light, thin threads of your cum connecting them as he spread them out.

“So you really do sound like that.”, he noted, giving his fingers an experimental lick, “And you taste great, too.”

art: @yoroz_roz on X

a/n: request for @aldebrana - I hope you enjoyed it!

spicy, sharing a bed, pining coworker Matsukawa - sorry for the fluff beginning, I needed the plot for the porn 😬

Thank you so much to @samoankpoper21 for helping me out of a corner with this one ✨🫶🏻

[cairoblair]

a deep dive, as promised. i was wrong in my initial assessment of the new lore. so, now that i have a better understanding of what’s going on, let's discuss.

Sylus Lore

Included: Dragon Myth and Main Story, references to other memories Length: 3k+ words ━━༻❁༺━━━━

Part 1: Dragon Myth

Sylus was too human to be dragon, but too dragon to be human. His dragon kin were killed, but he was taken by the humans until they realized he had horns. The humans tried to kill him 108 ways and failed, but the 109th succeeded, and that was MC.

MC was a sorceress who was also cast out of society. In the abyss that she was stuck in, she hears Sylus’ voice and sees a vision of his shadow on the wall - a dragon bound by chains with a sword through his chest. He tells her to make a deal with him, if she wants to live. She pulls the sword from his chest, seemingly gaining a part of his soul as she does so.

His right eye still has the power to see and manipulate desires, much like it does in the current timeline. It seems MC’s power still comes from her heart, as she describes most of the pain and other sensations as being in her chest. This is a direct correlation to their aether cores - which, I’m beginning to believe were also present in this past life. I will explain my theory on this later.

Throughout the story of this myth, souls are spoken about many times. Dragons consume human souls, Sylus and MC’s souls are intertwined, etc. Their story, across every timeline, centers on this concept. From MC gaining a part of his soul, to them fully exchanging half of their souls, to MC cursing his after he dies - souls are the focal point of their dynamic.

The mark Sylus leaves on her neck seems to allow her to feel his desires - it pulses and hurts whenever he is hungry for another soul. It seems that whenever they make physical contact - specially when blood is involved - they both experience each other’s desires and sensations. This sends them both into a frenzy-like haze, but for what reason exactly? The curse? Their souls? The aether cores? What exactly is the trigger for this reaction? My answer: All of the above.

As we know, the dragon’s curse says that a dragon will kill his lover. But, MC is destined to be his archnemesis - the only one that is capable of killing him. So, on her third attempt, he forces her hand, plunging the greatsword into his chest instead of sinking his claws into hers. He tells her, "You must press on. Because if you don't, there's no going back." The meaning here is debatable. For one thing, if MC doesn't succeed in killing him, he will kill her. This is his fate. Part of me also wants to believe that he knows she is capable of binding their souls in a way he cannot. Which she proceeds to do.

In the valley that he managed to take her to, his scales crystallize and his body turns to flower petals. It is at this point that MC curses his soul to never truly die, not without her offering him a true death. It is only then that she grows horns and a tail, and becomes one with her dragon.

Some noteworthy things in this myth: - Sylus' right eye and MC's heart/chest → aether cores - The emphasis on souls → Death & Rebirth - Sylus' greed and encouragement of MC's → present timeline dynamic. He wants her to be greedy enough to take what she wants, regardless of the consequnces. He wants her to be greedy for him. - "Prove to me that you can be stronger." → "Relax. You can handle it." Long-Awaited Revelry & "You never doubted yourself. Or my capabilities, for that matter." - Death & Rebirth & Sylus' monologue to Dimitri (keep reading for full voice line) - The voice in MC's head (kill him, it is yours to take, etc.) → Long Awaited Revelry - "If he's going to treat me like a pet cat, he shouldn't be surprised if he gets scratched." → "Kitten" - The importance of music → Continuous Symphony - "Stay by my side until the end of time." → Similar quotes in various memories - Half of their souls exchanged → Souls mentioned various times in main story and memories - Flower crown, flower petals, MC's placement of the flowers on Sylus → Valleydream Bloom - The valley outside Tarus - Valleydream Bloom scenery - "Had your fill? Seen enough?" → "Well? Did you get your fill? If not... I can give you more." Valleydream Bloom - "Our souls are bound. We will never betray each other even if Doomsday arrives outside this Sanctuary. Even if the world crumbles. This promise will never be broken." → "Sorry, but your soul doesn't have the privilege of leaving whenever it wants. I will keep you bound to me for all of eternity. Our connection transcends this place and this world." Death & Rebirth

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Main Story

There's a lot to unpack here, so let's start at the very beginning.

