#//IT’S HER BIRTHDAY FOR AS LONG AS I SAY IT IS

[arabellasleopardcoat]

YOU GET ME SO MUCH! YES, RICKON DOES SMELL LIKE MILK AND BABY!!! I just didn't describe it like that because I thought everyone was going to think I was insane. We can be insane together, though!

Moving on emotionally intelligent Cregan, my weakness are emotionally mature men, after writing Daemon and Aemond or so long I was ready to give Cregan children. Put Catelyn to shame, fill all of Winterfell. I am sorry if it is bad for feminism but someone had to get their head out of their ass and it wasn't going to be reader.

Sara! Sara my love, she is living her enemies to lovers arc and there is a fun little reference left just for you in the next chapter about it. As for why she says Velaryons, it is rumored in the books she had something with Jace. Messy, no comment.

As for the gift, I hope you love it. I loved it, it's literally my dream gift, if I had a man who was, you know, millionaire. I thought of a direwolf but my reasoning was the same as yours, no way, she will be offended. Besides, the gift has to be for her, not for Rickon or Cregan (Here in Chile is a thing for some men to gift their wives with stuff for the house and it is frowned upon as it should be. I do not want to get a roomba for my birthday)

Thank you so so much for reading and reblogging and cheering on me to finish this series, you have no idea how much it has meant to me!

Spring (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Slightly less unreliable narrator (Cregan has come to his senses, reader is on the way) Mature language.

A/N: I really thought these two would get their mess sorted out in nine scenes, but I was far too optimistic. Lucky me, I had one season as backup! Also, thank you so, so much for continuing to read this series and your kind comments!

IT IS FUNNY, how wrong can Cregan be about people. He is no longer afraid to admit it. He had been mistaken about you. 

The utter viciousness you had displayed, bringing up his dead wife, had only been a source of anger for him at first. He had thought you an evil little bitch, unafraid of exploiting weak spots to hurt him. 

Then, he had seen you with Rickon. And his world had just… Shifted. As if every piece of furniture in Winterfell had been moved exactly one inch to the left, and no one had told him, leaving him stumbling around in his own home.

You weren’t evil or jealous. Or, more likely, you were, but not because of some petty reason, it was because you were insecure. The mere idea was laughable, why would a Princess of the Realm be insecure? But it made too much sense for him to ignore. 

Each time Cregan had cracked a joke that compared you to Arra, like commenting on the number of packages and dresses you had brought from the South, you had taken it as a personal criticism. You felt unappreciated, so you lashed out and avoided him at every turn. 

You were kind, smart, and capable. Just not in the way Cregan was used to women being capable. The northern women were considered capable because they were physically strong, able to wield bows, ride hard and long or withstand the terrible weather. 

You, instead, shared Prince Jacaerys’ strength. You were honorable, unable to leave a child in need, and kind, enough that you would comfort them until their parents reached them. But most of all, you had a brain suited for politics. 

Cregan had never noticed before because he had never bothered to truly look at what you were doing, but your charities were to make your mother’s cause more popular with the smallfolk. He had heard your mother was doing a similar thing in the capital, delivering food to the starved population due to a blockade of the own Blacks’ making. Not that the commoners cared about the last part. They only cared about those who put food on their bellies. 

And perhaps the Queen dowager and Princess Helaena were popular in the South because of their involvement in the Septs, but you were exploiting the lack of those here. Without Septs, there were no Septas or Septons tending to the sick and poor. You were. And the North would remember, when it came time to march for your mother’s banners. 

Cregan would bet Ice that you were having tea with the northern ladies not to gain friends. The Old Gods knew you were an introverted creature, painfully awkward at niceties, much like he was. It explained why the two of you were so uncomfortable with each other. You were probably entertaining the northerns to win their loyalties, knowing the combined pressure of Cregan’s oath and their wives would make his lords more eager to drop coin and men for your war. 

Oh, if Cregan got you on his side, the two of you would be a force to be reckoned with. He could already see how much security you could bring to the North, how well fed you could be during winter, if you decided to work with him and not behind him. 

You were a wonderful woman. Kind and tender to his son, smart as a whip, utterly terrifying when crossed. You would make a fine wife to any lord, and Cregan couldn’t believe how stupid he had been not to see it. You just needed to be encouraged, and Cregan, dumb as a rock, had been doing the exact opposite. 

While you hadn’t exactly been trying, Cregan was man enough to admit that part of the blame laid on him. He had been pushing you away without even realizing it, comparing you to Arra at every turn, without considering how that might come across to you. 

That ended today. He would prove himself worthy of your love and loyalty, and win you over. Cregan wasn’t a man of half measures. He would woo you or spend the rest of his life trying. 

Set in his decision, Cregan walked to your chambers. He waved off the guard’s attempt to announce him, casually strolling in. 

You were seated next to the fire, the leather-bound book you usually carried around spread over your lap. It was a heavy tome, bound in brown leather with golden engravings. It was written in High Valyrian, a language for which Cregan had little use, so he had never learned it beyond recognizing the alphabet. 

There was a striking beauty to your expression when you were at ease, the peaceful expression you wore becoming you much more than the usual frown you directed at him. Cregan found himself wondering how beautiful you must look smiling, if you looked this radiant when at peace. 

You had the sort of face to be lit up with happiness, he could already tell. His heart ached to be the one that finally coaxed it out of you.

“Princess,” Cregan calls, softly. You set your book aside, ready to get up and curtsy, but he halts you. “No need for that, wife. My ego is not so fragile I need my woman to bow to me.” 

“Lord Husband.” You reply, for once not frowning. Your face remains carefully neutral, which Cregan considers a victory. He would attribute it to his remark about his ego, but it is more likely due to guilt. He will take it regardless. 

“No need for that either, much less today.” Cregan smiles at you. “You may call me Cregan, if you wish. I am here to thank you for caring for my Rickon while I was away.” 

You look far more confused than you did before. You look like you want to approach him and run at the same time, your wool gown fluttering as you squirm in place, undecided if you are approaching or not. 

“I simply did my duty, my lord.”

Cregan’s smile widens, amused by you. 

“Singing him was part of it? By the Gods, I thought I had a wife and not a minstrel?” And the dry, northern humor doesn’t seem to suit you because you frown slightly. Cregan fights the urge to curse, instead making a mental note. You dislike being mocked, even in jest. He wonders what sharp words you had to endure in the South to be like this, and feels a wave of pity. Dark of hair and no dragon to shield you? Perhaps that was why you were far kinder to Sara than to him. He gives a tasteful cough. Or at least, his attempt at it. 

“I only meant to say you went beyond your duties, and I thank you for it. You didn’t have to, but it meant the world to him.” Cregan tries again, and you blink at him, as if he were unable to understand anything at all. 

“He is a child.” You say, slowly.  “No person would leave a child in need.” 

“You would be surprised.” Cregan thinks of how his own mother had treated Sara when she had arrived at Winterfell, treatment that hadn’t improved when his aunt took on as the Lady of the household. His sister had only known freedom after Cregan had taken over his seat, and she was still judged by the rest of the North, even though in a much subtle manner. 

“Mmm.” Your reply is noncommittal. 

“He has been asking me lately why he doesn't have a lady mother.” Cregan attempts again. He is not above using Rickon to have an excuse to spend time with you. And to his amusement, it does work. You pity his son more than him, it seems because you begin to pay him more attention.  

“What did you tell him?” You tilt your head to the side, curious. It’s a surprisingly cute gesture for the unshakable princess that you are. 

“I do not know. I have not answered him.” Cregan searches for somewhere to sit, but apart from the loveseat in which you are soaking up the warmth of the fireplace, there is none. He grabs the stool by your writing area, and brings it over. 

He sits on the stool across from you, wiggling a bit with how uncomfortable it is. It feels like his knees are on his chest, by the Gods. It’s clearly meant for a shorter person. Your rooms are not made for receiving visitors, he should have thought of that earlier. You need a space to receive people that isn’t the sitting room. What if you wish to have more private conversations?

“Surely he knows she is dead?” You are too caught up in your disbelief to protest that he is rearranging your furniture. Good. 

“He does, but doesn’t quite grasp what dead means.”  Cregan is being honest. Whoever has the heart to explain to a child of two namedays what death is, is a braver man than him. 

“Perhaps you could say she is in the Seven Heavens?” Your frown comes back, but this time it isn’t angry. Instead, it’s puzzled. You are trying to help him, and it makes him fight the urge to smile. He doesn’t want you to think that he is mocking your suggestion. 

“We do not believe that here.” 

“Neither do I.” And this time, there is the barest beginning of a playful smile on your lips. Oh, you minx! Cregan smiles to himself, charmed. It emboldens him to continue. 

“Just, I would like it if you saw him more often. With me. Perhaps… He has asked about you, and I am not asking you to replace her but I… He sometimes needs a more feminine touch.” 

“Of course.” You agree. And he can see in your eyes you think he might be trying to use you as a stand in for Arra, not truly believing his words, but that is alright. Cregan will show you. Or at least, he is going to do his very best attempt. 

YOU MAKE SURE there are enough pastries and hot water available before you stand up.

“I am afraid I must leave you, my ladies. But you are welcome to continue enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell.” The sitting room is filled with northern women. You have begun inviting them for tea twice a moon, trying to ensure your mother will have all the support she needs when she takes King’s Landing. 

It has proven to be quite the difficult task. Northerns are often suspicious of outsiders, and from what you have learned through these gossip sessions, they rarely marry southrons. The only ones who do are the most important Houses, like the Starks or the Boltons. It means that most of your ladies are northern by birth, and not through marriage as you are. 

“This early?” Lady Mormont asks, bluntly. Her bluntness had discomfited you during your first meetings, but you have come to find it refreshing. “Princess?” She tacks on, remembering she is supposed to mind her courtesies with you. 

“This early.” You confirm, with a smile. You have planned the time of this tea with precision for this same motive, knowing it will appeal to their loyalty, but also allow you to escape the socializing. “I have a play date with my Lord Husband and little Rickon.” 

One of the ladies coos. Lady Mormont barks out a laughter. 

“Ah, to be a young woman with that many suitors.” 

“Only the very best.” You smile, and leave them to feast on the pastries. 

You make your way to Cregan’s solar at a leisure pace. The crushed velvet gown you are wearing is in a blue so pale it almost looks like the gray of House Stark. It is one of your old ones, meant to evoke House Velaryon’s colors. It fits you again, having gained a bit of weight during your time in the North. You hope it is a gown suitable for playing with a toddler. 

As you enter, you notice Rickon is arriving as well, tugged along by a maid. He chirps a greeting to you, a mix of your name and title that sounds more like gibberish. Yet, you are helpless to him.

“Rickon!” You kneel by him, as he runs to be picked up. You indulge him, smelling his hair as you lift him. He smells of sweet innocence, and a bit like Cregan. You hate that you cannot hate him or be indifferent any longer. The little boy has stolen your heart. 

Rickon gives you a toothy smile, his hands clumsily going to cup your face. Who can resist him? Not you. 

“I see you found each other.” Cregan leans against the door, smirking. He holds two cups. “Warm milk with honey. For the cold.”

You cannot help but smile a little. 

“Our knight in shining armor!” You tease, more for Rickon’s benefit than him. “Let us in, good Ser. So I can place my little wildling down and he can drink it.” 

Cregan laughs and moves aside to let the two of you pass. As you do so, you cannot help but notice how much space he takes up, tall and wide. Your eyes linger on his shoulders. You have not seen him wield Ice yet, but you have seen the sword. He has to have considerable strength to do so. 

The thought is strangely thrilling. Your stomach does a somersault, but before you have time to analyze it, Rickon begins to squirm in your arms. 

“Down! Down! Doggie!” He pleads. You look to see what has caught his attention and notice that Cregan has moved the rug so it lays by the fireplace, and placed some of Rickon’s toys there, including his more favored one: A soft cotton white wolf. 

You set Rickon down and take one of the cups from Cregan. Both of you sit down on the rug as well, and watch Rickon play with his wolf, ignoring his cup of milk. You have come to learn that playing with an only child is much different than playing with your younger siblings, Rickon mostly plays alone and wants you there to show you things. 

It forces you to keep conversations with your husband, if only because the silence would be too awkward otherwise. 

“I have arranged for us to have tea when Rickon tires.” Cregan informs you, a bit stiff.

“Oh, I already had tea with the…” You start, before Cregan interrupts you. 

“You are far too thin still. Besides, I know your tea spreads are made of mostly northern sweets. I asked the cooks to make one of your favorites, Prince Jacaerys was kind enough to set up correspondence for me with the cooks of Dragonstone.” 

It’s awfully thoughtful of him, and you will examine it later because your mind is still stuck on one tiny detail. One that infuriates you. 

“You are corresponding with Jace?” You ask, trying hard not to sound violent. After all, he has been very kind to you as of late, and guilt has begun to creep in for your careless words about his late wife. Not that you will apologize or anything. You intend to pretend nothing happened and be extra nice to Cregan, indulging Rickon and him on all the tea and play dates in the world. 

“I am. He would be very pleased if you stopped burning his letters.” His tone is chiding, though gentle. You take a deep breath in. Jace, the traitor. Cregan keeps his tone kind. “He still grieves your brother, Princess. Do not make him mourn a sister in life.” 

“Does he think I shall never forgive him?” You ask him, baffled. Rickon begins building a tower with blocks on the rug, insisting that the two of you aid him in building Winterfell, so Cregan’s answer is delayed. As you place some blocks to make the entrance, you have time to think over his words. 

All alone in Dragonstone, Jace must be feeling as lonely as you are. Only more because he has no Cregan and Rickon to stand with him. 

What he had done was a deep betrayal in your eyes, but was it truly? You had known you would have to marry eventually, and it probably wouldn’t be a love match. Jace had done the best he could in the terrible circumstances you were in. Moved by his fear of losing another sibling, he had entrusted you to Cregan because he thought you could be happy here. Safe. 

And you were. There was no fiercest protector for you apart from your husband. After marrying him, no one had dared even to breathe the rumors of your bastardy, and he even worried about what you ate, by the Gods’ sake!

“You can hold a grudge.” Cregan says, cautiously, when Rickon is distracted by his cup of milk and begins to attempt drinking it. Usually, drinking his milk is followed by passing out, so he is careful to support him in his lap. The sight makes your chest feel oddly warm. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

This was bad. 

You were falling in love with Cregan. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to any longer.” You say, looking into his eyes. You are no longer speaking of Jace. 

Cregan seems to catch on your meaning because he reaches forward and takes your hand in his. Fixated on how big and warm his hand feels against yours, you almost miss his soft words. 

“Neither do I.”

SARA’S EYES, GREY and so much like his father’s, are fixed on him. Cregan tries to ignore her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of appearing uncomfortable. But before the hour passes, he is squirming in his chair, unnerved by her silent stare. 

Sara continues to stare. Cregan refuses to speak to her. After a while, she sets down the book she has taken from his shelves, a dreadfully boring account of the battles fought by the Kings of Winter, and perches her chin in her hands. 

That way, her staring is much more obvious. She is comfortably laid back in one of the armchairs he has in his solar. Cregan likes company when he works, and it’s easier to ask for her opinion if she is right there. Unfortunately, it also means she can stare at him for hours on end if she so wished.

“What?” Cregan asks, when he can’t take it any longer. He pushes away the reports about the safety of Wintertown and how prepared they are for winter, and looks up at her. She still doesn’t speak. “Sara!” 

“Apologies, brother.” By her smile, she is anything but sorry. “I just find it fascinating.” 

Cregan sighs. He doesn’t really want to bite, but if he doesn’t, Sara’s teasing will get worse and worse.

“What is fascinating?” 

“How you have managed to turn into a spineless southron in less than two moons.” Cregan can only gape at her. What is she going on about? “Not only have you turned timid, you are also a moron. And cunt struck. Well, are you? I know you are not getting any, does one need to actually be bedding the woman to be cunt…” She doesn’t even finish her words, cackling with laughter.

His face grows hot, burning with embarrassment. 

“I should have married you to an Umber and be done with it.” He mutters, under his breath, which only makes her cackle further. Both of them know that Sara would never be married off as if she were some cattle. Cregan loves her too much for it, and she is a deeply independent woman. 

“Who would advise you, then?” She asks him, brazenly. “Your sweet little wife? While she is great at wrangling lords and ladies, I doubt she has the stomach for warfare.” 

“There is a certain innocence to these Velaryons, yes.” At his words, Sara glares. She hates to be reminded she had not been as immune as she liked to think she was to Prince Jacaerys’ charms. “But if the worst comes to pass, I actually intend to have her hold Winterfell alongside you and Rickon.” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sara approves. “Shall you march south, Rickon and I will suffice.” 

“I wish to begin teaching her, when she no longer seems willing to murder me.” 

“I think she isn’t willing to murder you any longer.” And it is as good of an endorsement he will get from Sara. 

“She still seems to think I do not love her.” Cregan whines. 

“Because you mention Arra all the time. I have heard it’s in bad taste, but what would I know?” Sara rolls her eyes. “I am just some bastard girl.” 

“Are you simply going to complain or will you help me?” Cregan looks at her and tries giving her his best pleading look. Then, he decides to stroke her pride. “You know I always seek your council, even above other lords.” 

“Even above Lord Cerwyn?” Her mouth purses in a dubious pout. Fuck. His sister or his best friend? In the end, the choice is easy. Sara is here now, after all. 

“Of course.”

Sara positively beams. 

“You should tell him so.” Her rivalry with him had never made any sense to him, they had known each other since childhood, too. The man didn’t even care about who her mother had been and never took insult with her… Well, insults. Plural. Always thrown at him by Sara. Now that he thought of it, his friend always sought excuses to see Sara. Odd. “Loudly. But I am feeling generous and not demand that you do so immediately. I shall gloat in my victory, and it will be even sweeter if he doesn’t know.” 

“Your advice?” Cregan asks, tiredly. The Gods knew that she would talk circles around him if he let her. She was honest, but she also had a gift for courtly speech that Cregan despised. 

“Women like gifts. Or I do. And I am a woman.” Sara shrugs. “She is a Princess, of course she does too. And don’t just gift her anything.” 

