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masonreds · 16 hours

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mason mount x reader

Summary: Y/N distances herself from Mason thinking that it would help her feelings.

word count: 3,7k words

notes: sorry if this is a bit too dramatic for you’re liking 👀 also take a shot for everytime y/n says sorry 😂😂 I’ve also not posted in a while so please leave feedback if you can, it will be appreciated 💞

This isn't how you expected tonight to go.

Here you were, in the bathroom locked away from the fun downsatairs, away from your own birthday party. You just couldn't handle it anymore.

You couldn't handle your feelings for him anymore. You hated being friends when deep down you know you knew what you wanted and the possibility of him turning you down, rejecting you just thinking about it made you an anxious mess.

You couldn't keep this up anymore. You wanted more.

The knocking on the bathroom door made you snap back into reality, and you already knew who it was without them even talking.

You just knew it was Mason.

The person who'd you been trying to avoid for the rest of the night.

'Last I checked, the afterparty hasn't been moved to the bathroom.'

'I'll just be a minute!' You say, trying to sound normal enough.

'What's wrong?' Apparently not.

'What do you mean? I'm just freshening up a bit.'

'What's bothering you?'

'i don't know what you mean,' you try to laugh it off , but the pressure in your chest becomes a little too tight and it comes out as a more gasping noise than a light chuckle. You clear your throat. 'i told you, I'll be out in a minute. It's getting late, everybody else has probably gone, you can go too. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?'

Mason just ignores what you said. 'You would've at least made five sarcastic comments in the last two minutes if everything was fine. You forget how i can read you like a book.' He pauses. 'And you certainly wouldn't be hiding away from your own birthday party for most of the night. Especially when you always refuse to let me leave without helping you clean up.'

Shit

'Mase, i told you, I'm -'

'Cut the bullshit, Y/N.' He told you sternly, before continuing, 'I watched you blow out the candles. I saw that look you made after you made your wish, and you looked up at me for a split second. And that look you had on your face, as if you were going to start crying right there and then. You masked it quickly, but I saw it. I’m not going to stand here and pretend I didn’t see it.’

‘I don’t know what you’re-’

‘Yes you do,’ he interjects. ‘Because right about an hour ago I’m handing you a drink and the next thing I know, I see your face crumple like that again. And-’ he takes a deep breath before continuing. ‘And it fucking broke my heart.’

You stood there, stunned.

‘So, are you going to tell me what I did wrong?’ He asks.

‘You didn’t do-’

‘Because you’re my best friend,’ he reminds you. ‘And I feel like I have a right to know what I did that made you make that face.’

There’s a beat of silence, and he says, in a lower tone than before. ‘Because I would do anything to make sure I never see it again. It breaks my heart seeing you like that.’

Stood still, your gaze is fixed at the door speed the two of you.

‘Y/N.’ He calls out, sounding more desperate than you ever thought him capable of being.

And that does it. The tears you’ve been desperately holding back through every conversation with him you had, not only tonight, but since the day you realised that you were in love with him. You’ve reached the point where there was no return, and the person you want to run to the most is also the one you couldn’t possible bare to see you in this state.

The stretch of silence following your name from his lips feels endless. You feel like you’ve been standing in front of the door, with your face painfully scrunched in a vain attempt to stop the tears from falling, for an eternity. That is until it’s broken by your shuddering gasp for air.

‘Y/N.’ He says again. Only this time his voice has shifted, even thought the distance hasn’t changed, you can feel his voice everywhere now. It has penetrated the walls and filled every corner of the room. You realise this is the first time he’s seen you cry.

Well, no. He still can’t see you.

He can only hear you, which means there’s still time to fix things going from bad to worse.

‘C’mon princess, don’t cry sweetheart,’ he beckons. ‘Please. Just come out and we’ll fix whatever’s happening. I swear.’

Those nicknames, which he sometimes throws around fondly and always makes your chest tighten in joy every time you hear them. It feels worse now. It feels torturous and cruel to hear him casually call you things you wished he truly meant.

And that only makes you cry harder.

Oh how you wish things were different, and how you wished you were destined to be with him.

‘I-I’m begging you,’ his voice sounds strained, and you feel guilty for putting him in such an uncomfortable situation.

‘I’m fine,’ you manage. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be okay in a sec.’

‘But you never cry,’ he says. Which was true, you never let him saw you raw emotions. You wanted him to think that you were fine and that you could handle it, until you couldn’t anymore.

‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper.

‘Stop apologising,’ he says firmly. ‘Now, can you please come out?’

‘I can’t.’

‘And why’s that?’

‘Because,’ you squeeze your eyes shut as more tears spill over. ‘You can’t see me like this. I don’t want it to change our friendship.’

‘Well what if I want it to?’ He counters.

‘What?!!’

‘What if I want it to affect our friendship?’ He sighs. ‘What if I want you to think you can come to me when you’re upset? Do you really think I’d push you away when you’re like this?’

You can’t get any words out. All you can do is let out a pathetic sob at the kindness of his words.

At my crying he stammers, ‘I’m sorry, did I say something wrong? I just meant-’

‘No!!’

‘No?’ He questions.

‘No,’ you can’t help but smile a little.

‘Well, look, I’m not going to force you to come out,’ he says. ‘If you truly want to be alone, I get that, and I’ll leave and you can come out whenever you’re ready.’

Good.

I think I can work with that - you thought.

‘But if the only reason you’re not coming out is because you’re afraid of how I’m going to react, then I’m the one who fucked up for making you think that you always need to be in a good mood around me,’ his voice softens. ‘I’ll leave you alone if you want, but please don’t try to push me away.’

Damn.

You almost left out a huff of laughter, because you know that no matter what you promised yourself, he always weakens your resolve. And it’s at this moment where you realise just how exhausted you are - how nearly two years of suppressing your feelings have been slowly eating away at you. And the weight of your misery becomes unbearable, and all you want is to leave the terrible ache in your chest behind.

More tears come running down your cheek, that you couldn’t seem to stop. You don’t bother wiping them away as you stare at yourself into the mirror. You see the hollowness of your eyes, the way you look pale in the dim bathroom light, and you know you can hardly handle the weight of your secret for much longer. Giving yourself an almost nod of understanding before reaching the door handle, unlocking the door and throwing common sense out of the window.

‘Princess?’ He asks. Your chest tightens at the sound of that stupid nickname again. It started off as a joke, Mason teasing you after you shared your love of fantasy books and fairy tales with him. And it stuck around, quickly becoming Mason’s favourite way to make you flustered while you always shoot him with an annoyed glare. You always told him you hated it, but after a while you began to carry it with a sense of pride. As much as it pained you to know he was only joking, it always made your heart contract in a way he was only capable of causing.

‘Promise me one thing?’ Your voice is unsteady from all the crying you’ve been doing.

‘Anything.’

‘Shut your eyes, will you?’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Not to brag or anything but I’m certain I’m one of the most ugliest criers out there. And I’m not sure if I can stand you see me like that,’ you do your best to joke. ‘Just for now, at least.’

‘You don’t realise how silly you sound, do you? But if that’s what makes you come out, then yeah sure.’ He says.

And with that, you pull the door handle down so you can open the door.

Mason’s perched at the very end of your bed, his hands resting on his lap. He’s facing you, and you’re relieved to see that his dud are still shut, as promised. You stand there for what feels like an endless amount of time, too stunned to move. But slowly, his hands move from his lap and palms his face up, beckoning you over.

It’s all the cue you need, and you step forward, placing your hands on his forearms, your grip is still shaky. Whilst his eyes are still closed, he engulfs you into a hug. You have hugged Mason plenty of times, more than you can count, but never with you crying into his arms. One hand rubs your back while the other gently caresses your hair, but the tenderness and kindness he’s showing only makes you cry harder.

‘Can I open my eyes?’ He murmurs. All you can manage is a quick nod against his chest. He tries to pull back from the hug so he can face you, but you figure that he cant see your tear stained face if it’s buried in his hoodie, so you remain firmly planted in the hug.

A few moments pass like this, both pressed impossibly close to each other and you can feel your heart rate begin to calm as your tears slowly subside. The exhaustion has saturated your body as you feel as though you can fall asleep on his chest before you heard him speak.

‘You’ll tell me what I did wrong, won’t you?’

‘I want to, but I can’t,’ you tell him.

‘Why?’ He doesn’t sound annoyed, his voice has a playful tone to it with a twinge of worry.

‘Because-’ you whisper. ‘Because you’ll hate me.’

‘Impossible,’ he says. ‘You’re one of my best friends, I don’t think I could hate you even if I wanted to.’

‘As much as I want to tell you why I gave you that look tonight,’ your voice is slightly muffled with your face buried in his hoodie. ‘I know it will ruin our friendship and I don’t think I can bare losing you.’

‘You’re not making any sense. I thought I was the one who upset you,’ he manages to pull away, untangling my arms from around his neck. He slowly rises from his perch, towering above me as he rests his hand on my shoulders. You can’t look at him though, so you lock your gaze onto the floor. ‘Seriously, Y/N, you know I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to, but you’re starting to scare me.’ His confession makes your heart ache impossibly.

He brings his hand underneath your chin and slowly guides your face up to meet his. A few more tears escape your swollen eyelids, and he gently brushes them away. ‘I want to tell you,’ you avert your gaze, not being able to stand the intensity of his eyes on yours. ‘But I know how it’ll end. And I know you’ll resent me for it.’

‘Please don’t say that,’ he tries to meet your eyes. ‘There’s nothing that you could say to me right now that would make me even think about hating you, okay?’