As mentioned in Death & Rebirth, MC had dreams of her and Sylus battling in an "intergalactic arena," where they battled wanderers in front of a crowd. Whether this was located on another planet or simply somewhere in space is unclear. They were then encouraged to fight each other to the death, to which Sylus refused and insisted they escape. In doing so, they caused a nebula that carried them away from that place. MC does not recall this escape, but Sylus does, and they talk about this in Death & Rebirth. "But when we faced each other, you didn't attack. Instead, you took my hand and asked if I wanted to escape together. That nebula was more chaotic than an abyss. I didn't see how it ended... Did we manage to escape?" "What do you think? If we hadn't, then who exactly are you talking to right now?" "We're pretty special, huh."

Upon landing on earth, MC is taken by EVER to the Gaia Research Center, and Sylus lands in the N109 zone pre-Chronorift Catastrophe. He emphasized that this was not a coincidence - therefore insinuating that he went there purposefully. We can assume he knew where MC landed, and sought her out after arriving.

He was the one to free MC from the research center. What happens immediately after is unclear, but we can assume Josephine leaves EVER, taking MC with her, and the Chronorift Catastrophe happens soon after. This leaves MC without her memories, given she does not remember anything that happened prior, while Sylus remains in the N109 Zone.

We know Sylus has been tracking her for some time. We see a glimpse of Mephisto in the no-hunt zone early on in the game. Therefore, we can assume Sylus knows everything she has done in her young adulthood, since she became a hunter at the very least. Let's take a close look at their "first" meeting. Having Sylus appear on the bell tower is a deliberate choice, in my opinion. In his myth, he and MC stay at a chapel for quite some time. Most chapels have a bell tower at the very top, so this seems like a parallel. An omen, if you will.

He once again mentions souls: "Even if you wanted to sell your soul, you still have to find someone who can pay the price." I think this insinuates something. For one thing, Sylus knows her soul is not entirely her own. She has half of his, and he has half of hers. Also, he is likely the only one who is not only willing, but able, to pay the price.

When he attempts to use his right eye, MC is immediately plagued by visions. Her hands are covered in blood - exactly the same as the scene in the myth. This reappears later as well. This gives me more evidence to support my theory that these aether cores have existed in them since their past life. Perhaps it is the aether cores themselves that hold these memories. 

She lashes out due to these visions and the pain she feels because of them. After slicing his cheek, he says, "Is this how you greet a new friend? I guess you don't remember anything. Allow me to jog your memory." Originally, I believed this only referred to their past life, but I think he's talking about something else as well. They've met in this life before. There is much to remember. "From your past to your future... To even all the crimes you'll inevitably commit. After all, you and I...we're the same. True kindred spirits." He knows the power she wields, even though she doesn't know the extent of it yet. He's seen it firsthand. He's been aware of the aether core, given he has his own. They are the same in more ways than one. Not only are they kindred spirits, but their souls are one in the same as well. He has waited for her since they were separated - which he never wanted to happen in the first place. I will reference one of his monologues in Magnum Opus, where he compares them to flowers who were forced to grow in different soils, despite being meant to grow together. He calls it a cruel twist of fate. Now, yes, Sylus is quite rough with MC in Long-Awaited Revelry, but I truly believe it's because he knows what she's capable of, how much she can handle. Not to mention the fact that she doesn't remember him after everything they've been through, everything he's done for her. I'd be pretty pissed too. They have a lot of trouble resonating. Whether it's truly because of what the shop-keeper said or not is up for debate. He, of course, says that it's because she finds Sylus quite repulsive. You can see the hurt and frustration on his face during that scene. But, I'm tempted to believe it's something deeper. In every timeline, Sylus and MC have been destined to kill each other. This is obvious both in his myth and in Death & Rebirth. He blatantly says it: "Either I kill you, or you kill me." This seems to be written in the stars. So, is this the true reason they couldn't resonate? Was it not supposed to be possible? Is this why Sylus was trying so hard? Perhaps it's an attempt to challenge fate itself, since he's been known to do such things (having the sorceress kill him instead of vice versa). He’s not willing to accept the script the universe has given them. No, he’s going to write his own, once again. 