“I would never be…” That stupid, Cregan wishes to add, but Sara is still speaking. 

“Gift her something special. Something unique, tailored to her. And especially, something that you wouldn’t gift practical Arra.” 

Cregan stares at Sara. Sara stares back. Then, very pointedly, she picks up her book and continues to read. The message is clear. He will not get any further help. 

Still, her advice lingers. In the coming days, Cregan cannot shake the thought, regardless of what he is doing. As he inspects his men, as he reads during his spare time, even as he bathes. All Cregan thinks of is you, and a gift that would please you. 

He even dares ask Rickon. His suggestion of a direwolf isn’t exactly bad. It’s just difficult on its execution, and not something Cregan would choose when thinking of a gift for you. 

He discards many more ideas, from rolls of myrish lace to donations to your charities. You ran far too cold to wear the former, and the latter wouldn’t truly be a gift to you. He wastes nearly a week coming up with a suitable idea, and two more corresponding with the Prince, the Maester at Dragonstone, and securing the goods he needs. 

It’s all worth it, when he takes a look at the finished present and can know that you will love it. 

[enwoso]

HOW COULD I? | alessia russo

masterlist | what a treat two in the past day for you all!

as alessia groggily blinked awake, stretching out in the now empty bed. the warm space beside her already cold menacing you had been up for a while.

which was weird. normally, birthday or not, you’d wake her up with soft kisses, breakfast in bed, or at the very least whispering sweet nothing in her ear.

but today? silence.

as she turned over reaching over for her phone as it sat on the nightstand, tapping the screen but it was blank. nothing.

no ‘happy birthday baby!’

no heart emoji.

not even a gif.

as she climbed out of bed and padded into the kitchen, you sat at the breakfast counter, scrolling mindlessly through your phone with your usual cup of tea. you already dressed for training, your hair a little damp as it fell into loose waves over your hoodie.

at the sound of footsteps, you glanced up with a soft, easy smile. “morning, less” you said glancing up as the blonde walked straight past to get her coffee mug. she waited, but nothing. no mention of the fact that today was alessia’s day.

“morning,” alessia muttered, moving to the fridge as she grabbed the milk a little more aggressively than necessary as she practically slammed it onto the counter.

you turned, blinked at her, “wow, has that milk offended you or something?”

alessia just ignored you, continue to make her usual morning coffee the way you usual did. but she could still feel your face on her, the amused tilt of your head and the way you were clearly studying her.

but then without warning, you appeared behind het, your hands slipping around her waist as you rested your chin on her shoulder. you melting into her warmth.

“why’s my girl so grumpy this morning?” you whispered, pressing a slow kiss to alessia’s jaw. a sharp exhale coming from alessia. your lips were warm, soft - too distracting.

“‘m not.” she mumbled, focusing hard on her coffee and not where your lips were.

“you so are.” your hands tightened on her waist, holding the blonde that little bit closer. “you’re all grumpy and pouty and slamming stuff around..” you said as you planted another kiss but this time it was just below her ear. “very sexy of you, by the way.”

alessia tried so hard not just to melt into you, give in and just forget about the fact you’d seemingly forgotten the date. “i’m fine.”

you chuckled, resting your chin back into alessia’s shoulder as you hummed, “if you say so” as you moved your face to nuzzle into her neck, your warm breath lingering on her skin. “you wanna talk about it?”

no cause if she did, she’d have to admit that she was feeling stupidly upset that her own girlfriend has seemingly forgotten her birthday.

“i said, i’m fine.” alessia mumbled moving to sit where you’d previously been as she took a sip of her coffee.

you hummed, you knew why she was in a huff but it was all for a good cause as much as it did hurt to see your girl so stroppy.

“alright” you shrugged and with that you pressed one last kiss to the side of her neck, then stepping away like nothing had happened as you mumbled off that you were going to call you mum as you waited for her to get ready for training.

alessia clenched her jaw. fabulous. now she was in an even worse mood.

—

by the time the two of you had arrived at training, alessia was fully sulking. the blonde dragging her feet as you hurried off into training, knowing if you spent to long with the stroppy blonde you’d end up ruining what you had in store.

as you drove, alessia had spent the entire drive psyching herself up as she tried to convince herself that it was fine that her own girlfriend had forgotten her birthday.

maybe you’d been busy. maybe you would remember later.

or maybe, a scowl growing deeper on the blonde face as she shoved her kit bag into her locker, maybe you really did just forget.

beth was the first one to greet her, “happy birthday, less!” she said with her usual bright smile, clapping a hand on alessia’s shoulder.

alessia barely even bothered to look up, “at least someone remembered.”

beth’s eyebrows shot up, taken back by the blondes snappiness, “okay, ouch.”

lia and katie, who’d been standing nearby both glanced up and exchanged a quick look to one another before going suspiciously quiet.

beth, however, was already sitting beside alessia nudged her slightly with her knee, “right what’s got you in such a strop and on your birthday.”

alessia just huffed kicking her trainers off with more force than was necessary as she moved to put her boots on, “y/n forgot my birthday.”

beth blinked, “did she?”

“yep” alessia slammed her locker shut as she popped the p in the word before turning to face beth, “she hasn’t said a word. nothing over text. just morning, less as if today is just another day.”

beth pressed her lips together as if she was fighting back a smirk as if she knew something alessia didn’t. because of course, she knew. she knew about the entire surprise that you had planned.

“maybe she’s just waiting for the right moment” beth suggested, trying her best to just play it off and change the subject, but it wasn’t really working considering the thunder look on alessia’s face.

alessia scoffed, “sure, cause saying happy brithday requires perfect timing!”

beth made a noncommittal noise as she leaned back against the bench, “i dunno less, she might surprise you.”

alessia shot her a glare, unimpressed by the words of wisdom given by beth, “i doubt it now.”

lia covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing and katie turned away completely, pretending to tie her laces even though they were already double knotted.

beth, barely holding it together, patted alessia’s knee in a comforting way, “time will tell.”

alessia groaned as she buried her face into her hands. “this is the officially the worst birthday ever.”

beth bit her lip to stop herself from laughing and giving away the whole surprise, only one thing in head. ‘oh, just wait less.’

—

by the time training ended, alessia was over it. you’d left training early your excuse being you had a doctors appointment as alessia still had a face like thunder and nothing anything said could be done to put a smile on her face.

alessia showered, got dressed and checked her phone for the hundredth time — still nothing.

with a sigh, she shoved her phone into pocket in her joggers and grabbed her keys throwing her backpack onto her shoulder.

but then just as she was about to leave , her phone buzzed in her pocket.

you❤️ | *address name*

you❤️ | come to this address i’ve sent you. wear something nice x

alessia frowned pausing mid step in the middle of the training centre. clicking on the location on her phone. she expected it to be a restaurant or maybe their apartment. but it wasn’t somewhere completely unfamiliar.

her heart skipped. no explanation. no hints. just come to this address.

for second, she debated ignoring it. maybe she should be the one to make you wait like you had done with her all day.

but despite herself, curiosity won and got the better of her. so with one last glance at the cryptic text she reacted to the chat as she sighed, placing her phone back in her pocket and setting off.

—

when alessia got to the address, not before checking the address she type was right as the venue was dim, the windows tinted meaning she couldn’t see into the restaurant.

the blonde hesitated as her hand rested on the door handle. what the heck was on the other side of the door?pushing the door open, she stepped inside as the lights burst on.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LESS!!”

alessia’s heart nearly gave out. her entire family was there. her teammates both club and international, childhood friend and every single person who meant something to her and right at the front, with the biggest grin stood you.

alessia clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes darting over the decorations, the banner, the giant cake with her name written on it in big pink bold icing.

“you-” she turned towards you, completely in awe. “you didn’t forget?”

you scoffed, stepping closer as your hands rested on her waist. “of course i didn’t forget silly!”

a breathless laugh left alessia’s lips, “i was so mad at you.”

you chuckled as a smirk appeared on your lips, “oh i know, beth told me all about your little tantrum.”

alessia shot a glare towards beth, who just grinned playfully. “told you she’d surprise you!”

alessia just her eyes but she couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on her lips as she turned back to you and pulled you in by your hips as she pressed your forehead to hers.

“i love you.” she murmured.

you grinned, bringing a hand up to her cheek, “i know, now kiss me before beth starts making fun of us.”

alessia just let out a giggle as she did just that.

—

the night was perfect. at some point when everything was starting to die down a little, people were socialising in there own little ways as you were sat on alessia’s lap. your arms lazily draped around her neck as you traced random patterns on her shoulder.

“you really thought i forgot?” you mumbled, brushing the side of face so it was next to alessia’s, her moving a strand of hair out from your face.

alessia sighed dramatically, “well what was i supposed to think? you woke up as if it was a normal day.”

you chuckled, tilting your head as you continued to draw small little patterns on her shoulder which every so often made little goosebumps. “poor baby. must’ve been so hard for you.”

“you’re so annoying.”

you smirked as you moved to press a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, “but you still love me”

alessia just hummed as she fidgeted with the hem of your shirt every other time moving so her hand slipped up your top, “unfortunately”

you gasped in most offense, pinching her shoulder, “take that back!”

alessia giggled, shaking her head. “make me.”

and of course you did exactly that - capturing her lips in a kiss so soft, so gentle that the rest of the party melted away as if you two were the only ones there.

you cupped alessia’s face, rubbing your thumbs over her cheekbones like you were trying to memorise every inch of her - as if you didn’t already. alessia melting into you, her hands curling around your waist, pulling you even closer as if she couldn’t ever get enough.

your foreheads staying pressed together afterward whispering things which were only meant for each other.

“i love you.” you mumbled against her lips, quieter this time. just for her to hear. alessia’s fingers curled into the fabric of your dress, her heart feeling too full for words.

but before alessia could respond, kyra groaned from across the room, “okay, we get it- you’re gonna get married one day. no need to rub it in our faces?”

laughter erupted around you, a few of the girls giggling on but you just turned to alessia with a knowing smirk.

“not a bad idea, actually” alessia flushed as she bit her lip, a big grin appearing on your face.

maybe, just maybe… it wasn’t.

[rafeysdeer]

boyfriend (aka insecure reader x bsf jason)

civil!reader x jason todd

prompt: where the reader has a terrible boyfriend and always ends up crying about him to her best friend, jason todd, or, where jason finally gets tired of seeing his girl being mistreated and does something about it.

a/n: i know i kinda say pretty much the same thing here, but these two are really cute, okay? i was like giggling and kicking while writing it, hope you guys love it. english is not my first language, also, feel free to send requests!

At 8pm, on your birthday, the day that was supposed to be about you, for you, where you were supposed to be going out and partying, you were curled up on the couch, wearing a sweatshirt three sizes too big for you, after the worst fight you've ever had with your boyfriend.

Your hand wrapped around your phone as you dialed the number of the only person who would understand you, who always did, your best friend, Jason. Your voice sounded tearful on the phone as you almost begged him to come to your apartment, you didn't have to say much, or wait long, before he shows up at your frontdoor.

As you wiped the tears away from your face and dragged yourself to open the door, trying to force a smile on your face, as he pulled you into his arms, before you could even say anything. "You need to break up with that asshole, you know that, right?"

Your voice sounds like a whisper against his chest as he softly guides you into the apartment, with you still clinging to him. "He already did it, he broke up with me, because he's seeing someone else" Your voice barely comes out, the tears running down your pretty face again, and Jason feels his blood boil, as if that asshole wasn't enough of a jerk to you.

With a quick look around the apartment he was able to catch the signs from the fight, the shards of glass on the floor, the broken flower vase, besides the complete mess that the apartment was in, your boyfriend was never exactly a controlled person.

"He doesn't deserve you, he never did," he whispers against her hair as he sits the two of you on the couch, which by some miracle, was in perfect condition, and he hears her whimper against him. "What if the problem is me? What if I wasn't interesting enough, or pretty enough-" His eyebrows furrowed together in the purest expression of disbelief before he shuts you up. "Honey, I'm sorry, but shut up, are you even listening to yourself? You're doubting of the best person I know for some asshole who didn't know how to value the fucking treasure he had."

Your eyes, shining with tears, stare into his, without any words to express how you felt. Jason hated your boyfriend, he always did, and with a good reason, he always treated you as if you were less than him, and you accepted it, because he made you believe that you were less.

Your eyebrows furrowed in doubt slightly, your body moving away from his a little so you could finally look properly at him.

"I would never leave you crying alone on your own birthday for the God's sake, or leave you alond at a party at two am for someone else to take you home." He grabs your hands, an almost pleading look in his eyes, and there it was, you finally understand, all the hate directed at your boyfriend, is because he knew exactly how you should be treated, he knew exactly how to treat you.

Your eyes were shining with something different than tears this time, affection, as your head slowly tilted to the side, absorbing the information. "I could be a better boyfriend than him, come on, I doubt that idiot knows that you only drink tea with cream and a ton of sugar? That you bake cookies to the children at the shelter, so they can feel loved?" He shook his head, he wouldn't let the guy who left you crying on your own birthday after telling you he cheated on you go unpunished, but that was a story for later, for when you understand that everything you ever needed was right there.

"Shut up, I love you," she says with the most genuine, silly smile she had in weeks, maybe months, before wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a heated, well-deserved kiss.

"I've loved you since the day I saw you eating snow when you were six, Jay, I guess I just never thought it was mutual." He smirked, rolling his eyes, his arms keeping her wrapped around him. "I saw you having a crush on Edward Cullen when you were thirteen, do you really think I would still be here if I didn't love you?" You laughed, slapping his arm playfully.

"Shut up and kiss me."

[gpcwsl]

Alessia Russo x Reader

- Birthday love -

WC: 912

MasterList

Warnings: kisses, neck kisses, short?

(Happy birthday, Alessia!)

The soft light of dawn filters through the curtains when you stir, careful not to wake the sleeping blonde beside you. Alessia is curled into the sheets, her arm lazily draped over your waist, her lips slightly parted as she sleeps soundly.

You smile to yourself. Today is February 8th, 2025—Alessia’s 26th birthday.

With the skill of someone who has done this a hundred times before, you gently slip out of bed, prying her arm off you without waking her. She grumbles slightly but doesn’t stir, still deep in her dreams.

Perfect.

You pad softly to the kitchen, getting straight to work on breakfast. Pancakes, fruit, a side of bacon—everything she loves. You even make her tea exactly how she likes it. You arrange it all on a tray and carefully bring it back to the bedroom.

She’s still in the same position when you enter, and for a moment, you pause just to admire her. She looks so peaceful like this, her blonde hair a mess against the pillow, her face relaxed. You almost don’t want to wake her.

But when you place the tray on the nightstand and lean down to press a soft kiss to her forehead, her eyes flutter open, blinking groggily.

“Happy birthday, love,” you murmur.

Alessia groans softly, stretching before her sleepy blue eyes land on the tray. A lazy smile tugs at her lips. “You made me breakfast?”

You nod. “I did.”

She sighs contentedly, then—before you can react—grabs your wrist and tugs you back into bed. You let out a small laugh as she buries her face into your neck, her arms wrapping tightly around you.

“Cuddles first,” she mumbles.

You chuckle, threading your fingers through her hair. “I knew you’d say that.”

She hums happily, placing a soft kiss on your jaw, then another just below your ear. Her lips trail down lazily, peppering gentle, innocent kisses along your neck.

“Alessia,” you warn, your voice betraying the shiver that runs through you.

She smirks against your skin. “What? It’s my birthday. I deserve all the affection.”

You roll your eyes fondly but let her continue, melting under her touch. Eventually, when breakfast starts getting cold, you coax her into sitting up and eating, though she still insists on holding your hand between bites.

By the time you both leave for training, she’s in the best mood possible, radiating happiness.

Leah Williamson and Beth Mead barely have time to breathe before Alessia is dragging them off to the side, her grip strong and unrelenting.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Beth grumbles, half-heartedly trying to pry Alessia’s hand off her arm. “Less, we just got here.”

“Yeah, and I need to talk to you,” Alessia insists, pulling them both further away from the group.

Leah sighs, already seeing where this is going. “If this is about Y/n—”

“Of course it’s about Y/n!” Alessia cuts in, eyes bright and full of excitement. “Guys, I swear, I am the luckiest person in the world.”

Beth groans. “Oh my god.”

Leah pinches the bridge of her nose. “Alessia, we’ve been through this.”

“No, no, but listen,” Alessia continues, completely ignoring their protests. “Y/n woke up early today—early—to make me breakfast in bed! She made pancakes, bacon, fruit, and tea! And then—then—she gave me all the cuddles I wanted. Literally just held me and let me kiss her for as long as I wanted.”

Beth looks to Leah, unimpressed. “We’re actually standing here listening to this.”

Leah sighs. “I know.”

Alessia doesn’t even register their disinterest. She’s too wrapped up in her own world, her hands gesturing dramatically as she speaks. “And when I say I am in love, I mean I am in love. Like, I don’t think people understand. Y/n is the best thing to ever happen to me. She’s perfect. Every single thing she does makes me love her more. I don’t know how it’s possible, but every day, I just wake up loving her even more than the day before.”

Beth groans louder this time. “Oh my god, please make it stop.”

Leah shakes her head. “We can’t. She’s too far gone.”

“I am so far gone,” Alessia confirms, eyes practically sparkling. “She’s just so beautiful, you know? And so kind. And funny. And smart. And did I mention beautiful?”

“About a thousand times,” Beth mutters.

“And the way she looks at me,” Alessia sighs dreamily. “Like I’m the only person in the world. Do you know how insane that is? Like, I can’t believe she chose me. Me.”

Leah gives Beth a knowing look. “She’s been like this for two years, and yet somehow, it’s getting worse.”

Beth deadpans, “I fear we’ve lost her completely.”

Alessia claps her hands together. “I should get her flowers.”

Beth blinks. “What?”

“For when I get home! I should get her flowers. She made my morning so special, I should return the favor.” Alessia nods to herself, already planning. “Yeah, I’ll stop by the shop after training.”

Beth throws her hands up. “I give up.”

Leah sighs, slinging an arm around Beth’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get to warm-ups before she starts reciting poetry.”

Alessia doesn’t even hear them, too busy typing out a reminder on her phone.

