#without grasping that it's the same thing

[tsunodaradio]

an act of pure defiance ⛐ 𝐎𝐏𝟖𝟏

“you know, moles are where your soulmate kissed you the most in your past life.” 

ꔮ starring: oscar piastri x girlfriend!reader. ꔮ word count: 1.3k. ꔮ includes: romance, fluff fluff fluff. mention of alcohol; profanity. established relationship, pinch of manhandling, title from the script’s science & faith. ꔮ commentary box: kae stop writing about oscar piastri challenge: failed 🤷 miami race winner, baby! 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You hadn’t even been dating yet when the ‘fact’ first came up in conversation. 

You were virtual strangers at one of Lando’s infamous house parties. Oscar had only met you a couple of hours prior, and it was the point of the night where everybody was sufficiently sloshed. Not in a destructive way, but enough to kind of lose grasp on reality. 

Oscar had been bleary-eyed and regretting his third shot of tequila when you loudly announced, to no one in particular, “You know, moles are where your soulmate kissed you the most in your past life.” 

It had been so absurd, so out of the blue, that Oscar couldn’t help it. He let out a snort of laughter that even the thumping music couldn’t hide, and you’d glared at him with the fury of a drunken woman scorned. 

“What?” you had demanded, and Oscar remembers finding you pretty in the moment. The flush in your cheeks—from the alcohol and indignance—and the fire in your eyes, not at all dulled by the Jägermeister you had chugged before graciously inviting yourself to the loose circle Oscar was hiding in. 

“It’s bullshit,” he had responded easily. 

“What’s bullshit?” 

He glared at you like he didn’t quite understand why he had to explain. “Soulmates,” he said exasperatedly. “Past lives.” 

“Well,” you had shot back, voice pitching higher, “you can go take your orange rocket ship and shove it up your—”

Somebody slapped a hand over your mouth. And Oscar had smiled, the barely-there grin hidden behind his red solo cup, without thinking for a moment that he was going to go down the deep end in record time. 

Falling in love with you hadn’t taken time; convincing you to date him was a completely different story. You still sometimes bitched about his anti-soulmate mentality, and Oscar had resolved to rubbing the migraine out of his temples if it meant agreement would keep you happy. 

It was just—so insane. Karmic justice and reincarnation made no sense to Oscar the same way telemetry might baffle an average person. He was not a man of faith. He liked to think everything could be broken down. 

The precision needed to make an impossible turn. The aerodynamics of his car that could make or break his race. 

The parts of his brain that lit up whenever you’re around. 

The serotonin he felt when you agreed to a date. 

Oscar believes in science. It’s tried, and tested, and true. 

His marks were products of melanocytes. He knows, because he drunkenly Googled it on the way home from Lando’s party. That night you met, he searched up a typo-laden why do people have moles, took a screenshot of the Mayo Clinic page that came up, and kept it in his gallery for three whole weeks. 

He had thought of you for three whole weeks. 

Now, Oscar gets tagged in memes about being an Aries. He finds himself taking ‘personality’ quizzes he swears have no purpose, but he’ll indulge you with his damn MBTI if it keeps you from pouting. He doesn’t understand the tarot cards you pull or why you have notifications on for an app called Co–Star.

He learns to live with it, chalks it up to being so horribly down bad that he’ll give you the benefit of doubt for nearly everything. 

Nearly everything. 

It’s another hotel room, another race weekend. The two of you are sprawled out on the bed, doing your own things, when Oscar feels your fingers absentmindedly tracing the back of his neck. It’s a touch light enough that it doesn’t tickle, doesn’t distract. There’s nothing provocative about it either, so Oscar keeps his gaze firm on the cricket match he’s rewatching. 

After a couple moments, you let out a huff. “Pay attention to me,” you grumble, and Oscar rolls his eyes—feeling so unbearably fond of you, he thinks he could die from it. 

(An exaggeration of epic proportions, of course. Oscar knows there’s no recorded deaths due to ‘fondness’, but he allows himself a hyperbole every now and then. A little treat.)

He shifts in the bed until you can lean on him more comfortably. “You could have just led with that,” he points out, even though he’s never truly minded your whining. 

You don’t answer, instead opting to burrow yourself into his side. He tries and fails to keep himself from smiling.

When your face tilts upward, lips brushing against his throat, Oscar’s eyes flutter shut. He’d never admit it out loud, but this was one of his favorite things about you. How tactile you could be. How generous you were with your affection. How—

Huh. 

This isn’t new. You’ve always been the type to shower Oscar with kisses, whether it was a prelude to something more or a show of affection on its own. For the first time ever, though, Oscar notices something. 

Two kisses near his Adam’s apple. One to the side of his neck, below his ear. A couple across his jaw—seemingly random, except they’ve always been in the same place, and now Oscar is laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” you murmur accusingly, your lips brushing over the constellation on his cheek. 

“You are,” he answers, arms looping around your waist. 

In one deft movement, Oscar pulls you on to his lap. You go without resistance, taking the change in position as an opportunity to lave his face with more chaste kisses. 

“Trying to one-up my soulmate?” he teases. 

You pause, realizing you’ve been caught. Instead of backing down, though, you only move to press your lips to his. Oscar can feel you smiling, and it makes the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. 

“I’m your soulmate,” you murmur without breaking the kiss, and he hums a vague ‘mhm’ in response. When you have him like this, he’ll agree to anything. 

You keep up with your trail of kisses, and the sudden rationale behind it all makes something treacherous thump, thump, thump in Oscar’s chest.

That very thing aches when you mumble, all trademark petulance, “You didn’t love me enough in our past life.” 

Early into your relationship, you had pointed it out. How Oscar had a lot more visible marks than you. You’d mapped them all over his body until he felt like there wasn’t a part of him he could hide from you, and he’d mentally compared it to the glaring lack on your own skin.

He’d thought you liked it, that you didn’t have as much blemishes or moles. But now, you’re burying your face into the crook of his neck and kissing up his throat, complaining like he had a hand in it at all. 

He uses the grip he has around your waist to flip you over. Your back to the mattress, your head cushioned by his hand. 

“What the hell!” you squeak, indignant, but Oscar’s already moving. 

Bracing himself on top of you, he kisses along the line of your jaw. Over your collarbone. Down the column of your throat. It’s methodical, still, even here. Brushes of his lips, each one pressed with intent.

Despite your earlier protest, your fingers find purchase at the short hair at Oscar’s nape. “What’s this all about?” you breathe.

Oscar peeks up at you through his bangs, noticing the way your eyes have fluttered close in contentment. 

He’ll take that. He’ll have that over you claiming he didn’t ‘love you enough’ in whatever past version of you might have existed. It’s so out of character for him, but something inside him had flicked like a light switch at your taunt. 

“I’m making it up to you,” he answers, voice hoarse, as he goes back to trailing kisses over each part of you that he can reach.

Jaw, collarbone, throat. The slope of your shoulder. The inside of your wrist. Places where, if you’re right, you’ll find moles in your next life. 

Oscar still doesn’t believe in a lot of things. But you’re laughing affectionately underneath him, pulling him closer, taking what he has to give, and Oscar—

Well, Oscar believes in you. ⛐

[harrysxcarolina]

billie bossa nova

b. eilish

warnings: pure smut, little to no plot, wlw, strap, fem!reader, mentions of being a switch (idk maybe its 1 am), cussing, oral, half proof read, honestly there's probably more but im so sleepy i can't think lol, also hiiiii lovies!!!!!! im backkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!! enjoy this sweet treat!! hopefully it helps to start your week off good!!! also she a long juicy thing so yeah!! mwah! goodnight!!! 🤭🥰😘

wc: 9.1k

love when it comes without a warnin’ 

The air was hot and heavy. Clothes sprawled out across the floor and long forgotten about. Heavy breaths and soft sighs fill the room as her lips leave traces down your neck. The moonlight sparkling across the floor. Your mind clouded with nothing but her. Her body pressed against yours as your hands grip and grasp down her spine trying desperately to pull her closer as if that was even possible. Her hips rutting against you deliciously causing your hands to slide down her sides gripping her hips aiding in her movements. 

“Fuck,” she groans deep in your neck giving you a hard thrust as she grips one of your thighs wrapping your leg around her hip. Her hands tangled deep into the sheets that lay beside your head as her heavy breaths continued to fan across your burning skin. Her chest pressed against yours as you feel every ragged breath she takes. Your breasts bouncing against each other as her body rubs against yours in the most mouthwatering way possible.  “You so feel so fucking good baby.” She moans as she kisses her way down your neck and across your collar. Leaving small love bites in her wake as she works her way down to your sensitive bud. Locking her lips around your perky nipple swirling her tongue in figure eights as her orbs look up meeting yours. 

You were a sight for sore eyes. Hair sprawled across the pillow, lips swollen and caught between your teeth trying desperately to hold back your moans. Your cheeks a deep red as you arch further into her touch, needing her to consume you completely. Your chest heaving up and down as you thrust up against her matching her pace. Silently begging her for more. Her smirk only grew as she continued to kiss and suck your perky tits giving them both the same amount of love and attention. The coil deep inside you getting bigger and bigger just waiting to unravel as you continue to watch her mark you up in places only you could see. A reminder. She was the only one that got to see you like this. The only one who gets to feel you in this way. To please you in this way. It was never spoken, but you both knew. She owned you and your body. You were hers to play with and please in any way she deemed fit, and you’d never complain. You’d take anything she gives you happily. 

“Don’t get shy on me now angel. Let me hear your pretty noises. Tell me what you want, pretty girl.” She mumbles against your skin as she lets your nipple go with a pop. Her tongue swipes across her lips as she looks up at you giving you a knowing smirk. Her hips slow just slightly against yours causing you to moan out in protest. Arching your back off the cool sheets you don’t dare look away from her. Your hands are still gripping her hips tightly trying desperately to get her to pick her pace back up. She’s quick to grip your hands, pinning them above your head as she stops her movements all together. 

“C’mon mamas. I’m not gonna ask again.” She states sternly before she places a quick peck on your forehead. Her breasts glide across yours as she slowly slides her hand down your pinned arms. Her fingertips teasing their way down your heaving chest as she captures her bottom lip between her teeth. Leaning back on her knees taking you all in. Groaning to herself as her fingers glide between your breast and down your torso stopping just above your hips as she once again glances up at you through her lashes. Your body arching into her down as she gently tickles and teases your skin. Watching the goosebumps cover your heaving chest. Her eyes are dark and wild as you see her impatience consume her features. Her dark hair cascading down into her view as she grips both of your thighs spreading your legs even further apart. Fingers spread wide across your soft skin as she flexes her hips against yours. Your wetness sticks to her heated core as she hits your aching clit perfectly. 

“Fuck, please!” You moan as your hands grip the pillow tightly as you rut up in response. Your body aching and screaming for her touch. Your core clenching on nothing as you feel her glare on you. “Please what baby?” Billie asks, her tone dropping just a hint as she slowly taps her fingers down your thigh. Teasing your skin with the cool sting from the rings cluttering her fingers. 

“Need you - fuck - need you on top of me.” You whine as you watch her fingers inching their way towards your soaked cunt. Your breath catches in your throat as her fingers flirt with you. Spreading your wetness along her fingers as she purposely avoids your throbbing clit. A cocky smirk lays across her cheeks as she moves her soaked fingers up to her swollen lips. Groaning to herself as the taste of you hits her tongue. The hand gripping your thigh moves to lower your legs back on the bed as she makes her way across your hips.

“This what you wanted?” Billie asks her tone husky and deep as her hands grip your sides squeezing softly as she straddles herself on top of you. Quickly nodding your head yes as your hands lay across her thighs as you can’t help the deep pull ricocheting across your entire body. You were drunk off the feeling of her sitting atop of you. The idea of her getting herself off by using you only adds to the burning fire deep in your core. You could feel yourself dripping down onto the bed as her hands slowly slide up your sides moving to grope your tits as she slowly begins to rock her hips back and forth. Her breath catches in the back of her throat as she rubs her clit perfectly against you. Her head falls back along her shoulders as your hands move to grip her hips. 

“Fuck just like that Bils.” You moan as you buck up in time with her rocking. Her tits bouncing and swaying in time with her movements as she quickens her pace. Her belly piercing swaying across her tummy as you move her hips against yours. Your moans fill the room as her fingers pinch and pull your swollen nipples. The headboard banging against the wall as she continues to use your body. Her wetness hot and sticky like warm honey coating the both of you as she quivers above you. “Shit,” She grumbles as her hair falls into her face. Her eyes clenched shut as she gets lost in the sounds of your moans and the feeling of her impending orgasm nearing. 

“Close already baby?” You softly ask as you move one of your hands up her side tracing the underline of her boob but not staying there too longer before your working your hand up to her neck. Squeezing firmly causing her eyes to shoot open. Her eyes are the darkest blue you’ve ever seen. Licking your lips as you can’t help the smirk that spreads across your face. You feel her pulse quicken under your grip as she grinds against you as occasionally flicking her gaze between your face and the way your tits are swaying in time with the rocking of her hips. Nodding her head silently as you gently tug her down against you, capturing her lips with yours. Her hips never faulting as your lips battle for dominance. Swallowing each others moans as you tilt your head deepening the kiss. The hand on her neck stays in place as you pull apart keeping her in this position wanting to feel every aspect of her approaching orgasm. Your own not too far behind as the hand that lay on her hip moves up her spine and tangles into her dark locks. Gripping the base of her neck firmly as you tilt her head back forcing her to look at you. 

“Go ahead. Use me. Grind that pretty little pussy of yours all over me until you make an absolute mess of yourself.” You breath against her lips causing her eyes to roll back into her head as that was all it took for her to pick up her pace racing to get herself to the finish line. 

It’s hard to stop it once it starts 

It was late. You definitely weren’t expecting her, but you also weren’t complaining. You were used to these little pop-ups she did. You’ve grown used to her showing up whenever the craving became too much for her to bare. Her hot breath fanned across your neck as she pinned you against your front door. Too needy and too impatient to make it to the bedroom she needed you now. “Missed you so much.” She groaned before her teeth sunk into your skin. Her lips hot on their trail as she starts her torture on your neck. Your moans sound like sweet melodies in her ears as your hands tangle into her hair. Locking her in place as her hips pin you up against the door. Tilting your head to the side offering her more room to explore as her hands grip the hem of your baggy shirt, pulling it above your head and quickly tossing it somewhere behind her before she goes back to work. Groaning to herself as she sees you in nothing but the black lace panties hugging your hips.

Her petite hands are hot and heavy on your chest as she works her lips down along your collarbone. Fingertips twisting and pulling your sensitive buds as she swipes her wet tongue across the bone as she looks up at you through her lashes. Kissing her way along your cleavage and through the valley of your breast. “Wanna taste you so bad.” She whispers against your torso. Her fingers fiddling with the waistline of your lace panties waiting for your approval before she dives in. Brushing your fingers across her cheek as you offer her a soft nod. Kneeling down fully onto her knees as she places a soft peck to your tummy. Your head leaning back against the door breathing deeply as she slowly lowers your panties to the floor. Licking her lips before she starts the slow torture of kissing up and along your thighs. Her lips spread across your skin in a smirk as she smells your arousal the closer she gets to your heated core. 

Tapping her fingers along your soft skin as she kisses her way across your waistline. Gently running her fingers through your folds as she nips one of your hips with her teeth causing you to jolt up into her touch. A breathy moan leaves your lips as one of your hands cup your breast and the other tangles deep into her locks. 

“You’re teasing me.” You whine as you try to guide her to where you needed her the most. Groaning as she quickly pins your hips back against the door with her free hand glancing up at you. Your hair disheveled across your head slightly falling into your view. Your eyes wide and doe like as you look down at her impatiently waiting for her tongue to be deep inside you. She watches as you play with your boob purposefully slowly down your movements knowing that it drives her wild when you pleasure yourself in front of her. Her eyebrows rise as she watches you twist and pull your own nipple. Moaning at the feeling it shoots sent to your core. 

“Won’t take a lot to get you goin’,” She states as she traces her lips lower and lower down your burning skin. Getting closer to your sex as she keeps her eyes on you. “I’m sorry if it’s torture though.” She whines before she places a kiss atop your clit. Your breath catches as you buck up towards her lips. Eyes rolling back as she glides her tongue between your folds. Moaning against you as she laps up your juices. Tongue working fast and hard against your clit as she licks and sucks on your heat. Her grip on your hip is tight and steady as she holds you in place. Taking what she wants from you. 

Groaning as you fight against her hold, needing more than what she was giving you. Your fingers gripping her head as she works you closer and closer to your release. Her tongue swivels and flicks along you driving you crazy as you feel the tightness build up. “Fucking shit. Yes right there!” You moan as she captures your bud between her lips sucking you fully into her mouth as she slowly slides her fingers between your folds. Flirting with your hole as she teases your clit with the tip of her tongue. Her eyes heavy on your features as she watches your chest heave up and down off the door as your mouth hangs open. Cheeks flushed as you waited for her to give you what you were silently begging for. Sliding two fingers deep along your walls as her tongue refuses to give up. Her fingers curl perfectly, hitting your sweet spot right from the start. 

Letting you go with a pop as she thrust her fingers fully inside you. Twisting and curling her fingers along your walls groaning deeply at the sound of your wetness coating her hand. She watches her fingers moving in and out of your cunt as her bottom lip gets stuck between her teeth. “Fuck,” she groans. “It might be more of an obsession.” She states as she dives right back in sliding her tongue up and down your folds, drinking in everything you were offering her. You feel yourself clenching around her digits as her tongue moves in figure eights against your clit. 