The first time they resonate is after they fight the wanderer for the aether core fragment. In the midst of the deepspace tunnel appearing, Sylus once again says, "You must press on." But, he says something interesting afterwards. "The life you owe me - now is not the time to repay it." Is this referring to the life she owes him because she took his? Or because he saved hers? Either way, I don’t believe the debt he’s referencing has to do with her dying in order to repay it. She owes him a life lived with him, not away from him. When they resonate, it is noticeably different than the times she has resonated with the other LIs. "Unprecedented power swells between our intertwined fingers. Instantly, I feel a tremor from deep within my heart. Something flows through my veins." We can assume this, and the energy linkage around their wrists, is a result of their aether cores. Now, we don't truly know what these are, but I have a theory. They're made of an unknown material, but I imagine they have to come from space, as most materials of this nature do. If this is the case, let's assume all aether cores come from the same original source, and that they were scattered by some explosion or nebula. This would most likely mean that, like protons and electrons, aether cores gravitate towards one another. This would be a reasonable cause for the energy link and the effect Sylus' eye has on MC. So, I’m going to conclude that the aether cores have an innate need to be in close proximity to each other - hence, the energy link between Sylus and MC. This also may be in connection to their souls and how intertwined they are. I also have reason to believe these aether cores were present in their previous life, as I mentioned earlier. Therefore, could the aether cores be connected to their souls, rather than their bodies? They seem to follow them through time and space, keeping the two of them connected no matter what timeline or world they find themselves in. And, with their fate to be each other’s demise, do these aether cores override this destiny? Is this why they’re able to resonate? 

Now, I'd like to examine a conversation they have in Long Awaited-Revelry: "But before I started resonating with you, I saw a strange vision..." "It's not a big deal. From now on, you'll be seeing more things like that." "So that...was real?" "If I say yes, will you give me a sincere apology? This world is different from what you see. But I'm not in the mood to tell stories at the moment."

I don't think it's his mood that's stopping him. We've seen time and time again that Sylus is desperately trying to get MC to remember him on her own. This is evident in his cards, most notably Valleydream Bloom. Now, whose skeleton is it? His? MC's? The valley is too similar to the one in Tarus for it to be a mere coincidence. It's also quite obvious in Continuous Symphony, given the tune he plays is the same one she played as the sorceress. And, somehow, she remembers it. He doesn’t want to be the one to tell her everything, to convince her that it’s true - she needs to discover it on her own. 

One more thing that caught my interest was one of the last text screens in Long-Awaited Revelry. The bell is tolling. "It's almost like an announcement, as if the world is saying... The true leader of Onychinus has returned." Literally translated, Onychinus means "of the marble called onyx." AKA, the stone that Sylus' scales turned into as he died. 109 also references the final attempt at killing the dragon - the one that succeeded. This is likely what he was aiming for with the name. MC didn't realize it before Death & Rebirth, but she lived in the N109 Zone when she was kept in the Gaia Research Center. Of course, the name was different then - given the city fell after the Chronorift Catastrophe. The “N” is the only thing I’m stuck on, as I can’t pinpoint a reason for it. But, I have reason to believe that the naming of the N109 Zone and Onychinus were meant to be hints to MC, to draw her into remembering their shared past. This much seems pretty obvious. 