Beth and Leah exchange a look before shaking their heads.

“Completely and utterly gone,” Leah mutters.

Beth nods. “Poor thing doesn’t even realize how whipped she is.”

[hoonieyun]

a lovesick girl's guide to heartbreak

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ best friend's bf!jay x reader breakup with your girlfriend cause i'm bored... summary: being invited to your best friend's birthday was nothing out of the ordinary, until you finally meet her boyfriend and he just seems to be the man of your dreams.

warnings: drinking, alcohol, kissing, consensual skinship, jay and yn are not good people, cheating, profanity, 18+ not proof read lol wc: 3347

hoonieyun notes: okay so this was supposed to be inspired by ariana grande's song but i kind of didn't want to write it where yn was the one initiating the cheating so i just kind of flipped it around lol anyways i hope you guys enjoy this one was wild djfdfj

going to your best friend’s birthday wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, she was your best friend after all; so celebrating her on her big day was something you were obligated to do. she had mentioned her new boyfriend would also be there and said that she wanted this to be a moment where she could introduce him to all of her friends. you didn’t mind much since you were happy she found someone to love and support her but did find it strange that it would be at a house party but that’s just how your best friend was. she was the party girl.

you and your best friend weren’t the most unsuspecting duo, you were both wild, fun, and hunted for the thrill. she, however, was the life of the party while you simply just enjoyed the energy of the party. in a lot of ways you two fit really well together because you loved to party and she was the party. 

as you get ready for your best friend’s party, there are several things on your mind, such as what her new boyfriend was like. they’ve only been together for a few weeks and she’s kept him more private in comparison to her past relationships so there was an air of mystery around him. another thing on your mind was the fact that you were definitely going to try to find a boy to be your distraction for the night as you try to forget your ex-boyfriend who you broke up with just the week before. it was your best friend’s birthday so of course you were going to go no matter what but a part of you was still sad over your breakup and figured that this party would be the best way to release some steam. 

killing two birds with one stone by celebrating your best friend and finding a new boy to occupy your mind for the night. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

the party was in full swing when you arrived, stepping out of your uber but not before thanking the sweet old man who was your uber driver, the music coming from your friend’s house was so loud it muffled the sound of the car driving away. 

she always knows how to throw a party, you thought to yourself with a smile as you prepare yourself to have the time of your life. 

unbeknownst to you the type of chaos that would ensue in the night. 

you weaved your way through the crowd, sending a text to your best friend that you had arrived. in the meantime, you stopped by her kitchen, knowing that there would be several alcoholic beverages ready; and indeed there was. you helped yourself to a hard seltzer, choosing to start off light and would pick it up when you found your friend so you could get shitfaced with her. 

having long and pretty nails were fun, you got to choose the designs and you always got complimented on them but one of the downsides was the fact that it made opening cans the hardest task in the world. you feared you were going to break your nail if you tried to open the can of hard seltzer and because you weren’t in the mood for hard liquor just yet, you didn’t know what to do. 

“need some help with that?” a low voice that was unfamiliar to you says from behind and as you turn around, you’re faced with a man with striking features. a sharp nose matched with fierce eyes that bore into your face, lips that shined under the light of the kitchen, and with how truly striking he was; he exuded a certain type of warmth and softness; contrasting his features. 

“uh- um yeah.” you said, as you hand the can over to him– to which he opens with ease. you chuckle at how easy it was for him and he smiles at your bashfulness; you had never felt this way meeting a man for the first time. usually they were the one to swoon and be heartstopped by you; but right now– you were utterly speechless at the man standing before you. 

“what’s your name, mystery girl?” he asks and you take the can he’s offering back to you. 

you shake your head to break out of the trance he had put you in with just his face so you could answer; “yn” you answer and he nods. “beautiful name. enjoy the party, ok? if you need help opening more cans, come find me.” he says with a wink as he’s exiting the kitchen as if that was his sole duty. to come in there, leave you starstruck, help you out, and then leave. 

you’re blinking rapidly when he leaves, trying to understand what had just happened, it had happened so fast that you’re now realizing you hadn’t even gotten the mystery man’s name. you take several gulps of the hard seltze to get yourself together, you weren’t about to let this man leave you in so much awe and not get a piece of him. you officially have found your distraction for the night but before you could hone in on your target; you needed to find your best friend who still hasn’t texted you back. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

it’s about 45 minutes and several missed calls later when you finally see your best friend, to which is no surprise, who is at the center of the dance floor. you figured that probably was the first place you should’ve checked– you squeeze past all of the bodies on the dance floor and when you finally make your way to your best friend, her face lights up instantly.

“yn!!! babe!! you’re here!!” she shouts loud enough you heard her perfectly fine through the music that was causing the walls of her home to shake. “where have you been, girl?” she asks and you explain that you tried to call her several times to find her and to let her know you had arrived but she never answered. 

“ugh, sorry! my boyfriend took my phone to charge it upstairs because it’s always dead!” she explains and you nod in response. her phone was always dead and it was a big thing with her ex-boyfriends. they always used to get so angry at her because her phone would die as the two of you would be at the height of the night at a club. this boyfriend, however, seems to be on the right path in making sure she’s taken care of as far as phone battery goes. 

“speaking of, let me introduce you to him! i need to find him.” she says, running out from the dance floor and to, you assume, her bedroom to grab her phone that was charging. you laugh at your best friend’s actions; very clear that she was a lot further in her drunkedness than you were. 

once again you find yourself alone at her party, greeting and smiling at the people you recognized as you return to the kitchen after finishing your drink. this time, opting for a few shots of tequila to catch up to your best friend. 

you’re on your third shot, pouring your fourth, when a familiar voice slightly startles you. “slow down, the bottle isn’t going to run away from you.” he says and when you look up, it’s none other than the mystery man who you ran into earlier. you down the shot you just poured, face puckering at the bitterness as you chase it with a lime you found in your friend’s fridge. “no, it won’t run away but if i don’t finish the bottle someone else will and then it’ll be gone so i’ve got to beat someone to it.” you explains and the two of you laugh. 

his laugh was so sweet it made you instantly forget about the bitter taste lingering in your throat. 

you offer him a shot and he kindly accepts, slightly tapping your shot glass with his as the two of you lock eyes before taking the shot. once again, biting into the lime to chase the shot and what he does next leaves you immobile. 

he grabs the lime from your hands right after you’ve just pulled it away from your lips and he brings it up to his own, sucking and biting onto the last drops of lime juice in the fruit and tossing it into the trash behind you when he’s finished. his features go from sharp to soft in an instant as the sting of the alcohol leaves his mouth. biting your lips at his action, you’re instantly surprised at the bold behavior, a smirk spreading on his lips when he notices your reaction. 

“there you are! oh! looks like the two of you have met!” your best friend appears in the kitchen, joining you and the mystery man at her kitchen counter. “ooh! shots!!” she says, grabbing the bottle from your hands and pouring one for the three of you. you all take the shot together and once again are all reaching for a lime to chase the drink with, however, this time he grabs the lime from your best friend’s hands after she’s done and does the same exact thing he had just done with you moments before your friend arrived. 

“oh, right! yn, this is my boyfriend jay. jay, this is my best friend, yn! she’s like a sister to me so you guys have to get along or else i’ll cry. she’s probably going to be my maid of honor when we get married…” your best friend was now rambling but you were able to tune her out as your eyes zone in solely on the boy in front of you. 

the mystery man that had your heart beating faster than it should’ve just happened to be your best friend’s new boyfriend. 

“earth to yn?” she says, waving her hand in front of your face when she’s noticed you had spaced out. “she always gets like this when she’s drunk, probably the tequila.” she says to jay. you’re snapping out of your thoughts at the word “tequila”, choosing to change the topic and energy between the three of you by pouring another round for the birthday girl. 

“happy birthday to you, my best friend!” you toast to her, all the while you’re mind is only on the boy standing across from you whose eyes haven’t left your body not once since his girlfriend and your best friend had joined the two of you. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

you’ve decided that avoiding jay was the only way you could go on for the rest of the night. you weren’t even completely sure where your best friend went after she had introduced you to him, even though you had definitely met prior, but you were trying your best to busy yourself with more drinks and mingling with friends to avoid the feeling inside of you. 

was it guilt? guilty that you had shared such an intimate moment with your best friend’s boyfriend. 

or was it anxiety? anxious that your best friend would find out and you’d be known as the homewrecker who ruined your best friend’s relationship on her birthday. 

or was it… love? did you love jay? you barely even knew the guy but the minimal interactions you’ve had with him had left you feeling like you were falling for him. 

whatever it was, you were downing alcohol left and right to supress the feeling. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

whenever you’d see jay in the corner of your eye or he’d enter the same room you were in, you’d make an excuse that you needed to leave. 

“sorry, need to use the bathroom.”

“ugh, my cup is empty. i’m gonna grab another.”

“god, it’s hot in here. i’m gonna get some air.”

you shouldn’t have ever said the last one because as you’re stepping out into your best friend’s backyard, jay is right on your tail. 

“you’re not avoiding me, are you yn?” he says, a teasing smirk on his face like he knew exactly what he was doing. you shook your head, deciding that you weren’t even going to say a word to him. “really?” he asks, walking closer to you; his face merely inches from yours. you could smell the alcohol on his tongue but the only thing you could focus on was the fact that he made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. 

moments before he’s about to close the gap between the two of you, you push him away, causing him to stumble backwards. a chuckle escapes from his lips as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, clearly a bit aggravated at your sudden actions. 

“this is wrong.. you’re girlfriend is my best friend.” you say quietly, afraid that someone would hear but considering everyone, including your best friend, were all too busy getting drunk and dancing to the music inside, no one was going to hear the two of you. 

“yeah, but you can’t tell me this isn’t fun..” jay says, repositioning himself so he was right in front of you again. brushing away the hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear. “so pretty…” he whispers and it sends shivers down your spine; he could probably see the goosebumps rise on your shoulders. 

jay’s eyes trail on the exposed skin of your neck and clavicle. hands following his eyes as they slightly graze your skin, his touch leaving a burning sensation that you just couldn’t pull yourself away from. 

without thinking, you push him away once again and run back inside. not because you were afraid of what he was about to do, no. you were afraid that if you stayed for just a few seconds logner, you would’ve just let him do it without thinking about how much it word hurt your best friend. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

the rest of the night goes without a hitch, you don’t see jay after what happened in the backyard and thankfully your best friend seems to not know anything since she was still drunkedly and happily partying long after all of the people had left. 

it’s 3am when the last of the guests leave and you’ve stuck around to help your best friend clean up a bit but she’s way too drunk to even stand so jay helps her to her room so she can get some rest.

he says that it’s so she can rest but deep down you know it’s because he wants to get you alone and if that means putting his drunk girlfriend to bed, then so beit. 

you’re throwing cans and red solo cups into a trash bag when jay walks back downstairs after he’s tucked her into bed. “let me help you with that.” he says, reaching for the bag in your hands which was pretty stuffed and as he reaches over, you snatch it away; flinching backwards to create some distance between the two of you. 

“jay…” you warn him and he looks down and smiles before returning his gaze back onto you. “do i make you nervous, yn?” he asks, walking towards you and this time there isn’t anywhere to retreat to as you’re stuck between him and the wall behind you. 

“she’s asleep, no one will know.” it was like he had this planned out and you knew that he must’ve had it planned out because he takes the opportunity to take the trash bag out of your hands when you’re too stunned to speak, tossing it to the side so he could get closer to you. 

“what do you say, huh?” he asks, cupping your face with his large hand. 

this was so wrong in so many ways but why weren’t you fighting him off? he was your best friend’s boyfriend for christ’s sake but with the way you two were standing right now, anyone would think he was yours and you were his. 

he doesn’t give you the opportunity to answer before he’s connecting your lips with his, the kiss starting off sweet and gentle, like he was testing the waters, and when you finally give in and kiss him back, it becomes more heated. like he was hungry for the taste of your lips and was the thing he wanted all night. it satiated him in ways that you wouldn’t understand and quite frankly, would never understand. 

“why are you doing this?” you ask, slightly pushing him off of you. 

jay just shrugs with a pout, “do you not like it? if you don’t i’ll stop… but it doesn’t seem like you want me to stop.” he says. the ball was now in your court. 

in the several hours you’ve known jay you’ve learned one thing. 

he’ll get what he wants and he’ll do whatever it takes. 

you’ve realized that he was completely fine with cheating on your best friend with you and was encouraging you to be okay with it too. you’ve already done the action, kissing jay means he’s cheated on your best friend and to twist the knife further; it was with her best friend. jay put the ball in your court because he had no problem doing any of this. he’ll get what he wants and go back to his girlfriend, conscience free as if he didn’t commit infidelity. 

he’ll probably go back to her room upstairs and slip into the empty spot beside her on her bed and sleep soundly knowing what he had just done. 

he put the ball in your court because he knew how much this would eat at you. like he knew you’d have this internal battle with chasing what your heart wanted but what your brain was denying you of. you weren’t sure if he knew about your recent break, like your best friend were to have mentioned it in passing, but it was only adding to the fact that you were heartbroken and had planned to find a boy tonight to mend your heart even if it was just for tonight. 

jay knew in the small time he’s known you that you would fall for him. your best friend had told him of all the stories of your ex-boyfriends being shitty and how you could never find the right man, to which she’d follow with how happy she was to have found jay, a man who would “treat her right”. jay could see the gears turning in your head as you thought about what you should do. 

were you going to let the weight of heartbreak lead you down a path that would be irrepairable once broken, much like you are now. broken..

or were you going to do the right thing and let yourself continue to be heartbroken if it meant that you would be doing right by your best friend. 

but when jay connects his lips with yours once again, you don’t pull away and jay takes this as the answer he was looking for. the answer he wanted. he had you and he wasn’t going to let go even if it’s just for tonight. neither of you knew if what you felt for each other was love, hell, it could just be the alcohol talking; but tonight you were his and he was yours. 

your best friend slept soundly upstairs in her bedroom as you and her boyfriend explored one another right below where she slept.

when you’re kissing jay like it was the last time, and it should be but a part of you was saying it wasn’t going to be with the way jay was holding and kissing you like you were the love of his life, you realized what that feeling was inside of you from earlier. 

greed. you were greedy and everything you had done tonight was done out of greed. 

but if greed would help mend your broken heart and would have jay kissing you so sweetly, then maybe you didn’t mind being greedy.

"breakup with your girlfriend, i'm bored" ariana grande the usage of song lyrics is credited to the artist above

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

heart not broken enough? let's try again... ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

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[wlwsoccerfics]

Happy Birthday, My Love(AlessiaRussoXReader)

AN: Happy Birthday to our Lessi Girl.🎉 Used Google translate

Summary: you have a little birthday celebration with Alessia in the morning.

You and Alessia have been dating for almost two years now and have been living together for almost one year. Today was her 26th birthday so you decided to have a little birthday celebration before you had a big Birthday Lunch with the Team.

You managed to sneak out of bed without waking up, less. Which was a surprise because she was asleep half on top of you. You went to the kitchen to make some of her favorite breakfast food. It took 20 minutes to prepare breakfast and Coffee. Everything was placed on a tray. Including a vase with a single Red Rose.

You placed everything on the bedside table before placing soft kisses to Alessias lips.

"buon compleanno amore mio!(happy birthday my love)" You told her, sometimes you spoke italian with eachother. You had italian roots just like her.

She smiled and opened her eyes slowly. Kissing your back.

"Grazie, tesoro.(thank you, babe.)" She whispered against your lips. Pulling you down on top of her. Hugging you close.

"Oggi qualcuno è dell'umore giusto per le coccole.(someone is in a cuddly mood today.)" You stated with a soft smile.

"with you always." She answered.

"Baby, i made your favorite breakfast." You let her know. Which she was really excited about.

So you sat there in bed with your breakfast and Coffee. Talking about your upcoming games, your future plans & just lots of random stuff. Enjoying eachothers company. When you were done with breakfast you handed her a little wrapped Box. It indeed was very small.

"Open it, Love!" You encourage her. She did and let out a little gasp when she saw it was a ring. Inside was a note saying:

mi vuoi sposare?(Will you marry me?)

Xoxo

She nodded her head enthusiastically.

"oh my god! Yes! Sì, naturalmente!" She said and pulled you in for a kiss. You grabbed the ring. Not breaking the kiss, while putting the ring on her finger.

"i am so glad to hear that! I Love you!" You replied and now both of you were crying, while giggling at the same time. Things were just perfect.

"i Love you too and i love the ring. It's so gorgeous!" She leaned against you and looked at her hand.

"it fits you perfectly!" You let her know. You stayed cuddled up in bed for a bit more before you took a shower together. What happened in there is forever remaining you Secret.

Then you got dressed for Lunch at Alessias favorite Restaurant. Trying to think of how long it's gonna take the Team to notice the Engagement Ring on Lessis Finger.

[causeimhappinesss]

Rome's Devotion (part 4)

Warnings: Emperors Geta & Caracalla are warnings themselves, (slight?) blasphemy, slight non-con/dub-con, misogyny (Ancient Rome, so…)

Pairing: Geta x Christian!reader x Caracalla

Words: 7,1k (it's long af)

Disclaimer: English isn’t my native language (I’m french), so you can correct me if you spot some mistakes :)

Masterlist

-

The sun had barely risen when the work began. The reception hall, large and imposing with its towering marble columns and intricate mosaics, had to be transformed for the occasion. Every servant had a task: arranging the couches with fresh cushions, polishing the golden goblets until they gleamed, placing the finest silver platters along the great tables. The air smelled of beeswax and crushed herbs as the floors were scrubbed clean, leaving a faint sheen on the stone.

It is Julia Domna’s birthday, and the Emperors want the celebration to reflect her status, not only as their mother but as a woman once revered as Rome’s Empress, the true power behind the throne during their father’s reign. Though no longer an Augusta in title, she remains a figure of influence, her presence commanding the respect of senators, generals, and noble families alike. Tonight’s banquet is as much a political affair as it is a tribute, with Rome’s most powerful men gathered under one roof.