‘But there is!’ You grip on to his forearms, relishing your closeness one last time. You know you’re going to be selfish you’ve ever been and ruin the most important thing in your life just to give yourself a moment of peace. ‘And I thought I was fine keeping it to myself, but I just can’t go on like this anymore.’

You stagger backwards, as you see the panicked look on his face. ‘I can’t eat or sleep,’ your fingers begin to nervously tangle themselves into your hair. ‘And I know you don’t deserve this, but I can feel myself going crazy and I know that I can’t keep this up.’

He slowly moves closer to you, his brow knotted in concern. ‘Keep what up?’

‘I can’t keep pretending that I’m not in love with you.’

There it is.

There’s no going back now.

He starts to say your name, but you cut him off quickly. ‘No, just let me finish,’ you bury your face in your hands, knowing damn well that you cannot possibly handle his reaction. You try your best to steady your breathing. ‘Because if I don’t do this now, it’ll just continue to eat away at me until I won’t even recognise myself.’

You take his silence as a cue to keep going. You remove your hands from your eyes but focus your attention on the floor. You eyes catch on a potted plant in the corner of the room by three window, and you keep your gaze focused on it as you utter your confession.

‘I thought it was just a little crush,’ your voice isn’t much louder than a whisper. ‘When we met a couple years ago. And then it was like one day I blinked and you and I had become best friends. I couldn’t remember a time when I was so happy.’

You’re crying now. You take another moment to gather your strength, and carry on, refusing to look up at him.

‘I thought us being friends would be enough, and for a while it was. I was fine loving you platonically, because I figured having you in my life as a friend would be better than not having you in my life at all. But my feelings never went away, they just continued to grow stronger and stronger and-’ you try to discreetly wipe your eyes. Your tears blurred your vision almost completely. ‘I knew you would never love me like I love you, because guys like you don’t date girls like me. The date models or influencers. The type of girl you brag to your friends about.’

‘I feel terrible because I’ve lied to you our entire friendship. I feel like this secret has just been festering inside of me and honestly I’ve been so miserable when I wake up everyday thinking this is it, this is the day you’ll find someone else and I’ll truly be nothing to you. But no matter how badly I try to protect myself from getting hurt in the end, I just can’t stay away from you.’ You let out a weak laugh.

You’re rambling now, you can feel it. You find it impossible to stop until he speaks. ‘What if I feel the same?’

You jerk your chin up to meet his eyes. He’s standing closer now, and you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact.

Your stubbornness got in the way. ‘No you don’t. You could never love me.’

It feels like time stops when he says, ‘who said that?’

You shake your head, and viciously swipe your hands under your eyes. ‘No, Mase. Don’t say things you don’t mean. I know we joke around a lot but I would never fuck around with your feelings like that.’ You can feel panic rising in your chest.

‘I’m-’ Mason tries to go on to say until you interrupt.

‘You don’t have to let me down gently.’

‘Please give me a chance to speak, will you?’ He grips your shoulders gently, placing his face close to yours. And then he goes on to saying something you would’ve never expected. ‘Could you just pump the breaks for a second so I can tell you that I’m in love with you too?’

You stood stunned for a while before you managed to come out with ‘what?’

‘You do realise that I’ve been crazy about you for years now, right? I just didn’t know where you stood so I never had the guts to ask you out,’ He lets out a breathy laugh and runs his hands through his hair. ‘Oh god if I had known that you liked me back even a little I would’ve said something! I–I just thought you never saw me like that,’ He trails off. He stops and turns to me suddenly. ‘Princess, I am so sorry. All this time you felt like you couldn’t be yourself around me, like you couldn’t just tell me how you felt.’

You’re still staring at him, dumbfounded. You’ve realized that you still haven’t stopped crying, much to your absolute humiliation. If what he’s saying is true, you think, then why on god’s green earth can’t you calm down? But at this point the panicked sobbing has taken a new shape, now strangely mixed with exhaustion, giddiness, and confusion. You attempt a smile, but you imagine it looks very off-putting, considering your emotional state.

His hand on your arm breaks you out of your thoughts. ‘Sorry,’ I furtively wipe your eyes. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me – I mean, I should be jumping up and down with joy, but,’ you release another shuddering breath. ‘I can’t seem to calm down.’

The look he gives you is one you’ve seen many times before, though you never knew how to describe it. Calling it a look of kindness or interest didn’t seem like it was enough to describe the depth of his stare, and it felt too far to call it a look of worry. Only now after these past few minutes have you understood what his gaze is implying. It was more than affection, it felt like love.

‘Hey,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s okay, you’ve been through quite a bit just now, baby.’

I laugh a little at that. ‘That’s a good way to sum it up.’

He smiles again, and your stomach does more than just flip, it somersaults and launches itself into a dive roll. And then he pulls you into his arms again, and though you can’t stop the tears leaving your eyes, you feel like you can at least control your breathing a bit more.

‘Now I know you have a tendency to overthink,’ he says after a moment or two. ‘But there can’t be any of that right now, alright? Don’t think about tomorrow or this new thing between us, alright?’

You pause, but relent with a small nod.

He continues. ‘I care about you like I always have, and my priority right now is to make sure you’re okay.’ His hand rubs reassuring circles on your back as he speaks. ‘It’s late now, and you must be exhausted after everything tonight.’

You let out a small hum of agreement. Now that he mentions it, you feel absolutely wiped out, and a dull pain has begun to take roots in your temples. Mason gently moves back, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear and taking in the sight of you in front of him. For what felt like the millionth time, you feel yourself becoming self-conscious. You know how red and swollen your face becomes after you’ve cried, and you’re willing to bet that the mascara running down your cheeks gives your features an added air of insanity.

‘How about you let me deal with some of the mess in the living room, while you wash your face and wind down a bit?’ he suggests.

‘Yeah,’ your breath still comes out a little shaky as you restate his commands. ‘No overthinking.’

He nods, satisfied with your answer. ‘And when I come back tomorrow, we’ll talk, and then you can let that brain of yours ask a hundred and one questions as it always does. But not until then,’ he finished with a smile.

You can feel your heart start to drop at his words

‘You’re not staying?’

The words are out before you can stop yourself. You know he doesn’t want you thinking about this new thing between us right now, but he has no idea how much overthinking you’ll do if he walks out that door. You know if he leaves, you’ll barely get a wink of sleep all night, wondering if our heated exchange was nothing more than a champagne-induced dream.

Mason looks at me with a smile. ‘Of course I can stay.’

‘Are you saying that because I asked, or because you actually want to?’ You shoot him an incredulous look

‘Let me tell you something, princess,’ he stares deeply into your eyes, refusing to let your gaze slip from his. ‘I’ve never, never left your side willingly.’

His words cause your breath to hitch and for your heart to constrict almost painfully, but you refrain from grabbing the skin over your chest, from making sure that your heart is, in fact, still beating.

‘I wanted you to know that you don’t owe me anything right now, and that we’re still – we’re still us,’ he says. ‘I didn’t want you to feel weird if I stayed the night, that’s all.’

You let out a soft breath. ‘Thank you, Mase,’ you whisper. ‘I trust you, you know that I do.’

‘Good,’ he replies. ‘That’s a relief because I honestly didn’t feel comfortable leaving my girl alone right now.’

You have to physically hold yourself back from grinning at his words. My girl. The thought of those two words, and all they could possibly imply, made me feel light-headed. All you can do is nod your head in agreement.

He gently brushes some hair behind your shoulders, giving you a soft grin. ‘So how about you get ready for bed, and I’ll grab a T-shirt from my car and put away the stuff in the living room. I’ll be back in a few minutes, alright?’

‘Okay, I think I can manage washing my face before I pass out,’ you say jokingly.

Mason chuckles as he walks out of the room. ‘That’s my girl.’

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dfortrafalgar · 15 hours

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I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem. But sometimes, you just need a little bit of love... and a little bit of science.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings

(also it's far too late in the game for me to be asking this but can someone help me figure out why everyone's blogs outside of the first five people in the tag list dont show up. ive been on tumblr since like 2014 and still cannot figure this stuff out im sobbing)

Chapter 28

[Prev] [Next]

Your maternity leave had started early, not helped by how active one of your babies was at the crack of dawn. Every morning when you woke up to the sound of your alarm and rolled over to hoist yourself out of bed, you felt a kick against your abdomen. When you stood up, you felt that familiar fluttering sensation. One morning, you slept in only a few minutes longer than you normally did, and were punished with a small shove against your bladder that had you involuntarily unloading your urine into your pajama bottoms.

That one made you cry, Law keeping his chuckles to himself as he helped you clean up in the bathroom.

“Stop berating them through my stomach,” you sobbed. “I just pissed my pants.”

Your husband had answered you with a soft kiss to your swollen skin as he bent down to pick up your soiled clothing and bring them to your washing machine. “It happens, darling. It wasn’t your fault.”

Needless to say, it had been an emotional third trimester thus far.

On a Friday evening, you were sitting reclined against the arm of your couch, a book resting on your belly as you munched on some apple slices when Law came bursting through the door. He was frantic to kick off his shoes and shrug off his lab coat, hanging it on the hooks in the entryway before scrambling into the living room and plopping himself down next to you. He was holding a notebook in his hand.

“Hello to you, too,” you stated sarcastically, placing a paper bookmark in your novel to mark your spot and adjusting yourself on the couch to sit with your legs crossed under you.