In Death & Rebirth, MC wanders the halls of the Gaia Research Center. There is information on Xavier, Rafayel, and Zayne. We already know Caleb's history with EVER, so I don't believe we need to dive too deep into that at this point. The only person they don't have a room dedicated to is Sylus. Like us, he is not of this world. He arrived, saved us, and remained in the N109 Zone after the Chronorift Catastrophe. He is the reason it was rebuilt - he’s the creator of it, in a way. But, since this is the case, where is he from? Who is Sylus, really? He mentions in his myth that his name was of ancient origin on Philos, but MC couldn’t pronounce it. She gave him his name, and it has stuck to this day. Sylus’ body died that day of the 109th attempt, but his soul never did thanks to her curse. So, when was he reborn? And to whom? Or are we both simply children of the cosmos, born of something else entirely? 

While he’s killing Dimitri, he has several very interesting voice lines. First of all, he agreed to bring MC before him - and he clarifies that he made this deal when he rescued her. That must have been easily fourteen years ago. Was this a deal made in order to get her out? Maybe to keep her escape quiet? Or, was Sylus simply waiting for the day that he and MC could take Dimitri down together? “You underestimated how much she’s grown. Look at you, thinking she’s still the little girl whose life you held carelessly in your hands. Like every gambler who overestimates themselves, you are not as clever as you think you are. Get a nice long look. It’ll be your last. And do your best to remember the person who brought about your downfall. Die with a smile for us, alright?” Many things to point out here. Sylus has kept an eye on MC for some time - he’s likely seen how much she has truly grown, especially now with the spatium core. He probably knew what Dimitri would try to do when he came face to face with MC once again, and Sylus was fully prepared to deal with the aftermath. Especially now that MC remembers some of her past. That’s always been his end goal, hasn’t it? To see her be stronger, to be able to hold her own, then to stand by her side as they forge a new path for them both. 

Sylus has a strange sense of peace about him following this interaction. Despite what they’ve been through, and despite what fate has cursed them with, she remembers. At least enough to know that she and Sylus have met before, and that he escaped with her, and saved her. He has only ever wanted to protect her, to be close to her, no matter the cost. He couldn’t back then, but now, he has a chance. And he will not let it slip away again. 

“When I pulled you out of that giant glass tank… You looked like you were in so much pain that you wanted to die. If it really hurts, then stop. Don’t force yourself… And don’t ever make that face again while you’re at it.”

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If you made it to the end, thank you. This took me several hours, as I had to compile various different parts of the story and find specific parallels to reference. I absolutely adore what Infold has done with Sylus and MC's story. Before Death & Rebirth, I felt like their past was lacking. Yes, we had his myth, but no connection beyond that. Now, everything is starting to make sense. I cannot wait to continue putting these puzzle pieces together.

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Edit: 5/21/2025

Part 3: Anecdote

I was reminded of Sylus' anecdote, and went back through it to try to fit it into this timeline. Here's my theory:

This story takes place post-escape from the arena, but before Sylus lands on earth. The "intergalactic prison" mentioned in the anecdote sounds suspiciously like the arena MC saw in her new memories. But, Sylus is described as the only one to have ever managed to escape this prison, so while part of me believes this escape was the one we learned about in Death & Rebirth, I don’t think that’s the case. Rather, this jail could be another place altogether - somewhere Sylus was taken after the escape while MC ends up on earth. Either way, we can assume that after the nebula (caused by their escape from the arena), MC lands on earth, and Sylus ends up somewhere else entirely. This would make sense as to why he's still in space during the anecdote. After pillaging Feathers Star, he learns the "Eye of Aether" is elsewhere - the N109 Zone. I think we have reason to believe this "Eye of Aether" is actually the aether core inside MC. In chapter 6, page 4 of his anecdote, this line caught my eye. "Sylus observes the map, a touch of melancholy in his gaze." Melancholy? Why? I believe he realizes the aether core he is after is now implanted in the girl he once knew, the girl he escaped with. This may be part of his motive to break her out of the research center.