The preparations had left no moment to breathe, keeping me and the other servants occupied the whole day until the first guests arrived. I had barely had time to think, which was a relief in itself. I had been chosen, along with several others, to serve the food and wine throughout the evening, a role that required silence, attentiveness, and above all, discretion. As long as I kept my head down and moved unseen, I would be safe.

Now, as the banquet unfolds in full splendor, I keep to the edges of the hall, gripping a silver pitcher of wine. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, honeyed figs, and spices carried in from the farthest reaches of the Empire. Torches flicker along the walls, casting shifting patterns over the murals of Rome’s conquests. The hall is alive with laughter and deep-voiced conversation, the clinking of goblets punctuating every boast and jest. Senators and their wives recline on their couches, their fingers idly plucking at the food before them. Musicians play softly in the background, their melodies barely heard over the hum of voices.

I move between the guests, pouring wine when a goblet is raised, careful to avoid lingering eyes. Tonight, at least for now, the Emperors are too preoccupied to notice me. It reassures me.

Julia Domna sits at the place of honor, her posture effortlessly regal. The years have not diminished her beauty. Her dark eyes, lined with kohl, watch everything with quiet amusement. Rings of emerald and sapphire catch the light as she lifts her goblet, listening as a senator beside her speaks. Her white stola drapes over her gracefully, embroidered with delicate golden threads that shimmer when she moves.

Then, Geta rises from his seat.

The shift is immediate. Conversations quiet, heads turn. My hands tighten on the pitcher.

“Tonight,” he begins, his voice carrying easily over the hall, “we do not simply gather to feast. We celebrate the woman who has been our strength, our wisdom, the heart of this Empire.”

His gaze sweeps over the crowd before landing on his mother. A slow, practiced smile tugs at his lips.

“Julia Domna, who has guided my brother and me through every storm.”

Polite murmurs of approval spread through the guests. Julia Domna tilts her head slightly, watching him with the same careful expression she always wears. Geta lifts his goblet.

“A woman whose devotion to Rome and to her family has never wavered. The mother of Emperors, the mother of Rome.” he finished with a proud tone.

The hall echoes with the words as the guests raise their cups. “To Julia Domna!”

She inclines her head, her smile small, measured.

“My sons honor me,” she says, her voice smooth, unwavering. “As does Rome, tonight and always.”

I glance toward Caracalla. He has not spoken. He watches his mother, his expression unreadable, his fingers toying idly with the stem of his goblet. A tension lingers between them, just beneath the surface. The flickering torchlight casts sharp shadows across his face, making his features even harsher than usual.

The moment passes, the feast resuming in bursts of laughter and conversation. I exhale slowly, easing the tension in my shoulders. No one has noticed me. No one has called me forward.

I turn away, slipping toward the next table, keeping my head down. As long as I remain invisible, tonight will pass without incident. Or at least, I hope.

Soon and again, the banquet swells with noise, a sea of voices rising and crashing like waves. Plates clatter, goblets knock together, laughter spills over the air thick with the scent of the finest food, with meat, but also oysters, lobster, shellfish, venison, wild boar, and peacock for the mansae primae (main dish). The senators lounge on their couches, their tunics loosened, their bellies full. Women murmur behind their jeweled hands, their laughter high and delicate, like the chiming of tiny bells. I move among them, careful, quiet. The weight of the bronze pitcher is familiar in my hands, a comfort amid the chaos. I pour wine, refill plates, nod when spoken to but never more. Tonight, I want to be invisible. The Emperors, occupied with their guests, have not so much as glanced at me. Relief spreads through me like a warm breath of air.

If I am lucky, they will forget me altogether.

Then, it happens all of a sudden.

The sensation crawls over my skin before I even lift my head; something heavy, something cold. A gaze.

I swallow, keeping my movements steady.

Do not look, do not react, I tell myself.

But my body betrays me, a shiver creeping down my spine like icy fingertips.

Still, I glance up.

Geta.

He is reclined on his couch, goblet in hand, one leg draped over the other. His dark eyes gleam in the torchlight, watching me with that same unreadable smirk. He twirls his goblet between his fingers, slow, unhurried. I know that look.

It makes my stomach twist.

I drop my gaze at once, my fingers tightening around the pitcher’s handle. Maybe if I pretend not to see him, he…

He lifts his hand, crooking his finger, a movement stopping in my thoughts.

A silent summons.

A pulse of dread lances through my chest, but I obey. I cannot refuse. My feet carry me forward even as everything in me screams to run away.

When I reach him, I keep my eyes on the goblet in his hand, not daring to meet his gaze.

“More,” he orders, voice smooth, easy. As if this is nothing.

Obedient, I nod and tip the pitcher, watching the deep red liquid fill his cup. The scent of wine mingles with something else, probably the musk of his skin, the cloying spice of perfume.

Then I feel it.

Fingers. A light touch against my hip.

I freeze.

His hand slides lower, a slow, measured caress over the curve of my bottom. Not an accident. Not a fleeting brush. Deliberate. Possessive. My breath stutters in my throat. Heat rushes to my face as the shame burns my cheeks. My grip tightens around the pitcher, my knuckles aching. My heart hammers so hard I fear he will hear it.

“So soft,” he murmurs, voice just low enough that no one else can hear. His fingers press, just barely. “Just the way I like them.”

A violent shudder rips through me. I want to pull away, to vanish into the shadows, to scrub my skin until the touch is gone, but I cannot move. If I recoil, if I react, it will amuse him. He will do it again. He will do worse.

I cannot afford to anger him.

My lips part, but no words come. I feel sick. Then, at last, his hand withdraws. I take a step back, too quickly, nearly knocking into a passing servant. My hands tremble as I clutch the pitcher to my chest, my breath uneven.

Geta chuckles, swirling his wine as if nothing happened.

I force myself to turn, to disappear into the crowd. My skin crawls where he touched me, my pulse wild and unsteady. I do not look back.

The amphora in my arms is empty, yet I clutch it as if it anchors me. The banquet hall hums with noise, laughters, voices slurring over wine, the clatter of golden plates against marble tables. I turn, ready to retrieve another amphora, when a woman steps into my path. Elegantly dressed, her stola draped in fine fabric that glimmers under the torchlight. Gold clasps hold her garment in place, her wrists jingling with bracelets. Her are dark hair pined with pearls, her lips painted a deep shade of red. She is a senator’s wife, one of the many noblewomen who float through these halls with quiet authority.

“Take him.”

She presses something into my arms before I can protest.

Warmth. Small weight. Soft breath against my skin.

A baby.

I freeze.

The infant stirs, his tiny fingers curling instinctively. His face is round, his cheeks flushed from the warmth of the room. Dark lashes flutter over unfocused eyes, and then, as if sensing my hesitation, he shifts against me, nuzzling closer.

“My son’s nurse is unwell,” the woman says quickly, her voice edged with impatience. “I need to speak with someone. Just for a moment.”

Before I can answer, before I can even think, she is gone. Her perfume, a mix of myrrh and roses, lingers in the air, but she is already lost in the sea of nobles. I swallow hard. The child sighs against my chest, utterly content. My heart, however, hammers wildly. I glance around, desperate. No one pays me any mind, too lost in feasts and politics. My grip tightens instinctively, cradling the infant’s fragile body with more care than I thought myself capable of.

“Y/N.”

I look up sharply.

Claudia stands nearby, an amphora balanced on her hip. Her brows lift as she takes in the scene before her.

“You’re holding a baby.”

“I know,” I whisper, still stunned. I shift, adjusting my grip, afraid to move too suddenly. “I… She just handed him to me. I don’t know and…”

“Stay calm.” Claudia interrupts, setting her amphora aside. “You’re doing well.”

I blink down at the child. His tiny hand reaches up, catching a loose strand of my hair, tugging weakly. A small giggle bubbles from his lips. Something warm flickers in my chest, so strange, unexpected.

Then Claudia’s voice lowers:

“You see to have their attention.”

The warmth turns to ice. I don’t look. I don’t need to. My skin prickles, my breath turns shallow. The weight of their stares is unmistakable.

“Are you talking about…”

“The Emperors, yes.” she sighs as I keep focusing on the sweet little boy in my arms, with the cutest toothless smile, showing his gums.

Alas, the blood drains from my face. I keep my eyes forward, but I feel them. Their presence is heavy, suffocating, like the brush of a blade against my throat. I grip the child closer, not for his sake but for mine, my hands trembling against the soft linen of his wrappings.

When will they leave me alone? Can’t they just annoy their concubines and prostitutes?

“I’m scared…” I admit, in a barely audible whisper. The words taste bitter on my tongue.

Claudia exhales, her gaze flickering toward the head of the hall. She hesitates before speaking, her voice softer this time, almost reassuring.

“You’ll be fine. With what we’ve done, with your idea, you’ll be fine.”

I part my lips, but the words never come. The baby shifts in my arms, yawning, utterly unaware of the storm swirling around us. I envy him and his innocence. He doesn’t know what women have to do to protect themselves…

The kitchens are bustling with preparation, servants rushing around, and the scent of roasting meat and freshly baked bread filling the air. I can hear the clatter of pots and pans as the cooks ready themselves for the evening's feast. But Claudia has pulled me aside, her grip tight on my arm as she leads me away from the noise, back toward the linen storage.

“Here, we have everything now.” she mutters, rummaging through a stack of sheets. “Wrap these around your hips. Now.”

I blink, confusion creeping into my mind. “Claudia, what…? Here ? Maybe I…”

“Just do it, we have no time to lost. After that we will be to busy and the others are about to join us!” she insists, pressing the sheets into my hands. “We need to make sure Geta doesn’t try anything tonight. For Caracalla, you can only pray the Goddess Diana for your safety.”

If only she knew… Would she keep protecting me?

The weight of her words settles on me and I swallow hard. My heart races as I move into the corner of the room, away from prying eyes. I unwrap the sheets, the soft fabric cool against my skin, as she brings wine and let it spill a little on the inside. Even if’s wait, I awkwardly begin to wrap them around my waist, under my dress.

“It will do. Madder roots would have been ideal, but it’s fine.”

She steps closer, her fingers quickly working on the knots.

“Trust me, we need this to look real. If anyone sees, you’ll be safe. No one will question you.” She adds in a lower voice.

I watch her carefully, my throat tight with nerves. The sheets settle around my hips, and I can feel the pressure as Claudia pricks her fingertips with a small dagger. She reaches out, using the tiny wound to stain the fabric with droplets of blood on the outside. The color spreads across the cloth, darkening it into something unmistakably real.

I stare at the makeshift “evidence” of my menstruations, my emptying womb, my hands trembling. It's not what I expected. It’s not what I ever wanted. But for a fleeting moment, a sense of relief washes over me. At least with this, it might help me.

I glance at Claudia, my throat tight, but my gratitude overpowers the shame.

“Thank you. You’re so kind with me.” I whisper.

She nods, her face unreadable, but there’s a softness in her eyes that I can’t ignore. Without thinking, I step forward and hug her, just for a moment, holding onto the small comfort she’s given me. It’s brief, but in the quiet of the kitchens, it feels like everything. When I pull away, Claudia looks at me, her lips pressed in a thin line.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Even if they manage to make you a woman, I heard their concubines loves them. They are not bad in bed…”

If her words are supposes to give me some relief, it’s the whole contrary. Losing my virginity isn’t only about the fear of becoming an unmarried mother, no. It’s about my purity. It’s about sin.  

Sin…

Sins devour these two Emperors from within, poisoning their minds to the point of necrosis.

I slid my hand on my abdomen, pressing down just enough to mimic the dull ache that I know would be there if I weren’t pretending. A cramp. It feels real, the pressure on my muscles, but it’s all for show. Claudia’s voice breaks through my thoughts, soft and measured.

“You need to step away, Y/N. They’ll be expecting you to serve what they want by the end of the night.”

I nod, but something holds me back, something about the baby in my arms. The little boy's tiny hands grasp at my sleeve, his eyes half-closed, and I find myself in no rush to move.

“But what about the baby?” I ask, my voice low, almost hesitant.

Claudia watches me for a moment, her eyes flicking over the room.

“Enjoy holding him as long as you can, he keeps them from coming over. They have to maintain a certain decorum, after all.”

I glance down at the baby, my heart pounding as I hold him more securely, the weight of his small body strangely comforting.

“How do you know that?” I dare to ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Claudia’s lips curl into a knowing smile.

“I can read lips.” Her voice is steady, but there’s something dark in her eyes. “I know almost everything they’ve been saying.”

I freeze, my pulse quickening. She piques my curiosity with great interest. I want to know every last detail to give myself the best possible chance of thwarting their plans.

“What... what were they saying?”

Claudia lowers her voice, her gaze flicking between me and the emperors at the far end of the hall. “Both of them want to… fuck you. It’s been a long time since they’ve had a virgin woman for themselves.”

My stomach tightens. I feel the baby’s breath against my skin, his warmth a contrast to the icy knot forming in my gut.

“They’re in competition,” Claudia continues, almost casually, “but they also want to share you. They don’t want to cause a scene right now, though. They’re more captivated by you holding the baby. It’s... it’s a kind of shield.”

I can’t move. The words echo in my mind, drowning out everything else, and I’m frozen in place, my heartbeat roaring in my ears. Claudia gives me one last look, her expression unreadable.

“Good luck, my poor friend…”

And with that, she turns, blending back into the crowd before one the matrona or the Magister Domus come for us. Now, I don’t know what to do. My thoughts feel like they’re unraveling, but the baby in my arms is the only thing grounding me. His soft, infant cries pull me from my haze, and I shift my weight, rocking him gently in my arms, my hands trembling.

“Shhht… You’re alright.”

His cries grow louder, more insistent, and I focus on the rhythmic motion, trying to block out the sick feeling rising in my chest. Rock him, just rock him. That’s all I can do, until he slowly calms down. He starts smiling again at me, making soft and adorable sounds.

*

The scent of wine and wax drifts through the corridors as I hurry past the last remnants of the feast. Servants murmur to one another as they scrub the floors, sweeping away the night’s indulgence, but their voices fade as I slip into the shadows. My heart pounds against my ribs, loud enough that I fear someone might hear it. At first, I started to clean with the others, but as there’s only a few guests left, I know I have to leave. Quickly. Very quickly. They will come looking for me.

What harassers those bastards are! They're not used to being resisted!

I shouldn’t think about him like that but I couldn’t help myself. Being terrified and tired is not the best mix. I keep my head down, my steps careful but swift. My hands shake, and I clench my fingers into fists to steady them. The corridor stretches before me, torchlight flickering along the polished marble. Every step I take feels heavier than the last.

I take an unfamiliar path, mostly used by palace attendants when they need to move unnoticed, even if it’s not forbidden for servants. It twists away from the grand halls, leading deeper into the servant quarters, away from the lavish opulence of the imperial feast. The air here is cooler, the echoes of laughter and conversation fading into silence.

Then… I hear sandals slamming in rhythm.

Not the soft shuffle of slaves nor the hurried steps of attendants. These are measured, deliberate. Metal clinks against leather.

Praetorian guards.

I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. They are close. Too close.

I move, pushing my legs forward, forcing my limbs to obey. Each heartbeat slams against my ribs, urging me faster. The corridor opens into a larger hall, vast and empty at this hour. My gaze darts around, searching. The flickering torches cast long shadows against the walls, offering little refuge.

Then I see it, the statue of a god, towering and solemn, carved in cold marble. It looms near one of the columns, its presence commanding, its base wide enough to hide behind.

I don’t even think longer.

I dive behind it, pressing myself into the darkness. My knees scrape against the stone floor as I crouch low, curling into the shadows. My fingers tremble as they press against the cold marble, seeking something solid in a world spinning out of control.

The guards enter first, their armor catching the dim light. They stop, waiting.

Then, voices.

Deep. Familiar.

Caracalla speaks first, his tone light, almost amused. “Where is she?”

“Gone,” Geta replies, calmer. Confident. “For now.”

I press my forehead to the stone, my breath coming in shallow, silent gasps. My body aches from holding still, but I don’t dare move.

“She is a free citizen,” Caracalla muses, voice laced with curiosity. “One of the servants told me.”

A pause.

“Even better, it’s more interesting.” Geta murmurs.

A cold shiver runs through me. Another step echoes in the hall. Slow. Purposeful.

“She is more beautiful than Decima, don’t you think?” Caracalla chuckles, his voice thick with something dark.

Silence stretches between them. My pulse pounds in my ears.

“And untouched.” Geta adds.

I squeeze my eyes shut. My nails bite into my palms, sharp enough to sting. The guards shift behind them, their presence a quiet reminder of the power standing in this room. Caracalla exhales, almost a sigh.

“She won’t get far.”

A footstep. Closer.

Geta’s voice is soft, almost teasing.

“Find her. We don’t have all night.”

They keep moving in the corridor, until I seized the opportunity to leave my hiding place and turn back to make sure I didn't run into them. They’ll get bored with not finding me eventually, won’t they? I turn off into another corridor and suddenly a male face assails my field of vision. The moment the guard’s fingers tighten around my arm, a jolt of terror runs through me. I twist violently, trying to break free, my breath coming in shallow gasps. His grip remains firm, unyielding, like an iron shackle.

“No, let me go!” My voice rises in desperation, but he only grips me tighter, pulling me closer.

“Be quiet!” he hisses, his eyes darting around the corridor.

I shake my head, struggling harder, my nails digging into his wrist. My stomach churns, my pulse pounding in my ears. I thrash, my feet dragging against the polished stone floor. The flickering torchlight reveals his face, his clothes, a Praetorian guard, young but hardened, his expression taut with regret.

“I’m sorry, I have no choice.” he whispers, his breath warm against my temple.

A cry builds in my throat, but I bite it back.

No choice? He says it as if that justifies the horror of this moment, as if his guilt will erase the fact that he is dragging me toward my doom.

Another guard steps forward at his silent command, nods, and turns down a corridor.

“Tell them we’ve found her.” my captor instructs.

I push against him, my chest heaving. My sandals scrape against the floor as he half-lifts me to keep me moving.

“Please!” My voice cracks. “Please, don’t do this.”