“I was busy on my break today,” Law stated matter-of-factly, flipping through the wrinkled notebook with a fervor. When he found the page he was looking for, he folded the journal in half and held out the exposed page to face you.

A bunch of squares and barely legible writing covered the lined paper. You squinted. “I have no idea what I’m looking at, babe.”

Law rarely had moments where he got so excited that he couldn’t speak, but this was clearly one of those moments. He would forget that other people didn’t have over 20 years of medical training going back to the age of five. “Sorry, sorry.” He turned the notebook back toward him, using his finger to point out what he had scribbled down. “These are genetic predictions. It’s estimated that about 50% of fraternal twins will be opposite genders, so a boy and a girl. Which means about 25% will be both boys, and about 25% will be both girls.” He moved his finger from one scribble to another. “I have black hair, which I’m assuming to be the dominant gene among the two of us. However, I’m also a carrier for brown hair, because my mother and sister both were brunettes. Accounting for your hair color, I’m estimating that it’s a 75% chance that both of our babies will have black hair. At least one of our babies will have my eye color, but I believe your eyes are the dominant trait. I remember you saying at one point that someone in your family had curly hair, right? I’m estimating a 25% chance that at least one of our kids will have curly hair. If both of our babies are boys, the chances are 75% that they’ll be colorblind, and 25% that only one of them will be colorblind. If both are girls, it’s a 75% chance that both of them will be carriers for the colorblind gene, 25% that only one of them will be. But again, this is all approximations. So then I started thinking about more technical stuff. I have B+ blood, but I couldn’t remember what your blood type was, so we have to go off of the Rh factor, which is dominant with positive Rh, which means that at least one of our babies will have Rh positive blood, likely both. Male pattern baldness is also a dominant trait in most families, but I’m 26 and still have a full head of hair, so hopefully if we have a boy, he won’t have to worry about hair loss. Funnily enough, I learned today that having six fingers on one or both hands can actually be a dominant allele in some genetic lines, but neither of our family members have had any form of polydactyly that I can recall. Just an interesting thought. Anyway–”

Your shoulders were shaking with your laughter. “Law, slow down! Breathe!” Your hands reached forward to grab his shoulders to settle his excited rambling, his face slowly losing color as he was speaking more than he was absorbing oxygen.

You watched as your husband took a long gulp of hair in before blowing it out slowly. “Sorry. I got excited.”

“Don’t apologize, you’re adorable,” you replied, stroking your hand along his cheek. “How long did it take you to write all that down?”

Law glanced one more time at his notebook before closing it and discarding it on the coffee table. “About 15 minutes.”

You snorted. “I hope intelligence is a dominant trait so that both of our kids will be as smart as you.”

“You’re smart too,” he argued back, his voice light and content.

“Not ‘scribble down multiple punnett squares in 15 minutes’ smart,” you countered. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

He shook his head, stretching his arms behind his back. “Nope, I came straight home. I was too excited to show you that.”

You grinned, struggling to lean forward to kiss the tip of his nose. He assisted you by leaning forward on his own legs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“How have you been feeling?” he asked suddenly, diverting the topic. One of his hands came to rest on the crest of your belly, petting the taught skin through your shirt.

“Tired,” you replied. “It’s hard to stand up. Robin said both babies are probably around 2 or 3 pounds by now, but honestly it feels like I’m carrying lead weights when I stand. I feel like a turtle.”

“Any more movement?” he asked, scooting over the cushions to be closer to you, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders to pull you into him. You gladly followed his gesture, dropping your head into his neck.

“One of them moves in the morning still, the other likes to kick when I go to bed. The only reason I’ve been able to tell is because I feel them on different sides,” you groaned. “I don’t know what it looks like with them folded up in there, but they haven’t made it easy on me.”

Law hummed in response, his free hand stroking your belly. The feeling of his palm against your bump felt more soothing than the finest lotion. “I’m just glad that they’re both okay… not like I’m thrilled that you’re in pain, obviously, but…”

“No, trust me, I am too,” you sighed, closing your eyes. “I’ve made it this long now, and both of them are still alive. And pretty soon…”

Your husband knew exactly what you were going to say when your voice trailed off. It was a subject the two of you had been tip-toeing around for quite some time.

The birth.

“That’s the one thing that’s still scaring me,” you admitted. “I’m already high risk, and anything could go wrong. I might have to be ripped open while awake to get them out. I might die, even.”

Law felt his chest clench. “Don’t say that, you won’t die.”

“But we don’t know that,” you sighed, your voice growing more nervous by the second.

“No, you won’t die,” he replied firmly.

You felt mildly guilty for broaching the subject. You knew how difficult it was for him to even think about the slim chance of losing his family again, not when he had come so far and achieved so much with you. You leaned your head upward to kiss the soft skin of his neck, his sideburns tickling your forehead. You felt his arm around your shoulder pull you even closer to him, his breaths shallow.

“I’m sorry…” you muttered.

“Don’t be,” he responded quickly. “I mean it. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His hand dropped from your belly to grasp your own, tilting his head down to meet your own as his lips gently pressed against yours. Your eyes slipped closed, leaning into his tender kiss and wrapping your free arm around his torso. The size of your belly made it hard to be flush against him, but you made do. After all, you would have to get used to cuddling with two babies soon enough.

You pulled away from his lips. “Hey, so how’s the studying been? For that surgery?”

Law groaned, not at you, but at the mere thought of the looming procedure that had been bearing on his mind for the past eight weeks. “I feel like I’m back in med school, that’s for sure. I feel ready for it, but at the same time I can never be too prepared. It’s going to be… a lot.”

Dual heart-lung transplants were very, very rare, and used for the most severe of cases. The procedure had never been performed at Law’s hospital before. Single heart transplants had been done, and a few lung transplants, but never at the same time. Law’s cardiac ward was specifically chosen for the operation because of the young doctor’s expertise in the field. The patient’s life was quite literally in Law’s hands.

A small smirk flashed on his face. “I started wearing gloves in that patient’s room with his family. I don’t want them to see the tattoos on my fingers.”

“Do you not wear gloves for any other patients?” you asked with a small giggle.

“No, I do, when performing treatments. When I’m on rounds, I just stick my hands in my pockets,” he explained. He had one dimple on his cheek that showed up when he smiled. You couldn’t help but peck a quick kiss to it. His stomach suddenly grumbled, startling the two of you.

“You stay right here, I’ll make us some dinner,” he said, making a move to stand up.

“Pancakes,” you demanded with your own mischievous smirk.

“We had pancakes a week ago,” he replied with a smile.

“And?”

Law leaned down for one last kiss on the crown of your head. “Alright. Pancakes it is.”

—

Your pregnancy journal had gone from an anxious possession that you worried would jynx your good luck to a vice that you crawled back to whenever you were bored. The pages were filled with the ink from your pen as you used the prompts to delve into some of the thoughts you kept to yourself, your feelings about your body, your babies, your relationships, the hopes and dreams and the worries and troubles you tried not to stress about. You kept track of the gifts you had received, the words of advice from your doctor, and the unprovoked comments from elderly ladies at the supermarket who liked to comment about how cute of a couple you were when you shopped for food with your husband.

The grouchy, black-haired surgeon with bags under his eyes and a resting bitch face, and you, his slightly shorter, glowing wife with a very large pregnant belly and a polite, shining smile on her face. You were truly a match made in heaven, one might say.

Law had been busier and busier in the weeks getting closer to your due date. As the weather got colder, the holidays came and went, and the new year began, he was diving more and more into his studies preparing for what was easily the largest, most intense, and most serious surgery of his professional career. Some might assume that you would get tired of the neglect, growing frustrated that he wasn’t around to spend time with you in your third trimester, but in reality, you couldn’t be more proud.

The sight of him hunched over your kitchen table surrounded by old textbooks and papers was an image straight out of your college days, where you’d let yourself into his single dorm room close to midnight and find him on his floor in the dim lighting surrounded on all sides by professional journals, research papers, and textbooks from every esteemed surgeon in his field. You’d sit down next to him and diligently push french fries against his lips as his eyes stayed glued to his studies, rewarding you during his sparse downtime with awkward kisses that tasted like salt and firm yet shaky hands that were obsessed with traveling up and down your body.

The only difference now was that Law was that professional in his field, that he was in an apartment, and that you both had rings on your fingers. The french fries stayed the same, but he at least had a piece of mind to feed himself while you watched from the couch and giggled. Every once in a while, he would lean back against his seat and pop his spine with a satisfied groan, toss you a fond look across the room, and go back to reading. Sometimes, you would stand behind him and rub his stiff shoulders, encouraging him to stand up and stretch his legs just as he would do to you to ensure you remained strong during the final weeks of your pregnancy.

The only thing weighing on your mind was the panging worry that he would be in the middle of this massive procedure when you went into labor. You were both informed by your doctor that most twins would be delivered either naturally or induced at around 36 weeks, almost a month before single babies were usually born, and with your due date at 38 weeks being in the middle of May, you had a nagging feeling in your head that he would miss it.

You both tried to hold onto hope that your babies would be delivered any other day that month. He would be gone for only a day, a full 24 hours, in total the day of the surgery. What were the odds that your babies would be born on that specific day? Slim, to say the least.

At around 32 weeks, it was getting hard for you to stand up. Your movements were slow and labored, and you were spending most of your days in your apartment either on your couch or in your bed, standing up when instructed by Law, or Shachi and Penguin when he was at work, to walk laps around your home. The fear of blood clots forming in your legs and traveling to your lungs, as described by your lovely husband in far too much detail, was enough to make you more determined to keep the blood pumping in your body.