You were on cloud nine. Head cluttered with the view of her below you. Her knelt on her knees with her face buried between your thighs. Your legs get weaker but the second as her fingers are relentlessly thrusting in and out of you. Her chin is covered in your juices as her hand moves to grip your ass. Guiding you to fuck yourself on her tongue and fingers. Her hair messy and all over the place from none other than the grip of your fingers deep in her hair. “Please don’t stop. Fuck I’m - I’m so fucking close.” You moan as you grind your pussy faster against her tongue. Your vision begins to blur as you feel the tightness getting bigger and bigger. Teeth caught along your bottom lip as you almost missed her soft plea for you to give her what she wants. 

Your skin burning hotter than the sun as you feel her grope your ass tighter holding up against her face as her fingers repeatedly hit your sweet spot over and over again. Her tongue working your clit perfectly. “I want it. I want all of it baby.” She demands as you squeeze her so tight she can barely move her fingers. She doesn’t hesitate to work you through your high as her fingers continue to work you in a c’mere motion. Her lips tight around your clit sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body as your high hits you like a ton of bricks. You felt her smirk along your folds as she slowly removes her fingers. Groaning as she raises her sticky fingers up to her lips and licks them clean, smirking up at you as she does so. 

Oh you’re so in for it tonight. 

makes me wanna make em’ jealous 

“What the hell was that?” Her tone is sharp and straight to the point. Her footsteps echoing on the hardwood floor as she makes her way across the empty kitchen. Turning on your heel in confusion as you balance the red solo cup along your fingertips. The thumping music from the party you were currently attending fills the space around you as you take another sip of your cup. Your cheeks are flushed and warm as you lean yourself against the counter. Your head is fuzzy, probably from the alcohol cruising through your veins. Your eyebrows raise in confusion as she stands herself right in front of you. The tips of your shoes touch as you look at her up and down. “What was what?” You ask nonchalantly with a shrug of your shoulder. Her eyes are fuming as she sucks her tongue across her teeth, shaking her head in disbelief as she grabs your hips and tugs you off the counter. You were now pressed tightly against her front as you felt the heat radiating off her body. Moaning softly to yourself as you feel the bulge between her thighs. Lip caught between your teeth as you meet her gaze. Noticing how she already stood with a cocky smirk and an eyebrow hitched. A knowing smirk spread across her lips. “Now that I have your full attention.” She seethed, gripping your hips tighter. “Let me repeat myself one more fucking time. What the hell was that?” She questioned. Her orbs getted a dark deep blue as your cheeks begin to heat up under her stare. Gripping the red solo cup tighter as you recall the incident she was referring to. 

The music was loud as you swayed your body to the beat. Head thrown back as you let loose and sang along with the crowd dancing around you. Cup tight in your grip as the bodies around you mindlessly bumping and grinding aimlessly around the very limited space. Not soon after you get lost in the song you feel a pair of unfamiliar hands grip your hips. Aiding in your movements to the rhythm as they pressed their body fully against your back. The alcohol in you wasn’t the best excuse for why you allowed this to continue but being lost in the moment and mind clouded by the unknown amount of shots you’ve taken thus far tonight definitely wasn’t helping. Telling yourself that you’re going to go stress free tonight and just have fun. Not knowing the last time you fully allowed yourself to do so. 

You knew she wouldn’t be happy about it. You knew you would be in for a long night the moment she found out. Even though the words we never spoke aloud you were hers. And hers only. It was okay for them to look, but they were never to touch. 

The song soon changed and with the beat drop scaring you out of your daze you quickly pushed yourself away from the mysterious body and quickly searched for a quieter place. You needed to sober up. You needed the fuzziness to go away. Zig zagging your way through what seemed like an endless amount of bodies, you finally reach the kitchen and thank the universe that no one was in there. Which was shocking seeing as all the drink options were scattered throughout the room. Empty pizza boxes and half drank cups litter the counters as you make your way to the sink. Dumping out the remaining liquid down the drain and quickly replacing it with water. 

Taking a big gulp of the refreshing liquid as you make a mental note to grab a snack as well once you finished your cup of water - 

“I didn’t mean -” you start before she quickly interrupts you. “Oh what?! You didn’t mean to let that guy rub his dick all up on you? Baby girl, if you were that desperate to get dicked down you know all you gotta do is ask and it's done.” She states confidently as she ruts herself up against you once again. The faux cock hidden under her baggy pants rubbing against your clit perfectly through your tight skirt. Your head falls back along your shoulders as your grip on the cup loosens slightly. A sharp jolt shoots through your body causing pins and needles to coat your skin. A soft moan rolls off your lips as you try and return the motion only to be stopped and pressed back against the counter. 

“Nuh-uh pretty. You get what I give you tonight.” She groans as she moves one of her hands to grip your neck. Pulling you down to her and crashing her lips onto yours. The kiss is filled with nothing but clashing teeth and desperation. Breathing each other in as your tongues battle for dominance. Forgetting everything around you and getting completely lost into her. Her touch. Her lips. Her soft groans as she occasionally ruts her hips up against you. 

Pulling apart from your lips to kiss across your jaw and down your neck. Searching for your sweet spot and smirking to herself as she starts her attack on your skin. Her teeth nipping at your hot skin and quickly after flicking the tip of her warm tongue across it soothing the ache she left. Leaving her mark along your pulse point before working her lips to your ear. Her hot breath sends shivers down your spine as you feel her grip on your neck tighten just slightly. Her lips brushing across the shell of your ear “The fact he thought he could lay hands on you makes me wanna make em’ jealous.” She whispers into your ear. Your jaw is on the floor. Your cheeks instantly warm to a bright red as you forget to breathe all together. The grip you had on the cup completely unfolds as you move your hands to tangle themselves into her hair. Not caring that the cup of water is now pouring out onto the floor. Her hand drops from your neck and quickly grips your hips moving her head from out of your neck. Licking her lips as she looks up at you taking in the shocked yet turned on express on your face. 

Lips quirking slightly before she gently grabs your chin bringing your face down to hers. Glancing between your eyes and swollen lip she can’t help the cocky smirk working its way across her cheeks. Her lips gently brushing against yours as her words seep into your skin like the warm rays on a mid-July day. “We both know I’m the only one who does it how you like. Get your things. We’re leaving now.” She states before she swiftly captures your bottom lip between her pearly white teeth and tugs on it. Growling as she watches it bounce back into place the moment she relishes it. But just as quickly as she came she was gone. Pushing off your body and backing herself away. Glancing down at the bulky watch laying around her wrist she checks the time. “You got 5 minutes mamas. Don’t keep me waiting.” She demands before turning on her heel. Her tone deep and raspy as she leaves you standing there with wobbly knees and a throbbing ache deep in your core. 

we both know im worth waitin’ for, that heavy breathin’ on the floor 

You sit slouched back in the leather chair. An annoyed groan leaves your lips as your foot taps against the floor. Glancing down at your phone checking the time. 45 minutes. She was 45 minutes late to the meet up she planned. The meet up she begged you to come on even though you told her you had prior engagements and you weren’t available. Were you annoyed? Frustrated? In more than one way that is. Yes absolutely. You’ve tried texting her. Calling her. Nothing. Pure silence. You start to question what you were even doing here. Why were you waiting for a girl you kept dangling you around on a string. Only coming around when it worked best for her. Sighing and pushing yourself up off the chair deciding to collect your things and go. You didn’t want to look even more pathetic than you already did. 

Right as you finish packing up your things you hear the slight rattle of the door handle. Freezing in your spot and you glance over your shoulder at the door. You watch it swing open and the dark haired girl rushing in. Her cheeks were light pink as her chest heaved up and down. Trying to catch her breath as she stood there staring at you. Her eyes wide as her hands lay clenched at her sides. 

“I’m so sorry!” She hurriedly spoke. Reaching up and brushing her bangs out of her eyes taking a few steps towards you. You are still standing half hunched over the bed as you stare at her with an unknown look in your eyes. “You’re 45 minutes late Billie. What the fuck?” You state as you set your bag pack down on the bed turning to face her fully. She stops just a couple steps shy from you as she glances at you up and down. “I know, and I’m so sorry. I really am. I was in the studio with Finneas, and I know it’s a dumb ass excuse but we really lost track of time. Then my phone died. Please, believe me.” She begged as she stood there with slumped shoulders and a desperate look on her face. Taking a deep breath for glancing down at your shoes. 

“I want to believe you. Shit I do believe you. But that’s the problem Billie.” You reply as you twist your fingers together anxiously. You know you have to tell her how you have been feeling. You can’t keep it bottled up anymore. “What - what’s that supposed to mean?” She questions as she looks up at you with furrowed brows. Taking a hesitant step forward as she flexes her fingers that were starting to cramp from how tight she was clenching them. “Billie,” You sigh softly. Taking a deep breath as you fight down the tightness in your chest. “You expect me to drop everything for you at any given moment. You expect me to be at your beck and call whenever you please. Yet you can’t even offer the same courtesy for something you planned knowing I had things already planned.” You rush out. Your frustration gets the best of you and before you can stop yourself the words just fly out of your mouth. “I’ve fallen in love with you and it fucking hurts how you are just playing around with me.” You're both left standing there in shock as the words hang heavy in the air.  

“You’re falling in love with me?” Her voice comes off soft as she takes another step closer to you. Only two steps left between the both of you. Looking down at the floor for a second reminding yourself to breathe. Nodding your head softly as you gently nibble on your lip. You feel her fingers gently gripping your chin moving your gaze to hers. Her cheeks are slightly flushed as her orbs are wide and curious. “I’m falling in love with you too. I’m sorry I’ve been so shitty. I don’t ever want to hurt you. Can I make it up to you?” She asks as her eyes never leave yours. You search for any signs of dishonesty, but you find none. 

Her fingers move to cup your cheek as you gently nod your head. Her lips brush along yours teasingly as her minty breath invades your senses. “Remember what you asked for the other day?” She mumbles against your lip. You feel her tongue quickly swipe across her lips as you lean your forehead against hers. The quirk of your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by Billie as she knows you remember exactly what you asked her. Your cheeks heat up immediately at her question. She motions with her head over to the nightstand next to the bed. You follow her nod as you feel the giddiness building deep within you. You feel the tingles spreading from the tips of your toes to the tips of your fingers. Licking your lips as you back away from Billie towards the stand. Her smirk matches yours as she keeps her eyes on you. She can feel her entire body heating up at the realization at what is about to happen between the both of you. 

***

Her soft whimpers and pleas were the only sounds you could hear as her hands grasped at anything she could reach. Her body spread out along the mattress below the both of you. Her breaths deep and heavy as your lips slowly leave open mouth kisses along her cleavage, one hand holding you up as you tower over her while the other lightly traces up and down her side. You feel her start to clench her thighs around you. Clothes long forgotten along with the blankets that were kicked off the bed in the heat of tangled limbs and messy kisses. Teasing her porcelain skin with the tip of your tongue tracing random shapes as you worked your way down leaving goosebumps in your trail. Inching your warm mouth closer and closer to her swollen nipple as you glance up at her through your lashes. Smirking as you notice her icy orbs already on your every move. You could feel the heat radiating off her shaking body and you’ve barely even touched her yet. 

Her hands clench at her sides as you hover your mouth over her tit. She doesn’t move her gaze from yours as she watches you quickly capture the bud between your teeth flicking it between your tongue causing her back to arch up and with a deep moan escaping from her rosy lips. Her teeth biting down harder along her swollen lip as your fingers tap along her side until you reach her other nipple, not wanting it to feel left out you quickly begin twisting and pulling in time with the motion of your tongue. Her moans get louder and coat your burning skin. 

Shes so fucking soft. You think as you let your mouth pop off her sensitive and swollen nipple and continue to work yourself lower making sure to kiss every single inch of her as you leave your dark marks all across her waistline. Smirking to yourself as you check out your work before giving special treatment to the tattoo that lay permanently along her lower torso. Her hips buck up in need as you watch her move her clenched hands from the sheets up her body to her achy breast. As your lips trace her sweaty skin you watch her one hand take its time moving up her panting body. Her eyes heavy on you as she teasingly traces her fingertips up her tummy moaning to herself as she arches up into her own touch the higher she gets. Her smirk soon matches yours. Making sure to take her time as she watches your eyes dilated with more need as her other hand pinches and pulls at her nipple. Your heavy breathing fanning over her aching core as you can't help but groan at your own aching need. Softly rutting yourself against the bed to hopefully relieve the pent up frustration. 

Laying a chaste kiss above her mound as you offer her one more time to change her mind. “Are you sure about this baby?” You mumble as you scoot yourself into a more comfortable position between her thighs which she had laid spread wide open for you already. Your arms slide under and around her hips gripping them firmly between your hands as you pepper sweet kisses along the inside of her thigh patiently waiting for her approval. Her eyes get a bit softer at your words as her teeth finally let go of her bottom lip. Nodding her head against the pillow as she unclasps her grip on her boobs and moves her hands down to yours that were still holding her hips. 

Interlacing her fingers with yours as she quietly whimpers, “Want to feel you everywhere. In every way.” It didn’t take very long before her pretty head was quickly thrown back against the pillow as you swipe your tongue up her soaked folds. The tip of your tongue stroking just right against her throbbing clit. Her hips try aimlessly to buck up into your touch, but with your hands tightly wrapped around them holding her in place she doesn’t get very far. Humming to yourself as you savor the taste of her on your lips. Your fingers flexing against her hip bones as you feel her ragged breath on the tips of your pinky fingers. 

Glancing up at her as a small smirk works its way across your lips. The tip of your tongue slowly makes its way through her soaked folds gathering every single drop of her juices. Her grip on your hands tightens the moment you start to slowly swipe your tongue back and forth along her clenching hole before fully capturing her heat between your lips. Your moans against her send vibrations throughout her body as you begin to fully tongue fuck her. Thrusting your face deeper between her thighs as you begin to curl the wet muscle along her spongy walls. 

Getting lost in the taste of her and the sounds of her sweet melodies you continue to devour her feverishly. You didn’t realize when she let go of your fingers until she had hers tangled deep in your hair holding your head right where she wanted you. Unraveling one of your hands off her hip as you rest it on the bed. Pulling yourself up and away from her briefly, your lips and chin are covered in her arousal. Quickly swiping your tongue across your lips as you move your gaze up her gasping body a soft whimper leaves your lips. Her cheeks fully flushed with a cherry red tint, her lips swollen and begging to be kissed, her dark hair lay tangled and spread out along the pillow case. Your heart couldn’t help but swoon at the sight of her. She’s spread wide, wet, and ready for you as you notice the soft moonlight sprinkling itself across her porcelain skin. Your hand slowly inching itself higher up her quivering leg as your eyes meet hers. 

“You ready?” You softly ask as you wiggle yourself between her thighs. A soft gasp rolls off Billie’s lips as she feels the tip of the faux cock slide between her folds, giving her just a glimpse of what's to come. Her hands instantly reach out towards you as she pulls you down to her, capturing your lips in a sweet passionate kiss. Nodding her head yes as she refuses to release you from her touch. Your lips tangle against each other as you tower your body over hers. Teeth clashing as the once soft kiss turns more heated. Needier. Breathing in each other's moans as Billie quickly slips her tongue along yours tasting herself on your buds. Groaning as your tongues battle for dominance, both of you refusing to give up the fight as your tongues and teeth clash together. 

Pulling apart briefly, you carefully align your hips with hers gently pushing past her walls. Her thighs are quick to wrap themselves around your hips as you inch further - deeper - into her. Your lips brush teasingly against hers causing her back to arch up off the bed further into you. Her hands gripping your hair tightly holding you in place as she bucks her hips up in response. You could feel the heat radiating off her burning skin the deeper you got.

“Fuck baby,” she groans against your cheek as she impatiently waits for you to move. Her hips involuntarily bucking up against yours causing your head to fall along her shoulder you feel the sweet pleasure against your aching clit. You can feel her breast rubbing against your sensitive nipples as her chest heaves up and down in anticipation. Her lips hot on your jaw as she kisses her way across and down your pulse point. Her hot breath fanning down your skin causing goosebumps to follow in her trail. Your smirk only grows as you place one hand beside her head and the other along her hip as you start a slow tortuous pace along her spongy walls. The room is quickly filled with your soft pants and her sweet melodies as you begin to flex your hips harder and deeper against her. 

“Do I feel good baby?” You whisper along the shell of her ear. Your tone is sweet yet mocky as your tongue gently teases her earlobe causing her head to fall fully against the pillow giving you more room to work your lips down her neck. Silently asking you to mark her up. She wanted to feel your lips and touch for days after. She wanted the dark marks as a reminder of this night. The night that you both would never forget. She crosses her legs behind your back forcing you to stay tightly against her as you repeatedly hit her sweet spot. Your lips are glued to her skin as you leave mark after mark groaning to yourself as you see the pretty purple marks lining her neck and across her collarbone. You wanted to engrave this image into your mind. You wanted to replay her sweet melodies over and over again as you watch her take everything you are giving her. You wanted to feel the tightness of her thighs wrapped around hips for the rest of eternity. 

Your hand clutching the sheets as you adjust your body to fully lay along hers. Your hips never falter as you pick up your pace thrusting faster into her. You could feel every single ragged breath she took as you ran your hand along her side. 