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer, he just drags me along. The corridor seems to stretch endlessly, each step heavy with dread. Even the atrium is eerily silent now, the distant laughter and drunken murmurs of the lingering guests fading into nothing. We pass through gilded archways and towering marble pillars, deeper into the imperial quarters. Every fiber of my being screams at me to run, to fight, to do anything other than submit to the fate awaiting me beyond those heavy doors.

But I am powerless. I’m just a citizen. A woman… In a world where our voice doesn’t matter. We’re only wombs to men.

When we finally reach the chamber, the guard releases me so suddenly I nearly stumble forward. I freeze, my hands trembling at my sides. The room is impressive, larger than anything I’ve ever stepped foot in, drowning in excess, a symbol of opulence. A massive bed dominates the space, its silken canopy shimmering in the dim candlelight. Thick tapestries hang from the walls, embroidered with golden thread. The air is thick with the scent of wine, oil lamps, and myrrh.

My stomach twists violently.

This place was designed for indulgence. For pleasure.

For possession.

The door closes behind me with a dull thud, sealing me inside.

I barely hear the guard step back. My thoughts race too fast, crashing into each other.

If I run, they’ll catch me.

If I stay, they’ll come.

I press a shaking hand to my stomach, as if I can hold my fear in place before it consumes me whole.

God, help me.

Not long after that, the door creaks as it opens slowly, and I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. I can hear their footsteps echoing down the long corridor. Geta and Caracalla, their voices muffled but unmistakable, grow nearer.

I take a breath, forcing myself to steady my trembling hands, my fingers still pressed tightly against my abdomen as if that would shield me from whatever might come next. I can’t escape now. I have nowhere to go.

“Quite the clever trick!” Caracalla’s voice cuts through the air, amused, almost mocking. He chuckles, and I shudder at the sound.

My eyes flicker to Geta, who is already stepping forward, a cold glint in his eyes.

“Did you really think you could hide from us?”

His words are soft, almost too calm, and it makes my skin prickle with unease. He moves closer, his presence overwhelming. I instinctively take a few steps back, but there’s nowhere to go. The wall is cold against my back, and my breath comes in shallow, panicked gasps. He’s too close. Too close.

Geta’s fingers reach out to trace the line of my jaw, and I flinch, my heart racing in my chest. His touch is gentle, too romantic, like he’s savoring the fear in my eyes. I try to pull away, but his other hand finds my hair, pulling it loose from its bindings with slow, deliberate movements. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears.

“Don’t be afraid…” the younger twin whispers he murmurs, his voice low, almost like a caress. But there’s nothing comforting in it. The weight of his gaze presses down on me, and I can feel my entire body shaking.

“You should have known better than to mock us.” He adds softly, his thumb brushing over my lip, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are dark, predatory, and I have no choice but to meet his stare. His fingers tighten on my chin, holding me in place.

I swallow, my voice barely a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Augustus.”

The words come out without meaning, but they slip past my lips anyway, because it’s the only thing I can say. I’m not sorry. But I need him to think I am.

“Undress.”

My eyes widen and I gasp for breath. Did I hear right? Yes, there’s no doubt about it, especially when his eyes study every inch of my body, from my shoulders to my chest, right down to my hips. I swallow hard and try to free myself from Geta’s grip, but to no avail. He pulls me against him, preventing me from escaping, even as I struggle, provoking hilarity from his brother. Geta manages to drag me with him to his bed, where he pushes me down. I step back to get away from him, while Caracalla joins us, pulls himself up behind me and pushes me onto my back, his head above mine. Prompt, eager to snatch my innocent, Caracalla grabs the edges of my dress and rips them open to reveal my bare chest. His brother climbs over me like a predator and pulls the shreds of my dress up over my hips. Despite my vision fogged by the salt water, I notice that Geta stands still, brows furrowed, eyes glued to the bloodstains.

Are they still going to rape me?

Unable to hold back the tears, they burn my eyes and cascade down my cheeks. I can’t think. I can’t move. I feel as if my soul is leaving my body. I’m nothing but a nerospastos (puppet). Suddenly, their hands release my body and something strange happens, their expressions change. The grip of the Emperors is too tight. I tear myself away, the weight of their presence sinking into my bones. I curl into myself, my knees pulled to my chest, my hands trembling against the sheets. Their gaze burns through me, silent and heavy, a weight I can’t escape.

A long silence stretches. The room is still, only the sound of my ragged breaths breaking the quiet. Then, suddenly, I feel it. Arms, strong, familiar, wrap around me, pulling me into something that feels like safety, but it's not. I shiver, but I don’t move, my body frozen beneath the touch of Caracalla, by back against his chest. His scent hits me before I even really feel his fingers. The familiar mix of cedar wood, leather, and something deeper, darker. His fingers trace lazy circles on my bare shoulders, my skin burning at the contact. The movement stops, and then pinch. He pinches my thigh, close to my hips. I flinch, my breath caught in my throat.

“Carnal pleasure is fun. Pleasurable. Enjoyable. Don’t cry.” He comments, his voice low, teasing.

I shake my head, my vision blurring. No, no, no. The walls close in, my heart racing as though it’s trying to escape my chest. I can’t breathe. My throat is tight, and panic claws at the edges of my mind. My breathing quickens, but paradoxically, the air doesn’t rush to my lungs. My face blazes, and it has nothing to do with embarrassment or my nakedness. My hands go to my throat.

“Caracalla, move away. She can’t breathe.”

But his brother doesn’t listen, me pulls me tighter, his chest against my back, holding me still. His fingers graze the nape of my neck, soothing in their rhythm, but I don’t calm down.

“She’s suffocating,” Geta repeats, his voice now sharp, filled with anger. “Move.”

Caracalla laughs, the sound grating in my ears.

“She’s fine. Relax, dear brother.”

“Move. I don’t want her to die in my bed.” Geta’s command is cold, final.

I feel Caracalla’s hands leave my hips — reluctantly, it seems — but the space between us feels worse. He’s forcing me to straighten, his body pushing me up against him, my back rigid against his chest. I feel his breath against my neck as he pulls me back, his fingers splaying across my ribs to hold me steady.

The room spins, my heart a drum in my ears. I feel something cool touch my wrist… Geta. His rings. His hands are gentle as they guide mine to my chest, urging me to breathe.

“Deep breaths.” Geta says softly, his voice surprisingly calm. “In… out… slowly. Focus on the air.”

My chest is tight, too tight. My body refuses to listen, but his touch anchors me. Slowly, I find my breath again. In. Out. In. Out. The sobs begin to subside, and my pulse starts to steady.

“Good, keep breathing.”

I close my eyes, the tears drying on my face, the weight of their eyes still heavy on me. But for a moment, I can breathe.

I can barely feel everything around me, my knees pressing into the mattress, the sheets, the sharp chill cutting through my skin. I should be angry. I should be terrified. But all I can feel right now is this overwhelming dizziness that clouds my mind, like I'm trapped in a nightmare that’s far too vivid. The weight of it presses down on me, a suffocating blanket I can’t shake off.

I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I’ve never felt so small, so… powerless. The reality of this room, their presence, feels wrong, like a cruel game, and I’m nothing more than a pawn. Why is this happening? What have I done to deserve this?

Is this some kind of punishment from God?

The question lingers in my mind, unanswered, and my pulse races in my ears, too fast to catch.

I glance at Geta as he leaves the bed, moves across the room, his steps measured, deliberate. He’s different now, almost too calm, and I don’t know what to make of it. He picks up a cloth from a table nearby, the soft fabric stark against the dim room. Without a word, he sats in front of me, his gaze steady, as if trying to read something in my face. His eyes soften, but there’s no kindness there. It’s something more controlled, something colder.

He hands me the handkerchief, and I take it with trembling hands, pressing it to my face. My breath catches as I blow my nose, the sound sharp and uncomfortably loud in the silence. I feel exposed, vulnerable in ways I can’t even begin to describe.

Geta doesn’t move, though. He watches me for a moment longer, his gaze unreadable. Then he dips another cloth in the water basin beside him, returning to my side. His movements are slow, almost too careful, as if he’s considering every touch. He begins to wipe my face, and the coldness of the cloth against my skin sends a shiver through me. At first, the sensation is numbing, a strange contrast to the heat that still lingers beneath the surface, but slowly, I start to feel the tension ease from my shoulders. The water on my skin is refreshing, grounding. Alas, it doesn’t take away the gnawing uncertainty that twists deep in my stomach.

When he’s done, he doesn’t speak immediately, just sits back on his heels, studying me. My breathing is still shaky, but it’s more controlled now. My body feels like it’s been drained of all energy, each breath a labor. The dizziness is still there, swirling like a storm in my head, but I cling to the sensation of the water, as if it might offer me some clarity.

Then Geta speaks again, and his voice is a low, almost mechanical whisper.

“You belong to us now. Whether you like it or not.”

My stomach lurches. The words fall on me like stones, sinking deep. I want to scream, to fight, but my voice won’t come. I want to stand, to break free of the chains they’ve bound me with, but I feel nothing but weakness in my limbs. I don’t know what to say, how to respond.

“We don’t want to rape you,” he says, his eyes searching mine, as if gauging my reaction. “We want things to be pleasant for the three of us.”

I can’t breathe. The words hit me harder than I thought possible, and I feel the panic creep back, sharp and fast, my chest tightening again. My mind scrambles to hold onto something, anything, but it slips through my fingers like sand. No. No, no, no.

“I’m a virgin… I made a vow of chastity... until marriage.” I manage to croak, my voice trembling with the weight of it. The truth feels foreign on my tongue.  Caracalla’s laughter cuts through the air, harsh and mocking.

“We are above your God!” he sneers, his words dripping with something venomous. “You’ll be devoted to us, just as you will be devoted to Rome. We are Rome. You will bend to us. Just as you bend to your God."

Geta steps closer, and his presence looms over me, impossible to ignore.

“Tonight, you will receive your first lesson.” His voice is colder now, but there’s a strange tenderness beneath it, something soft but calculated. “A kiss.”

A kiss. I blink and my lips slightly part. My heart stutters, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind, none of them coherent. A kiss?

Caracalla moves around to gaze at my face, his lips curling into a smirk, and then he asks, his tone mocking:

“Have you ever been kissed?”

I shake my head, the motion small, almost imperceptible. I can’t even look at them.

Geta’s eyes widen slightly, a flicker of something crossing his face, but then his lips curl into something like amusement.

“You look like a Vestal Virgin.” he comments softly, almost as if to himself.

My pulse quickens, the strange mix of shame and curiosity twisting in my chest. I don’t know how to feel, what to think, or how to respond to him. I don’t know what they want from me, or how I can escape this. Then Geta is closer, his hand gently lifting my chin, guiding my face up to meet his. His touch is delicate, almost respectful, but I can’t bring myself to trust it. I can’t bring myself to trust anything. His lips are on mine before I can react. It’s soft at first, almost tentative, like a question. I don’t know how to respond. The warmth of his mouth against mine feels wrong, and yet, there’s a strange comfort in it. The tenderness is unexpected, almost… kind. It’s a feeling I don’t know how to process, a feeling I can’t reconcile with everything else that’s happening. Slowly, he deepens the kiss, his lips pressing harder against mine, coaxing me, drawing something out of me that I can’t name. It’s gentle, but there’s an intensity to it that makes me tremble.

I feel it then… These goosebumps, rising on my skin, warmth spreading from my chest to my fingers. Something inside me stirs, a flicker of heat that I can’t deny. I’m surprised by it. I’m surprised by how… pleasant it feels. How good it feels. I let him guide me, my lips parting slightly, and his kiss deepens, growing more passionate, more insistent. The warmth of his mouth on mine becomes almost intoxicating. His tongues tease mine, they dance together, they play cat and mouse. A small moan escapes me, making him growl.

It’s strange, and yet, something about it feels right. My heart slows, the dizzying panic I felt earlier fading, replaced by something new, something unsettling but almost… pleasant.

Suddenly, Geta pulls back, his breath shaky, his lips wet, and I can feel the heat of his gaze on me, intense and searching. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me, as if waiting for something. When I open my eyes, his lips curl into a satisfied smile.

“That…” he says, his voice lower now, “was just the beginning.”

I’m still reeling from Geta’s kiss, my lips tingling, my breath unsteady. But before I can fully process what just happened, Caracalla steps forward, his presence overpowering in a way that makes my heart race. He doesn’t wait for his turn. His hand grips my chin with a fierceness I wasn’t expecting, tilting my head back just enough for his mouth to claim mine. There’s nothing gentle in this kiss. It’s demanding, insistent, and hot, his lips pressing against mine with an urgency that makes my pulse spike. The passion in his kiss is different from Geta’s, rougher, more impatient.

It's something more primal.

He doesn’t give me time to adjust, his tongue pushing past my lips, tasting me before I even have a chance to pull away. His fingers slide over my shoulders, caress the exposed skin, reaching my collarbones and I can’t help but let out another moan of embarrassment against his mouth. The sound seems to please him. He pulls back slightly, just enough for me to gasp for air, and I feel his smile against my lips, smug and satisfied.

“Did you like that?” he mutters, his voice low and teasing.

I can’t find the words, and I’m too humiliated to answer. I don’t know what I feel, only that their touch leaves a fire in its wake, a fire I don’t know how to control.

Caracalla’s fingers trace over my skin one last time before he steps back, grinning widely. The flicker of candlelight highlights his gold tooth, and for a moment, I feel like I’m trapped in some nightmare that I can’t escape. His gaze lingers on me, amused, as if he knows exactly what’s running through my mind. I’m still struggling to steady my breath when Geta clears his throat. He motions toward the bed.

“It’s time to sleep.” he promises, his tone even, as though none of this is out of the ordinary.

Sleep. The word doesn’t sit right with me. The thought of lying down beside them, of being in that bed with both of them, fills me with dread. I can’t even begin to process it. Thankfully, Geta’s voice is calm, almost soothing.

“We won’t touch you tonight. Just sleep. That’s all.”

His words don’t reassure me. I don’t know if I can trust them. My heart races in my chest, the fear settling deep in my bones. Emperor Geta notices my hesitation and steps closer, his expression unreadable.

“We’re not going to hurt you…” he says, his tone almost gentle. “Not tonight.”

I want to argue, to demand that they let me go, but the words don’t come. What can I say to that? What choice do I have?

Caracalla is already taking of his clothes to get inside the beds, prawling out with a casualness that makes my stomach twist. I glance back at Geta, still unsure, still terrified. He doesn’t look at me with the same intensity that Caracalla does, but his gaze is still unwavering, as if he’s waiting for me to make the next move. Slowly, he also undresses and just like with his brother, I make sure to not look at his manhood. On the opposite of Caracalla, he wraps himself in a thin wardrobe, before he joins us.

I don’t want to sleep in that bed. I don’t want to lie beside them, surrounded by the overwhelming weight of their power. Slowly, with shaking hands and legs, I slid under the covers too, the fabric so soft, so silky.  Caracalla chuckles softly, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to bite.”

And as I turn my back to him, preferring to see Geta’s covered chest, I feel the craziest ginger getting closer to me, his hardening manhood pressing against my behind. If my cheeks are on fire, I bite my lower lip and close my eyes. All I can do now is pray to remain a virgin until I wake up.

---

I apologize to anyone expecting smut in the first chapters, but you'll have to be patient. Reader is a Catholic virgin, so she's not going to want to get laid so easily, let alone ride a dick like a champ' lol So yes, in the end, it's a bit of a slow burn, but not too much. I'm just trying to be logical. Things are progressing gradually. I think the lack of sex scenes is why I don't have that much readers, but I have to stay consistent :) I was supposed to post tomorrow, but I wanted too much to know your reactions, so I hurried. Let me know what you think! I'm just like a kid 🤭

My AO3: BetrayedWriter

My Instagram: carolinemertz_

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⚔️ Taglist: @duckyhowls @babey-fruit-bat, @punk-in-docs, @t6gse370, @angelcloudxxsblog, @miragens-para-uma-vitoria, @himikoquack, @chloe-skywalker

[mikashisus]

❛ ── WE COULD SAY 'LET IT BE' ❜

⤷ synopsis. the two of you never acknowledged the wedge between you when it came to secrets... there was simply no need.

aventurine x gn!reader. 1.6k. ( contents : hurt/comfort ) ╱ taglist. @wystiix @pneumosia @kazuinvocation @pinkxpantha @pixelcafe-network ( art creds : miothle ) HAPPY BIRTHDAY @theother-victoria ML !!!

06:30 system hours 

(Name) I have a new suit in the shop! Just finished the tailoring yesterday :3  06:30 PM

(Name) I know u can see this (╥﹏╥)  07:20 PM

(Name) Well… come to the shop when u get the chance! U mentioned wanting a new suit last time we talked, and I even added more of those feathers u like! (´｡• ᵕ •｡) 07:41 PM

He pocketed his phone with a small smile. That’s right, he almost forgot about your little surprise. When he briefly mentioned potentially wanting a new suit, your eyes sparkled with delight. Next thing he knew, he was sending you his measurements, and you had disappeared to your workshop to begin the tailoring process. 

You didn’t have to do this for him… you really didn’t. He was fine with the current suit he was wearing. Yet, the pure joy in your eyes as you whipped out your sketchbook and began designing was something he didn’t want to take away from you. 

It was clear you loved your job. You’d often send him pictures of your newest creations, or videos of you trying on some of the designs. When he was holed up in the comfort of his room, he’d smile— genuinely smile —and admire the joy in your voice as you explained all the details of your work. 

Tonight was a brilliant night in the dreamscape. The stars shimmered brightly overhead as the sounds of the busy streets of the Golden Hour encompassed him. He wasn’t keeping track of the time, too lost in his thoughts to really know how long he had spent up here on this roof. Eventually, he’d return to his room— maybe stop off at your shop first, if he had the energy. 

Right now, however, he wanted to spend a little more time gazing out at the sight of the seemingly endless dreamscape. 

He recalled the first time he met you; It had been shortly after the Charmony Festival on the Radiant Feldspar. You had been chatting idly with Ms. Jade, your excitement palpable as you showed the woman a series of gorgeous dress and pantsuit designs on your phone. She hummed approvingly, pointing to a black, white, and navy pantsuit that caught her eye. Before you could further entertain her with your services, she caught sight of Aventurine.