“Alright, ready?” Law stated, standing behind you in the kitchen as you slowly made your way through a pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

“Ready,” you stated back, your eyes focused on washing the silverware in your hands.

His inked hands traveled around your torso and under your belly, lifting up against the bottom of your bump. The sudden relief of having the weight lifted off of your back made an almost erotic moan leave your lips, your grip on the silverware releasing slightly as the tension in your entire body flooded from your veins like a broken dam.

“Feel good?” he asked from behind you with a smirk, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “I saw a lot of posts that said that it feels good, but I didn’t think it would feel this good. I wish you could do that constantly.”

Sparse kisses were placed to the back of your head as his hands slowly released their pressure against the bottom of your bump, leaving your back aching once more as your body was forced to bear the brunt of the weight in your abdomen. You stifled a whimper as you were forced to hold what felt like 50 extra pounds on your own again, but Law’s lingering presence behind you with his hands resting idly on your belly soothed your aches subconsciously.

“Busy spring, huh?” he asked, filling the room where the only other sound was the sloshing from your dish washing.

You hummed in response, rinsing your hands and turning off the tap, drying your hands on a towel that lay on the counter beside you. “You could say that.” You turned around to lean against the counter, Law’s hands remaining on your body as you rotated. He leaned forward to capture your lips in his, you rewarding him with a smile.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be more physical with you…” you sighed.

Law pulled away. “Why are you sorry for that?”

You shrugged. “You seem like you’ve been a lot more handsy with me lately, and I can’t reciprocate. And I’m probably not going to be able to reciprocate for a while after I give birth.”

Your husband chuckled, planting chaste kisses across your cheeks. “I’m not ‘being handsy with you’ because I want anything. I’m ‘being handsy’ because I want you to be happy and comfortable. I’m not expecting anything in return. And by the way,” he pulled away to stare into your worried eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about your post-birth body being somehow inferior to how you were before pregnancy, I know it.”

You averted your gaze, your lips pinching together.

“And I know you don’t like the stretch marks on your belly,” he added.

“Where are you going with this?” you asked, your voice quiet.

“Because I’m going to remind you every day how beautiful you are. Always. Even the changes that come with having a child. You’re always going to be beautiful to me. I’ll never be repulsed by your stretch marks or wrinkled skin or cellulite like you think I’m going to be. The person standing in front of me is a beautiful woman who has given me a life worth living, and I’m going to cherish her and support her through everything.”

Your eyes darted toward his neck, where his glass necklace still sat between his collarbones. He religiously wore it every single day, only taking it off to shower, sleep, and perform surgeries. Likewise, you never removed your glass ring. Hot tears began to form in your eyes, but your lips curled into a smile. Your expression fought for dominance over being happy or sad, and what resulted was a shaky grin, furrowed eyebrows, and watery eyes.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you asked, letting a few lose tears escape the corners of your eyes.

Your husband kissed the damp streaks that your tears left behind on your cheeks. “You fed me french fries on the floor of my dorm room in college. I think that’s when I knew you were going to be my wife one day.”

A bubbly laugh left your throat as your hands gripped his shoulders for stability. “I think I knew when you found me out behind my dorm building that night.”

Law leaned in to kiss you one more time, but a sudden gasp left your lips as your entire body tensed up. A stinging cramping sensation rippled across your abdomen, lingering in your muscles. It lasted about 30 seconds, where your shaking hands clenched the cotton of Law’s shirt, his eyes wide and frenzied as his hands supported your upright posture, before the pain finally dissipated into a mild buzz, then nothing at all.

You stared into Law’s eyes. “Can you help me sit down?”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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just-cofffee · 2 days

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His heart danced to the rhythm of her smile, a feeling that grew with every glimmer of joy on her face. Making his heart beat faster every time she laughed. As if her happiness were the key to his own. It was like a balm to his troubles, a light in the darkness. He barely dared to look her in the eyes. He felt like a coward, unable to take the first step. After all, she was the twin sister of his friend Takemichi.

Although Takemichi and you were siblings, you always stood out as polar opposites. While he was sentimental and expressive, you seemed reserved and calculating. Seeing your smile or hearing your laughter was a rare gift he treasured. He could play the role of a clown just to see you squint your eyes when laughing or even just smiling. One thing he always admired was your kindness, even if you seemed distant, cold, and even calculating, soon would come the moment that would seal his love for you, it was when he saw you helping his younger sister, lost in the park. In his desperation, almost on the verge of madness, you appeared, accompanied by a little dog that he supposed was yours, with that unmistakable style of yours. From that day on, his admiration for you turned into something deeper: a silent and passionate love that grew.

Gradually, Mitsuya began to ask Takemichi questions about you. Takemichi noticed Mitsuya's growing attraction to you, but chose to remain silent.

Mitsuya knew exactly how you liked your coffee and what your favorite café was. Often, "accidentally," he would send you coffee through Takemichi, pretending that he didn't want any more. He also knew your favorite cookies and your food allergies. You didn't know how he had discovered all your tastes, but he always pleasantly surprised you. When there was a gathering, Mitsuya made sure to avoid the foods you liked the least.

Mitsuya knew that after lunch, you usually went to the library and headed to the last window at the back, where you lay down and slept for about twenty-five to thirty minutes. However, that day, something unusual caught his attention: you weren't in your usual spot. He couldn't remember any specific reason that could have disrupted your routine. He was starting to worry…

His heart seemed to stop when he felt a presence beside him, someone sitting and looking towards the library, just as he had been doing moments before.

"Don't look for me there anymore, today I don't feel like sleeping, Takashi," your sweet voice resonated in his ears, leaving an echo that persisted even after you had finished speaking.

For a moment, Mitsuya felt as if he were in a dream or on the threshold between life and death. Had he fallen from the terrace and was experiencing a vision before dying? He didn't know for sure, but in that moment he felt more alive than ever.

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loonylupinblack3 · 8 hours

Text

Period Trouble

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings: swearing, nothing else i think?

Summary: you wake up with your period and are forced to go on a mission with Logan of all people

Word count: 2.4k

A/N: literally obsessed with this man rn so ofc i had to write about him. also wolverine has enhanced senses including smell but its like…. barely shown in the movies so i had to search it up to be sure, and some part of me still doubts it but for the purposes of this fic he does have it

You woke up with a groan, immediately curling into a ball. You were early. You were early and you hadn’t emotionally or physically prepared for having your period today, yet the world seemed ready to punish you, burdening you with an early cycle.

You checked the time, cursing every god and deity you knew when you realised you were supposed to have woken up half an hour ago. Wincing, you got up, your body screaming at the movement. Already your stomach was aching, the ghosts of cramps to come caressing your body.

There was knocking at your door, quiet yet firm. You already knew it was Storm on the other side of the door, no doubt in search of a reason why you failed to get up on time. It was going to be a long day.

You yelled out to Storm, promising to be out in five minutes, and got up, groggily looking for your clothes. When you’d tamed your hair and brushed your teeth, you exited your room to find Storm waiting on the other side, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

She took one look at you and sighed. “What are you wearing?”

You looked down perplexed. “....my clothes?”

She raised her eyebrow. “You’re on a mission today, remember?”

Fuck. You nearly let out a whine. You were not in the mood to go skulking around doing Xavier’s bidding when you had a constant throbbing pain assaulting your stomach, unreasonable mood swings, and exhaustion weighing you down.

Storm sent you a questioning look. “You up for this?”

The mission was nothing big. Professor X needed you to collect some sort of rare herb that had recently been shipped into the nearest city, something he needed to complete a super secret experiment you weren’t privy to. He’d just asked for help and you’d volunteered.

Oh how you regretted that decision now.

“Yeah I’m fine,” you muttered. “Let me just get changed real quick.”

Getting into your previously decided upon outfit, a plain inconspicuous one intended to blend in, you left your room again, this time with no complaint from Storm. Your stomach gave an uncomfortable clench and you sighed, making a mental note to find some nurofen before leaving for the mission.

“Why aren’t you in your outfit?” you asked, just realising Storm wasn’t wearing what you two had agreed upon yesterday.

She winced slightly. “Can’t go. Filling in for some classes.”

Your face soured but you tried not to hold it against her. Storm loved her students, and given the choice of helping them or Xavier with a low level mission, she’d obviously choose her kids. You couldn’t blame her exactly, but it meant you’d have to go on this mission alone, while not impossible by any means it would make it slightly more difficult.

You sighed. “That’s okay. I can go alone.”

When Storm winced even more your eyes narrowed in suspicion, following her with caution. “Storm…..”

She sighed guiltily. “Xavier didn’t want you to go alone. The herb’s too valuable.”

You tilted your head slightly as you entered the house’s foyer. “So who am I going with then?”

Storm’s eyes darted ahead, and you followed her gaze to find Logan Howlett leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He smirked at you, “you’re looking at him sweetheart.”

You resisted the urge to groan, instead sending Storm a dirty look. You didn’t necessarily dislike Logan, but he was a lot to deal with, and you were already tired from your day that had barely begun.

You couldn’t say all that with Logan standing there however, so you muttered a, “lovely,” and walked past the man to the garage.

He followed you silently, no quip or smart ass comment which was strange for him. You’d just entered the garage, heading towards one of the cars, when you glanced back at him and found Logan stopped in the doorway, staring at you with a frown on his face. Or rather, a deeper frown than usual.

“What is it?” you asked him, standing at the hood of the car.