“You feel so fucking good baby. Fuck -  just like that! Please don’t fucking stop.” She moans into your neck. Her tongue swiping along your sweet spot smirking to herself as she feels your pulse quicken. Your breath hitches briefly as she sinks her teeth deep into your neck.  It was her turn and you both knew it. You weren’t going to stop her. You wanted her marks just as badly. Her lips work fast along your neck as her teeth pinch and pull your skin. The marks grow darker as her tongue quickly soothes the burning ache she leaves behind. “Mm, fuck Bils!” You groan, tossing your head back as she lets the marked skin go with a pop. Your eyes meet as you continue your moves, rotating your hips deliciously against hers as you feel her wetness seeping down your thigh. Her eyes are dark and wild as she glares up at you. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth as your hand slid up her torso and between the valley of her breast. Gently teasing her skin with your fingertips as you feel the ache between your thighs getting bigger and bigger as the harness rubs your clit perfectly over and over again. You’re just as wet as her if not more as you continue to slowly watch her crumble below you. Her breath hitches in the back of her throat as you brush your fingertips across her perky nipples. Arching her back completely off the bed and into your touch as her hips rut and grind against the cock you had buried deep inside her. 

You wanted to feel every twitch and buck of her body against yours as you finally get to have her the way you’ve been dreaming about for weeks. You’ve begged her to let you please her this way. You begged and whined about wanting to hear her soft moans and whimpers for you, stating how you wanted to see her the way she always got to see you. Wet, needy, and begging for more. Not that you haven’t before, just - well just not in this specific way. You wanted to see how far you could push her. You wanted to see how far you could take her before she completely fell apart at the seams. Her moans and whimpers are music to your ears as she untangles her digits from your locks and pulls you down quickly to a heated kiss. Her teeth capture your bottom lip before letting it go with a pop as you moan into her mouth.

Your hips continue to thrust and grind against her panting body as her hands slide their way down your sweaty body pulling you tighter against her as you feel her clenching tightly around you. Smirking against her lips as you hand releases her sensitive bud and works its way up her heaving chest. Gently lacing your fingers along her neck as her moans only grew louder as her head flew back and her eyes clenched shut. Squeezing just briefly causing her eyes to land back on yours. 

“You’re close already baby?” You moan mockingly you slowed your pace down just a bit still working your hips just as deep as before. You wanted this to last just a little longer you thought as her groans were quickly muffled by the hand that decorated her neck. Her mouth hung open as she tried to buck her hips up against you but was quickly stopped by the hand that was laying beside her head. Quickly moving it to grip one of her thighs that was tangled around your hips. Her walls clenching and desperately trying to pull you deeper as you swiftly push her hips down into the bed. She groans as her dark orbs send you harmless daggers. She knew what you were doing. She knew you wanted to play. 

Leaning down to where your lips barely brushed against hers. Her minty breath invades your senses as the tip of your tongue swipes across her swollen lips. “I asked you a question, pretty girl.” You murmur as your eyes glance across her features. Her cheeks a burning red as she feels the tip gently rub against her sweet spot but just as quickly as it came it was gone as you offered her one more reminder. Her bottom lip is once again caught between her teeth as she feels your breath fanning along her face. 

“Baby, please,” She quietly begged as she felt your fingers flex along her pulsing neck. Your eyes flicker across her features as you feel her hands sliding their way down your side not stopping until they get to your hips. Her fingers are quick to grip and grasp at your skin as she tries desperately to get your hips to continue their sweet torture but you don’t budge. Your eyebrows furrow as your grip on her hip and neck stay steady. Tilting your head slightly as you take her all in. 

Your tongue toying with your lips as your eyes slowly work their way down her heaving body. Taking your time as you stop your movements all together as the hand on her hip grips her tighter leaning down against her once more. Your lips lay a gentle kiss against her forehead before sitting back on your heels. Your bottom lip lays prisoner to your teeth as you swiftly slide the fake cock out from between her legs. Confusion is quickly laced in Billies features as she quickly goes to sit up to stop you. 

“Baby, where - what are you doing?” She rushes out as her hands reach for your arms. You offer a sweet smile and a soft shush, before laying yourself along the bed spreading your legs out as you reach down to grip the toy that sat above your core. Groaning to yourself as you feel her wetness coat your palm as you glide your hand up and down the shaft as if it was actually a part of you. Your stare doesn’t leave the site in front of you as you watch her sticky wetness drip down your fingers. Her orbs grow darker as she watches you play with the toy instead of her. The ache in her core goes bigger as does her confusion. She wanted you touching her. She wanted to feel you everywhere and instead you're laying there in front of her playing with something that isn’t even real. 

“You can continue to sit there staring at me or you can start answering me when I ask you questions baby.” You state as you flick your eyes up to her. Silently loving the way she is staring at you as if she wanted to eat you alive. Which she did. Her chest is still heaving up and down as she can feel herself clenching around nothing. A reminder of what she once had only just moments before. You give her a few more seconds to answer before you move your gaze and attention back to your hand around the thick shaft moaning to yourself as you bring your hand up to your lips and lick her juices off your palm. Your head laying back along the pillow as you use that same hand to knead your aching tit. 

Your moans fill the room as your hand toys with yourself only driving her more mad with desire and need. She couldn’t take it anymore. Quickly moving her body to tower over yours. Her leg swinging over your hips as she hovers over the taunting cock held between your thighs. One hand placed beside your head as the other goes to grip the hand that you were using to touch yourself with. Moaning loudly as she removes it from your own body and placing it directly against her drenched core. Her eyes shoot up to meet yours as she grabs your wrist tightly. Your fingers sliding between her soaked folds as she moves your hand back and forth, coating your fingers herself with her juices. “See how wet you fucking make me?” She asks moaning as her hips buck against your digits. Your fingers sliding between her folds before she easily slides two deep along her walls. You can’t hold back your moans at how quickly your fingers became soaked with her juices. You wanted your tongue coated in them. Her body was burning hot at the feeling of you inside her. 

“I want you touching me mamas, and only me. Do you understand?” She groaned in your ear as she moved her body against your fingers. Her hips buck against your palm as she feels a shiver slide down her spine. Her breast swaying perfectly in front of your eyes, only making your mouth water even more. Wanting desperately to capture one of her buds between your teeth. “I want you to make me cum all over you. Want you to - fuck - want you -” she starts but quickly drops her jaw as a deep moan lips her lips. You quickly pull your fingers out of her and replace them with the faux cock she was so jealous of moments before. Filling her up completely with one swift thrust. Her breathing stops all together as you being to fuck up into hers. 

“Oh, please don’t stop there, Bils. Tell me what else you want.” You boldly state below her with a cocky smirk laying across your lips. Your eyes flicker between her fucked out expression and the way that her hips were rutting against the thick cock that was buried deep in her pussy. “Fuck, and look at me a little more. Not that fucking fake dick.” She groans deeply as she rotates her hips hitting her sweet spot. 

“Fuck, pretty girl.” You moan as her hips grind harder and faster, rubbing your clit deliciously causing your head to fall back and your vision to blur. “Shit, please don’t stop!” She begs as you flex your hips up in time with hers. The arm that was holding her up gets wobbly, her grip now on your bouncing breast as her knees sink deep into the mattress. Her wetness gushing down onto your thighs and lower tummy as you feel her clenching her hips tightly along your hips. Your tongue quickly swipes across your lips as you watch her cheeks grow hotter the closer she gets to her high.

Her dark locks invade her vision as her head drops low. Her bottom lip caught between her pearly white teeth as she feels the coil getting tighter and tighter. “Does my pretty girl want me to watch her make a mess all over me hm?” You ask tenderly as you use your free arm to hold you up still keeping you the thrusting pace you had going with her. Your raised mound rubbing against her throbbing clit perfectly every time to rutted forward. Her hips sputter against you as she rolls her head along her shoulder blades. Looking down at you through her dark lashes she reaches her free hand up to grope her chest. Twisting and pulling at her own nipples her soft whimpers fill the room. Her breathing quickens as she reaches down to grip the back of your neck. Tugging your head up until your lips capture her nipple between your teeth. Your tongue licking and sucking her deeper into your mouth. Her sweet sounds float into your ears and straight to your core as you flick your tongue against her nipple before your teeth bite and pull the swollen bud.

“Shit, baby. I’m going to fuck - I’m going to cum.” She confesses as you thrust your hips even deeper. The tip of the dick pounding against her sweet spot over and over again until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Her moans and ragged breaths flood your senses as you feel her shake above you. Her orgasm washes over her causing her body to fall on top of yours. Gripping her hips tighter as you force her hips to keep their movements the same, dragging out her high for as long as possible. “Fuck yes baby. Make a mess all over me. Show me you’re mine pretty girl.” You moan as your own high rushes over you. 

“im yours, im yours - ” Billie moans deep into your neck as she shivered in your lap. Her body slowly goes lax in your grasp as you grip her fully against your front. Your hands rubbing along her spine as you lay sweet kisses along her shoulder. You can feel each other's hearts beating as you both refuse to let go of the other. Your heavy breathing matches as softly tickle her skin with your fingertips and her lips lay peppered kisses along your neck and collarbone as you both try to catch your breath. 

“I really am sorry about being late. I really wanted tonight to be perfect.” Billie softly states as she lays her head along your shoulder. Her cheek flush against your warm skin as her nose brushes along your neck. You softly hum and lay a kiss on her cheek in response before tucking yourself closer into her too consumed by bliss to fully register her words just yet. 

The room grows in a comfortable silence, not sure how much time has passed before you start to feel the soft lure of sleep. Your bodies are heavy with warmth and swirling emotions as you know you’ll have to get cleaned up before you both fall asleep. Gently tapping your fingers against her chilled skin quietly whispering for her to get up so you could clean her up she softly groans before mumbling something incoherent against your skin as she slowly sits up out of your neck and rubs her eyes. You can’t help the small smirk that works its way along your lips as you stare up at her in awe. Even half asleep and purely fucked out she still was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. Your finger gently traces along her thigh as she lowers her hands and glances down at you. With a confused shake of her head and a small smile she softly asks, “Why you lookin’ at me like that?” Her eyes glancing between your eyes and your swollen lips the hints of your previous activities still lingering along them. 

“You’re mine huh?” You state confidently as your teeth sink into your bottom lip trying to hide your cocky smirk. Billie bashfully looks down at the bunched up sheets beside your pretty face avoiding your knowing stare. Her smirk is evident as she sucks her tongue across her teeth finally meeting your gaze. 

“Only if you want me.” She coyly states her orbs grow darker as she moves her gaze across your features. Her hands now gripping your sides as she reminds you of the position you both sat in. Raising her hips just a little before dropping back down onto you. 

Your smirk only grows as her hands slowly inch their way up your torso. Moving your hands to grip her hips as you aid in her movements. Watching her tits bounce right before your eyes. “Oh, I definitely want you. In every way baby. Every single fucking way.” You state as you both forget the tiredness that once consumed you and instead get lost in all the possibilities of what’s to come. Your thoughts are clouded with soft kisses and the promise of you were hers and she was yours.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I have a thought for epic. Before Telemachus went on his diplomatic mission, he was scrawny because he didn't have any warrior training. And his wife loved that about him. But hear me out. He comes back, after all the training from Athena and such and he is so much stronger and has more muscle and his wife is like "DAMN!!"

A/n: I love this 🤣 also like let me know if you want a smutty part 2 👀

You were one of the best things that happened to him, Telemachus. You saw him for who he was, not for being the son of Odysseus and now....now he was leaving you behind.

(Something he did not want to do)

Lip's quivering, you did your best to not pout as you grasped your husband's hands gently in yours as you gazed up at him. "Come back to me."

Telemachus smiled as he pressed his head against yours as he gave you a soft kiss. "Always."

It's been close to a year, a year without your sweet and gentle husband and now you've had gotten word he was finally returning home. You've always knew that Telemachus wasn’t a warrior when he’d gone.

Not yet.

Telemachus had always been gentle—long-limbed, a bit too lean, always more tongue-tied than bold, except when he spoke of justice. Or you.

You’d fallen for his soul, his smile and those beautiful eyes, not his sword arm. For the way he listened more than he spoke.

So when the guards called out—“A ship! The prince returns!”—you dropped the basket you were holding and without thinking you took off into a sprint.

You ran to the shore.

And stopped cold.

Because the man disembarking was not the same scrawny boy who left.

He was taller now, shoulders broad beneath a dark cloak, a glint of bronze beneath it where his armor clung. His arms—Gods, his arms—were no longer slender but strong, defined with muscle earned from battles and training alike. He walked like a lion now, not a hesitant deer. Confident. Controlled. Powerful.

And then he smiled...that same sweet smile.

Your Telemachus was still in there—that soft tilt of the mouth, the boyish warmth that bloomed behind storm-colored eyes.

“Wife,” he greeted lowly, voice deeper than you remembered, huskier with use.

You blinked once.

Twice.

“…Damn,” you whispered, breathless.

His brow arched in amused confusion. “What was that?”

“N-Nothing,” you stammered, cheeks flaring with heat as you suddenly remembered the many, many inappropriate thoughts now stampeding through your mind. “I just—I didn’t—gods, what did Athena feed you?”

That made him grin.

“You missed me, then?” he teased, stepping closer until his shadow fell over you, until you had to tilt your head just to keep eye contact.

You reached out, placing your hand on his chest—partly to confirm he was real, partly because by the gods, you wanted to feel those muscles beneath your palm. “You could say that.” Your mouth felt dry and you were at a loss for words now.

But when he dipped his head to kiss you, slow and warm and newly confident, you could barely remember what restraint meant.

“I have so many things to tell you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Mhm,” you breathed. “Later. Right now, we’re going inside. And you’re going to tell me with your arms and body and everything else.

He blinked.

Then he smirked.

“By the gods,” he chuckled, sweeping you up bridal-style without effort. “I’ve missed you.”

And if anyone asked why the palace doors slammed shut and didn’t open again until dawn…

Well. That was nobody’s business but yours

[sqgeism]

Hi! I hope you're doing well!

I have a bit of a specific Anaxa request: we all know this guy is prickly like a cactus, and probably wouldnt show any kind of physical affection/be overly affectionate whatsoever. maybe the reader can be lightly airing all their frustrations to an unsuspecting dromas/chimera they stumbled upon, and anaxa happens to walk right by when they say "I don't know why he feels he needs to keep me at an arm's length, in the end, all i want is to be loved; and i wish the same for him."

I just feel like that sentence would make anaxa flabberghasted and make him rethink some things.

ty for reading!!

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 | anaxagoras x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; as tipsy as a boat on unforgiving seas, you rant your heartaches to a cute, clueless chimera. (that weirdly looks like your boyfriend) not knowing that the very man stands behind you, listening to you pour out every feeling he'd never want to subject you to.

love mail — say yes to me. i haven't done an event in a while, would people be interested in that (*ﾟーﾟ)? sigh finally anaxagoras solo post without the other two added LMAO this guy is so popular on my account its kind of insane. thank u anaxa... for reviving sqgeism in the big 25.. i thought this was long but it's acc kind if short forgive me anonnie LMAO

for all the good moments in your relationship with anaxagoras, there were still bad. and the bad.. could get really awful very quickly.

even if he was growing to be careful, changing, being better, he still had his 'demise'— as he called it. he was set on a mission long before you, and you've accepted that. it didn't mean that it didn't hurt when you knew he was trying to keep you away, though he says it's to keep you safe, you knew it was for another reason.

anaxagoras wasn't—for all his genius as a scholar and a teacher—very good at things that involved vulnerability. it was something he'd ripped out of his cold, dead heart, leaving it whatever remaining feelings he had left to rot. clearly not enough, he'd remark, if he could still feel it beat every time you came close. fingers brushing over his own, lips getting too close for comfort, despite being together—he was still afraid. very.. very afraid.

but you weren't angry at him for being so, how could you? for all the hurt he's faced, the terrors that follow him like his shadow, you just can't. but you feel neglected, left to freeze in an unforgiving winter. you craved warmth, but no flame could thaw your loneliness.

and so when anaxagoras, once again, locks himself in his lab for aeon's know how long.. you're off. you had the control to at least leave a note where you're going; a bar close by to let loose. but you clumsily throw it on the nearest table and walk out. the tears were becoming overwhelming, and you just needed to cry. it felt cruel to be mad, but your heart knew what it wanted. it wanted someone badly, drawn to a rose with far too sharp of thorns. but you didn't care. you knew it was a part of him, and you chose him regardless. you wonder if he knows that he's loved, and how much he truly is.

and he does. in a way that overwhelms him, that makes him be the way he is. he knows you care, and that's why when he leaves his study hours earlier, the note unseen by his sharp gaze, he panics. you're not in bed, nor the living room, you're not home. thunder claps break him out of his thoughts, and he realizes you could be out there, in the rain, for who knows how long.

he runs out without hesitation.

doesn't care if he's soaking wet, or his students that may see their half-gone professor running through amphoreus in the rain, he's afraid. for once, his cowardice it isn't of the idea of you, but losing you. he's beginning to realize that there will be something worse than his fears destroying him.

it's having you slip away from his grasp.

he's afraid of affection because he might lose you. he's afraid of everything about loving you because he might lose you. he's lost so much, it scarred him. that the closest thing to paradise surely should have been an illusion, that it was all just a ploy to put him back together and break him apart all over again. he thought it was stupid, the obvious plan set by the 'gods'.

but he was just in love, so very in love. and it could never be stupid if the center of his affection was you.

and there you are, thank goodness. you're laying against an elevated tile as you're on the floor, arms on the said tile, and underneath the bars cover as a chimera sits by your head. you're clearly drunk, cause even if his heels splashed against the puddles towards you, failing to notice. gaze fixed on the little creature as he hears you speak.