Instinctively, a polite, orchestrated smile appeared on his lips as he approached the two of you. You greeted him with an eager smile, one so bright it sent him reeling. 

You gave him your name, and he repeated it over again in his head, wondering why it had been so familiar, when you gave him the answer to his voiceless question. “I’m Miss Robin’s personal designer, though my workshop is located here on Penacony.” 

Ah. So you were the famed designer for the idol, Robin. You had been the one to make all her dresses that were adored all over the cosmos. He wouldn’t be surprised if your services were booked for the next three Amber Eras. 

It was clear Jade was seeking out your services. “Would you be able to complete a full line for the IPC’s Ten Stonehearts?” The woman questioned, her sultry voice grabbing your attention once more.

Your eyes lit up instantaneously. You quickly reached for the sketchbook hanging at your side and flipped to an open page. He caught a glimpse of some of the designs. One suit stood out in particular, though it was gone in a split second. 

“I’d be honored, Ms. Jade! What for? A gala? Ball? Seasonal event? Casual work wear? Sleepwear? What about—” You continued to ramble, listing more than a dozen options. How in the world could you talk so fast? 

Jade smiled at your enthusiasm. “How about something sophisticated for an ornate, formal event? Akin to the Charmony Festival.” 

You nodded, scribbling down notes in your sketchbook. “Got it. I’d like to keep in touch, if that’s okay with you, Ms. Jade. For more details and occasional pictures.” 

“Of course. I’ll give you my work number.” 

As you exchanged contacts with Jade, you sent a small glance in Aventurine’s direction. There was a certain look in your eyes he couldn’t quite place. He only figured it out later when he found you in a quiet corner of the Feldspar, humming softly as you sketched out a lavish suit. 

His usual, cordial smile took homage on his lips once more as he approached slowly, the clack of his shoes alerting you as your head whipped up. There was a brief flash of fear, before you relaxed, and he was once again sent reeling. 

What in the world was that? 

You didn’t give him time to mull over it, as you greeted him with a smile. “Ah, Mr. Aventurine! I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your suit.” 

A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes. Suit? You didn’t need to include him in whatever Jade was scheming, though the thought of owning something entirely his with his preferences didn’t sound too bad. Yet, at the same time, it wasn’t necessary. 

Despite that thought, he entertained you. He gave you a curt nod. “Alright, then. Ask away, friend.” 

And that was how he wound up in the palm of your hand— whether it had been willingly or unwillingly. You found it difficult to slice open the layers of him underneath his carefully structured cordial smile, and he found himself wondering what could’ve possibly happened to you to make you as antsy as a mouse. Curiosity went both ways, he supposed. 

Though the two of you never acknowledged the wedge between you when it came to secrets, there was still an unspoken appreciation for the other’s company. He found himself wanting to seek you out, but every time, he restrained himself. He couldn’t allow himself to rely on someone. 

Then, your warm smile would appear in his mind, and he’d get that same twisting feeling in his stomach that he always got when he thought of you. 

His phone buzzed once more, and he reached for it, a small smile already on his face as he imagined what you could’ve sent him next. Maybe this time it was a picture of the suit, or maybe even a video of you begging him to come see it because your excitement was too great. However, it wasn’t either of those. Instead, it was a business related text. 

His smile faded, and he let out a heavy sigh as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Business could wait. Though, from Topaz’s cordial tone, it seemed quite serious. He weighed his options in his head, his thoughts jumbling together like a mess of colors on a canvas. 

Then, he made a choice. 

The scent of earth and musk entered his nose as he pushed open the door to the shop. The bells above the door jingled loudly, making him wince. There was a slight shuffling from the back room as he gazed around at all the displays. From elegant ball gowns, to casual chic, to professional work wear— anything under the sun could be found in your shop. 

“Coming!” He heard you call, then a loud thump as something was knocked to the floor. 

He softly chuckled, picturing your clumsiness in his head. A loud sigh sounded, and that same twisting feeling entered his stomach again as he laid eyes on you. You looked up, patting down your pants, and beamed as you met his eyes. 

“Aventurine!” 

He couldn’t recall when you dropped the formalities. He said your name, a name that has plagued his mind since he met you. 

“Come, look!” You, eager to show him the suit you finished, dragged him by the sleeve into the back room— which just so happened to be where your workshop was located. The dusty scent of fabric grew stronger as you both entered. 

You led him over to the mannequin showcasing the extravagant suit and clasped your hands together, a small giggle leaving your lips as you awaited his reaction. He took in the sight of the peacock feathers first, running his fingers over them. They were soft, fluffy, akin to the fur lining his jacket. The teal coat reached the floor, with golden tassels on the ends. The gold and black suit shimmered under the dim lights of your workshop, and it was then he realized you added a little extra flair (sparkles) to the entire thing. 

“Would you like to try it on?” You asked, your eyes flickering between him and your masterpiece. 

He was speechless. What could he say? He couldn’t form a single sentence, his mind racing as he stared at the suit in awe. Was this really for him? Did you seriously spend countless hours on this just because you wanted to? 

It was hard to believe. 

Your excited smile eased into one of comfort. “It’ll be waiting here for you.”

He had never confided in you. You didn’t know who he was outside of Aventurine, yet somehow, that wasn’t needed for you to understand him. It was the same with you— he wasn’t aware of what caused you to become so guarded, but he found himself understanding you anyway. 

There was a wedge between you; it was a very obvious one. However, you both refused to act on it. There was simply no need. 

11:00 system hours 

Aventurine Thank you. 11:01 PM

(Name)  The suit looks marvelous on u!!! (≧∇≦) 11:09 PM

Aventurine [sent 50,000 credits] 11:12 PM

(Name)  ( ˶°ㅁ°) !! WHAT U don’t need to do that!!! It’s free!!!  11:14 PM

Aventurine You deserve to be compensated, anyway. Besides, I might request your services in the future 11:17 PM

(Name) I still don’t think 50,000 is necessary though.. (╥﹏╥)  11:23 PM

Aventurine Just take it, (Name) Please 11:24 PM

(Name) Fineeeee but only bc I can’t refuse u!! 11:26 PM

He chuckled softly and turned his phone off, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

notes. HAPPY BIRTHDAY VIC !!! i rlly rlly hope u enjoyed this, i spent the whole afternoon on it and i was so scared bc i've never written for aven before so i was like aaaaaa i don't wanna mischaracterize him 🤕💔 i'm also sorry this is so late !!! i hope u had the best bday ever ml aka the black cat to my orange cat, my drinking buddy, my fellow lethal co enjoyer 🤍🤍🤍 also huge ty to gwen and mira for proofreading mwah mwah

© 2025 mikashisus.

[sensitivepluto]

I Do

Short & Sweet - Day 6: Arranged Marriage

Gojo Satoru x Femme! Reader // angst/semi-fluff

[CW]: arranged marriage, past abuse mention (not detailed), a lil angsty, femme presenting reader, pet names

This is @thewritingstar's prompt list - here's the link to the post!

You always thought that when you finally got married, it would be for love. There would finally be a day that you would be able to run away from the family you were bound to with blood. Many days of your childhood were spent dreaming of some strong knight whisking away from this house littered with chaos and hatred.

Unfortunately for you, born into a household meant to carry a male sorcerer, you were a female. The last born female at that. You pitied your poor brother who was all but left behind when it came to that he had no cursed abilities, not even able to see the curses that plagued the world. Your second sibling, another boy, carried the same ill fate.

When you were born, it was nothing short of the worst luck for your family. And when you were finally old enough to discover your talents, shame arose to your family's name. What good was another sorcerer if you couldn't even carry on your family's legacy? What a shame to have two perfectly good sons, but for talent to be bestowed upon the girl.

Your childhood was rough, to say in the least. So you spent a lot of your time hidden away as to not fan the flames of wrath coming from your parents. You read stories of fairytale maidens saved by heroes and loved by all. It was your dream to finally feel that compassion from another. It had to happen.

On your eighteenth birthday you had no celebration, just like every other year. Your parents sat you down and slapped a thick binder in front of you. When you looked up to the with question you were met with harsh eyes and even harsher scowls.

"A contract." Your father explained after many moments of silence. "This is an arranged contract for your marriage to the newly sworn head to the Gojo clan. Satoru Gojo." It made no sense to you. Why the hell would they be trying to arrange a marriage like this? And why does this clan want anything to do with your family?

"Don't look so glum." Your mother almost growled at you. "This way you're not as useless to us. Our family will prosper from this, do you understand." All you could do was nod. However, inside you screamed in agony. The one thing you thought you'd have control over was ripped from you in an instant. And thus began the preparations for your big happy day...

It was only a few weeks from that date when you were all but dragged to a chapel in the richest part of town. The days of being fitted into a dress with no input from you, set dressing with flowers and candles, and being dragged around like a puppet being repaired for a show were finally over.

You sat in a back room alone. Sat on a plush chair in your big white wedding dress. Tears threatened to stream down your face, and it took everything in you not to let them fall. After all, if you ruined your makeup they would have your head.

The door to your chamber creaked open and your mother waltzed in dressed in her finest garments. A bit gaudy for her status, but nevertheless she pranced like the peacock she so desperately desired to be. In her hands she held a piece of translucent fabric.

"We're hoping the groom doesn't think too ghastly of your...countenance." Your mother sighed, unraveling the fabric to reveal a very long veil. She motioned for you to sit up before pinning the veil into your carefully done hair. When covered, you could barely see your face and consequently you could barely see in front of you. "All better. Now come, it's time!" Your mother smiled. She smiled...

As she lead you through the chapel you wondered when the last time you saw her smile was. Had you ever seen her smile? The thought distracted you until you stood in front of giant wooden doors. Inside you heard the sound of hushed murmuring and piano filling the room.

You barely had time to compose yourself before the doors opened. The murmuring stopped, the music paused, and all eyes were turned toward you. You stood there, stunned for a moment. The veil helped conceal your nerves, but you could barely see anyone around you. Your mother gently pushed you forward, so you knew you had to start walking.

Slowly, you stepped forward. One step at a time. Maybe if you just focused on your feet you'd make it to the alter. One step...one step...almost there...How on earth can this aisle be so long. One step...come on you can tota-

Your feet snagged on your impossibly poofy dress and fell to the ground disgracefully. The wind nearly knocked out of you and gasps filled the room. Shame and terror filled your veins while you tried to fix yourself and get up, but the veil tangled around your arms and you still couldn't see. Panic started to settle in. They would have your head for this you knew it.

A hand found your back, gently; though you flinched nonetheless. You prepared yourself for whatever agony was awaiting you when a voice filled your ears.

"Are you alright?" It was a male's voice you certainly didn't recognize. Maybe a family member of the groom's? Surely he was still sat at the alter waiting for his stupid, clumsy bride to stop making a fool of him.

"I-I'm okay." You mumbled. The same hand on your back moved to help lift you onto your feet. You couldn't help but grab onto this person for guidance, and you heard a tongue click.

"They really have you walking an aisle not able to see, huh?" The mysterious stranger chuckled. "Let's get this off of you, shall we? Can't have my wife all damaged on the first day." Wife? The man moved before you could process his words. He hastily unclipped your veil and pulled it away, throwing it haphazardly to the people sitting in the pews.

You blinked your eyes and adjusted to the setting around you. Many people were sat in the pews gawking at the two of you. Your parents were sat in front with eyes that would cut you in two if you could. Yet your eyes were locked on the man in front of you. He was so tall. His snowy white hair was combed neatly and his eyes...His eyes were this icy blue that held your gaze infinitely. This was your husband-to-be? This was Satoru Gojo?

"Better?" Satoru questioned. You nodded, still mesmerized with his easygoing appearance. "Good. Come on we'll walk up together so you don't fall again." He smiled sweetly at you, holding his elbow out for you to hold onto. You quietly followed his instruction and let him lead you to the alter.

The two of you stood at the alter, and his grasped your hands in his. He still held the same easygoing expression. The priest, after giving the two of you quick glances, began the matrimonial ceremony....

You honestly don't remember much of the ceremony. Every action of yours felt robotic and forced. The kiss between you and your newly wed husband was short and sweet, and it was over before you knew it. When the reception came, held in a banquet room in the same chapel, it felt cold. Eyes were glued to you, though no one tried to speak with you. You heard gossip talking about how plain you looked. Others judged your family quietly.

"Would you like to dance?" The voice came softly. Satoru bent to speak into your ear. It startled you a little, but you nodded obediently. There was a glint of some kind in his eyes. Whether it was pity or simple embarrassment you did not know. Either way, he led you to the middle of the floor. "Follow my lead." He instructed quietly.

And so you did. You followed him step by step in an easy waltz between the two of you. The people around you watching intently, probably waiting for you to fall again. However the man holding you had you firmly against him, so there was no risk of that again.

After your dance the man bowed down to you again. "Nice to know you don't actually have two left feet." He jested. You smiled in faint amusement, but stayed silent. The same glint appeared in his eyes, and he looked around at all the people before eyeing you down again.

Everyone was settled into their niche little groups, drinking and muttering quietly amongst each other. It was a rigid and stiff atmosphere. The sight almost made you sad. There has not been an ounce of joy in this night you'd dreamed of for so long.

"Hey," your husband tried again, pulling you from your thoughts. "This is kinda boring, ya think?" You looked up at him with question, but nodded silently. He smiled mischievously. "I think you and I should blow this place, yeah?" He didn't wait for your answer. Quickly he grabbed you by the arm and ran.

You both dashed by the people around you and out into the parking lot. A few disgruntled family members tried shouting after you, but Satoru paid no mind to them as he helped you into a black sports car and sped off once he was buckled in himself.

Once you were freely on the road, he finally slowed down and let out a loud, boisterous laugh. "That was so much fun!" He cackled. When he spared a glance at you, though, he sighed and smiled softly. "I'm sorry about that."

"What?" you asked. Your eyebrows furrowed and your heart beat rapidly.

"Well I know this isn't exactly an ideal circumstance for you." His voice lowered. The crazed look in his eye suddenly overcome with a much calmer and serious expression.

"Me?!" You yelped, exasperated. "You're the one forced to marry lower." It wasn't false. The research you'd done on your husband further solidified it in your head that you were completely and utterly useless and unwanted. Yet the look on his face showed none of that. He glanced at you and furrowed his eyebrows.

"I wasn't going to have a choice either way, you know. You're the one who's being forced." It didn't make any sense to you. How could someone like him possibly not have the choice of anyone he wanted. Did it have something to do with sorcery? Lineage? You opened your mouth to ask, but he interrupted before you could.

"Don't think to much on it, sweetheart. Either way you and I are already married so it doesn't matter too much the reason. We'll have a long time to learn each other's dark secrets." The smile reappeared on his face while he reassured you. All you could do was nod timidly.

"This isn't how I thought I'd get married." You finally sighed out. It was the first time you'd said the thought aloud. Part of you wondered if, much like your family, he'd punish you for such rude thoughts. Instead, however, he hummed quietly.

"I know. I'm sorry for that. But I'll do whatever I can to make sure your safe and happy..." Satoru trailed off, glancing once again. "I promise you that." You sat there for a moment, pondering what that promise meant. Whatever it meant, you knew you felt safer than you had in a long long time.

"Thank you."

A/N - might be inclined do a Pt. 2. We'll have to see!!

Masterlist

[raayllum]

fics of mine to check out if you haven't, a non-comprehensive list (and some co-written with thosefiveadoraburrs)

MULTI-CHAP:

21 days: They say it takes 21 days to form a habit. // Rayllum from 1x03-3x05. 14k, Complete

looking for a way to break in: Canon divergence/AU. In a world where the moral lines of Dark Magic are less evenly divided, Rayla is a Moonshadow elf in the service of the royal family of Katolis. Rayla is Prince Callum's bodyguard AU, slowburn. Complete, 97k.

if heaven and hell decide: Claudia convinces Soren to play the long game. OR: a post 2x03, canon divergence where Claudia and Soren travel with the trio rather than betraying them right away. 53k, Complete

love you again: AU as of S3. A prominent mage and on the cusp of his thirtieth birthday, Callum thinks he’s finally starting to truly leave the past behind. Until a kid claiming to be Rayla’s shows up on his doorstep, that is, asking for his help. Ongoing.

Horizons: Callum and Rayla make their way from the Starscraper to the Nexus. Set during S6; rated E. Twoshot

Teach Me How to Name the Bigger Light: Fanon S6 with a strange amount of overlap with canon S7 and speculative S8. 115k, Ongoing, probably the best thing(s) I've ever written fandom wise

(if time is money then) i'll spend it all for you: Runaan and Rayla's parents are de-coined. Now it's time to adjust to how the world and their daughter has changed, including her relationship with one particular human. 146k, Complete, canon up to S3.

as the poets say: When Amaya is accidentally caught up in a Sunfire prophecy and its subsequent ritual, her and Janai's journey to Mount Helios may finally force the two to confront their feelings for each other. Janaya, twoshot

ONESHOTS:

this fall just might kill me: Callum goes to the Sunfire elves to be purified in hopes of ridding himself of Aaravos' hold on him. It doesn't quite go according to plan. Rayllum, oneshot (canon up to S5), 7k

say the wind won't change on us: Callum discovers that Rayla came back to Katolis, secretly injured with a slow-acting curse, when they're already two weeks deep into sailing the Sea of the Cast Out. Arguments, caretaking, and the search for a cure ensues. 11k

a frightening thought: Soren thinks he may be falling in love with Corvus. This is a problem for more reasons than one. Sorvus, Rayllum, Soren&Callum

Hard to Please: A rumour regarding the prince of Katolis starts when he keeps rejecting proposals. 6k, set during the post s3 timeskip

will not be denied: Per the monarchs of old, King Ezran is visited by Lady Justice in a dream. 1.5k

i care if i am guilty: The Moon primal has its own consequences in store for Rayla’s choices. 3.8k

just wait for me to come home: Canon up until S3. Rayla runs and Callum chases her. It’s their own cycle to break. OR: the post-TTM reunion fic with a whole lot of angst. 16.8k

[refreshingly-original]

Okay, new idea. (This got bigger then I thought it would)

After surviving the Road, Lilia takes on an apprentice reader, who already knows tarot.