Logan’s eyes roved your body, searching for something. “You’re injured.”

It was your turn to frown. “What? No I’m not.”

He took a step forward, almost as if he was planning on looking for your alleged injury himself. “Don’t bullshit me Y/n, I can smell your blood.”

You made a face. “What are you talking about…..” you trailed off when you realised it, perhaps the most mortifying moment in your life.

Logan could smell your period blood. He thought you were bleeding from an injury.

You cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

He scoffed, walking towards you until you were face to face. You tried to step back and felt the hood of the car against your legs. “I can smell the fucking blood seeping out of you Y/n. I wouldn’t call that fine.”

You gritted your teeth to stop yourself from snapping at him. “I can assure you, I am not injured.”

You moved to walk past him but he caught your wrist, forcing you back into your position pressed against the car. “If you think I am going on this mission with you while you’re wounded, you’re out of your mind.”

“I’m not-”

“Do you think I’m an idiot darl? Is that why you’re denying being hurt while I can literally smell it on you-”

You cut him off. “I’m on my period, Logan.”

He paused, staring at you with an indecipherable expression on his face. You waited for him to speak, feeling embarrassed and furious about it. Why should you be embarrassed of your period? He was the one who was pushing you, prodding you, forcing you to tell him the source of the bleeding. If your answer made him uncomfortable, that wasn’t your fault nor your concern.

Eventually he spoke. “Alright then. Get in the car. I’m driving.”

You scowled at him. “Says who?”

He didn’t even bother looking at you, already in the driver’s seat. “Says me.”

You sighed but didn’t argue further, silently getting into the passenger seat. Logan started the car, reversing it out of the garage and driving down the long winding driveway till you got to the street.

“It’s an hour's drive to the city, give or take,” you told Logan, setting the GPS up on the car.

Logan barely glanced at it, eyes on the road, a firm grip on the steering wheel. He didn’t even respond to you. You sighed and turned away, looking out the window as the scenery passed you in flashes.

As the drive continued, you noticed Logan sending you glances every now and then. If you really focused on them, you’d almost say they seemed worried, concerned even, but they were always too quick for you to tell for certain. You were too preoccupied with your cramps that had started up anyway, and the lack of nurofen you’d forgotten to grab.

Finally, you arrived at the city, driving into the hustle and bustle of the crowded area. Logan’s hand tightened on the steering wheel, obviously not a fan of the traffic the city provided. You watched the stream of people through the window as Logan looked for a space to park, muttering under his breath.

You were mildly entertained at the amount of road rage he had, cursing every car that wasn’t at least 10 metres over the speed limit. His jaw was clenched, hand fisting the steering wheel, yet he still looked at you here and there, like you were actually wounded.

When he eventually found a parking spot the two of you got out of the car and you looked at the address Xavier gave you.

“Should be somewhere along this street,” you murmured, eyes flicking from the piece of paper to the busy street.

Logan moved behind you, so close you could feel your back against his chest, and looked at the paper in your hand. He let out a grunt and moved past you, walking forwards. You frowned and hurried your pace, not wanting to lose him amidst the crowd of people.

Luck was certainly not your side, because soon enough you’d lost him, unable to see his black leather jacket in the throng of people. You hesitated, wondering if you should look for him or just go straight to the address, when you felt an arm around your waist.

“Stay close to me,” Logan murmured into your war, his voice gravelly. “Don’t wanna lose you again.”

You glanced at him as he continued walking, not moving his arm from your waist. “How’d you find me?”

He gave you a smirk. “Followed the smell of blood.”

Again you felt your cheeks heat but you glared at him defiantly, refusing to be embarrassed. He smirked at you, flashing his teeth, as you arrived in front of the address, a plain building home to some sort of florist.

Logan finally took his hand from your waist, walking to the door with you trailing behind him. A bell gave a little jingle as you entered, and you were immediately assaulted with the smell of flowers. Different sorts of plants took up every corner of the room and Logan’s face soured as he looked around, obviously not pleased with the environment.

An old woman sat behind a desk, watering a plant with a mini watering can. You walked up to her, Logan hot on your heels. When you stopped in front of the desk Logan was so close behind you you could actually feel his chest against your back.

“Mrs May?” you asked.

The old woman looked at you with a smile, her eyes crinkling. “That’s me. What can I help you two lovebirds with? Bouquet of roses? Lilies?”

You opened your mouth, surprised, and tried to find something to say. Being mistaken for a couple shouldn’t have affected you so much, especially while on a mission, but you were flustered and could still feel Logan’s chest right against your back, his warmth almost dizzying.

“We’re not here for flowers unfortunately,” Logan spoke, saving you. Except why didn’t he specify you weren’t a couple? Did that not matter to him, what some old lady thought, or did he enjoy the idea of being thought of as your boyfriend?

Oh god. What were you thinking? Stupid period hormones.

The old lady looked at you two curiously. “Then how can I help you?”

There was a pointed silence and you realised Logan was waiting for you to speak. You cleared your throat and spoke the random sequence of words Xavier had you memorise, that would inform Mrs May just what type of buyers you were.

The woman’s eyes lit up with recognition and she nodded her head slowly. “Ah, yes, let me just go to the storage room quickly, I’ll be back….”

Mrs May tottered around the desk and through a side door, half hidden behind the multitude of plants covering the area, leaving you alone with Logan.

You took a step away from him and turned around to look at him, finding him staring at you with a frown on his face.

You frowned back at him. “What’s up with you today?”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “What is up with me? I don’t know if you’ve noticed Darl but you haven’t exactly been up to par yourself.”

You rolled your eyes at his words. “That’s not what I meant, and besides, I’m on my period.”

Logan stared at you, arms crossed. “What did ya mean then?”

“You’ve been acting strange. Less talkative and annoying like usual.”

Logan snorted. “Ever the lady.”

“I’m serious. What’s up with you?”

Logan sighed and took a step forward until he was towering over you and you had to crane your head up to look at him. “You are what’s up. I can constantly smell you bleeding, and I can’t get it out of my mind that it means you’re hurt. You’re driving me crazy sweetheart.”

Well…. That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting. Logan smirked down at you as if he knew that, and enjoyed surprising you. You cleared your throat as your eyes darted to the floor. “Well, that’s hardly my fault.”

Logan chuckled. “Not your fault no, but it is your doing whether you mean to or not.”

You swallowed, looking back up at him. “Well…. Don’t you constantly smell when people are on their periods?”

“It’s different with you. Smelling your blood just drives me crazy, plain and simple. Can’t get the instinct out of my head that blood means injury.”

The way Logan was admitting all of this, with such calm, made you think he’d been wanting to say this for a while. The unspoken confession was there, and it was up to you to decide what to do with it.

“I’m glad you care,” was what you landed on, unsure of what else to say.

Logan chuckled again, one hand snaking to your waist. “I do a lot more than care, Y/n.”

You smiled softly, looking up at him. With his other hand he brushed your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The sound of a door closing brought you out of your little bubble and you took a step back, Logan reluctantly letting go of your waist.

Mrs May, either not having seen you two or graciously deciding to ignore it, passed you a package, informing you the herb and all information involving it was inside, and to handle it with care. You nodded and thanked the old woman before exiting the building, Logan again right on your heels.

As soon as the shop’s door closed behind you Logan’s hand was back around your waist. “Not losing you this time.”

You tried not to smile, though internally you were grinning like a maniac, and let Logan lead the two of you back to the car. You didn’t even get to argue your case of driving this time, Logan already in the driver’s seat. You sighed and got into the passenger seat, resigning yourself to another hour of silence as Logan started driving, when you felt his hand on your thigh.

You looked at him but he didn’t say anything, just gave it a light squeeze as he kept his eyes on the road. You looked away, grinning. So maybe the world didn’t have it out for you after all.

#wolverine #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #xmen #x-men #xmen movie #xmen movies #x men movies #marvel #hugh jackman #james logan howlett #james howlett #x men #xavier #charles xavier

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ana-chronista · 12 hours

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Meow there 😸💛💛, I hope you are well 💛.

For the kiss prompt i would love bojure 17 ... to distract + 48 ... out of habit, please.

Have a nice day 💛💛💛💛💛

First, sorry for the delay - one of these came easier than the other but I wanted to wait until I could share both! (The one that was harder actually went through a whole premise change...) Secondly, thanks for the prompts - this is my first time writing Bojure! I hope I did it justice.