"i just don't.. understand." you slurred, your face pressed against your arms as the chimera chirps. i don't know.. why" hic "he feels he needs to keep me at an arm's length.. in the end, all i want is to be loved; and i wish the same for him."

you don't even know what those words do to him. a man of many words, brought to silence. you look like a fae in the moonlight, ethereal and breathtaking. and anaxa's sopping wet in the rain, refusing to be under the bars covers as he feels he doesn't deserve it. the harsh weather prickles his skin, but he feels nothing. nothing but the cruel twist of a dagger through his heart.

he falls to his knees, the water around him makes a large splash as you turn your head. in your dazed state, your eyes don't recognize him, but your heart does. and you move without even realizing. "anaxagoras, my love?" he feels something cover his head, and he looks up to see you fussing and using your jacket to shield him from the rain. even if you were frustrated, venting about him, you still had the heart to worry. you still tried to help him, and he's such a fool to only appreciate that now. "what did i tell you about calling me that? to you, i'm anaxa. stop.. stop forgetting."

he doesn't know what to say, and he's thankful for the conditions so you don't see the way he starts to cry. his lips are trembling as his hand slowly stops yours, guiding it to his cheek and leaning into your palm. it isn't flowery words, he's bad at anything that isn't statistical or academic, but it's a gesture of something more. "i.. i'm so sorry." he muttered sorrowfully. "i've been taking you for granted. i didn't mean to, but i did. and that's unforgiveable. you don't deserve this life, and i—"

you cut him off by pulling him in, away from the world, under the shelter and into your arms. you two probably look silly, two influential figures in your own ways in amphoreus, snuggling up outside a bar in the rain. but anaxa has long discarded the idea of caring of others opinions, all he can focus on is how your heart begins to race. like you're as startled as he is. that he isn't alone in taking this leap. and for once, he's okay with that. having someone.. to truly take care of.

you wake up in bed the next morning, your head painful and your throat dry, but you're warm. and that's when you notice anaxa behind you, arms wrapped around you securely and his head partially buried in your hair. he's.. fast asleep. which is a first, you can't remember the last time he chose the bed rather than his office chair.

but you don't complain, aeon's, how could you?

you choose to fall back into the gentle hands of slumber, looking forward to waking up next to anaxa.

[aetherraeys]

thrills

(a night to remember, pt2, pt3, pt4/this)

sirius black x reader ⊹ 8.2k

cw ⟢ swearing, injury, blood, mild hurt/comfort, new relationship, suggestive, biker!sirius, very domestic, fluff

summary: Sirius Black was far more domestic than you'd ever imagined, falling into his new role of boyfriend without a hitch.

a/n: the shame i feel for taking so long to start this...but its here at least, all be it lamost 5weeks later,,,thank you anon for giving me ideas on a final part MWAH! not proofread x

New is fun, new is good.

New is firsts.

And while some kinds of new—that confessional i love you, that leaves you breathless and dizzy and at a loss for words—is more welcomed than others, there is also the other kind.

The first (but most definitely not last) time you had to hold Marlene back from lunging at and attacking Sirius like some rabid animal. That sort of new is...well, new. And admittedly? A little entertaining.

It really was because of that blasted spare key.

Marlene had decided maybe it was best to let the dust settle before she forced her way into your space. To try and console you and make you realise that maybe it was better that Sirius was a right foul git and you deserved better—she had it all prepared, planned it out on the drive over.

Brought your favourite films and snacks in preperation for a long, quiet day of comforting, ice-cream, junk food and trash talking the older Black brother.

So you can just imagine the shock and horror when she pulled into your usually empty drive way, to see that same goddamn motorbike there—blocking her from parking. And though Marlene did eventually find a spot, just down the road—where she had to pay for the parking—it just added to her anger.

Barging into your building in a hurricane of fury.

Because how dare he, the absolute cheek—he’d gone and snogged Emmeline right in front of you—he’d shown up to torture you more, plead his case when that was the last thing you needed. Neither of you had time to compute the sound of the door slamming open, the hinges yelling under the pressure of Marlene’s swing. You’d been asleep, cuddled and scrunched up together on the too small sofa, face buried into the corner of Sirius’ neck.

And when your head shot up at the sound of knob crashing into the wall—hard—wincing at the impact and it surely left a dent. If the way the harsh bang echoed through the room didn’t awake Sirius, the way your forehead knocked against his chin definetly did. A pained groan sounding from him as your scrambled to a stand, hands pressing into his stomach to support your rise—forcing a low “Oof,” out of him.

The look on Marlene’s face had alarm bells ringing in your head—still fuzzy from sleep, the thud of the bags to the floor shook you out of it—allowing you to hone in on the way her face was getting redder by the second. Eyes franctically darting between you and Sirius’ disgruntled, winded figure.

“Are you fucking joking right now?!”

Sirius all but teleported to the other side of the room at the harsh sound of Marlene’s tone—arms mimicking yours in their raised to defense while yours were more to ward her off.

Voice still hoarse from sleep and the night’s shed tears, trying to calm the impending attack on your newly appointed boyfriend—”Marls…MARLENE! Just wait—let me explain—!” you started.

But she didn’t wait—all but vaulting over the couch surely in search of a way to get Sirius into her grasp and throttle him. Rant loud on her tongue, littered with profanity and every insult under the sun as he rounded the corner of your dining table.

Sirius had managed to evade her thus far—breathless on the other side of the dining table—but to his misfortune, he’d trapped himself.

It was only a few more tense moments of back and forth circling the table before you found your way into the mix. Edging Sirius into a safer corner, standing between them brows stretched into a distressed grimance—she took another step forwards—and Sirius mirrored her with a step back.

The whole situation was painfully laughable—sleep still clinging to the corners of your eyes, lips chapped and dribble stained. Sirius’ hair pushed up awkwardly on one side, matching the panic in his eyes as you shielded him.

Marlene wasn’t going to give up, threats slipping throught the cacophany of clattering furniture as she advanced.

“Black! When I get my hands on you, I swear to Merlin...” The frown on her face morphed into a scrowl when he responded.

“Not having the best morning? Are we Marls—Oi!” He just narrowly dodged the banana hurtled in his direction, and you hissed out his name in a chiding way that all but screamed not the time. Trying again to have her see some reason, or at least stop throwing objects around your kitchen—

”Marls, please. Just hold on a sec—Please, don’t throw—!”

It was a bit late for that. Another poor fruit from the bowl clattering against the counter—and satsuma this time.

“Why are you protecting that lump of shit, Y/N!”

You could only roll your eyes at the way Sirius muttered from behind you, “I can hear you, y’know,” Arms still outstretched in a rather pitiful attempt at shielding him, pleading with your eyes as much as you could, words urgent and rushed as they leave your mouth.

“He didn’t do it on purpose—it was a misunderstanding!” You step back hazardly, just barely missing Sirius’ sock-clad feet as you back him away from her, she resembled an angered bull more than anything. You could practically see the steam leaving her nose as she huffed out in disbelief—

“How does one snog another accidently?!” Marlene, undeterred, advanced again.

Okay, she had a fair point. But it really was just an unfortunate circumstance, you almost winced at her pitch—“If you gave me a second, maybe I’d be able to explain—”

“Black’s a slick git—you can’t trust a word out of his lying mouth!”

“You have such little faith in me, McKinnon!” Sirius gasped from behind you, like he’d been physically wounded by her words.

“Oh, shut it, Black—” Marlene snapped, advancing another step like she was genuinely weighing whether a cereal box could double as a weapon. “You’re lucky I left the bloody bat in the boot.”

You flinched at that one. Sirius did too.

“Marls, breathe, please,” you said, still firmly planted between them, arms stretched like a human barricade. “Just listen to me for one minute, okay? One. And if you’re still mad after, I’ll let you chuck the whole fruit bowl at him.”

“You say that like I wasn’t already planning to,” she growled, but her pace slowed—just a touch. The red in her cheeks hadn’t faded, but her eyes flicked to you, and some of the fury cracked around the edges.

You seized your chance.

It was rather finnicky to explain, how Emmeline had just grabbed the nearest person in a drunken flurry—all but dragging him into her by his collar—emphasising how it barely lasted not even five seconds.

How Sirius pushed her off in an instant, how it just happened to be him—how he’d never do anything like that to you—his hand coming down to rest on your waist lightly. Marlene looked between you both again. Sirius’ head poked out from behind your shoulder, expression genuinely apologetic now. “It really was just a misunderstanding—swear on my bike.”

“…That’s not very reassuring.”

“It is to me,” he muttered, then visibly winced when you elbowed him.

Marlene let out a sharp exhale, pinching the bridge of her nose, chiding thoughts interrupted by Sirius’ almost goading comment he murmured, “Can’t have a morning with my girlfriend without getting chased about the kitchen.”

Her eyes snapped up at that, and he knew well that she’d hear it—the room was all but silence, still edge with simmering tension as Marlene contempleted whether to let him live despite it all.

Narrowing her gaze like she’d just caught wind of something foul. "Girlfriend?" she repeated, voice climbing to a sharp pitch, eyes darting between you both like she was genuinely concerned for your well-being. "As in, officially? Now? As in overnight?!"

Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. But you could feel the burn start in your chest and crawl rapidly up your neck, setting your ears ablaze. Sirius, behind you, seemed completely unbothered by the sudden exposure of it all.

“Yep,” he said simply, rather chuffed with himself like he wasn’t outing something so fresh it was barely processed even by you. And you froze as he stuck his tongue out at Marlene over your shoulder and then pressed an obnoxiously loud, wet kiss to your cheek with a ridiculous mwah noise, hands still casually resting on your waist.

So startled by the contact and the very bold declaration that your body went completely stiff under the affection. Heat surged to your face in mortifying waves as Sirius just grinned, completely unapologetic.

Marlene recoiled with a grimace. “Oh bloody hell,” she muttered, dragging a hand down her face like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “You’re so lucky she’s soft.”

Sirius grinned wider. “She is. It’s why I like her.”

“You’re pushing it,” Marlene warned, still eyeballing you both with such profound disbelief it could've peeled wallpaper. “Good thing I found that out before I keyed his bloody bike.”

That got Sirius’ attention. His expression dropped like a stone. “You were going to key my bike?!” he gasped, scandalised.

Marlene only shrugged, turning on her heel like it was the most casual thing in the world, shopping bags swinging in her hands as she marched toward the living room.

Sirius was already following after her like a panicked puppy, tugging you along with one hand still clasped in his. “Marlene—I swear to Merlin—my bike! What did it ever do to you?!”

“Oh calm down,” she drawled over her shoulder. “Didn’t even have time to scratch it.” She let out a long, theatrical sigh as she dropped her bags on the coffee table. “Guess I won’t be slagging off Sirius Black today.”

“You can stay, you know!” you protested, finally finding your voice again, still trailing behind Sirius like your brain was lagging ten steps behind this whole morning. “At least stay for a cuppa—”

Marlene made a gagging noise so exaggerated it almost echoed. “No, no—I won’t intrude on your morning—” she checked her watch, “afternoon with your boyfriend.” She shot you a pointed look over her shoulder, fingers wiggling in a phone gesture as she mouthed we’ll talk later.

Sirius, meanwhile, was still stuck somewhere between relief and residual panic. “You almost keyed my bike,” he muttered, half to himself.

Marlene didn’t even grace him with a second glance as she slipped out the door. “I still might, Black.”

The door clicked shut.

And then it was just you and Sirius in the stillness of your flat, your face still hot, your limbs still awkward, and Sirius—as ever—completely unfazed.

He turned to you, that stupid smirk tugging at his lips, eyes dancing with mischief.

“You froze when I kissed you,” he teased, tilting his head as his hands slid back to your waist, fingertips pressing gently.

“Shut up,” you muttered, still burning, unable to look him in the eye.

But then he was walking you backwards, slow and deliberate, until your back met the cool wall and he caged you in with a certain smugness.

“You’re really cute when you’re all flustered, y’know that?” he murmured, eyes soft but playful, brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek. “Think I might have to do that more often.”

You glared at him, or tried to, but it lacked conviction when your face was still hot and he was looking at you like that—eyes all lazy delight and intent amusement, lips quirking like he had you pinned in more ways than one.

“I will literally kill you,” you muttered, trying not to smile—failing—as you turned your face away, pulse ringing embrassingly loud in your ears, heart thumping rapid beneath your ribs. .

“Ooh,” he grinned, leaning in closer, his breath warm fanning over your cheek, “is that a threat from my girlfriend?” He exaggerated the word with a mock gasp, like it still thrilled him to say it aloud. Which, honestly, it probably did.

“You’re lucky I don’t set you on fire,” you muttered, voice tight with embarrassment.

“I’d let you,” he said, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. “Burn me to ash, darling, but kiss me first.”

You let out a splutter of laughter that you tried to smother with your hand, but he caught your wrist, gently pinning it to the wall beside your head. The other hand skimmed your waist, touch maddeningly light, and he grinned like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I hate you,” you whispered, but it came out soft and breathy and baseless.

“Oh I know, sweetheart,” he whispered back with mock solemnity, brushing his nose against yours. “Tragic, really. Because I’m about to do something unforgivable.”

And before you could ask, what—he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft, not exactly—it was all smugness and heat, lips pressing ato yours with that same teasing confidence he wore like a second skin. He kissed you like he was winning, like he’d caught you mid-swoon and was soaking it in. Letting his hand sliding up your back, keeping you close—his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your bed clothes, the wall behind you keeping you from melting into a puddle while your knees did their best impression of useless.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was obnoxiously wide.

“You froze again,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours now. “Gods, I’m good.”

“You’re insufferable,” you managed to say, breath shaky, though your hands had somehow wound into his shirt like you’d forgotten how to let go.

“Mm. And yet…” he leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your collarbone, just barely grazing the skin with his teeth like he couldn’t help himself, earning him a quiet gasp. “Here you are. Still kissing me. Still blushing. Still all mine.”

New titles, new teases, new thrills.

Because Sirius really did bring a blood-pumping, head-spinning thrill into everything, every moment laces with and intertwined with the intoxicating feeling that was just him.

Even the mundane wasn’t just that with him—it was more, it was better—everything it had already been and everything you’d hope it to be.

He made his presence known in your little flat with purpose, claiming an entire shelf in your bathroom cabinet—and you welcomed it.

Watched it fill slowly, piece by piece, with his things: the woodsy-sweet aftershave that you fought the urge not to take a swig of some mornings, a crooked stack of faded hairbands, a few silver chains that clinked together gently, a worn tin of hair gel, cologne, a hard bristle brush. The toothbrush you’d given him “just in case” had somehow multiplied into three.

And you put his array of toileties to use—mainly helping him though.

You’d thought it nearly impossible for Sirius to be at yours more than he already was. Yet somehow, he proved you wrong, subtly phasing out of his shared flat with James and all but moving in with you.

His boots in the hallway. His coat thrown over your chair. His bike helmet permanently perched on top of your record player.

Although it wasn’t official—no formal conversation, no labelled drawers or declarations—it was becoming more and more apparent how well integrated Sirius was becoming into your daily routine.

It was most obvious in the mornings—and though you’d shared many before, it was different now somehow.

The alarm buzzed obnoxiously, sharp through the hush of your room, cutting through sleep like a blade and your hand shot out from under the covers, patting around blindly until you found the button and silenced it.

For now.

Sirius hummed softly from behind you, arm still looped lazily around your middle, you tried to sink deeper into his warmth, eyes squeezing shut, cheek pressing into him like the night had only just begun.

“You’ve got to get up now, love,” he whispered, mouth brushing against the shell of your ear, lips curling into a smile when you shook your head defiantly and mumbled, “Absolutely not. I’m deceased.”

That earned a soft chuckle, and the vibrations rumbled through both your tangled forms. “You said that yesterday. Still here.”

“M’time was tragically short-lived.”

“Come on,” he coaxed, his voice a warm rasp in the low light. “I’ll get up with you.”

Another unintelligible mutter left you, but your eyes cracked open—just barely—a reluctant olive branch. Then, before you could react, protest to his offer, he was shifting out from under you, gathering you into his arms like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Curling into him you hummed, limp in his arms, arms clinging around his neck as he carried you to the bathroom, bare feet padding quietly across the wooden floor. Pushing the door open with his hip and deposited you gently in front of the sink, keeping his arms around you when your knees buckled slightly from the shock of standing. You slumped against him, eyelids heavy again, pout forming without thought.

“Merlin,” he breathed with a smile, brushing your hair gently out of your face, “you’re hopeless.”

All that left you was a sleepy sound of protest, trying to ignore the harshness of the bathroom light with closed eyes—“Open,” he prompted, his own voice till hoarse with sleep—toothbrush already ready in hand.

You obeyed, lips parting slowly. He brushed your teeth for you with practiced care, murmuring something about how spoiled you were. When he held the mug of water to your lips so you could rinse and gargle, he pulled your hair back with the other hand, moving through it all like a routine he’d rehearsed.