She thinks to test her skill and has her do a reading for her.

Her cards are clearly very cheap, misprinted (think image is wonky or partially missing) and of cats.

She thinks they’re a joke, a knock off to be sold for Halloween and says as such.

Reader pays it no mind, fully aware of Lilia’s view on the worlds take on witches, and continues with the reading.

Lilia decides to gift her a new deck, and they’re gorgeous, certainly not misprinted, but every time she see reader doing a reading for herself, or even Teen or Alice when they drop in for a visit, readers using her cat cards.

Lilia thinks she understands, slightly, why she uses them when she starts noticing the stray cats turning up at the back door and following reader around when they go out.

It doesn’t help that reader always toddles off when she sees a cat and goes to pat it. Lilia has lost her apprentice many times because of it and had to track them down.

Eventually, during dinner one night, where reader has a pregnant stray sleeping on her lap, Lilia asks why she still uses the cards.

The cards were a gag gift from her best friend who gave them to her for her sixteenth birthday. She got the cat ones because cats seem to flock to reader like she’s their queen.

Reader says that her friend had crossed out cups on a card and replaced it to say ‘Queen of Cats’.

They were the last gift she’d gotten from her best friend before she was just gone. (Whether she moved for whatever reasons or died is up to you)

And that’s why she still uses them for readings for people she cares about. Cause they’re scuffed to hell and back, but they’re her most important belonging.

Lilia figures out that reader was in love with her best friend and lets it go after that.

But as time goes by, and readers gets closer with the coven and Lilia, she starts using the deck that Lilia gave her for readings for Alice and teen, sometimes even Jen, never Agatha though, and Lilia is glad to see that reader is moving on from the heartbreak, but still says nothing.

It’s not until a year or so has gone since she started using Lilia’s deck on the coven that Lilia sees her doing a reading for herself with the deck she gave her.

That night, she asks for a reading.

Lilia pulls The Lovers and that’s how she realises that she might be in love with the girl.

Reader on the other hand starts teasing her about having a special someone, not realising it’s her. She does so for days afterwards, mentioning it whenever Lilia’s gaze seems to linger a little too long on someone.

“Ohh is that them? Cute.”

“I will hit you.”

“No you won’t. You love me too much.”

“Insufferable girl.”

When they meet up with the coven for dinner night at Agatha’s, reader tells them.

By shouting it from the front door.

“Lilia has a crush on someone!”

Everyone joins in on the questioning and teasing, but Lilia doesn’t miss the look Agatha gives her before glancing at reader.

She knows she’s going to be cornered by the other witch at some point and does her best to not be alone to avoid that.

It doesn’t work.

Agatha convinces Teen to help her get her alone and Lilia falls for it because she has a soft spot for him.

“So-“

“Leave it Harkness.”

“You going to tell her?”

“I’m leaving.”

“I’m almost certain she feels the same for you.”

Lilia ignores it and rejoins the coven, but it lingers in the back of her mind.

A month later, Lilia does her own reading and curses up a storm when she pulls The Lovers again.

Reader peaks over her shoulder and laughs, wrapping her in a hug.

“Maybe you should just tell them.”

“I’m too old for this, baby.”

“Evidently not.”

“Ugh.”

That night, reader also pulls The Lovers and realises what’s happening. At least for her. She realise nothing about Lilia. Oblivious as she is.

Que her bailing to bunk on Alice’s couch that night because ‘how could she move on so fast’ from her first love.

Lilia doesn’t find reader in the morning and tries calling her but it goes ignored. It’s not until Alice rings her and tells her that she’s staying with her for a while that Lilia relaxes. Though she’s still confused about why she’s gone, so she looks around her room, only to spot the spread on the table and of course comes to the conclusion it’s because reader figured out she has feelings for her.

She kind of goes numb for that day, only really focusing on her emotions after she closes up the shop and kinds of breaks down a bit.

She doesn’t open the shop for the next few days, and only answers the phone because she thinks it might be reader.

It’s not. It’s Alice telling her that reader will be staying another night.

Then it’s Jen checking in, because Alice called her and told her that somethings wrong with Lilia.

But of course Alice helps reader through it, pointing out that it’s been years and that it’s okay to fall in love again. After about a week, Alice convinces her to go and talk with Lilia, even promising to be there with her for support.

Jen of course has no problem breaking in to Lilia’s home after a few days of Lilia just hanging up on her as soon as she realises it’s not Alice with an update on reader, to talk some sense into her.

It ends up with them drinking. Jen only has two, but Lilia ends up drunk, so Jen has to take care of her.

Jen doesn’t realise that she sleeps on the Murphy bed and puts her in readers little room. Jen sleeps on the sofa. Shes going to have words with Lilia about not having a better sofa in the morning.

The following morning is when Alice and reader turn up, surprised to see Jen scrunched up on the sofa and no Lilia.

Reader heads up to her room to put her things away, only to stop and stare at Lilia who is silently crying in her bed.

She drops her shit and just crawls in with Lila and holds her.

“Please be real.”

“It’s real, Lilia.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[lightlycareless]

just had to write it.

warnings: mentions of infidelity (it's pretty obvious) this is a nanamixy/n but with naoyaxy/n on the side hahahaha

It’s not really fair for Nanami, but I can’t shake the idea of Y/N being a single mom after being in a relationship with Naoya for many years that even ended with having a daughter together, but after unfortunate successions the two break up (if not divorce), few other things happen in the way, and you end up dating Nanami.

And he was happy, at least in the very beginning, because he’s been pining after you since high school. Truth to be told, Nanami kept a close eye on you with the hope you’ll eventually dump that jerk everyone knew was undoubtedly undeserving of you; so, when that finally happened, he was more than ecstatic about showing you all the things you’ve missed.

All the things you deserved.

It was a dream come true when you reciprocated his advances; albeit a bit surprising, since the two never interacted beyond a simple friendship… but you’d soon reveal the subtle attraction you harbored for him.

“It was always there, I just… set my eyes on somewhere else.”

But now that this obstacle is gone, you can finally give Nanami the chance he’s been longing for and be happy.

Yet, this relationship wasn’t going to develop as smoothly as he desired.

And not because you already had a child, no, not at all. Nanami was completely charmed by young Naomi, who though looked just like her father, her nature was unequivocally yours. Besides, it’s your daughter, how could he not cherish all that came from you?

The problem dwindled in the fact that, because you had a child from another relationship, Naoya vividly remained in the picture. A joint custody that meant occasional visits on the agreed upon days, usually weekends, where he’d come to your location or you’d go to his, staying a while to check everything was adequate for Naomi, before returning to him.

Nanami didn’t suspect anything at all, if anything, he was mostly surprised that Naoya was mature enough to come to this compromise, the Zen’in heir always struck him as the irresponsible type, a father you wouldn’t be able to count on and thus granting you full custody of Naomi, or at least making it impossibly hard for you to maintain an amicable relationship, less a commendable life for your daughter.

But with enough persistence, the unwarranted comments from outsiders would soon begin to chirp at his insecurities, leading to the consideration of adultery on your part thanks to long time you seem to spend with Naoya during his visits.

Alongside an intimacy that wasn’t necessary for him to perform his responsibilities, the secrecy in which you guarded your phone when he called, or when he sent you messages to seemingly discuss Naomi’s wellbeing. Nanami was never one to pry, but if you had nothing to hide… then why did you act this way?

Eventually, he had gotten more than enough reason to suspect, if not confront. To assume there was something more going on, something that definitely shouldn’t if it was just a matter of co-parenting. If you were already with another man.

But it wasn’t until Naomi’s birthday party that Nanami realized the truth, in the way your face warmed up when Naoya arrived just in time for his daughter to blow out the candles and cut the cake, rushing to his side with a bright, welcoming smile, subtly intertwining your fingers with his as you set aside the obscenely large number of gifts he brought along for Naomi (and you, he imagines) before guiding him to her.

Stripping his baby out of Nanami’s arms once you urged him to:

“Kento—give me Naomi, her papa is here to see her.”

That’s when he knew. Through the sweet sound of you calling Naoya papa… that’s when he realized he was nothing but the third wheel in his own relationship.

And yet, when he had all evidence in favor, he refused to say anything. Perhaps to avoid making a scene and ruin Naomi’s birthday, inconvenience guests and make this situation bigger than it probably was.

But even when days passed, he remained quiet. When you kept seeing Naoya, Nanami feigned ignorance.

Why?

To not lose you again, simple as that.

Because he supposes than having you like this, close but in the arms of another man, is better than not having you at all.

:) i have another piece. i am not done with this suffering.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

OOOOOOOOO NEW EMOJI❣️❣️❣️❣️

⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️⚡️

🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔🏔

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮

HEY! <3

As you know, TWATK is complete, but here are the rest <3

45 for 🗻:

---

The thought is pretty exciting, actually. He finds himself excited to see little pieces of Buck in another human. Hell, he’s seen them start to develop in Chris, over the years. So a kid with fifty percent Buck DNA? That’s gotta come with some considerable personality quirks. Meant adoringly, of course. 

“Mm,” Maddie shakes her head as she finishes chewing a bite of food. ‘Buck’s thing at that age was jokes. He’d memorize joke books from the library and try them on everyone he encountered.”

Eddie snorts. “Why am I not surprised?”

“So what you’re saying is,” Buck points a fork at her playfully. “I am now, and have always been, a naturally gifted comedian?”

Maddie frowns. “I don’t think I said that.”

“I don’t think anyone would say that,” Chim adds.

Christopher laughs brightly. He’s at the age where he doesn’t always engage in conversations; preferring his phone and his friends. Eddie is happy to see him involved, even a little bit. They’ve been sort of isolated from their family since Eddie brought Chris back to Los Angeles. It’s been confusing Chris, for sure. He loves his grandparents. He doesn’t understand why they were so angry about Eddie and Chris reconnecting, or Chris going home. They’ve been sort of cold to him since - a lesson Eddie never wanted Chris to learn. 

Thankfully, Maddie and Chim heard the situation, and immediately started treating Christopher like he’d been their nephew all along. Birthday gifts, open invitations to whatever family things they do, genuine interest when they ask him questions. Eddie is really fucking grateful for them. 

It is in the middle of Eddie appreciating Christopher’s burst of laughter, that Buck reaches for his phone in his pocket. He reads it, and his face goes pale.

“Oh, come on,” Chim teases him. “Don’t look so sad. If you try standup, we’ll only heckle you a little.”

“Uh, no…” Buck mumbles. “I-I have to go.”

Eddie straightens in his chair. “Baby?”

Buck nods. “Yeah. Text just says I should probably come to the hospital now.” 

“Oh my god, go!” Maddie insists. “Go, go, go. Don’t worry, we’ll drive Eddie and Chris home.”

---

111 for 🦮:

---

“Alright,” Eddie laughs. “Alright, enough. You’ll rip it. Out. Drop it.”

Out is when you’re going to give it back to her, drop it is when she’s never going to get it back again, Buck’s voice runs through his head. 

“Drop it,” Eddie repeats.

Cranberry stills and opens her jaw reluctantly, spitting out the band. She looks rather put out to stop her mischief.

“Menace,” he says to her, examining the band. 

Eddie examines the band. There is a tooth puncture. 

“You owe me,” he tells her. “Gonna have to take it out of your kibble allowance.”

She wags her tail again, a little slower. 

Eddie crumples up the band and sits on the floor beside her. She crawls onto his lap and lays down flat. Eddie pets her in long, gentle strokes, from the top of her skull, down her spine, to her tail.

He’s spent the past few therapy sessions around one central discussion. That it has taken him a month to feel any sort of relief. Any sort of appreciation or gratitude for his life. It’s not that he was disappointed that he didn’t die. Obviously not that. But he spent weeks waiting to feel glad he didn’t, and he couldn’t summon that. His therapist said that that’s normal. That lots of people who go through trauma experience this sort of thing. That it doesn’t make him ungrateful or a bad partner or father. That as long as he keeps working on it, slowly, it’ll come back to him. Even if some of this experience will always be with him. 

And here he is now. On the floor with Cranberry, exhausted and sore and feeling like he’s been put on a stretching rack, but happy. Glad. Amused, even. 

Cranberry takes a big breath. He can feel her heartbeat on his legs. 

“It’s a good thing I didn’t die,” he whispers to the dog. 

🦮🦮🦮

Later that afternoon, Eddie picks Chris up from school. Buck gets home not long after the two of them. Eddie has already started getting stuff ready for dinner. He’s experiencing a weird and unexpected burst of energy. 

“Hey,” Buck says cautiously, walking into the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“Good,” Eddie smiles, crossing the space to kiss him hello. “You?”

Buck just sort of stares at him. “Uh…”

“Not good?” Eddie frowns. “Something happen?”

“No, no,” Buck shakes his head. “Uh, work was fine. Your day was good?”

“Yeah!” Eddie confirms. “But your dog put a hole in my resistance band, and I don’t go back to physio for four more days, so if I have permanent shoulder issues, we’re blaming the golden retriever.”

“Wow, uh. Sorry about that, but-”

“It’ll be fine,” Eddie dismisses it. “Do you know my shoulder is doing well enough to play a quick game of tug with physiotherapy equipment?”

Buck laughs a little breathlessly. “I’m so glad you had a good day.”

And Eddie just… He sees it. He sees it all in Buck’s eyes. The weeks and weeks of worrying. Of wondering. Of feeling powerless but being a stalwart caregiver nonetheless. A new little spark of hope, that things are getting better. 

Eddie steps forward and hugs him. Both arms. As tight as his injured shoulder can handle. 

“I love you,” he says. “And I don’t say thank you enough.”

“I love you, too,” Buck says, squeezing him back. “You don’t have to thank me, though. We have each other’s backs. Always, right?”

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hear how much I appreciate it,” Eddie says. 

Buck takes a deep breath. “Thank you.”

vi.

If you charted Eddie’s good day to bad day ratio after that, it wouldn’t look very impressive. At least not at first. He doesn’t just hit a corner and cheer up. But it does go from every day being bad, to sometimes, he has a good day to punctuate the streak. A few more weeks and it begins to feel more even. And then, slow and agonizingly, Eddie is baseline okay to good more often than not. 

He goes back to work. Light duty. Boring stuff, but not nothing. He feels useful again. He feels like he can spend his brain’s still incomplete tank of mental energy on something other than himself and his shit. Which is good. He feels clearer. Less bogged down. 

By the time he’s getting ready to recertify, and get back to his work, he’s decided. No more waiting for a nebulous better. No more waiting for what feels like an appropriate amount of time post-Shannon to pass. Eddie is ready now.  He wants to ask Buck to marry him. He’s going to do it. Because life is fucking short and unpredictable and Eddie is happy to be here to get the chance to do something he almost missed out on.

[squiddyfics]

fluorescent adolescent

thanos x f!reader

♡ you used to get it in your fishnets, now you only get it in your nightdress... ♡

description: you and thanos dated as teenagers. you're older now, and you should be wiser, but seeing him during a night out might just bring back your wild side.

18+ minors dni

warnings: nsfw, alcohol, sex, cheating, mentions of a controlling relationship (not with thanos dw yall)

a/n: this is one of my fav arctic monkeys songs and i tried to do the vibes justice so i hope you enjoy

bold+italicized signifies past tense

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You quietly sip a cup of tea, the reprieve of a quiet morning broken as you scroll through Tiktok. Your thumb hovers above the screen, and you can't quite bring yourself to pass by the video of a young woman joyfully dancing, her outfit reminiscent of ones you used to wear. After lingering for a moment, you move on.

It's your nineteenth birthday, and your friends have taken you out to celebrate. Your tennis skirt hugs your waist as you move through the crowded club, holding your friend's hand so as not to get separated from the group.

"Good morning," your boyfriend says as he walks into the kitchen, sitting down across from you at the small breakfast table. "What are you watching?"

A few drinks in your system now, you dance loosely, freely. You feel on top of the world in your platform boots, and you hardly notice the sweat adhering your baby hairs to the nape of your neck.

"Nothing, really," you say absentmindedly, taking another sip from your mug. "I'm just bored."

You stumble out the back door of the club, seeking fresh air. Instead, you find yourself in the smoking pit. A few people are scattered about, cigarettes hanging from their lips.

"You're always bored." Your partner's words are lighthearted, but they sink like a weight in your chest. It's true.

"Hey, angel." Your gaze is drawn to the man who spoke up from beside you, and you see him there, leaning against the wall. He takes a drag from his cigarette. Backlit by hazy outdoor lighting, he looks like something of an angel himself. "Want a smoke?"

Without so much as another glance in your direction, your boyfriend gets up, scarfing down a quick breakfast before leaving to get ready for work. There are no lingering looks, no sweet words exchanged between the two of you.

You shake your head, though you take a step closer to him. "I'm not out here to smoke; it's just way too hot in there."

Your boyfriend is several years older than you, and his wild days, if he ever had any, are far behind him. He'd much rather recline in his armchair at the end of the night, watching the evening news.

The tall man smirks down at you. "It just got a lot hotter out here, too."

The front door shuts as your boyfriend leaves for work.

"So you don't smoke, hm?" he asks. You shrug and delicately pluck the cigarette from his fingers, taking your first ever puff. His eyes widen at the cloud of smoke you blow in his direction.

Your commute to work doesn't take as long, so you have a bit more time at the house. You don't use that extra time to do much; you simply relish being on your own.

"You don't know how fucking sexy that was." Then his hand is on your waist, his lips are on your lips, his tongue is in your mouth.

On the train, your mind returns to the Tiktok you saw, how it reminded you of your own youth. Reminded you of him. You grimace with the effort of shoving those thoughts out of your mind. You laboriously replace them with thoughts of your partner.

Soon, you're in his apartment with your hands in his hair and your legs wrapped around him. Your fishnets rip when he throws you on his bed.

You sit in your cubicle, typing approximately one word a minute. Thoughts of your old flame always do this to you, and you hate yourself for it. Your life is comfortable now, stable. So why can't you stop reminiscing?

The man fiddles hurriedly with your clothes, attempting to rid you of them. He stops momentarily when he gets to your fishnets. "They're already ruined," you say. "Just rip them."

It's not like your old life was better than the one you have now. This is what you tell yourself. More interesting doesn't mean better.