17 ... to distract

The thing about Jure is that he doesn’t get nervous. Bojan’s certainly never seen that look on him, and he’s fairly sure Jure would need a dictionary definition of the word before being able to confirm that he’s never experienced it in his life. “What time is it now?” No, what Jure gets is impatient. “It’s five minutes after you last asked, Muca.” Right now he’s little more than a vibrating ball of energy, hunched over and drumming on his thighs with his palms. “So why haven’t they called yet?” And Bojan gets it, he really does. The committee had told them they’d call by 11am to let them know if they’d been picked for next year’s Eurovision – because for all that there’s no national selection this year, there’s still a process to follow – and there’s nothing that puts you on edge quite like waiting to hear if you’ve managed to land the biggest opportunity of your career so far or not. Jan and Nace are at least twenty minutes into their stress smoke somewhere outside, and Kris is busy pacing the practice space below, organising and reorganising their equipment while speaking rapidly with someone on his phone in a voice too low to catch. Bojan had retreated to the loft to focus on his breathing, and Jure had joined ten minutes later, muttering something about feeling better from a higher vantage point. The fact is, they’re all more than a little tense as the seconds drag by, and he understands fully, a hundred and ten per cent, what Jure is feeling right now. “They just said around 11. It doesn’t mean they’re always going to be dead on, you know?” But his bouncing on the couch next to him is doing nothing to soothe either Jure or himself – in fact, it’s only agitating them both worse. “You’ve definitely got the volume up on your phone?” Bojan’s not sure he’s ever felt so incredulous as he does in that one moment of looking over at his friend. “Seriously, Jurček?” “Well, I don’t know!” Jure huffs in protest. “You might not.” “Do you not think that’s the first thing I would have checked?” He hates that his fingers are now itching to actually do just that. Irritation flares up white-hot inside of him, gritting his teeth and tensing his muscles. “I don’t know! Knowing you, probably n-” Bojan has moved before he even realises it, the only thought in his head that Jure needs to not be talking right now. Suddenly he’s pulled Jure close by his shoulder and the back of his head, crushing his mouth against the drummer’s to cut him off. There’s barely any time to register anything past the warmth of his lips before he breaks away “Boj-” Before he can start up again, Bojan reels him back in for another kiss, this time less hurried but more forceful. He can take it all in properly this time: how Jure’s mouth falls open for him, how he reaches up to brush Bojan’s hair back behind his ear, how much he pushes right back. Jure’s body has stilled now as though all of his energy is just being channelled into this one point of contact, and Bojan can’t pretend it’s not the same for him. His heartrate steadies and his muscles uncoil. It’s like the whole world has narrowed down just to the man next to him on the couch. In fact, it’s narrowed so much that it takes Kris calling him from the floor below to make him jolt back. “Bojan, answer your phone!” It’s only then that he registers his phone ringing at long last. Cursing, he fumbles to answer the call, answering Jure’s laughter only with a dig in the ribs that makes him squeal and squirm away even as Bojan does his best to sound professional and mature. When he next kisses Jure just five minutes later, it’s in celebration instead.

48 ... out of habit

Bojan can’t remember when, or even exactly how, the whole kissing thing had begun. If he had to guess, he’d put it somewhere within the first few months after Jure officially joined the band, probably at some party or on a night out with the others. He’s not even sure if he made the first move or if Jure did, but one of them must have done, because suddenly the tradition was born. Greeting each other for the first time after weeks apart? A kiss on the cheek. Saying goodbye after a night out? A kiss on the cheek. Congratulating one another after a successful gig? A kiss on the cheek. There were rules, of course, unspoken but still there. It had to be as over the top as possible. Why bother if it didn’t involve sweeping in, grabbing the other one dramatically, and landing the biggest, loudest, longest kiss on the cheek known to man? That was all part of the fun. Then, naturally, it became too funny not to do it all the time. Managing not to misplace a suitcase while travelling? Welcoming each other back to the room after five minutes? Celebrating a win in the never-ending Joker Out Uno tournament? No incident was too small to mark with another kiss on the cheek – jokingly, of course. And sometimes it might evolve to a kiss on the lips instead. Bojan did remember how that one had started, the time he’d come in too quick and accidentally caught Jure’s mouth instead as he turned his head. But the laughter had been instantaneous, and Jure had returned it with even more spectacle, so it was all fine. The rules remained the same for the odd time it happened, though usually it devolved into them wrestling to dip the other one first and laughing too much for them to ever make it to each other’s mouths.

And if anyone had ever asked, he’d have to say he’s never really thought about it. It’s not like he hasn’t kissed each of his other bandmates at one time or another, and he knows they’ve all done the same. They’re all just that tactile with each other, like good friends tend to be. So what if he and Jure have this long-running joke just between them as well? That’s also something that good friends do. And he carries on never really thinking about it – except for maybe the odd plan to ambush Jure in ever increasingly over the top ways – until one night in London. Or early one morning, really. It’s just after three, and while the others had dispersed to their rooms after they all bundled in from the pub, Bojan had decided to sit up for a while to work on the rest of the lyrics for their new song. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but the buzz of enthusiasm had long since dried up once the words pinging around his mind decided that they just didn’t want to go onto the page properly. All he had to show for the last couple of hours were pages of increasingly frustrated scribbles and crossings out. “You’re still up?” Bojan jolts at the sudden noise, head whipping up. Jure is in the doorway, dressed for bed and hair all over the place. He’s clearly just woken up. “I thought I heard something.” he explains before Bojan can muster a reply. He nods towards the pages that Bojan had already given up on, torn from his notebook and now crumpled up and scattered by his feet. “Not going so great, huh?” The sound Bojan heaves in response as he buries his head in his hands is somewhere between a groan and a sigh. Caught up in his own frustration, he doesn’t realise that Jure has crossed the room until he feels the couch dipping next to him and a hand wrapping around his, pulling it from his face. All of a sudden he’s aware of just how much his own hand hurts from scratching away with the pen for so long as Jure smoothes out his fingers, kneading at cramped tendons and aching muscles. But before he can say anything – a protest that he should really get on with these lyrics or a joke that Jure should open a massage business as a sideline – Jure brings his palm up and presses his lips to it gently. The touch is barely there but it lingers for a moment longer than a joke should and Bojan finds that any and all words die in his throat. This isn’t something either of them have ever done before, but Jure’s eyes are still locked with his, calm and almost challenging. And then the moment is over. Jure gives his hand one last squeeze but doesn’t let go as he stands. “Come on. Come get some sleep. This can wait until actual morning.” It sounds so straightforward, so matter of fact, that all Bojan can do is nod and let him pull him to his feet. He’s right – there’ll be plenty of time later, and for now he’s got too many other questions on his mind to be able to concentrate.

#ana answers #fanfic #bojure

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madeforstarker · 2 days

Text

》 eyeshadows & highlights || a starker fic 《

— ♡ for @tonystoy

Summary: It was supposed to be a punishment but along the way, Tony got distracted as his boy painted his face with a ridiculously beautiful lingerie on.

A/N: this was supposed to be harder but it took a softer turn, hnggg, if you want to read the harder version, I'll post it as well! Let me know. This was roughly written, no beta whatsoever so please excuse the grammatical errors. Enjoy this story! ♡

Tags: Edging, Soft Dom Tony Stark, Sub Peter Parker, Dom/Sub Undertones, Cockwarming, Pretty Peter Parker

“Tony,” Peter gasps outs, “You said you wouldn’t move,” he quips out as he dusts his older boyfriend’s eyelids with some soft shimmery nude eyeshadow.

“No I didn’t. I said I would try not to move. I’m trying. But it tickles, and you’re so fucking gorgeous on my lap with nothing but a blue lingerie on,” Tony defends himself with a grin and grinds up inside him once just for good measure.

“I’m– not,” Peter mumbles, so shy, despite being exposed in his blue lacy nude number and ass deep on Tony’s cock, “hold still, I’m only like, halfway done.”

Tony dutifully closes his eyes again and scrunches his nose at the tickly flutter of the brush at the corners of his eyes. It makes his cock jump, which draws a sound halfway between a giggle and a moan from Peter. This was supposed to be a punishment for Peter’s bratting out a few hours ago, but somehow along the way, they were both too engrossed with each other that they forgot about the punishment.

Slow and steady movements of his hips were calculated so as not to mess up his work on Tony’s eyes, Peter grinds against his weight in a preoccupied rhythm until he has to reach into his makeup bag on the couch beside them for a different palette.

Tony holds him in his lap by his waist, “I think an olive green would look nice with this gold,” Peter muses, letting Tony thrust up gently inside him as he assesses his face.

He moans loud when Tony thrusts a little harder and hits a good spot, “you have to wait,” he whines, but lets Tony fuck him hard a few more times before sitting up straight, blending brush poised and ready.

Little unfinished movements take over Tony’s hips, trying so hard to be good and wait. But Peter is so soft and warm and tight, and sticking the tip of his tongue out between his teeth as he focuses on eyeliner. So cute, so fucking hot. So sweet and kinky; Tony is sure he’s the luckiest man in the world. This is soft, sweet, wonderful edging.

Unable to keep the adoration at bay, Tony pressed a kiss on Peter’s parted lips, and another when Peter could only blink his beautiful doe eyes in surprise. The younger man lets out a giggle before pressing a kiss back against Tony’s lips and sits up straight, wiggles his hips on the older man’s cock a little and refocuses, “stay still,” he reminds Tony, dipping a smaller brush into a circle of black in the eyeshadow palette.

He hadn’t said Tony couldn’t touch, though. Eyes closed, he trails his fingers down Peter’s thighs, fanning wider and wider until he accidentally brushes over Peter’s half-hard cock, and accidentally does it again, and again, until he’s just dragging the backs of his fingers up and down his length.

The tiniest little sighs, Peter so pretty in his lap, focus unwavering until Tony’s got a finger and thumb wrapped around his pretty cock. He barely strokes him, petting his thumb under the head of his cock, giving it a squeeze here and there.

Determined to finish his work, Peter muffles his whines into his bitten lip and ruts against him in restrained little movements.

It goes on for five minutes, or ten, lazy with a simmering anticipation, touching him until burns wide in his gut and he has to stop and be good. He likes when Peter practices on him like this, the faint scent of the powders and creams he uses, the gentle press of his fingers to his cheek, breath held as he focuses.

It’s nice having nothing to do but take in the sight of his pretty boyfriend, staring into his eyes and smiling when Peter pulls into focus and smiles back before his gaze fades to the highlight on his brow bone. Even better when he gets to be inside him like this, building up a need for him so slow and potent that every glance and touch feels like he might burst into climax.