Perhaps, after their escape, he was unsure where MC ended up. We see a lot of references to fate and destiny in their lore, so maybe everything that happened post-nebula was fate pulling them back together.

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Do I think this theory is 100% right? Definitely not - there are still some things that don't add up. My main question is this:

In MC's memories of the arena, she remembers herself and Sylus being children. However, in his anecdote and in the new Timelock Key: Sylus: Shadowed Past story, it seems as though he's an adult. I could be off here. We know Sylus (if he is in fact 28) is at least four years older than MC, so he very well could've been in his teens at the time. His age has been unclear throughout his lore. This makes the timeline a little confusing, but I'd like to believe I'm on the right track.

[ddarker-dreams]

Worthy Motivator.

Blade x Reader.

Warnings: Typical Blade morbidity, Blade's slightly yan because I can never write him as Normal, and not SFW implications. Word count: 1k.

Author notes are at the end of the story!

Washcloth in hand, you wipe away the perspiration clinging to your skin. 

While doing so, you squint, an act your reflection obediently mimics, confirming that yes; this disheveled figure is indeed you. You smooth out your hair, moisturize your face, then apply a light layer of toner. The process is completed in a timely fashion. A few hand motions made midair dim the bathroom’s lights.

Yawning, the door slides open at your behest, retreating into the wall like a turtle does its shell. The room is dome-shaped and customized to your liking. A light birch wood floor, pale pink walls, and windows showcasing scenery of a tulip field stretching on for miles. Windmills dot the distance, turning at their leisure. Gentle orange hues from two rising suns envelop the room in a cozy glow. 

If you hadn’t known any better, you’d believe you were actually on the planet Ethos, not traversing the cold, unforgiving space between galaxies.

While playing with the settings to change the time being depicted to twilight, it finally dawns on you that you’re not alone. 

Blazing eyes freeze you in place and your breath catches in your throat. 

“Blade,” you greet, wincing at how gracelessly the word rolls from your tongue, “I didn’t expect…” 

You cut yourself off, figuring that finishing the sentence will strengthen the bizarre atmosphere. What can be said, anyway? ‘Thanks for that,’ or ‘couldn’t have done it without you,’ maybe? Both options seem equally terrible. To make matters worse, he doesn’t explain why he’s stuck around. He continues to stand beside your nightstand, arms crossed over his chest, his lips drawn in a straight line. 

You’re the only one boasting signs of your previous tryst, the most obvious being your unsteady gait. Hoping to convey some decorum, you clasp your hands behind your back and straighten your posture. Surely, he’ll spill whatever’s on his mind and then make himself scarce. That’s been his modus operandi ever since this undefined relationship stumbled into existence. You tried not to take it personally. You’re both adults, if he doesn’t want to stick around for pillow talk, you won’t fault him for it. 

His eyes sear through your being. 

“You’re going to Illij.” 

You blink, thrown off by the flat delivery and the intentions it conceals. He’s either painfully blunt or cryptic in his word choice. It’d be nice if he could find a middle ground between both extremes, but that’s wishful thinking. 

With unusual impatience, he adds, “Alone.” 

Ah. 

A certain magenta-haired beauty’s previous words resurface in your mind. 

“—Alone? Not taking Bladie along for the ride?” she had tutted. “You’ll hurt his feelings.” 

You thought she was teasing, as she’s wont to do, yet your developing dilemma proves otherwise. That, or you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the truth in her words. 

Whilst shifting your weight from one foot to another, you meekly reply, “Kafka gave me permission.” 

He has the audacity to roll his eyes at you. 

“Permission, huh?” 

The condescension corrodes your former sheepishness. 

Placing a hand on your hips, you reply, “That’s the word I used, yes.” 

Your room pulsates with palpable tension. He stands to his full height — having been seated on your bed’s edge — sauntering over like a cat poised to pounce. You cross your arms over your chest as the distance shrinks. He’s yet to fully dress himself, wearing only his signature gray pants. His bare torso is marred with innumerable scars that vary in length and angle. Every time you both succumb to the heat of passion, his bandages occupy a new spot, depending on the circumstances of his latest battles. Presently, the cloth coils around his midsection and upper left arm. 