He groans lowly as he rips a hole in the center of your fishnets and shoves your panties to the side. He enters you roughly, then kisses you, catching your moan in his lips.

"Hey." You jump slightly as your gaze shoots to your coworker; you didn't notice her approach your desk. "Namra and I are going out for drinks after work. Do you want to come?"

It doesn't take long for him to make you cum. The man knows what he's doing, there's no doubt about it. "That's it, angel. You look so pretty when you cum."

You drum your fingers on your desk, mulling it over. "That sounds fun, but I'll have to ask my boyfriend first. I'm not sure if he wants me to stay in with him tonight."

You writhe underneath him as he drives you beyond your high, the overstimulation causing your back to arch. You grasp wildly at his hair, earning a deep moan from him.

You don't want to ask; you know what the answer will be. Your partner considers himself above anything like that, and he expects the same from you. You know it's not right, you know you shouldn't have to ask a man for permission. Maybe you won't this time.

"You like that?" you ask through heavy breaths, tugging on the hair at the back of his head. The sound that escapes him this time is more desperate; a whimper. "Is that gonna make you cum? I want it. I want it all over my tits."

By the time your lunch break rolls around, you find the two coworkers who've invited you out. They smile as you join them, and their smiles widen when you tell them you've decided to come tonight.

When he pulls out and finishes on your chest, you gaze up at him, worried you may have just fallen in love.

A pang of guilt creeps up on you. You didn't ask your boyfriend like you said you would. What will he think when you come home late? How small will he make you feel?

The two of you are panting, laughing, sweating, falling back on the bed. He cleans you up with tissues before nestling you under his arm. "I never got your name, by the way, angel."

Perhaps you should shoot him a text to let him know. Perhaps you owe him that courtesy.

He grins when you tell him your name. "A pretty name for a pretty girl."

Your boyfriend may not be perfect, and he may not be the most exciting man around, but at least he's not Subong.

"I'm Subong."

However, you make no move to grab your phone and send a text. You deserve this. You deserve a night of fun to break up the monotony of your mundane life.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

This is not what you had in mind when you imagined after-work drinks. This isn't a casual bar; it's a full-on club. You already feel a headache coming on at the obnoxious techno music vibrating the floor.

"Let's go get shots!" Namra says excitedly, dragging you to the bar.

You're well aware that your coworkers are a couple years younger than you, but you didn't realize the utter difference in your lifestyles until now. As grateful as you are for the night out, you're equally grateful that this isn't a typical scene for you anymore.

After all, you're no longer nineteen, no longer able to subject yourself to ear-splitting music nightly while throwing back overpriced drinks. You're no longer willing to put up with a childish partner like Subong, a wannabe rapper whose insatiable need for attention drove him to fish for compliments from other women if you looked away from him for even a minute.

And the fights, god, the screaming matches you'd get into with him. You were both stubborn, an unstoppable force versus an immovable object. You try not to remember the post-fight sex, though, as it might just trick you into missing him.

The three of you clink your shot glasses together. The other women gag and shake their heads as they down theirs, and their eyes widen upon seeing you take yours with ease. You just laugh.

"You have no idea the kind of girl I used to be."

A couple drinks later, you're leaning against the bar as you watch your coworkers dance, not quite drunk enough to join them like you once would've. Still, you're shocked at how much the alcohol is hitting you; your tolerance isn't what it used to be.

It's hard to focus on anything in the sea of clubgoers, but like a moth to a flame, your gaze is captured by a flash of purple in the corner of your eye. You turn, and your heart sinks into your stomach at the sight of a once-familiar smirk.

Subong.

He's on the dance floor, friends at his side as he chats up a group of women. Typical. You hope this is enough of a distraction for him, that he won't see you. You've never been more thankful for your drab office attire.

You spin around, gluing your eyes to the wooden bar top. You just have to wait for him to move out of sight. Then you'll tell your coworkers you have to go, and slip out before he notices you.

"Hey, angel."

You thought your hands couldn't get any shakier, but you were wrong. Slowly, dreadfully slowly, you look up, locking eyes with Subong, who's now leaning over you.

"Wow," he says, taking a step back. "You look so... dull."

You scoff. "Thanks. You're as sweet as ever."

You're not surprised at his blunt words; he's always lacked a filter. It only stings because you know it's true.

"Sorry," he says with a laugh. "But come on, you know what I mean. You're still gorgeous, but... where did you go? The real you; where is she?"

"Go back to your friends, Subong," you spit. "You don't get to come up to me and start telling me who the 'real me' is. Maybe this is the most authentic I've ever been."

He shakes his head, still smiling, unfazed by your harsh tone. "Nah. This isn't you. I know you."

"You know a version of me who thought you were boyfriend material. That girl was clearly an idiot."

On your other side, you feel a dainty hand wrap around your forearm. Looking over, you see Namra standing there. She leans in and whispers in your ear, "Is this guy bothering you?"

"It's fine," you tell her. "He's my ex."

She turns to get a better look at him, and her jaw drops. "Wait... Thanos?"

"The legend himself," Subong says, flashing his colorful nails.

Namra stares at you in disbelief. "You dated Thanos?"

You cringe. You know how much Subong loves a good stroke to the ego, and you hate that he's getting that satisfaction. That's why you'd never tell him that you already know about how his career has blown up. You'd never tell him that even though you have him blocked on everything, you still see posts from people who are obsessed with him.

"I guess you were right; we really don't know who you used to be." She still looks starstruck. "I'm going to head back to the dance floor now that I know you're in good hands."

"I'm really not," you say, but she's already leaving. You catch her discreetly taking a photo of Subong as she walks away.

"It's always nice to meet a fan," he says, and you grimace at his cocky expression.

"She never said she was a fan," you say. "Just because she knows your rapper name doesn't mean she likes your music."

Suddenly he's smirking down at you, looking very pleased with himself. "You know my rap name? So you've been keeping up with me?"

"No," you lie, but you feel your face heat up. "I just assumed, since that's what she was calling you."

"Sure, angel." He chuckles. "So, now you know what I've been up to. What about you? Any projects in the works?"

He always used to compliment you on how creative you were. Despite his many, many flaws, he was your biggest supporter, believing you could make a name for yourself.

You shake your head. "I'm in the corporate world now."

"Ah, you joined the rat race."

"I wanted to make money."

"And I wanted to make art."

"I'd hardly call your music art," you say, and you know it's mean, but you can't bring yourself to regret it. You want to hurt him. You want him to feel an ounce of what you felt when he called off your relationship so suddenly all those years ago.

His mind seems to gloss right over the intended insult, though. "You listen to my music?"

"Fuck off." You know your face is beet red now, and you can't think of a better retort.

"I didn't mean to upset you," he says with another laugh. "Seriously, though, tell me what you've been up to."

You shrug. "Working, mostly. You know, I don't really want to be having this conversation."

"You must not be in a relationship," he says. "You're never this uptight after a good fuck."

Your eyes widen at his audacity, and you do your best to ignore the fluttering feeling his words stir in you. "For your information, I am in a relationship. Not that it's any of your business."

"Well, he's obviously not treating you right."

"Leave," you urge him; it's all you can manage to say.

"Or what?"

You hate how close his face is getting to yours, and more than that, you hate that you're not moving away. Even after all this time, his presence is entrancing.

He's so close that you can feel his breath, and you hope he can't hear how shaky your own breaths are as you mutter, "Why don't you go find those girls you were hitting on?"

You want to slap the stupid smirk off his face. "Aw, are you jealous?"

"You wish."

"Yeah, baby, I do."

You ball your hands into fists, trying to distract yourself from the wave of lust coursing through your body. He shouldn't be allowed to have this effect on you. It's ridiculous.

Your brain is in a haze as he leans in farther, nearly closing the gap between your faces. His lips brush against yours, and your stomach does fucking cartwheels.

Then he's crashing his mouth against yours, and you kiss him back without thinking. It's muscle memory; your lips move in sync like they were never apart.

It takes a moment for you to come back to reality, but when you do, you push him away. "What's wrong with you? I have a boyfriend."

"You weren't kissing me like someone who has a boyfriend."

You turn and point at your two coworkers, who thankfully aren't looking in your direction. "Listen, see those two girls over there? I work with them, and they know I'm in a relationship. I can't be doing this shit in front of them."

He places a hand on your waist. "Let's go somewhere more private, then."

"You can't be serious." You take a step back from him. "I'm not doing this."

He steps forward, again shrinking the distance between you to where you can feel the magnetic pull between your bodies. He leans down, his lips ghosting over your ear as he whispers, "It doesn't have to be a big deal. I just want to make you cum, angel. You deserve it."

You despise this man. You despise the way your knees nearly buckle at his words. You despise whatever spell he's put you under to have you nodding weakly and allowing him to lead you to the back of the club.

He grips your hip firmly as he guides you into the bathroom. He's already kissing you again before you even get into a stall, but once you're inside, he locks the door and presses you against it.

His sloppy kisses trail down to your neck as his hands desperately roam your body, squeezing your tits, grabbing your ass, feeling every part of you he's been without for so long.

Subong's touch brings you back to life, and you swear you feel nineteen again. You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he kisses back up your neck and jaw.

"Don't hold back, pretty girl," he mumbles against your skin. "Let them hear you. Let everyone in this club know who makes you feel this good."

Your head tips back when he grinds into you, and you grab his shoulders for support. What has he done to you?

"Let's... let's just get this over with," you say, a poor attempt at disinterest. You know he can see right through you, see how much you want this.

You gasp as Subong lifts your skirt and slips his hand inside your underwear. He raises his eyebrows. "Holy shit, baby, you're soaked. You really needed this, hm? When's the last time you came?"

"Shut up."

"A long time then, huh?"

This time you can't hold back the moan that escapes your lips when his fingers find your clit. He rubs in slow circles, a taunting look in his eyes.

"Faster," you say, grabbing his jaw to pull him in close to you. "If you're going to do this, do it right."

"Damn, you don't know how to have fun anymore."

Despite how annoying he is, you kiss him. You run your fingers through his hair as you trail kisses along his jaw. When your lips find his neck, he's moaning too.

You reach down to grab his bulge, and laugh softly at the way he bucks into your hand. It never did take much for you to get him going.

"Fuck," he mumbles into your hair.

He's still working his fingers on your clit, and it's beginning to drive you insane. You unzip his jeans, pulling out his cock and stroking him.

"Please fuck me," you whine, unable to handle the teasing any longer. "Please."

"God, I love hearing you beg for it," he says. "Do you get this worked up for that boyfriend of yours? Do you beg for his cock the way you beg for mine?"

Subong lifts you with your back against the door, pulling your gray pencil skirt up over your hips. You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders, desperately bringing him as close to you as possible.

He pulls your underwear to the side and rubs his tip against your entrance. Impatient, you rock your hips forward in an attempt to bridge the gap between your bodies.

"You look so pretty when you're needy," he says, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours.

His lips meet yours right as he pushes himself inside you. You moan in sync with him, and you can tell by the way his grip on your thighs tightens that it feels just as blissful for him as it does for you.

You hate to admit it to yourself, but you missed this. You really missed it. None of the partners you've had since Subong have had made you feel quite like he does. It's different with him.

He breaks your kiss and leans back to watch himself pound into you.

"Look at you, taking my cock like you were made for it. Does your boyfriend fit this perfectly inside you? Does he make you feel this good?"

You simply moan in response. He grabs your chin and leans in again, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

"Tell me, baby. Who makes you feel this fucking good?"

"You, Subong. Only you."

When he kisses you again, his lips are softer, gentler. There's a tenderness in the action that reminds you of why you once loved him. He drops his head on your shoulder as he continues thrusting into you, and you claw at his back through his shirt.

His steady pace continues, and like waves crashing against a rocky shore, you can feel him wearing down your resolve. A warm feeling begins to bubble up inside of you, and you know it won't be long before he brings you to your climax.

"Keep going," you breathe. "Just like that."

Even the kisses he leaves on your neck are sweeter now. "You feel too fucking good. I'm not gonna last long."

"Neither am I," you manage to gasp out between moans.

Subong lifts his head again and presses his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes as he fucks you.

"You're perfect," he whispers. "So goddamn perfect."

His words send you over the edge, and you become a whimpering, writhing mess as shocks of pleasure wrack your body. Your legs wrap even tighter around him, forcing his entire length inside you.

Subong's face flushes, and he groans loudly. "Oh my god. I—fuck."

His hips still as he cums inside you. He keeps you in that position, hoisted against the stall door with his cock inside of you, as you both recover, breathing heavily.

When he finally pulls out of you and puts you down, you miss the feeling already. You look down to adjust your clothes as he does the same, and while you do, the reality of the situation begins to set in.

What have you done?

"Hey." Subong places a hand on your jaw and tilts your head up to look at him. "What are you frowning for? I thought I fucked that out of you already."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, your magic dick can cure anything."

"I know, that's what I'm saying." He laughs at his own words before pulling himself together. "Okay, no, seriously. What's bothering you?"

"What do you think?" you ask. "I just cheated. I can't believe myself."

He shrugs. "He doesn't deserve you anyway."

"How do you know? You have no idea who he is."

"No one deserves you," he says. "I sure as hell didn't, but at least I could actually make you cum."

Before you can think of an argument against him, he leans down, planting one last kiss on your lips. Then he moves aside, unlocking the door.

He steps out, but turns around to look at you. "If you ever want to do this again, I'm just an unblock-button away."

With that, he walks off, leaving you with your chest heaving and your mind reeling. It takes you a good few minutes to collect yourself as you lean against the stall wall. When you do finally stand upright again, your legs feel like rubber.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you leave the bathroom. Your makeup is smudged, and your hair looks insane. You do your best to smooth out your skirt while you walk, but it’s difficult to do anything when your legs are shaking so much.

Your appearance has clearly changed since you entered the club tonight, but something inside you feels different too. You feel lighter.

You feel free.

[reallypleasanttree]

Domestic Obamitsu ficlet with Obanai brushing and braiding Mitsuri’s hair.

Mitsuri sighs as Obanai weaves his fingers through her hair, dispersing the argan oil from her scalp to tips. It is a simple ritual they started when she moved in. He was curious about her hair care routine, so she led him through it. 

She’d shower after work, allowing the warm water to rinse over her sore muscles. The shower allows her to ease the tension and stress from work. Afterwards Mitsuri dries off her body and changes into pajamas. Then she stands in front of the mirror to oil and brush her waist length hair. Once it is smooth and free of knots, she would begin braiding her signature style. 

Now they’ve been living together for six months and her routine became their routine. Mitsuri sits on the floor in front of the couch settled between Obanai’s legs. While he brushes her hair starting with the ends, she talks about her day. Obanai hums his agreement or comments. The task becomes second nature to him as he runs the brush over her hair. 

The soft tugs bring her comfort as her long tresses fall down her back. She closes her eyes reveling in the simplicity. Obanai sets the brush on the coffee table. He massages her scalp. She leans her head back and blindly reaches up to caress his face. The scar’s ridges have become so familiar she would be able to trace them from memory. He leans down to kiss her lightly. 

“You’re going to mess up your hair,” Obanai says, stroking her face. Mitsuri opens her eyes to see his teasing smile. This gentle teasing was reserved solely for her. She lifts her head and stares in front of her again. 

“One of the parents brought in homemade cookies for a student’s birthday. They made matcha latte tea cookies. They were nice enough to give me the recipe, so we should try making them this weekend,” Mitsuri says. 

“They weren’t too sweet, were they?” He asks. Mitsuri begins to shake her head, but he holds her head in place to stop her. “What did I say about messing up your hair?” He asks with a hint of amusement. She laughs and continues to discuss her day. 

Obanai separates her hair into three sections. He threads one section into three and threading her pink and green locks into a braid. Over, under, over,  under. He ties it off with a hair tie that matches the color of her green tips. 

She swears she could fall asleep as his deft fingers work. Every movement reminds her of his methodical nature. He wasted no actions, even with something as mundane as hair braiding. The thought brings a smile to her face. He told her once that braiding her hair helps him relax. He finishes the last braid and kisses the crown of her head.

[nyraxodeyer]

It was only knowing the fact that Fae had a high tolerances for drinking that Nyra didn't immediately fill with worry, concern still rose though, that couldn't be helped. "Do take it easy, I know it's a party and all, and I'm not trying to stop the fun but tomorrow, or the next few hours after the good mood wears off, will be rather rough if you keep going like this." Though what Rangi had continued to say did make way for a laugh, "Well, I wouldn't go as far as to say to queen of queens, or head... honcho was it? Stressful, however, isn't something I'm going to deny." Some made it so very difficult to do her job. But she trusted Rangi enough to keep to her word despite knowing alcohol and drowning out emotions at the bottom of a bottle would never be a good combo.

"I'm still 35, you know," she couldn't help but chuckle, "Have been that age for a very long time on a technicality, but no, it doesn't have to be something you grow out of. Parties are still fun for me, I just find myself too wary about parties held in this town. Even supposed fun ones, there's always some damage done. Property and people." Especially large scale birthday parties, but that thought she kept to herself, though she had a feeling Rangi was partly drinking for that reason too. "Age and time do bring forth gaps in memory but your parents are...interesting people. I'm sorry they forgot such a an important day." She had not interacted with them for more than necessary but even from that Nyra had enough to gauge on their personalities. "Did you have a good day though?"

"Hmmmmm," Rangi pondered, lips twitching up in thought, "you know, I think I lost count. Who cares, anyway! It's a party! Happy New Year and all that!" She let out a laugh, leaning against the counter and nodding fervently. "I mean, you are the big one in charge, the head honcho, the queen of queens! Which, I'm sure is, like, super stressful. But don't worry! I'm going to behave tonight, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die." She did a quick motion over her chest before giggling and taking another sip, finding herself endlessly amusing. At least, she thought it was funny to say, what with the being a banshee and all. "Yeah, ya know, you defs don't seem like a big party gal to me. Sorry to say. Did you like parties when you were younger? Is it something we grow out of? Uugh, I don't wanna get old like that. My mom and dad make me wanna just--" she drew a line across her throat with one finger-- "ya know? Like, who wants to get so old you literally forget your kid's birthday."