He massages at his balls and smirks when Peter’s eyes flutter shut for a second. His mouth waters as he ghosts his hand up Peter’s now very hard length, so hyper-aware of how it would glide beneath his tongue.

“Okay, lipstick,” Peter leans over to rummage around for the color he wants.

Without warning, Tony spreads Peter’s ass cheeks wide and thrusts up hard, gripping his cheeks painfully tight like it’s everything he can do to stop himself from pinning Peter to the floor and fucking him senseless. When Peter doesn't scold him for it, he does it a few more times, sighing long in momentary bliss.

A deep groan in his throat, Peter grips his shoulder to keep from collapsing, chest arched forward into him. “Hera 005, where the fuck is that H-Hera, Hera...something...” Peter pants, tossing tubes of lipstick to the couch, until he finds the shade exclaiming a soft “aha!”

Peter takes a hold of Tony’s chin and smiles at the heat in his eyes, bouncing twice more on the older man’s cock before stilling his movements, “you feel so good, you know that, sir? Your big cock inside me, I could sit here for days.”

“You have two minutes before I fuck you up against that wall,” Tony grunts, grip tight around Peter’s small waist.

The velvety walls of Peter’s ass clenches around his cock and the boy leans back, doe eyes wide with innocence before pouting, “but you said ' as long as it takes .', daddy! You said you- ah!“

Tony grins and pinches the boy’s nipple a little harder then intended, “I do, baby, I do. Take your time, but hurry up,” he mutters, pouting his lips just enough for Peter to drag the lipstick wand across them with expert deftness.

“So handsome,” Peter murmurs, satisfied with the look. He leans back to take in Tony’s face and bounces on his cock some more, fist clenching on his thigh like wants to touch himself but knows he shouldn't, “God, you’re so fucking big,” he moans, dragging Tony’s hands from his waist to his chest and back down.

Tony continues the worshipful movement on his own, drinking in the sight of his boyfriend riding him with his head tossed back to the ceiling.

Peter stills his hips and exhales, blinking as he tries to regain focus, “Blush, and a little more highlighter.”

“Oh, my favorite part,” Tony hums.

Peter giggles, “the blush or the highlight?”

“Both. I just like how the brush feels.”

The younger man pauses, little pink compact in hand and tips his head with a fond little smile, “I thought you were gonna say highlight because it’s the last step and you can hurry up and fuck me already. You’re really cute sometimes, sir.”

“I’m not cute,” Tony grumbles, shy at how touched Peter looks. He closes his eyes and shivers at the tickle of the brush on his cheeks, a deep soft chuckle escapes his throat when Peter fan the brush under his chin and across his forehead just because he likes it.

“I swear, the golden highlight was made for you. Most beautiful fucking skin,” Peter mutters, leaning back again and thumbing some stray pigment from the side of his nose. The younger man moves his hips just enough to feel Tony inside him, to see the lust tug Tony’s eyelids shut, hands moving with a reverent hunger down the lines of his body.

“You want me now?” he hums, quiet, “Wanna fuck me up against that wall?”

The older man’s fingers wrap too tight around his cock and he loves it, edging his impending orgasm once again, “wanna fuck me, Tony?” The words come out as a raspy whine, Tony plugging him up tight and rocking deep inside.

“Take a picture now baby,” Tony sounds desperate, Peter’s favorite kind of Tony. Desperate Tony fucks him almost too hard and says things that soft, considerate boyfriend Tony would be too worried to say. “The whole point was to take a picture for your portfolio, take a picture now, pet.”

Peter reaches for his phone and leans back to get Tony’s whole face in the frame. Tony holds him safe by the waist and tries not to look like Peter is grinding against him when Peter snaps the picture.

A few more taken close up and from the side, he switches to video and rides Tony in earnest. He smiles at Tony in the camera, shy at being filmed but too close to the edge to go back into his shell.

“Feel good, Mr. Stark?”

“Stop filming, kiddo,” The older man mumbles like he always does, eyes meeting the lens for just a second before he pounds up into him, “fuck, I love fucking you, Pete. I love you so much, kid.”

Peter smiles at Tony in the camera looking up at him, sincere and breathless, lips pretty pink, eyes shimmering with golds and greens, “I love you too, sir,” he answers with reverence, dropping the camera to the couch cushion and wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck.

Feet pressed up against the front of the couch, Tony holds him tight and pounds into him, long groans in his ear as if it hurts how bad he wants Peter.

“Your cock’s so fucking big,” he whines, knotting his fingers tighter in Tony’s hair.

“Yeah? Still? Even after sitting your pretty little ass on it for that long?”

“Yeah,” Peter gasps, “Wanna feel you cum. Wanna feel you— fill me up, sir,” he can barely get the words out, Tony gripping his jaw and kissing him so deep, lip gloss smearing across both their lips.

“Harder,” he whimpers against Tony’s mouth, veins hot liquid sugar as Tony fucks against his prostate, "Ha— ah fuck, harder. Sir, please!"

“Come on, pretty baby. Fucking cum, let me see you.”

He lets Tony push him up from his chest and kneels just enough to let Tony thrust up into him, skin slapping together, “so good,” he whines, “So- so good, I- fuck-” all the edging and the stilled sexual gratification was slowly getting to Peter.

Tony doesn’t slow down when Peter’s cum splatters up across his chest, doesn’t slow down when Peter shudders with pleasure, doesn’t slow down when Peter tries to lean away from the brutal pace with his eyes squeezed shut. Instead he slams Peter back down onto his cock, hard and deep, pauses, and does it again. And again, and again, growling at the way Peter begins to grind against him once more despite his endless mewling.

“Kiss me, baby?” Tony’s voice is so soft and hoarse, even now. Peter falls forward and their lips meet, clumsy and fumbling, nothing more than shared breath as Tony fucks him fast again and comes deep inside him.

For a moment they sit like this, nose to nose, trying to catch their breath, Tony’s cock twitching in him, eyes heavy and sated.

“I love you, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispers, still shy every time he says it, though he knows Tony will smile and say it back every time.

“I love you too, kiddo,” Tony answers, as expected, a big goofy grin on his face even as he thrusts slowly inside him a few times more. This punishment was definitely softer than expected but Tony wouldn’t have it any other way.

Like my content? Tips are appreciated so I can reach my goal in buying epipens! 🐰 send made a tip 🐰

#starker #tnpt #made: writes!#♡ made.nff.stuff!

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i-am-so-normal-about-radiostatic · 2 days

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Some Radiostatic incorrect quotes

Vox: I was arrested for being too cool. Alastor: The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence.

Alastor: In light of what you did for me, you can hug me for four to five seconds. Vox: FORTY FIVE SECONDS?!? Alastor: No! Four to five seconds! Vox: Too late!!!

Vox: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming Alastor: Does anyone in this godforsaken group ever think before they speak

Vox: Do you have any skeletons in your closet? Alastor: You mean literally or figuratively? Vox: Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...

Vox: I’m gonna need a human skull and I can't have you ask any questions why. Alastor: Only if you also don't ask why Alastor: Pulls out 7 pristine human skulls Take your pick. Vox: Alastor: Vox: This one is fine

Vox: What is your biggest weakness? Alastor: I can be uncooperative. Vox: Okay, can you give me an example? Alastor: No.

Vox: So what do you do? Alastor: I work in genetic research, and I'm currently trying to eliminate all Cancers. Vox: Wow, impressive. Alastor: Then I'll move on to Leos.

Alastor: Vox... Vox: Oh no, 'Vox' in b-flat. Vox: You're disappointed.

Alastor: Oh just so you know, it's very muggy outside Vox: Vox: Alastor, I swear, if I step outside and all of our mugs are on the front lawn... Alastor: Sips coffee from bowl

Vox: Bad things keep happening to me, like I have bad luck or something. Alastor: Vox, you don't have bad luck. The reason bad things happen to you is because you're a dumbass.

Vox: Please, I'm begging you go to a doctor. Alastor: I'm sorry is this OUR stab wound? Stay out of it.

Vox: A theif. Alastor: Thief? Vox: Theif. Alastor: I before E, except after C. Vox: Thceif. Alastor: No.

Vox: You're the love of my life and my best friend, I would do anything for you. Alastor: I want you to eat three meals a day and have a decent sleep schedule. Vox: Absolutely not.

(This is their relationship fr ^^^)

Alastor, watching the news: Someone tried to fight a squid at the aquarium today! Vox: walks in covered with ink, shark fin and tail out Well, maybe the squid was being a dick.

Vox, tending to Alastor's wounds: How would you rate your pain? Alastor: Zero stars. Would NOT recommend.

Vox: How many kids do you have? Alastor: Biologically, emotionally, or legally?

(He's the dad friend. He's adopted Charlie, Vaggie and Niffty so far)

Vox: Must be hard not being able to laugh Alastor: I do have a sense of humor you know Vox: I’ve never heard you laugh before Alastor: I’ve never heard you say anything funny

Alastor: So what’s for dinner? Vox, staring at the food he just burnt: Regret.

Vox: Alastor was banned from the chicken shack, so we had to go out of town to get some. Alastor: Well, they shouldn’t say “all you can eat” if they don’t mean it. Vox: Alastor, you ate the employee.

Vox: Three words. Say them and I'm yours. Alastor: Three words. Vox:

Vox: What’s the straightest thing you’ve ever done? Alastor: sighs Alastor: I killed a man.