He’s close enough now for you to notice the latter unraveling. 

It isn’t anything logical that urges you forward. The sentiment resides deep in the recesses of your psyche, unsuccessfully shoved down by denial and trepidation. This formless substance takes shape as you meet him halfway. Blade towers over you. Given the massive gap in your abilities, you should fear him, but you know your pounding heart isn’t spurred by negative emotion. 

Much to his perplexity, you set aside the nascent quarrel, focusing your attention elsewhere. Nimble fingers resecure the rebellious cloth. 

“You’re terrible at taking care of yourself,” you mutter. “Honestly, what am I s’posed to do with you…?” 

It’s subtle, but this shift in tone relaxes his muscles. That is, until you admit: 

“I don’t like you being my bodyguard.”

Confusion contorts his countenance, then something more raw; something dangerously intimate. 

“I don’t like seeing you get hurt because of me,” you continue, lowering both your voice and head. “It’s… it’s awful and— and then— you don’t even care!” 

Hoping to avoid further humiliation, you stop there, taking deep breaths to prevent tears from flowing. This wasn’t the direction you wanted the evening to take. You wanted to take a bath, dip into a game Silver Wolf wouldn’t stop raving about, and then prepare for your imminent trip. The trip that’d put thousands of lightyears between you and a man whose blood spilled for your sake could rival an ocean. 

“I’ll be fine on my own. I’ve got Silv’s disguise software and she knows how to track me. So — I don’t know — take it easy, or something. You’ve got the month off.” 

His response is immediate. “I can’t.”

“Wh— did you not hear anything I just said?” you sputter. 

“I heard,” he confirms. He raises his hand to the bandage you rewrapped, as if trying to savor your lingering warmth. “When you’re gone, I cannot ‘take it easy.’” 

Blade uses your stupefaction to his advantage. He takes your much smaller hand into his and places it over his heart. It thumps at a slow, steady pace, like it hasn’t been obliterated and formed anew thousands of times. Your fingers twitch. His body, though colder than the average person’s, emits just enough warmth to indicate life. You feel the raised, textured skin that’s present above his every vital organ. It speaks of untold horrors; untold suffering. 

His chest rumbles as he says, “If I’ve no choice but to live… you’d make for a worthwhile reason.” 

You rest your forehead against his chest and squeeze your eyes shut. 

Kafka… are you sure it isn’t my feelings that’re in the most danger? 

A/N: owing to mental illness, aside from nexus, i devised another storyline for (slightly) less unhinged blade, this time with a stellaron hunter reader. while it has the material to make a series, i don't plan on starting up another multi-chaptered work until i make further progress into my current project 😭 still, i'm happy to talk about it if anyone's curious! here are some tidbits that give additional story context for this universe:

reader isn't super thrilled to be a stellaron hunter. a desperate situation ended in them joining the ranks. they're the emanator of the aeon of illumination, whose name i'm still undecided on. essentially, they're a 'consumer of stars,' capable of absorbing + storing well. you guessed it. stars. as you can imagine, this ability can provide immeasurable energy or devastation depending on its usage.

as a consequence, when reader's performing the sealing process, they're extremely vulnerable. it isn't exactly subtle, people tend to notice when their nearby sun is going cyaaaaaa ✌ and try to stop them. that's where bladie comes in. he kills anything and anyone that threatens them.

ethos is a pretty meadow planet that's known for harvesting clean energy (hydro, solar, wind) and using minimum technology. most of its inhabitants go their entire lives without ever seeing a computer. long distance communication is carried out through a dedicated fleet of carrier pigeons.

illij is a laissez-faire paradise. consumerism galore. ads projected in the night sky, ads projected in your dreams in certain low income areas where people can't afford space adblock™. it's a lot but sometimes reader appreciates the distraction.

[swtblue]

Friends feat j.wy

⚠️ Warning ⚠️

♪ This does NOT represent Wooyoung in any way, it's just fiction.