When you’d finished, he turned you around by the hips to face him again, your eyes puffy from sleep but a little more awake now. He grinned, leaned down, and pressed a firm kiss to your pout.

“Shower,” he said, rubbing slow circles on your back.

You nodded with a small hum, and he turned to set the water running—one hand testing the warmth before reaching for the hem of his shirt on you. He peeled it off carefully, knuckles grazing your skin like a whisper, and helped you step into the steam.

While you showered, he moved about the flat with habitual ease—setting out your clothes for the day, your work bag prepped with charger and laptop, tea steeping on the counter. He even warmed your towel in the dryer before coming back to swap places with you.

And when you were dressed, now far more alive than earlier but still yawning as you dried your hair, you returned to the bathroom to find Sirius half-ready, leaning into the mirror drying his face and opening the cabinet to reach for—

His brows furrowed at the clear empty space on the shelf that would usually housed his brush, running a hand thorugh his hair—eyes flitting around the bathroom before landing on you.

And you stifled a grin, holding it up smugly from behind him. “Looking for this?”

He turned around, eyeing you dramatically. “My saviour!”

“Hand me the gel,” you said, stepping up onto the little wooden stool you kept by the sink just for this reason. Sirius passed it to you obediently and stood still as you carefully slicked back his hair—your fingers threading through it with far more affection and attention to detail than necessary for simple grooming.

His motorbike helmet sat nearby, ready and waiting.

He watched you quietly as you fussed over his hair. He didn’t say it, but it was in his eyes, swimming gently behind his half-blown pupils—the affection, the comfort, the subtle contentment in the luck he had, that you were the one standing there, fussing over him.

When you finished, you gave his chin a gentle tap. He leaned in and kissed you again, longer this time—smiling against your lips.

“I’ll drive you,” he murmured, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand. “So maybe a jacket, hmm?”

Like usual, Sirius drove from your workplace to his garage, the familiar hum of the engine beneath him like second nature now. The ride was short, but it was always enough to clear his head and slip him into that comfortable rhythm—the one that only came with grease-stained hands, petrol in the air, and the familiar clangs and creaks of a place that felt more like home than anywhere else.

By the time he rolled the bike up the ramp and into the workshop, the garage was already humming with life.

Music blasted from the scuffed speaker perched haphazardly on a high shelf—something fast and loud, the kind of thing you’d call ‘chaotic’ and he’d call ‘motivational.’ He tossed his helmet onto the bench, ran a hand through his hair—now slightly undone from the ride—and tugged his shirt over his head, leaving him in the plain tank beneath.

Tools clanked as he got to work, fingers nimble as he tuned a few finicky components in the engine. Between adjustments, he took moments to add a few new stickers to the side of the bike’s fuel tank—some sent by friends, others collected at odd shops, and one he’d been waiting to arrive for weeks. Hands working on muscle memory, a towel tucked into the waistband of his faded jeans, ready for the inevitable grease and smudges.

He didn’t notice James arrive until the soft crunch of tires sounded on the gravel outside. The car door slammed, and a familiar voice rang out, slightly muffled beneath the music. Sirius looked up with a grin as James strolled in, carrying a brown paper bag and two takeaway drinks.

“Oi, Pads!” James called, already grinning. “Brought lunch. Figured you’d forget to eat again unless it walked in on its own legs.”

Sirius laughed, tugging the towel from his waistband to wipe the oil from his hands as he made his way over. “Speak for yourself. I’m just incredibly selective with my meals.”

“Selective, my arse,” James shot back, giving him a few hearty taps on the back as they met in the middle of the garage. “You’d eat three bags of crisps and call it gourmet if it came with a pint.”

Sirius snorted, already peeking into the bag. “And yet you bring me exactly what I didn’t know I was dying for.”

“You’re welcome.” James flopped onto the worn leather sofa tucked into the corner of the garage—its cushions permanently dented from years of lounging, gaming, and midday naps. Sirius washed his hands properly in the sink this time, swapping out his grease-smudged top for a clean black tee before joining James with a satisfied hum.

They ate casually, talking in that way they always did—overlapping thoughts, half-finished stories, laughing at things they didn’t even need to explain anymore. But not long into it, James leaned back and let out a dramatic sigh.

“You know, I rarely see you anymore,” he complained, gesturing lazily with a crisp. “We live together. Or at least, I thought we did.”

Sirius just laughed, brushing the crumbs from his lap as he pushed off the couch and wandered back to the bike. “You’re being dramatic. You see me all the time.”

“Hmm,” James muttered. “Funny. The ghost of you leaves mugs in the sink but doesn’t speak.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, grabbing a stool and plopping down onto it, new stickers in one hand and a blowdryer in the other. He leaned over the bike carefully, lining up the next addition with practiced precision.

The collar of his shirt hung low on his shoulder as he concentrated, exposing just a bit of skin.

And James caught it immediately.

He sat up straighter, eyes narrowing with amusement. A very fresh, very obvious set of hickies peeked out from under the shirt, nestled high on Sirius’ collarbone and flushed faint pink, trailing down further than he could see.

And just like that, James was on his feet with a bounce in his step, sauntering over with all the mischief of a boy who’d just discovered the best secret.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, dragging out each word as he approached. “So that’s who’s been stealing you away then, Pads.”

Sirius didn’t even look up, brows furrowed in concentration as he forced an air bubble from under the letter. “What on earth are you on about now?”

James stopped just beside him, towering over the stool where Sirius was still focused on the bike’s curve, trying to smooth the sticker just right. His voice dipped into a hum.

“Hmm. Not sure. Could be the disappearing acts. Or maybe,” he said, dragging the moment out, “just maybe it’s the very telling bruises on your chest.” Putting a painful emphasis on the s, grinning at him like the cat that got the cream.

That got Sirius’ attention.

He blinked and turned his head sharply to look at James, realisation dawning almost instantly. “Fuck off,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and shifting on the stool, tugging his collar up without too much urgency—but the smirk that twitched at the corners of his lip gave him away.

And James just grinned wider. “Whoever she is, mate, she’s got a serious biting problem.”

“Oh, shove off, Prongs.”

“Does she know you get all flushed like a schoolboy when you’re caught?”

Sirius clicked the blowdryer on pointedly, drowning out James’ snickering. But even over the buzz, his grin was unmistakable, his ears tinged slightly pink.

James wasn’t going to let it go that easily—not when his best friend was clearly smitten. Not when Sirius was practically glowing with the kind of quiet joy that didn’t come from engines or speed or mischief—but from something, or more accurately someone, who’d managed to make even Sirius Black domesticated.

Or at least something very eerily close to it.

Sirius had been doing well to stay off James’ radar. He dodged the teasing with dramatic groans and artful deflections, buried any real details beneath smirks and shrugs and the occasional cryptic comment that meant nothing and everything all at once. You hadn’t talked about it explicitly—it wasn’t technically a secret—but Sirius hadn’t exactly broadcasted it either.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Hell, if it were up to him, he’d happily shout it from the rooftops. He’d staple flyers to lampposts. Spray paint your initials across the hood of his bike. But he also knew—without question—that James would wrestle him off said rooftop if he ever found out.

Not because James didn’t trust him. Not really.

But because James was just as, if not more protective over you than Marlene was. He always had been, you were one of his closest friends too. His sister in everything but blood. And from the very beginning, James had drawn the line so clearly it may as well have been carved in stone.

You were off limits. Non-negotiable.

And Sirius? Sirius understood. He got it. He respected it. Until you kissed him by the pool, your eyes glassy with drink and affection. Until you fell asleep in his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. Until he looked at you and saw something quiet and golden and terrifying.

And even then—especially then—James had still written it off. Dismissed it entirely.

Even after the way your eyes trailed after Sirius when you thought no one was watching. Even after Sirius had carried you to bed that night, careful and silent and far too gentle, while James followed with crossed arms and a tight jaw, muttering something about “no funny business.”

He’d made his stance perfectly clear. That night was the warning shot.

And Sirius?

Sirius had tried—really tried—not to fall over that line.

But lines get blurry in the dark. And when you invited him in for tea, slowed him down with soft eyes and an even softer voice—and he had no choice but to fall.

By some insane miracle, Marlene still remained the only one who knew.

And it’s not like you were being slick in the slightest—always together, practically attached at the hip, Sirius’ bike a permanent fixture outside your flat, his jacket thrown over the back of your couch, your shampoo smelling suspiciously like his cologne. Clothes folded together, mugs interchanged, playlists bleeding into one another like you’d been tangled up for years instead of months.

Realistically, all James needed to do to figure it out was open his eyes. Drive by your place, see Sirius’ bike parked out front. Stop by unannounced and spot his boots by the door, or worse—him, sprawled on your sofa like he paid rent.

But somehow, the world had yet to catch up with the two of you.

It was a random weekend when Sirius suggested driving you to his garage. “If you’re gonna keep nicking my shirts, might as well see where they end up covered in grease,” he’d said, flashing that easy grin, his hand already on the small of your back as you both headed out.

Placing a helmet on your head before riding out of your road.

It was your first time there—eyes wide with curiosity as you stepped into the wide, sunlit space that smelt like oil, metal, and faintly of something that was just...him.

Music booming from an old speaker tucked on a shelf, some grungy rock track you half-recognised, while Sirius pulled the garage door up with a heave and parked the bike inside.

He’d already shrugged off his jacket, wearing just a faded black tank that clung to his chest and arms like a second skin, muscles glistening slightly from the ride over. You’d been trying very hard not to oogle—failing miserably—as you wandered around, pretending to be interested in the shelves lined with tools you couldn’t name.

Watching from behind him on a rickety stool as his hands worked a wrench into a metal crevice with a whiny squeak.

But then you saw it.

A sticker on the side of his bike, your initials in bold—tucked into the design between a handful of other vinyl patches.

You blinked, scooting closer on the chair, hinges whining with each movement—eyes narrowing, head tilted. “...Is that...?”

He glanced back over his shoulder, lips twitching up into a smirk as he caught your stunned expression—following your eyes to the curve of his bike. “Took you long enough to notice,” he said, eyes glinting. “It’s been on there for weeks.”

You tried—really tried—to purse your lips and school your face into something unimpressed. But the smile tugging at your mouth was impossible to suppress. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, heart thudding against your ribs.

Sirius just wiped his hands on a rag and crouched down beside the engine again, voice light. “Could get you one of your own, y’know.”

“One of what?” You craned your neck to get a better look at him.

“A bike.”

You eyes all but pooped out of your head, jaw slacking. “Why the hell would I want my own personal death machine?”

He rolled his eyes, grinning, voice muffled by the hollow metal he spoke into. “Come on, you’ve been on mine loads of times. At this point you could probably drive me around.”

“Not the same,” you grumbled, arms crossing. “You know it’s not the same.”

But he was already straightening up, seriously considering it. “I could teach you.”

“No,” you said instantly—eyes closed as you shook your head.

“Yes,” he countered, and before you could even protest again, he had his hands at your waist and was lifting you, setting you down onto the leather seat of his bike like you weighed nothing. Voice was pinched and high as you squawked in his hold, “Sirius! I’m not qualified! This has to be illegal—”

“You’ve got a license, don’t you?”

“Not for this! I can barely drive a bloody Prius.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll stick a big ‘L’ plate on the back.” He winked. “That way everyone knows to stay the hell away.”

“Sirius, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“It’s literally not that hard.” He hopped on behind you, guiding your hands to the handles, voice low and patient in your ear. “You’ll be fine.” Settling his hands on your hips as he whispered lowly, words clear with each demonstrative reve of the engine.

You made a few hesitant attempts with him helping from behind, feet planted, steering gently, fingers over yours like a guide. And honestly—it wasn’t that hard. Not with him purring instructions into your ear, chest warm against your back—not with the way he made everything feel stupidly safe.

Eventually, he stepped back and nodded toward the open space in the lot. “Alright. Go on. Try a little circle, hotshot.”

Your heart thumped in your chest. “You’re insane.”

“Mmhm. And yet you love me.”

You didn’t have time to deny it before you were inching forward, tires rolling with a gentle hum. Keeping it slow, circling once, then twice, wind brushing past your cheeks and Sirius watching from a distance with that annoyingly proud smile.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad, the thrill, the rush—the undeniable adrenaline rushing through your veins, the feeling of invincibility going straight to your head.

Until the front wheel caught a thick stone on the ground just as you accidentally nudged the gear. The bike lurched forward, engine revving with unexpected speed. And panic crashed over you in an instant. Sirius was yelling—something about braking—but the sound was lost beneath the roar of the bike and the rush of blood in your ears.

Your hands fumbled—your balance tipped.

Catching sight of the brick wall in front of you, you swerved, narrowly avoiding it, but the motion threw you clean off the seat. And you hit the ground hard, a dull crack against your temple and your skin scraping viciously against concrete.

The pain was sharp, immediate, blooming hot across your arm and head.

You barely had time to process it before Sirius was there—running toward you, shouting your name—almost drowned out by the sound of the bike still revving a few meters away—shuffling against the gravel—dust kicking around the faintly turning wheel.

“Hey—hey, hey, I’ve got you—shit, love, stay still.” His hands were already on you, gentle but frantic, lifting you from the pavement as you winced, trying to blink away the spinning.

The whole underside of your arm stung, head throbbing as blood sticky and warm trickled from a gash above your brow. Sirius pressed the towel from his waistband to your forehead, muttering soft, soothing nonsense as he picked you up in his arms and carried you back into the garage.

“It’s okay, you’re alright. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, half-choked with guilt and panic—pulse still ringing in your ears. “The bike—I didn’t mean to—I don’t know what happened—”

“Shh, it’s okay.” He settled you on the edge of the workbench, your legs dangling as he stood between them, brushing hair from your face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“But I scraped it up—your bike’s probably all ruined—” you rambled, the words tumbling out in a breathless panic as you stared at the floor, the edges of your vision still fuzzy, the sting of your wounds flaring hotter with every second.

But Sirius was already in front of you, hands cupping your face with the kind of gentleness that shouldn’t have been possible from someone who’d just sprinted like his heart was on the line.

“Love.” His voice cut through your spiral like a balm. Steady. Low. Firm. “Right now, I don’t give a single shit about the bike.”

And then, with impossible tenderness, he leaned in—close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips, smell the faint trace of leather and metal and the shampoo you both used. Soft, fleeting, just a brush of his lips against yours like he wasn’t sure how much pressure you could handle right now. Like he didn’t want to break the moment, holding you like you were made of the finest china.

When he pulled back, air caught in your throat, heat swirling in your chest as his voice reached your ears.

“Just stay still,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

You nodded

He exhaled, watching your face for a beat longer, like he was making sure you were still in there with him, then turned slightly, tugging open a drawer beside the bench with one hand while the other still braced lightly against your knee.

The first aid kit clattered onto the surface beside you, and he opened it with quick, practiced motions. You watched, dazed, as he tugged on a pair of gloves, popped the cap off a bottle of antiseptic, and gently soaked a gauze pad.

You winced as he reached for your arm, the sting of your scraped skin reigniting the moment his fingers brushed near.

Sirius worked quietly, brows drawn together in concentration, the soft scrape of gauze against your skin the only sound between you. Deft fingers careful and precise, but even then the occasional sting had you wincing slightly, shifting on the bench—legs swinging slightly off the edge, watching the way he moved like he was doing something sacred.

He didn’t say much—just pressed a little harder here, smoothed tape there—and finally muttered, half to himself, "How on earth am I ever supposed to leave you alone?"

It was meant as a joke. A throwaway. But you latched onto it without thinking.

“You…you don’t have to,” you said softly. “You could just move in with me.”

There was a pause.

Not dramatic. Not crushing. Just…quiet. His hand didn’t stop moving, didn’t flinch or drop or freeze. Sirius just kept working, brows furrowed as he concentrated on the last of your scrapes. He hummed faintly in response, but it was dismissive—distant. Unreadable.

Your stomach twisted. Shame crept in, slow and thick, your body tensing in its wake.

Too soon. It’s too soon. You pushed it. He’s not there yet.

Quickly you averted you gaze, focusing on the dangle of you legs—each flick of your shoelaces, retreating into yourself. “Actually, um…I probably don’t need any more fixing up—I feel fine,”

You started to hop off the bench, your head still spinning slightly, one foot hitting the floor with a wobble. Pain flared through your arm and your side as you shifted your weight, making you stumble slightly.

Sirius straightened in alarm. “Whoa, hey—where are you going?”

“M’fine now,” words rushed and breathy, brushing at your shirt like it could distract from your spiraling, arm burning at the stretch of your skin. “Really, I’m okay.”

“You’re still bleeding,” he deadpanned, brows pinched in concern, reaching for your waist again to steady you. “Let me finish. We can go home, yeah?”

You didn’t reply. Just nodded, eyes locked on the floor while he coaxed you gently back onto the bench. He kept working, patching the final gash on your forearm—but now there was something different in the air.

A silence that wasn’t peaceful. Tension had crept in, curled around the space between you.

Even as he applied pressure to the scraps, spread cold ointment over your skin, you remained silent—lips pursed together. Just the occasional hiss, and then silence again. Staring at your shoes, at the concrete your feet swung above.

When Sirius finally finished, peeling off his gloves with a snap, watching you closely. His voice was gentler now, lower—and you could feel his breath fanning over the surface of your skin.

“What’s wrong?”

You didn’t answer, not looking at him.

So he stepped in closer, arms sliding around your waist, hands warm against your sides, caging you in. He tilted his head, trying to catch your eyes.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Talk to me. Does your head hurt?”