Alastor: I’m never donating blood ever again. Alastor: The second you walk through the door, it’s just one invasive question after another! Alastor: ‘Where did you get it?’ 'Why is it in a bucket?’ I mean, do you want it or not?

Vox: Goodnight to the love of my life, Alastor, and fuck the rest of y'all.

Alastor: Our relationship is strictly professional. Vox, sitting on Alastor’s lap: Absolutely. Only on business.

Vox: I'm not a morning person. I'm barely even a person.

Vox: Did you ever have like a pet run away and find it or anything? Alastor: I had a lizard that I burnt.

Vox, dramatically: They called me a fool. Alastor, sick of Vox's shit: They weren’t wrong.

Alastor: Two brooooos! Vox: Chillin' in a hot tub! Alastor: Five feet apart 'cause we're not gay! Vox: Alastor: Vox: tearing up Alastor: Babe, c'mon… Vox: AND HERE YOU REALLY HAD ME THINKING WE HAD SOMETHING. Alastor: Babe…

Alastor: You look mentally ill. Vox: I am. Let’s go.

Alastor: Just a minute. I need to go take out the trash. Vox: Oh. We're going out? Alastor: Wh…

Vox: Cause you're pretty and you're smart, and you're ignoring me so you're obviously my type. Alastor, who was distracted: I'm sorry- what were you saying? Vox: Perfect.

Alastor: Do you want to explain the text you sent me last night? Vox: It was autocorrect. Alastor: Autocorrect wrote "You're so hot. Please step on me."? Vox: Yes.

Vox: I want to kiss you. Alastor, not paying attention: What? Vox: I said if you die, I wont miss you.

Vox: Are you an F5 key? Because that ass is refreshing. Alastor: Are you a software update? because not right now.

Vox: Come to dinner tonight. I can’t cook, but I’ll bring plenty of free wine. Alastor: Marry me.

Vox: You are the love of my life and I would do anything within reason to make you happy. Alastor: I would be happy if you ate, stayed hydrated and got a reasonable amount of sleep. Vox: I said within reason, Alastor. How about I murder that guy? Alastor: So murder is in reason but proper self care isn't? Vox: Well, duh. What kind of question is that?

Alastor: Are you trying to seduce me? Vox: Why, are you seducible?

Vox: Alastor is playing hard to get. Vox: Little do they know, I'm a master at playing hard to get rid of.

Alastor: Vox and I are no longer dating. Vox: Alastor, that’s a horrible way of telling people we’re married.

Alastor: Hey, about that love letter you sent me- Vox: blushes What are your thoughts? Alastor: The fourth sentence- Vox: Yeah, that’s where I got really emotional and I- Alastor: It’s “you’re” not “your”.

Vox: Two bros! Vox: Chillin' in a hot tub! Vox: Zero feet apart 'cause we're GAY AS FUCK!

Vox: We have a problem. Alastor: No, YOU have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps making them.

Vox: You have to apologize to them Alastor. Alastor: Fine! But I must warn you that this might make me a better, nicer person and that is NOT the person you fell in love with!

Vox: Do you want to know your gay name? Alastor: My… my gay name? Vox: Yeah, it's your first name- Alastor: Haha. Very funny Vox- Vox: gets down on one knee And my last name. Alastor: Oh- oh my god.

Vox: Stop doing that. Alastor: Stop doing what? Vox: Saying things that make me wanna kiss the hell out of you.

Vox: My hands are cold. Alastor: Here, let me hold them. Vox: My lips are cold too. Alastor: covers Vox's mouth with their hand

Vox: I think I'm falling for you. Alastor: Then get up.

Vox: I’m in love with you. Alastor: We called off the prank war last night at midnight, dork. Vox: I know. Alastor: Ah. Okay. Um. Cool. Neat. Very cool. Cool. Cool. Coolcoolcool-

Vox: You got a date yet Alastor? Alastor: No… Vox: Well you do now! Get your ass up and hold my hand!

Vox and Alastor are in Paris. Vox: I'm…moved. I…I don't know what it is I'm feeling right now. I feel…destiny? Alastor: But… Vox: I don't know what it is. I feel like… I just never thought I'd see it with my own two eyes. And here it is. It's just there. It's right in front of me, and… Alastor: This is what you wanted to see? The bridge from Inception? Vox: Yeah. Alastor: But the Eiffel Tower is behind us, babe. Vox: Yeah, but this is the bridge FROM INCEPTION. Alastor: Okay, alright.

Vox: The first time I saw you, you stole my heart. Alastor: But I'm a kleptomaniac, so that doesn't mean anything.

Vox, talking about Alastor: WHAT THE FUCK I WAS ARGUING WITH THEM AND I SAID “OOH YOU WANNA KISS ME SO BAD” AND GUESS WHAT? THEY DID. THEY KISSED ME. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DO I DO.

Alastor: Is something burning? Vox, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you. Alastor: Vox, the toaster is literally on fire.

Alastor: Okay, but if you're not gay then why are you always holding my hand and kissing me and telling me I’m your boyfriend? Vox: Dude- Its satire! Alastor: THAT'S NOT WHAT SATIRE MEANS!

Vox: Alastor is playing hard to get. Vox: Little does he know, I'm a master at playing hard to get rid of.

Vox: We’re getting married, bitches! Alastor: And we're about to make it everybody else's problem.

#incorrect quotes #hazbin vox #hazbin alastor #radiostatic #hazbin hotel

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stars-by-the-pocketfuls · 3 days

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💫 21/03/24 💫 @jegulus-microfic 💫 prompt: run 💫 word count: 800 words

“Bloody James Potter,”

With a scowl, Regulus launched himself onto a sofa, narrowly avoiding Barty’s outstretched legs.

“He transfigured McGonagall’s table into a lion in what he calls true Gryffindor spirit, and she was in a right mood with our class,”

He shot a glare at Evan’s barely concealed snort.

“It really isn’t funny. I was convinced she was going to turn Lestrange into a teapot if he got the spells wrong one more time, and as funny as that would’ve been, I really wasn’t in the mood. It’s bad enough everyone thinks he’s a bloody god, he really doesn’t need any more ego boosts. I mean, he could run for minister if magic and with just one of his pompous pretty smiles, he’d suddenly be running the country,”

Barty let out a long suffering sigh and handed Dorcas, who was draped over a chair, 10 galleons. Her smug smile was lost on Regulus, who was completely immersed in his rant.

“And there’s a rumour going around that the Ravenclaw Nancy was dared to high five the Giant Squid, but nearly drowned. And guess who comes to the rescue? James bloody Potter. Of course he knows how to swim, is there anything he can’t do? He’s some sort of over glorified knight in shining armour, soon there’ll be posters with his stupid face plastered in people’s dorms. With the way some people say his name you’d think he was a celebrity, and at this rate he’ll become one. Could you imagine if he was famous? I don’t think I could bear it, he’d do that stupid thing where he thinks it’s cool when he pushes his hair back. He couldn’t look more stupid if he tried. Salazar, I can’t wait to say I told you so, when he grows old and has a receding hairline,”

This time Barty opened his mouth, probably to ask why Regulus would still be talking to James when they were older, but Pandora poked him sharply with her shoulder from where she sat on the floor, and he promptly shut up. Passing 20 galleons, Dorcas rolled her eyes, the exasperation flying straight over the intended recipient. The target in question was still going, hands gesturing wildly as if he couldn’t possibly contain all his thoughts about Potter in just his angry words.

“He’s not even stupid like everyone assumes, it takes a lot of difficult magic to turn an inanimate object into a living thing, clearly he’s quite smart. He’s just like Sirius, neither of them are as dumb as they pretend. It was quite a brilliant bit of magic actually, but he never uses it for something worthwhile of course it was stupid show for his Gryffindor pride. We get it, you're proud you were sorted red, but nobody else gives a toss. The other day he was pretend flirting with Lupin, and he was saying how well crimson suits his complexion as if everyone doesn’t already know. It’s just so attention seeking, needing to announce that in the great hall, everyone already puts him on this pedestal, he doesn’t need to announce his radiance to the whole student body. Nobody cares.”

The initial smug smile had slipped off Evan’s face the longer Regulus kept talking, eventually morphing into false ire. He pulled an extra ten galleons out of his pocket and wordlessly handed the whole collection of coins into Pandora’s outstretched palms. Her triumphant laugh broke Regulus out of the James induced trance, finally noticing his other friends somber faces.

“Really Reginald, I bestowed my faith in you,” Barty lamented.

“What?”

“We were all betting on how long your love ballad would go on this time, and I was sure you wouldn’t go over ten minutes. Dorcas bet 20, Evan bet under half an hour, but of course you had to let Pandora win,”

He rolled his eyes, “that was not 30 minutes,”

“No it wasn’t,” Dorcas sighed consulting her wand, “it was 31 minutes and 10 seconds,”

If it wasn’t for the dark flush, it would’ve appeared he hasn’t heard her at all.

“And that wasn’t a love ballad,”

This time he caught the disbelief on everyone’s faces.

“Are you telling me he doesn’t get on your nerves too? I mean I’ve never seen anyone with such an inflated ego, and I’ve been going to pureblood gathering as soon as I could walk, and he struts-“

“Oh Merlin’s sake,” Barty let out a melodramatic groan. “I’m going to be broke by the end of the week. Can we call the bet off?”

#stars finally writes #can you believe it I finally got round to writing something #and if the time regulus rants about James coincided with James death date because I love a tragedy we won’t mention it #anyways I love Regulus in love #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #marauders

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