♪ NSFW! +20 | MDNI (I should say that minors can't read this but I can't stop them from reading this so read at your own risk).

♪ English is not my first language so sorry if there's any mistake.

Warnings: use of words like dick, cock, pussy, bitch (not addressing the reader either Wooyoung)...; mentions of handjob, blowjob, fingering, pussy eating, vaginal sex, skipping classes (don't do that)...; use of pet names, dom-sub subtle dynamic.

If I have forgotten something, please let me know.

Note: I wanted to write something special for Wooyoung because of his birthday 🫣. I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it and enjoy your read! Love you my stars!

✨ Love and sparkles ✨

Neither of you knew how it happened in the first place. It just happened one movie night at Wooyoung's apartment in which your best friend's dick decided to get hard for no apparent reason.

Neither of you felt something romantic for the other, and it seemed to be a bit annoying for your friend so, without malice, you offered to help him calm it down. It was just a harmless handjob, no? It wasn't like seeing his dick was going to trade your friendship or something like that. But what started as a simple handjob ended with you taking his full length in your mouth, willingly swallowing everything Wooyoung had to offer. His hands pressed your head down his length while yours played with his sensitive balls as you wished.

When the idea of helping him came up, you didn't think that your panties would get as wet as they ended. Nor was it in your mind either that you would end up legs wide open on the sofa with Wooyoung devouring your needy cunt so deliciously. Moaning like a bitch in heat every time his fingers fucked sinfully your clenching moistened hole while his tongue swirled playfully around your clit.

Of course, neither of you could ever have imagined that your usual movie night on Friday would have ended with his cock deep inside your pussy, piercing your cervix for hours in different positions.

That night woke up an intense burning desire that has gradually turned into an unhealthy obsession. A dirty, depraved spiral of unfiltered, unchecked sex where you just want to be full and Wooyoung just wants to get his cock wet. You are just two best friends using each other whenever your bodies call for it. No matter where, no matter what time. Just one call and you two will be a mess of moans, saliva, sweat and semen. You really are like animals in heat.

The sexual need of being with each other is such that you even have skipped classes at university. It's true that classes are important, of course they are, but being pinned against the door in the bathroom with Wooyoung's hand in your mouth to keep you from making more noise than necessary while this horny boy whispers all kinds of unblissful things in your ear are way too much better than to hear some boring old teacher explaining who knows what.

"Although I love those angelic sounds of yours too much I need you to keep that little mouth shut, babe. Can you do that for me? Or do you want us to be discovered? Does the idea of the whole faculty watching me piercing your little naughty pussy turn you on? Is that it?".

And how not to mention those naughty and entertaining evenings in which Wooyoung tries to keep his composure while playing with some friends online because you are cockwarming him so deliciously. You don't give a shit about his game, either his friends at the other end of the call. You just want his cock inside you. On more than one occasion Wooyoung has had to mute himself for how much you were clenching around him, making him moan in such a shameless way.

There is not a Friday night in which you two don't end up fucking after watching a movie. Although, lately you have been starting with the foreplay while the movie was still running in the background. Wooyoung sliding his naughty hand under the sheet that covers you both only to grope for the edge of the miniature piece of fabric you supposedly call a skirt and which you have clearly put on to provoke him, successfully finding your clit underneath the already wet fabric of your panties and starting to play with it.

But when you try to do something similar to him, suddenly your hands are held by his free hand. On his face reigns that triumphant smile that you have so often wanted to tear off but that now makes you clench your thighs tightly because a trickle of your sticky arousal decides to run all over your pussy.

"Only half an hour of film left, babe. If you cum before the movie ends I will edge you for another half an hour".

Half an hour of being a victim of Wooyoung's torturous game is hell but you're too stubborn to lose against him so you barely make it through those damn credits where you don't even give him time to take the movie off. In the blink of an eye you're already in his lap, jumping like a rabbit in heat on his cock in search of your precious, long-awaited orgasm.

"Only half an hour, kitty. If you cum before me just one time I will edge you for a whole hour".