You glanced up, lips pursing again as you shake your head slightly. There was no accusation in your expression—just uncertainty. Vulnerability. Like you were already preparing for rejection. And it made him pause for a moment—eyes scanning your face before his lips twitched at the corners.

“I do want to move in with you, love,” he said softly, eyes warm as he looked down at you. “Of course I do.”

He held you gaze as you blinked, lips parting. “You don’t have to say that. I’m not upset. It’s perfectly fine if you don’t want to—really. I don’t know why I even said it—” Your voice sounded meeker than you’d wanted it too, not at all convincing.

“I’m not just saying it.” His voice dropped, edged with that dry Sirius Black sincerity that only ever showed itself when he needed you to believe him. “When do I ever just say things?”

Your brows arched upwards, giving him a long look. A very pointed one.

He huffed out a laugh, tipping his head like he was conceding the point. “Okay—fine, fair enough. But you asked me while I was trying to stop you bleeding out, trying to keep you from staining your lovely little outfit, by the way. I’m a simple man. Can’t focus on so many things at once.”

You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped your lips, even through the lingering ache of embarrassment. He leaned in and kissed your cheek—soft, warm, forcing any shame away. His voice was quieter when he added—

“But I meant it. I want to move in. I want to be with you. Always.”

It had your breath stilling in your lungs, he felt so much closer now—too close, maybe. Body still radiating heat, arms still looped securely around your waist, thumbs idly tracing the edge of your shirt. You felt flushed again, but not from pain.

Flushed like the blood was torn on where to go—bouncing around your body, from the tips of your ears, base of your neck to the plastered cut by your brow—torn.

“Really?” you mumbled, dazed.

His smirk curved slow and easy against your skin as he leaned in, lips brushing your jaw.

“Reaalllly,” he drawled, voice low and teasing—before capturing your mouth again, this time deeper. Certain. Like a promise. Like a yes.

And you melted into it, the sting of your wounds forgotten in the warmth of his hands, the slide of his mouth against yours—slow at first, like he was savouring the feel of your lips under his, but it didn’t stay slow for long.

The adrenaline hadn’t fully worn off; it simply shifted—into the warmth of his hands roaming under your shirt, the drag of his teeth against your bottom lip, the way your legs instinctively bracketed his hips when he stepped between them again. You were back on the counter, your fingertips tugging at the hem of his vest, pressing into the bare skin just beneath it, desperate to feel something real—him, all of him, grounding and warm and yours.

It was messy and breathless and a little bit frantic, Sirius always had that affect on you. Everything holding a bit more intensity than normal—his palms splayed across your hips, thumbs digging into the dip where your thighs met the curve of your body as his mouth trailed kisses from your lips to your jaw.

“’s good you said yes,” you murmured between kisses, breath hitching as his tongue flicked against your pulse, “because…I already cut you a key.”

He froze just slightly—only to chuckle lowly against your skin, lips brushing your throat. “I know,” voice rough with laughter. “Saw it in your bag last week.”

You pulled back, startled. “You what?”

Sirius grinned, impossibly smug, the kind of wolfish, pleased smile that could undo you far more than anything he’d just done with his hands. “Meant to be a surprise, was it?”

The glare you gave him was weak at best, completely undermined by the way your hands were still under his shirt, now dragging lightly against the curve of his ribs.

He laughed again—loud and delighted—before pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss just beneath your ear, hands sliding to the curve of your back, pushing you into him. “Darling, how did you plan on keeping it a secret when I pack your bag every morning?” he asked, his words broken up by soft bites down your neck, tongue soothing the marks he left behind.

But you weren’t listening anymore.

The kisses had gone from teasing to distracting, and you were already breathless again, head tipped back, clutching at his vest as your thighs pulled him even closer.

You didn’t hear the car pulling around the corner.

Didn’t hear the idle screech of tyres over gravel. Or the distant clunk of the garage door as it creaked open.

Not until your eyes flicked sideways—catching a figure in your peripheral vision. A tall silhouette. Familiar glasses. Wide eyes.

A scream caught in your throat—coming out more like a shocked gasp, a strangled noise as you jolted as your entire body tensed—squeezing Sirius into a startle—nearly losing his footing as he spun around—arms coming up defensively like he thought someone had come to attack you.

Instead, there stood James Potter.

Frozen in the open doorway of the garage.

A bottle of wine dangling uselessly from one hand, and the most horrified, scandalised, absolutely floored expression etched across his face. His jaw hung open. Eyebrows nearly in his hairline. He looked like he’d walked in on a crime scene.

Sirius blinked, chest heaving, hair disheveled. “Prongs?”

His eyes landed on you first: flushed cheeks, bruised lips, a fresh bandage on your forehead, sitting on the bloody workbench like you'd been carefully laid out and devoured. His jaw all but fell off its hinges—finger point at Sirius as his eyes darted between the two of you.

James’ mouth opened and closed. Then opened again—arms lifting as he pointed furiously at Sirius. “What have you—what did you do to her?!”

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, utterly unrepentant, but James was already in melt-down mode, voice pitching as the dots connected in his head.

“This—you’re, I—”A slow, disbelieving exhale escapes his lips. “No,” he says finally, softly, like he’s trying to convince himself. “No, nope. I’m not seeing this.”

You scramble a bit—pushing Sirius out from where he was slotted between your legs, hands tugging your shirt straight. “James, I—”

He cuts you off. “No.” He looks at you, expression unreadable—turning his sights on Sirius, who was rather unbothered considering how unbecoming the entire situation was.

“She’s injured, Sirius. Injured. And you’re—what—ravaging my friend in your greasy murder garage?” His voice cracked halfway through the sentence.

“I was being gentle,”

Sirius shrugged with a light tone, dodging the nudge of your elbow that he knew was coming—and James nostrils flared slightly, like he’s biting down a thousand words.

Maybe you should have stayed silent—let Sirius deal with him, but you didn’t—words muttered beneath your breath, “He’s—he was patching me up?”

Sirius looked like he was biting his cheek to keep from laughing.

James gaped at you, expression mixed between disbelief and confusion “Right. Is that what we’re calling it!?”

You and Sirius stand in silence for a moment, his hand sliding around your waist again. And James drags a hand down his face again, throwing his hands in the air as he spun on his heel, already walking out.

“I don’t even wanna know anymore. I—I need a drink.”

[creatingblackcharacters]

Ice you are So Cool. Can we see some of your favourite Black characters? Whether they're Black characters written "right" (in quotations because of infinite nuance) or not, it might be nice to show that even beloved Black characters still have things they can improve upon (since Black audiences deserve A LOT BETTER than what is currently available). also i would generally like to pick your brains

Y'all are the only people who have ever said that lmao I have been a geek and a lame my entire life. I appreciate the compliment!

I always feel awkward when asked favorite stuff bc it's like... I don't really have solid favorites. I have things that I like, and the passion fades with time as I experience new things. I also tend to like stories and the ways the characters are used to tell the stories and what it meant to me at the time to hear it than like... The character themselves.

THAT SAID! It would be unbecoming of me on this blog to go on a super rant for why I decided Patroclus should be Black and it is Canon Now and how that makes him Better (I've definitely discussed it before though, actually I think I did do the embarrassing super rant 😅). But him, yes. My OC Philia, his daughter. Absolutely.

Charlotte from Queen Charlotte 🔥 I went on my rant about her too, yes. Loved seeing this type of character being written precisely as I've always wanted to see her, and in period piece fashion that nonetheless addresses her Blackness via her hair pieces 🥹. How she's snippy, arrogant, and naive, but she's also sweet and loving, strong, and cares so deeply. How she also manages to assert herself, that the narrative goal is not to Humble Her (as Black women so often face), but to let her grasp her power and position. Everyone gives Lady Danbury credit, but let's be real here- Agatha is her right hand; if Charlotte didn't want Agatha around, it don't matter how smart she is, she would not BE there. Charlotte is The Queen, she's learned how to play the game! I love seeing her take up space.

Claudia, IWTV, I've spoken about Claudia. Same idea, really. How to write a Black woman that is Angry without writing an Angry Black Woman™. I love and want far more Black women characters that lash out violently against the world that mistreats them, I want them to spark fear and terror, I want people to quake knowing that if we chose the cruelty inflicted on us, on y'all, there'd be a line of the dead. I love that she put the fear of God in every manipulative man that ever loved Louis, that they knew the only way to weaken him was to deal with her. She was the core thing that kept Louis grounded. Because (despite popular belief) she loves Louis, she just was sick of his bad decisions and wanted to go her own way- and God knows I have been there! She makes mistakes in her strategy- yes, she does- but she's not perfect either, her yearning and motivations trip her up too. Her too, I love the way she takes up space and is willing to meet violence with violence without the narrative acting like she's somehow worse for it.

Those are the ones that stick out to me the most right now!

[jolapeno]

fits, perfect

javier peña x f!reader | masterlist

Summary: You never know who you'll bump into at an outdoor movie night.

word count: 1.7k warnings: smut. jo had a dream and made it poetic. jo posting a oneshot on tumblr <- feel like this is a warning. smut with feels, cause me. plot, but we more about knees and kitchen tiles. an: dedicated to @goodwithcheese who told me to give in to the dream and here we are.

READ ON AO3

If he were looking, he would have averted his eyes when her finger crooked towards him.

Too nice, too sweet, too familiar. Moved back a week or so after he did, bringing with her a flurry of talk.

For him, she’s an old friend he could turn into a foe without much effort. He was an asshole, after all. Not words said by her lips, but she likely thought it. He’s sure he remembers her calling it him before she left for college—fingers in the loops of her jeans, leaning on the front of a truck. Playful in its delivery, not as cutting as he’d heard overseas.

The only reason he moved himself to her blanket was because she raised a brow at the idea of sitting on the one he’d chosen. Not some prearranged thing, nor planning on bumping into the other at the outdoor movie night. But, she seemed a better choice than the other women who eyed him, reducing him to meat on bone—hero on legs. Her eyes didn’t shimmer with the make-believe that the others drank like it was holy water. She knew him for all his warts. His surliness, his avoidance of anything and everything. The way he left a woman at the altar.

It’s why he hadn’t planned on finding himself sitting on the floor of her living room. Dusty, wooden, cold. Ass going numb as his phone slowly charges. That’s how he found himself here, teased, taunted. The case protecting it ridiculed to the point he wanted to rip it off and fling it out the window when he drove her back to hers—let it rot on the side of the road, let the grass grow around it until it lived amongst the soil.

What is this even protecting?

Her words had been cutting, laced with teasing, dressed in a smirk. Side profile lit beautifully by the various shades of the movie, flickering, spanning across her to make him realise—once again—how goddamn beautiful she was. A thing, a realisation, that bloomed heat in his cheeks, and made something tug behind his belly button. Want. A dormant thing, awakened and hungry when she sipped on her straw, cheeks hollowing in a way that shouldn’t be sinful, but he thinks it's intentional that it is.

He’s looking up at her, backlit by low honey. She’s watching him with the same scrutiny as he does her, except her gaze is softer, warmer. Maybe even kinder. He imagines that’s how she gets people to confess, to split open their chests and spill their secrets. Forces silence and quiet to do her bidding.

Fuck, it almost works. Chewing his tongue, head leaning to one side as she exhales a little louder than before. What are you thinking? He doesn’t ask it, not as she nears, not as she stands on either side of his stretched out legs, hands empty of a glass, before fingers grasp at the fabric of her pants.

It’s slow, the way she descends. Crouching, with his hand—moving on its own—sliding up the back of her calf, her knee, her thigh, then skating over the curve of her ass. Guiding her, inch by inch, until she eased into his lap, settled. Denim pressed to denim.

Her knees must dig into the floor, sitting atop him—paused, unsure. Not that she moves.

And while he knows this can’t be a dream—he could never forge her in them, never create something as beautiful—it’s confirmed when her breath brushes over the hairs above his lip, right over his mouth too. Then her hips shift—slow, testing—and that sweet sound slips from the back of her throat.

A sound he wants to hear again, again, again. Wants to have it singe the air between them. Wants it marked on him, burned, signed.

Handful of her ass, squeezing, he whispers—voice low, gravelly, “Glad you crooked your finger at me.”

It’s instant, her smile.

Voice low, velvet-silk as she licks her lips, replying, “Only did that because you wanted me to sit next to the guy who kept putting his hand down his sweats.”

“Shit. Didn’t even notice.”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he snorts, smirks. “Still glad.”

“Me too.”

Her words are punctuated with a shift of her hips.

Unmeaning, maybe? But his eyes flare, and she smirks. Doing it again. The hand at her lower back flares over more of her. Grip tighter, firmer, watching her hinge, body leaning closer until they meet, soft lips, a gentle kiss.

A thing he’s fine with, until her hand slides over his neck. Fingers teasing the strands of hair that sit at the nape, rocking herself over him as her mouth hovers close to his. Breathing him, as he breathes her. All sugar-sweet and lemonade. Wanting more, taking more, sliding his hand—calloused, rough—over her cheek, mouth chasing, capturing. Deeper, more intense. Hurried and needy, the tip of his tongue slipping past her teeth as he bends his knees, feet flat to the floor as she huffs at the movement, denim against denim, hand on his shoulder for steadiness. Squeezing. Don’t let me fall—as if he would.

Palm resting on her collarbone, her chest rising and falling under his touch. Craving, almost greedy, sliding it down the curve of her breast, mouth sliding down the juncture of her neck as her fingers work his buttons. Fuck he can taste the saltiness of her skin, capturing the scent of her perfume. One he’ll remember long after whatever this becomes.

—and he imagines she’s a person who stains, that makes a man insatiable.

The sun-stained mark on her left hand is evidence. A soul who’d lead a man to ruin, coax him out until the seaweed and waves pull him under and drown him—all for a chance to hear her say their name.

Button popped on her jeans, he licks over her collarbone. She yanks at the fabric on his shoulders, tugging it down to his elbows. He doesn’t need to ask, can hear it, thrumming, pulsing—fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

And he will. Doesn’t need to be asked more than once.

—not here, though. Not on the tiled floor.

Saying as much, burning the words between her lips as she stares at him with crude want. He groans when she pulls him up from the floor, knees aching—the years doing him in. Disguises it, pulling her flush by her wrist, spinning her into him, capturing the taste of her grin and laugh, finding it sweeter than whatever else has slipped past her teeth tonight.

He feels her pulse under his palm, the urgency like a live wire under his touch as he’s guided, finding the inviting softness of her bedroom. There are boxes scattered around, walls empty, bare. Her breaths all shallow gasps against his neck, clothes falling, landing with varying thuds in a path to the dimly lit bed.

Then he’s a prisoner to her stare, called in—left waiting.

He wants to warn her what she’ll find if she looks too deeply, she’ll find his insides marred, rotten, poisoned. Too many things, too many sights—too many blood-stained streets that had slipped into his veins. Her mouth slants over his like she sees it, but doesn’t care. Body curled into his, bowing, pressing flush together as his hand eases her knee over his hip as he breaks his lips from hers, if only to lick a stripe along his fingers before they’re slipped between her spread thighs.

The air colours with his name, blots. Ragged, whined.

He doesn’t stop touching, doesn’t stop seeking. Mouth over hers, tasting every noise she’ll give him as his touch grows slick with her, inside of her thighs tacky with it. Heat spreading under skin, hips jerking to meet his plunging fingers when he becomes unsure what gods have blessed him, when she comes apart with a garbled moan, thighs quivering, body slowly sinking back to the mattress. Chest heaving, panting.

The kiss he leaves on her hipbone isn’t an ask for more, but her invite comes anyway. Hands pawing, grabbing, tugging. She looks like she’d ask him to fuck her so innocently until his fingers are in her mouth and she sucks the taste of her from them.

And he imagines, she’d let him bend her however he sees fit.

Let him take pleasure from her body like it’s fuel to live. Sees it, there in the black pools of her pupils, something blistering, and incensed. Something that calls to him as he spreads her thighs with a palm and thrusts his cock over her messy pussy—tip catching her wanting hole, little gasps, hand on his wrist flexing, tightening—nails digging.

Please. She’s so different when she begs, a juxtaposition later when she’s taken him to the hilt, hands poised on his flushed chest.

It’s hours. Hell, it could be days. Bathroom breaks and half-eaten sandwiches before their bodies are desperate to reunite. Then, it’s days. Expanses of time between seeing one another, before he’s once again finding heaven between her legs, finding absolution and something close to worship in the way she says his name. Quiet, then not-so-quiet—like prayer and plea, balled into one. He kisses it from her mouth, swallows it down like it might save him.

Thinks it does.

It’s clumsy sometimes—laughing against her thigh, or her sock half-hanging on, or the sheets tangled beneath them in a knot neither of them cares to fix. But there’s a reverence in it, too. In how he learns her sounds, the arch of her back, how her breath stutters when he traces the same path twice. In how she touches him like she’s relearning the shape of something she already dreams about.

Time slides off them like sweat. The world shrinks to limbs and mouths and that dizzying pull that keeps them coming back to centre, each other.

And still, it doesn’t feel like enough.

He supposes it’s why something gold lives on her left hand now, one that matches his own.

A thing he brings to his mouth and kisses as he inches in, stretching her out against sheets that are not just hers, but theirs. In a bed chosen together, in a room they’ve made their own—so good for me, Mrs Peña. Coos it, stamps it with a kiss on her jaw, her nails finding a home in his ageing hair as she rolls her hips with his.

an: fancied trying to see if posting here still gave me the heebiejeebies.

[jinjoohaa]

TOJI X READER !!!

Pairing - Toji fushiguro x reader (dad's friend! AU)

Under His Roof

Content Warnings (Please Read): Age gap, Power imbalance, Manipulation, Overstimulation , Corruption kink, Edging, Orgasm Denial, Degrading talk, Jealousy sex, First time sex, Size kink, Fingering, Grinding, Dry humping , Possessiveness/Obsession, Breeding kink, Spanking/Discipline, Biting / Marking, Angst & emotional manipulation, Soft/dom moments later on, Minors DO NOT INTERACT (18+ ONLY)

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Chapter 14

Few weeks passed in a blur.

Every day, he finds a way to remind you that you belong to him, that your every move, every breath is for him. You don’t even notice when you stop questioning it. When you stop resisting. You’ve already fallen too far into his grasp, and now it feels like there's no way out.

He spoils you—over and over again. New clothes, new shoes, a new purse. All things he picks out. All things that he knows you’ll like. You never have to decide on anything. He makes the decisions for you, and somehow, it’s easier that way. There’s no uncertainty, no need to think for yourself. Toji has all the answers.

One evening, after dinner at one of his favorite spots, he takes you back to his place. The car ride is quiet, the air thick with something you can’t put your finger on. When you pull up to his apartment, he doesn’t let you go inside immediately. Instead, he parks the car, keeping his hand on your knee, making you wait.

“Stay here a sec,” he tells you, his voice low, almost like a command. You glance at him, your heart racing, and nod without a word. He always has that effect on you—one look, one command, and you’re obeying.

He steps out of the car, and when he comes back, he’s holding a bag from a boutique you’ve been eyeing for weeks, the same one where you’d picked out that one perfume you’d loved but never bought. Your eyes widen when he hands it to you.

“Open it,” he murmurs, his voice filled with the same confidence that always makes you melt.

You hesitate, fingers trembling slightly as you take the bag. Inside is the perfume you wanted, along with a new set of silky lingerie—a deep red, the kind of set you’d never thought you'd wear. He’s already picking things out for you without even asking.

“You like it?” he asks, his eyes watching you closely. His hand slides to the back of your neck, rubbing gently as you pull the items out.

“It’s too much,” you say quietly, feeling overwhelmed by the extravagance. It’s like he knows your every desire, your every need, before you even do.

“Too much?” He tilts his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “I know you want it, baby. You wanted this stuff, right?”

You nod, swallowing hard. “I did, but…”

“But nothing.” He cuts you off, his grip tightening slightly on your neck, pulling you closer to him.

“I told you, you’re gonna let me spoil you. I know what you need. And you’ll never feel better than when you’re in my hands. You get that?”

You can’t help but shiver. He’s so sure of himself, so confident in his control over you. And somehow, that makes you feel safe, even though part of you knows it’s twisted.

“I—” Your voice shakes, unsure of what to say. “I just don’t want to owe you so much…”

“Too late,” he interrupts again, his lips brushing your ear as he presses you back against the seat. His hand slides over your thigh, a slow, possessive motion that makes you feel like you’re his only.

“You already owe me. You’re mine, remember? That’s what this is about. You think you’ll ever find anyone who treats you better than me? No one loves like i do.”

You open your mouth to answer, but he cuts you off, pulling you into a kiss that’s deep, all-consuming. His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and demanding. His hands go lower, slipping beneath your dress as he presses you into the seat, controlling the kiss, controlling you.

You can feel his fingers already pulling at the hem of your underwear, pushing them aside as he slips one finger inside you without a second thought.

Your breath hitches in your throat, but it’s not fear—it’s need. You can’t deny it. You want this. You want him inside you again, you want him to fill you, to claim you.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he growls, his lips trailing down your neck, his fingers curling deeper inside you.

You whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders, your body arching up toward his touch. “I’m yours, Toji,” you breathe out, barely able to control yourself. “I’m yours.”

He smiles against your skin, pulling his fingers out slowly and then licking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I knew you’d say that.” His voice is thick with satisfaction, with pride. “You know why? Because you love this. You love being mine.”

You look at him, your eyes wide and vulnerable. “I do…”

His hands slide up your body, cupping your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress.

“Good girl. All mine."

When you’re finally inside his apartment, he wastes no time. He undresses you slowly, as if savoring every inch of your skin.

Each touch is deliberate, slow, like he’s marking you—claiming you. When you’re bare before him, he steps back, admiring his work, his smirk widening as he looks at you.

“You look perfect like this,” he says, his voice dark and low. “Just for me.”

You shiver, heat rising in your chest as you look up at him. “Toji… I—”

He cuts you off, his finger pressing against your lips, silencing you. “Shh. Don’t talk. Just feel.”

Before you can respond, he’s lifting you up, guiding you to the bed, and you don’t hesitate.

You don’t think about anything except him—his hands on your skin, his cock inside you. You let him take control because deep down, you crave it.

He kisses you hard, his hands rough as he pushes you down onto the bed, spreading your legs wide.

“You’re gonna stay with me, right? You’re never leaving again.”

You nod eagerly. “I—I’m not going anywhere."

His smile is dark, satisfied. “Good.”

And as he takes you again, slow, methodical, pushing deep inside you, you realize that you’ve given up every last piece of yourself to him. You don’t have the strength to fight it anymore.

The way he speaks to you, the way he touches you, makes you feel like there’s no place for you but in his arms.

No one else will love you like he does.

No one else will ever own you the way he does.

And somewhere deep down, you started to feel it’s true.

————————

The Days repeated. The lies repeated.

It’s past ten when you finally slip your phone back into your bag, the lie freshly typed out in a message to your dad.

“Staying over at Rina’s. Don’t wait up.”

Toji watches you from the kitchen doorway, towel slung around his neck, hair damp from a shower. His eyes linger a little too long on the nervous flick of your thumbs as you lock your screen.

He doesn’t say anything—just smirks.

“You look guilty, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Told your old man you were with your friend again, huh?”

You swallow, nodding silently.

Toji lets out a soft laugh, low and warm, but there’s a bite underneath. “Good girl,” he says. “Lyin’ so sweet for me already.”

You know it shouldn’t make you feel this way—your chest tight and fluttering, heat crawling up your neck—but his praise always does something to you.

Like a reward for misbehaving.

Like you're only good when you're being bad for him.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and leans in.

“You scared I’ll make you do somethin’ filthy again tonight?”

Your eyes widen a little, but you don’t answer. You never do, not directly. You just stand there—nervous, breath shallow, thighs pressed together.

And he loves that. God, he lives for that.

“You always look like you wanna run,” he murmurs against your neck.

“But you keep coming back, don’t you?”

He doesn't wait for permission. He never does.

One of his hands snakes under your hoodie, fingers warm on your bare stomach. You gasp, but he shushes you softly, guiding you back, walking you toward his bedroom like you're something fragile and dangerous at once.

By the time your knees hit the bed, he’s already pulled your hoodie up and off, leaving you in the soft little tank top he likes to tug at, loves to mouth over.

He cups your chest through it, slow and deliberate, thumbs brushing over your nipples until your breath starts catching, your thighs twitching.

“Sensitive again?” he whispers. “Haven’t even touched you properly yet, baby.”

Your face burns. You want to hide, to turn away, but he won’t let you. His grip’s firm under your chin, making you look at him.

“Say it,” he says quietly, gaze locked onto yours.

“Tell me what you want.”

You shake your head, lips parted but no words coming out. He squeezes gently—your jaw, then your breast—before speaking again.

“Don’t make me tease it out of you all night. You know what I like. C’mon… tell me where you want me.”

Your voice trembles when you whisper it. “T-Toji…”

“That’s not an answer.”

You take a breath. “Touch me…”

He raises a brow, but stays silent.

You bite your lip. “I want y—your hands on me… inside me…”

His smirk sharpens, like he’s just won a bet. “There’s my girl.”

What follows is slow and unbearable. You’re already wet before he even gets your panties off, and he makes sure to tell you just how soaked you are, how easy it is to slip two fingers in and make you writhe and how soft you're inside your cunt.

When you try to hide your face, he doesn’t let you. His mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, your breasts—tongue flicking, teeth grazing—and he keeps whispering how soft you are, how good you take him, how sweet you sound when you’re trying not to beg.

And when he finally slips inside you—deep and slow, like he’s slotting into a space that was always his—he makes you keep your eyes open. Keeps you face-to-face while your body trembles under his.

He doesn’t fuck you fast. Not this time.

This time, he holds you still, your legs around his waist, his cock filling you until you're squirming, clinging, shaking with the need to move.

But he won’t let you.

“You’ll sit like this for a while,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back from your flushed face.

“Feel how good I am to you. Feel what you ran away from.”

You whimper. “T-Toji, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he breathes, dragging his mouth over your cheek. “You can take all of me. You will.”

You stay like that, buried in him, barely able to breathe.

It’s overwhelming.

It’s perfect.

Your whole body clenches and shakes and you know you shouldn’t want this, not this badly, not after everything—but the way he touches you, the way he fills you and murmurs into your skin, it’s like he’s the only person who’s ever really seen you. Claimed you.

When you finally come, it’s not loud. It’s broken—choked into his chest, your fingernails digging into his back. He groans against your shoulder, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark. He stays inside you after, still hard, still deep, his hand stroking over your thigh.

“That’s it,” he whispers.

“That’s how I want you. Too fucked-out to lie. Too full of me to think.”

You nod weakly, blinking up at him.

He leans in and kisses your forehead.

“You scared, baby?”

You hesitate. Just long enough for him to notice.

“That’s okay,” he says, his voice almost soft.

“You ran away before. It's in the past now I get it. I pushed too hard.”

You bite your lip, eyes glassy.

“But you’re not gonna run again, are you?” he asks.

“Not when I take care of you like this. Give you the things you like. Make you feel this good.”

“I—” Your voice is thin. “I was just… overwhelmed…”

He nods like he understands. “So I’m gonna always do better,” he says.

“But in return…”

He slips his hand between your thighs again, just enough pressure to make you jolt. “You keep being good for me. You stay right here. Where you belong.”

You shudder. “O-Okay…”

He smiles. “Atta girl.”

And when he finally lets you rest—pulls the blanket up, tucks your hair back, cradles you in that same chest you just sobbed into—he whispers, “I love you baby. You know that, right?”

You nod into his skin.

“I’ll spoil you. Fuck you. Own you. And you’ll love every damn second.”

You fall asleep like that. Wrapped in his scent, full of him, trapped in the safety of his arms and the danger of his promise.

to be continued in the next chapter.....

.

[idkyetxoxo]

Three | Where Smoke Lingered | Little Star

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.2k

Warnings - Mentions of domestic abuse, slight angst

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The house had finally settled into silence. An oppressive, suffocating quiet that seemed to press against the walls like a breath held too long in the lungs waiting to collapse. 

Everyone had gone to bed, or at least to the semblance of sleep.

Amren had returned to her apartment in the city without a word. Mor had gone with her but she hadn't said goodbye either. The way her eyes had darted, catching on every shadow, every scrape on the wall, like she expected the house to shatter beneath her feet. 

She hadn't looked at me. Couldn't. As if my presence was too painful to acknowledge.

Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys had retreated to their rooms, each one taking their guilt and fury with them, no doubt combing over the wreckage of the night, grasping at broken threads, replaying words spoken and those that should have been. 

No one had followed me. No one had stopped him.

The small home library was dim when I stepped in, the faelight from the hallway casting long, shivering shadows across the spines of books I'd once loved. 

Everything was smaller somehow. Duller. Like the air itself had forgotten how to hold colour.

My breath caught violently in my chest as my gaze swept the room. Daeron stood by the fireplace. Still. Silent. 

The worst version of himself—the calm kind. 

That calm wasn't peace, it was control. Measured cruelty. The kind of stillness that only came before a storm or after something precious had already been broken.

His expression was unreadable, but there was a satisfaction to his stillness, a smugness to the silence that exuded from him. 

Something about it felt intentional, like he was waiting for me to fall apart, and he was already savouring the taste of it.

My eyes flicked to the windowsill with mounting dread, and the cold inside me turned to panic.

The book. My mother's book. My book.

It was gone.

The same one she gave me when I was little, the one that smelled like jasmine and old parchment and her. The one that had lived on that sill since the day she was murdered. 

I'd read it a hundred times, a thousand. Memorised the words not just on the page, but how they made me feel—safe, grounded, whole. A tether to a world where she still existed.

I moved without thinking. Fingers trembling, I tore through cushions and blankets, checked under tables, behind shelves, desperate and fumbling. I checked places it couldn't be, wouldn't be. 

I didn't care. I had to find it. It was more than a book. It was the last real piece of me.

All the while, he watched.

He watched me fall apart. Not with confusion or concern but interest. Like he was studying something. Like he was savouring the unravelling of something delicate.

"Where is it?" I asked finally, my voice a raw whisper. My throat burned. My chest ached. 

The air had thickened, turned noxious, and something inside me, something quiet and precious, began to crack under the weight.

He didn't answer at first.

Instead, he tilted his head and then slowly, deliberately pointed to the fireplace behind him.

I didn't understand at first. I didn't want to. But then the smell hit me. Burning leather. Charred paper. Memory turned to smoke.

I stumbled forward, my steps clumsy, my hands clutching at nothing. The flames licked hungrily at what remained. 

Blackened, curling pages. The gold embossing melted and twisted. The spine cracked and split, the story bleeding into flame. 

My mother's handwriting, the notes in the margins—ashes. All of it. Gone.

It wasn't just a book. It was her voice. Her warmth. Her comfort. Her love. And now it was smoke in my lungs, soot on my skin.

My knees almost gave out.

I turned to him with wide, disbelieving eyes. My magic, a thing I hadn't touched in years, fluttered weakly in my blood, responding to my grief like a ghost too long ignored.

He didn't flinch.

"Do not mourn too long," he said with a shrug, already turning his back, like what he'd done was inconvenient, trivial. At the doorway, he paused, one hand braced against the frame. "I expect you to pay for how your family treated me tonight. Come to your room when you're done with the weeping."

The words clawed at my insides.

"Why?" It left me without meaning to. Barely a breath, more ache than question.

He turned, eyes empty of remorse. "Don't pretend you don't know."

Then he was gone.

And I stood there alone, the scent of burning still clinging to the air, watching the ashes of my mother's voice dissolve into nothing.

That was the moment I understood, really understood what my family had been trying to make me see all these years.

He doesn't hurt me. He erases me completely.

The next morning, I woke to find him gone.

The room was quiet, sterile in its stillness, no trace of him left behind, save for the evidence etched into my skin.

Bruises bloomed like poisonous flowers across my thighs, ribs, wrists. My jaw ached from where his hand had gripped too tightly. My lip was split again, a thin line of dried blood cracking as I moved. 

But it wasn't the physical pain that hurt most. It was the silence inside me.

The kind of silence that only comes after you've screamed and screamed and screamed.

I moved like something newly dead, dressed in the dark with trembling fingers. I couldn't look in the mirror. I couldn't stay in that room where the walls still echoed with his voice and the smoke of my mother's book clung to the air like grief.

So I went to the kitchen.

The motions were automatic, muscle memory from a life that no longer belonged to me. My hands found the ingredients with the ease of habit. I didn't think. I just did. 

Chocolate chip cookies.

The kind Rhys always claimed he could smell from miles away. The kind Cassian would devour in seconds, crumbs on his shirt, chocolate on his grin.

The kind my mother used to make with me on quiet evenings, when everything felt okay.

I clung to that memory like a lifeline, like if I stirred the batter just right, if I measured perfectly, if I didn't drop a single grain of sugar—maybe I could still be that girl. The one before the erasure.

The timer beeped, breaking through the fog. I opened the oven door, expecting comfort.

Instead, the smell hit me first—burnt. Acrid. Wrong.

The cookies were blackened discs, charred beyond saving. I blinked at them, not understanding. 

I had made this recipe in my sleep. Hundreds of times. I knew it better than I knew myself.

I reached for the tray with my bare hands. The heat seared into my palms, but the pain didn't register.

I just stood there. Holding onto failure. Holding onto ashes again.

Then, warm hands, scarred hands took the tray from mine, gentle but firm, setting it on the counter with a hiss of cooling metal.

Azriel. I hadn't heard him come in. I didn't know how long he'd been watching. He said nothing.

Instead, he turned me gently toward him, his touch light like he thought I might shatter. Maybe I already had.

His hazel eyes met mine—seeing, not just looking. My own eyes burned, raw and red, not from the oven heat. My lip quivered.

Still, he didn't speak. Didn't ask.

He just wrapped his arms around me and held me.

My body sagged into his, a sob catching somewhere deep in my chest that wouldn't come out. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go back. 

Before last night. Before the fireplace. Before him.

But all I could do was stand there, clinging to Azriel, my hands scorched and useless, my heart cracked open.

It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

And maybe Azriel couldn't fix it. But he didn't try to.

He didn't offer hollow promises or quiet revenge. He just held me. A steady, silent shield against the wreckage I'd become.

My voice cracked as I finally spoke, the question tumbling out like a stone too heavy to carry any longer.

"Does he hate me?" I asked. "Is he... disappointed?"

I leaned back, just enough to see his face, Azriel's face, carved in the kind of stillness only someone who'd survived their own darkness could wear. 

Hazel eyes met mine. Steady. Searching.

Eyes I had known for years, eyes that had seen through me and past me and still stayed.

There was a shift in them now, soft and solemn. As if something had finally clicked into place. As if he was watching the version of me I had tried so long to hide begin to resurface—damaged, yes, but still here.

"Rhys could never hate you," Azriel said softly. The truth in his voice was absolute. "Not even close."

The shadows, his shadows, slipped from his skin to mine, curious and tender. They skimmed over my arms, brushing at my hands, whispering against my neck like they remembered me, too. Like they missed me.

Azriel's thumb grazed my bottom lip, feather-light, pausing at the cracked skin. His brows furrowed, not with anger but grief. His grief. For me.

Gentle hands. So unlike his. So unlike the last seven years.

"You don't have to carry all of it, you know."

I blinked, pulling back just enough to look at him. "What?"

He glanced down, then up again. "The guilt. The shame. The silence. None of it belongs to you."

I shook my head, a bitter laugh caught in my throat. "Doesn't feel that way."

"I know," he said simply. "But feeling it and deserving it aren't the same."

His voice wasn't soft for comfort, it was soft because he meant every damn word. Like he was giving me something delicate, he didn't think I'd believe.

"You didn't choose this," he continued. "It didn't happen because of you."

I swallowed hard. "I let it happen to him."

Azriel's jaw tensed, a flicker of something dark in his eyes, but not at me. Never at me.

I looked away, staring at the ruined cookies on the counter. 

"Az," I breathed, my voice thin against the weight of it all, ignoring the pulsing pain from my palms. It didn't matter now.

He hummed in response, quiet as the hush between heartbeats. "Yes?"

My gaze fell away from his, and yet the words rose unbidden, slipping from some hidden part of me that had never stopped hoping someone might understand.

"He erases me completely."

There it was. Laid bare. No metaphor. No veiled meaning. Just the truth.

I didn't know why I said it. I couldn't explain the reason or the timing or what part of me still had enough fight left to confess it. I just knew I had to say it—to him.

Azriel stilled.

I felt it in his body, in the way his breath caught, in the way his arms tightened just enough around me without ever hurting. 

And I felt it again in the small, silent ache that passed between us, shared like a secret.

His heart physically ached. I could feel it, like the shadows themselves carried the tremor of it.

And then he pulled me in again, closer this time. One hand stroking my hair, the way he had when I was younger. When Spring Court dreams turned to nightmares, when betrayal had carved a hollow so deep in my chest, I feared I would never feel warmth again.

He hadn't known what to say back then, either. But he had never needed to.

He just held me. Like now. Quietly. Surely. With a kind of love that didn't ask for anything in return.

Later, with my hands bandaged and raw, I found myself wandering back to the library, drawn to it like a tether I couldn't see. Something pulled at me, soft and persistent, threading its way through the hollowness that had taken up residence in my chest.

The moment I stepped through the doorway, I felt it.

The air had shifted.

Golden light poured through the tall windows, spilling over the spines of the books in long, honeyed stripes. Dust floated in slow circles, caught midair like falling stars. 

Everything looked the same. Familiar shelves, worn chairs, the quiet hum of stillness, but something was different. Something was waiting.

It sat on the windowsill, right where the original had always lived. The spot where I'd curled up countless nights, the place where stories had wrapped around me like blankets.

A book. Not the book. Not the one Daeron had burned to ash in the flames. That one was gone. Lost forever. But this...

This was a copy.

Bound in the same aged leather, edges worn like it had lived another life before finding its way to me. Wrapped neatly in a familiar blue ribbon. 

There was no note. No signature. Just this quiet offering, this breath of memory returned.

I hesitated. My fingers, still stinging beneath the gauze, trembled as I reached for it. I sank to the floor beneath the window, book in my lap, the ribbon slipping away like water through my hands.

I opened it slowly. The pages whispered as they turned, soft as a lullaby.

There it was. My favourite page. My mother's favourite line. The one she used to read with a smile in her voice and a tear in her eye. The one that had always felt like home.

Except now, beneath that line, something new had been written.

Delicate, careful script. Ink pressed just a little too hard into the page, like the writer's hand had been shaking.

"You are not what he did to you."

I stared at the words, and the world cracked wide open inside me.

Because I knew that handwriting. I would know it anywhere.

A/n - So we've further established that Daeron is a piece of shit x

I originally made her a baker just because I love baking but it ended up fitting the story so well, it's a perfect way to mirror her rise and fall!

Also there's a little easter egg hidden in this chapter for something coming later. I tried to keep it cryptic, so I doubt anyone will catch it... but if you do, we're basc on the same wavelength :)

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts so please don’t be afraid to share them <3

(i’m posting this from my phone on vacation hopefully i didn’t fuck up the format 😭😭)

Little Star tag list - @jaybbygrl @writtenbypavani @fall-winter-heart97 @coeurdeveea @lilg101010 @krazykangaroo712 @moonlitlavenders @lil-lupa @jasmineee05 @pinksnowtiger @yourdarkrose @nerdybee123 @bookwormysblog @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @suspicious-stain-in-spain @anainkandpaper @theflowerswillbloom @queenoffeysand @historygeekqueen @lexi-in-wonderland

[purplemoonabove]

Trying not to faint is a total option.

Keith was bold. Lance knew that since the Garrison, but only in battles. Never, ever in something like this. With eyes staring deep into his soul, a touch from his gloved hands grasping his face as though gentle on a precious gem, and a serious nature that felt less of a leader or team member and more of a determined teenager.

For a moment, it’s not a room in a ship in the middle of stars and galaxies. Only a separate room for privacy, an empty classroom or a student’s no-bed dorm. (Lance almost wished they didn’t left his room.) All alone, with now one waiting for the other return with anything.

Rivalry was on his mind when considering Keith’s presence at the beginning. It may be rare now, but it wasn’t entirely gone.

All the reason to take a breath and have his arms wrap around his back. Their chests are pulled to a new press.

Keith’s eyes widened a bit — the same in his room, but recovered to a smirk to catch Lance off guard and rest him at a wall.

“Trying to beat your rival?” Keith teased.

His eyes widened with cockiness. “Aha! You admit to be my rival then!”

Keith chuckled and rolled his eyes. “If so, what are you gonna do about it…” He then leaned close, lips at a near touch but only for a whisper. “Lover boy?”

Keeping his body still from how his heart ricocheted, Lance made sure to keep his face straight when gazing back at him.

“Don’t play with fire if you can’t take the heat, Mullet.”

The returned grin gave a malicious vibe that has him wanting.

“Try me.”

“Lance?”

Blinking to reality, his gaze laid centered to Keith. He wasn’t intoxicated by a drink this time. No mischief or bold cockiness laid on his face. The blush was there, but so was nervousness and wonder despite the history. They were both sober; their minds were filled with rushing emotions that had Lance wanting to run and breathe.

One glance at the lips under the room’s lighting has his feet rooted to the ground.

With their close presence, he can hear Keith’s hitch at the throat. Almost the racing of his heart, matching his own. One hand rubbed upward, slow for comfort and grounding.

If told months ago that he was to be in a room on a spaceship with his rival, not for a fight or argument but to confide on dealing with feelings after making out drunk days prior, Lance wouldn’t believe it. Another denial as the bonding moment: resting on to Keith, being safe in his arms when brought away, knowing the last words that led to the kindest of smiles.

“We make a pretty good team.”

Keith almost melted in his arms. The touch had the eyes fluttering to a close, taking it in as a near massage to ease his muscles. Lance leaned forward – and their foreheads led to their breaths at a mix. No drink, and yet can feel the mind fogging once more. Wanting and doing nothing else in this time.

Nothing except Keith.

“Can I…?” His whisper brushed at the lips.

He got one in return.

“Please.”

Thank stars.

No rush this time. Lance didn’t want to waste a second to push his lips against Keith’s without grasping on to a taste he all so needed. The same thing by the mullet teen; an immediate melting in his arms had their chests at a press and his fingers inside his hair, a groan leaving Lance in result.

He knew he was jealous. Jealous of his own self, taking a first grab at a state where he couldn’t have the guts to do. That drink was a blessing, then a curse, and now was the drive that got a sober witnessing on when they pulled away.

Dazed eyes. Pink cheeks. Moistened lips with soft pants. A young man that got a start on a new workout, Lance being his teacher.

The aching in his pants was going to be difficult to ignore later.

“Please remind me not to wait on doing this again.”

Even when looking as though getting intoxicated again, Keith managed a small smirk. “I’ll do better than that.” The force from the back of his head, the fingers curling to a hold as he pulled Lance’s head until their foreheads were a centimeter away from slamming into each other. “I’ll make sure you won’t forget it.”

The huskiness from him got a twitch going, his heart racing at the ideas suddenly roaming in his mind at what else he could do, but only for a moment.

Lance eventually huffed, his chuckle brushing at Keith’s shirt collar before gazing in humor. “Never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Lance rolled his eyes before sealing another kiss, taking part of Keith’s breath that led for arms in scarfing around his neck, Lance tilting his head to deepen and get further access. Soft moans left the other, Lance actually feeling Keith giving tiny withers in his arms and hands. If this was how to get Keith so vulnerable, he’d let no one else learn about it.

This was his doing.

This was all Lance’s doing.

Something that has younger him believe he finally got the upper hand, the winning spot, the position he longed for that Keith always beats him over.

Pulling away, harsh pants mixed before Lance leaned down and latched to his neck. The gasps, the muttered “Lance”s, the fingers destroying his carefully styled look with a need. His arching that led to a brushing, their gasps and shudders in synchronization.

Younger me does not know how much of a prize he’s getting.

“L-Lance, we… We have to go. S… Oh gods, Shiro… He could be looking still.”

A decline was ready, but a groan against Keith’s skin cut in line. “You’re right,” he whispered before pulling away. The lightning caught on to the soft formation of red at his neck; a little adjust to the collar, or waiting a while since it wasn’t a strong bite, will keep it hidden.

Keith’s chest gave large pumps, his daze trying to get back the consciousness. Lance couldn’t help but lean for another kiss, slow and sweet to rest their hearts until their foreheads touch.

“Best to wait a while before we go then.”

Keith chuckled, but his eyes were looking down. Lance was sure more color came on his cheeks. “Yeah.” His indigos then flicked back to him. “So… what now?”

His mind went blank. That was expected, but Lance didn’t have an answer on it. All of this came so fast. What’s there to say more on?

“I don’t know” was the best he can give.

Keith brought back a hand from the back, cupping his cheek. Lance can get a whiff of his shampoo that lingered on his fingers. He turned to kiss the palm, despite the leather covering.

A soft smile was given. “We’re in too deep on this.”

.

.

.

Part 7 / …

[katabay]

ANDREY STAMATIN

Keep a close eye on Peter. You'd become desperate and turn into a villain without him.

I spend a lot of time thinking about daniil and peter, but something just clicked into place for me with andrey. so!

I am. currently untangling this thread of thoughts about the stamatin twins and daniil and this kind of. triangle that's happening. a three fold bullet for sure, the kind of recognition-awareness-understanding where three people become one, but to step back from that. when daniil and andrey talk, there's a specific shape of peter that stands in his conversational absence. so: triangle formation. it's opposite-adjacent-complementary to daniil and peter's conversations. it all goes back to that first conversation you have with andrey. it's giving knife. love it!

bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost

[doveywovy]

@tryingahandinholdingapen regarding your question about if tobirama knows that izuna is also weird: tobirama genuinely thinks izuna is the most normal human alive.

izuna is the pinnacle of humanity to him. i can't really explain this it's just intrinsic to his viewpoint of the world.

[unnonexistence]

ok there was a poll going around a while ago about whether you think your 5-year-old self would recognize you, and I'm curious:

[spacebunniesmha]

I don't think some people realize how big of an impact ochako had on the war. Toga had hundreds of thousands of clones ready to kill anyone in their way, it would've been devastating. Ochako stopped that disaster and saved a villians heart in the process. She's so cool‼️‼️

[flame-shadow]

very minor thing i just realized has been annoying me for over a decade

when people learn about drawing tablets that don't have screens, they always act boggled like, "whhoaaa how do you know where you're drawing?? how do you line up your clicks and strokes if you're not looking at where you're drawing???????"

but um. well. have you ever used a mouse? or a trackpad? have you ever made your cursor move without staring at the hand holding the mouse? whoaaaaa. how did you even know how to accurately click on that button if you weren't looking at your finger pressing the button????

like. how silly does that sound? c'mon. it's the same thing.

[ofmourningdoves]

Okay, so admittedly? 

Frankie was hoping that Josie wouldn’t notice the way he was favoring his knee. But, Josie seems to notice a lot about him – little things, stuff that maybe his own family members might not catch all the time. The way he takes his tea, only a little cream and one sugar cube. The bookmark he had at the age of fourteen with the mermaid charm dangling off of it, lost to the ether until Josie magically conjured it back up with the help of her “fairy friends” a year later. He’s pretty sure she one time anticipated a sneeze of his, handing him a tissue before he even started to blow. But, that’s just Josie. While he may be closer to her oldest sibling, there’s something just a touch special about their friendship.

It was silly, foolish even, to assume that she wouldn’t have noticed. He should question why exactly she notices just about everything with him, but the sounds of a bull in a china shop fill his mind, his head lifted up to try to catch a glimpse of what exactly was happening with his friend. It could sound better, he fears, his free hand reaching up to press against his cheek in worry. Here he was trying to save the day and instead? He’s got poor ol’ Josie crashing all ways to Tuesday in that shack.

His hands move out to grab her arms as she does the same – Lord knows the pair would crash into each other like go-karts at the Grampleton Squash Fair if he didn’t try to steady the both of them. letting out a soft, only partially pained chuckle.  “I’m okay! I swear I’m okay, you didn’t kick me or anything like that!” The latter rings some truth; Josie without a doubt did not kick him. 

“I think I just pulled somethin’, it’s not that that bad.” But, it lingers, that throbbing pain bleeding up into his thigh. It’s not getting easier to ignore, and it certainly won’t be easy to hide it from Josie, considering the way she’s always fretting over him like some kind of wounded animal. A baby duck with a broken wing, a feral barn cat with a sprained paw hopping around trying to bite at a mouse’s tail. He already feels the way he’s leaning into her weight, his arm relenting to instead wrap around her waist. 

It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to be doted on, right?

“....but, I s’pose some of Laurie’s good tea doesn’t sound too bad.” He distinctly remembers a personal favorite from that hidden stash, some kind of rose oolong that haunts his dreams with little petals and that earthy, floral scent still filling the air when he wakes. 

Frankie steps on that bad leg, something stinging. He bites at his lower lip to hide that pain, taking in a deep breath before exhaling, slow out of his nose. His grasp on her waist tightens, glancing to her with a small smile. “You got your key, right?”

Oh, thank God. He didn’t catch the Romeo thing. Josie’s whole chest sagged with—what? Relief? No, wait, maybe disappointment. Or relief? Or maybe something pricklier, something that tightened up in her ribs and made her want to fidget and fuss and cry and laugh all at once. Disappointment. Unless that was relief? Shoot.

She didn’t know. Her head was starting to throb, the world tilting ever so slightly sideways, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out the right way to breathe. Maybe it's something she'd sort out later tonight, tucked up in bed, picking apart every word with twitchy fingers, panicking when she couldn't find a way to sew them back together. If she'll even be tucked up in bed, with the way her head was pounding—Mom would kill her before letting the chance of an untreated concussion stick under her roof.

Wait, none of that matters right now!

Right now, the worry catches fast on the way Frankie's hand flies down to his knee, the way his freckled face twists up into something pained, pinched, something she recognizes way too well. Her heart lurches sideways and slams right into her ribs.

Oh, Jesus. Oh, Lord above.

Had throwing Josie hurt Frankie?

The thought alone sends her flying into motion, crashing through the house like a small, frantic hurricane, crash, thump, smack, smash. She barely keeps her feet under her, skidding wildly on the stairs with her arms out for some semblance of balance, ricocheting off the landing, stumbling over one of Mom's throw rugs so hard she pinballs straight into the wall. Hanna-Barbara style, with her arms smashed outward, stars bursting behind her eyes, tweety-birds around her head that looked strangely like Tanny, but she barely lets it sit to simmer. She has bigger, more urgent problems to attend to: Frankie Buchanan—hero of the hour, her knight in shining armor, her best boy friend (damn, stupid, ugly space!) in the whole wide world—was hurt and it was all her fault.

(And did he say it would be lonely without him in here? He was right, of course, but how did he know that?)

Panting, gasping, wild-eyed, she throws open the door and practically launches herself outside, her hands grabbing Frankie's shoulders before he could even let that poor, strained smile falter.

"Are you okay? Oh my God, Finn, Frankie, are you okay?" she babbles, eyes scanning him frantically like she could spot the damage just by sheer will. "Did I kick you? I definitely kicked you, didn’t I? Oh, Finn—shoot, just lean on me, I'll get you inside, I'll lay you up on the couch—I'll make you some tea, okay? Some of Laurie's fancy tea, not the perfumey stuff, I know where he hides the good bags!"

She's already trying to wedge herself under his arm, half ready to fireman-carry him inside if he so much as wobbled. She doesn't care if he protests, she doesn't care if it was dramatic. Frankie got hurt saving her and now it was her sacred duty as the damsel in distress to make it right.

Even if she might knock them both over doing it.