#[I found those feels neither of us asked for.]

[bbrokenbback]

"My lord."

She bowed low, trying to show her gratitude from the very start. Perturabo wasn't the Primarch who allowed audiences with mortals easily, it was an awfully long and painful process to reach him, and, however dissatisfied she was with the whole ordeal, her goal was worth every single second.

"Make it quick," Perturabo said, glaring at her from his command throne.

Of course he wouldn't make it private. There were a few of his sons standing around, working on some routine at the bridge.

She smiled and raised her eyes to meet his.

"I've come here to humbly ask for your first captain's hand."

For a moment it felt like the whole bridge fell silent. Even the Iron Blood seemed to quieten down, surprised to her nuclear core.

Perturabo's face didn't express anything. But he was silent for a whole minute after hearing her words, and it was an answer in itself.

He turned away from her and placed a finger to his gorget, calling the said captain to the bridge. And until Forrix, confused, blessed the still shocked place with his presence, the Primarch hasn't uttered a word.

Kydomor inherited many of his father's talents, and one of them helped him to keep an indifferent expression as he saw her. The girl, one of the younger serfs of Mechanicum, had the questionable luck of ending up at Iron Warriors' fleet, and, as much as it taught her many interesting things, it distanced her from her rather conservative colleagues.

Soon her status of the serf was unofficially changed. The first captain found pleasure in her company, showing her advanced simulation technologies and introducing her to the Primarch's works on advanced math and engineering.

She stayed just a serf on paper, even a candidate for a servitorisation, which was stated as her possible career perspective. But none of her Mechanicus supervisors dared to distract her from attending the first captain's personal requests.

Since the legion now mostly consisted of olympians, rumors spread among warriors quicker than it was dignified for Astartes. Forrix and his little pet used to get quite a lot of attention until everyone came to peace with the strange routine the strange captain created for himself with his strange human.

And Forrix was sincerely happy those rumors never reached Perturabo's ears. He definitely wasn't ready for everything that would consequently come after this.

"So, my honorable first captain, Kydomor Forrix the Breaker, named Kaidomo at birth..." Perturabo began listing Forrix' titles, and his malevolent grin grew exponentially as he did so.

Forrix was glancing at him and at his "pet" with his one good eye, his worry growing in tact with Perturabo's somehow evil and mocking joy.

"...I see you now have a mistress, who's rather... dedicated."

Perturabo was looking at his son, waiting for an answer. But Forrix was silent, a lump in his throat.

"Answer me when I talk to you, captain!" Perturabo slammed his fist onto the iron armrest of his throne.

"That is correct, my lord," Kydomor said quickly.

"Good."

Forrix' mind was storming. He thought about his... talented assistant, with whom he had an exclusively platonic relationship, he thought about how humiliated he felt when his friendship was described by Perturabo with that tone and those words, and he thought about his position and reputation, crumbling in front of him. He hated himself for allowing a liability to appear in his life, he hated himself for not being strong enough to push her away. And he hated himself for worrying about her fate more than he worried about his own fate.

He hated that he convinced himself it was just platonic. That she was just a very talented, very gifted girl, who helped him with minor tasks and gave him food for thoughts. He hated that he spent hours, days and weeks thinking about her and never let any of his true feelings show.

He hated that he did so little to protect her and that he didn't have neither time nor courage to talk to her sincerely.

He didn't even edit her personal file to delete the possibility of servitorisation. And now... it seemed like it was too late.

She must've read it in his gaze. Because all of her bravado disappeared, and Forrix saw how her body tensed, ready to run towards him in a foolish attempt to protect... both of them.

Perturabo sighed tiredly, and the sound filled the room.

"Why exactly have you two decided to spend my time for such a reason? Are we the order of ancient chivalry? Or, maybe, girl, you messed up the numbers and think you're on the third's ship?"

Forrix turned to Perturabo confused.

"My lord-"

"Listen to me carefully, Kydomor Forrix. Whatever you do with your serfs, whether you kill, fuck or marry them, is none of my concern until you fulfill your duties. You two can do whatever you want, and if you want to get married, you don't need my permission. And I definitely do not need to know what kind of relationship my sons have with mortals."

Forrix blinked. Married? Wasn't he called here to be disciplined? He noticed how the girl's face lit up, and felt even more lost.

"Now get out of here and, please, don't make me see any of those scenes in the future."

Forrix was frozen and silent, while the girl spoke:

"So we have your blessing, my lord?"

"I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BRIDGE!"

Forrix practically stormed out of the doors with his talented serf friend in his hands.

***

When they left, Perturabo sighed deeply and shook his head.

"Romantics... As if my blessing is going to bring anything good upon you..."

Consider:

Asking a primarch for his blessing to propose to one of his sons. Or depending on the primarch just for his son's hand.

Asking Guilliman permission to propose to Cato, then after laughing a few minutes, realizing you're serious, trying to talk you down like "but WHY", eventually relenting because he thinks its going to be so so funny when Cato finds out they asked him and treated him like a planet governors eligable daughter.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Charles, Monty, and Edwin (Holiday AU: Holi)

Jenny sighs. “Listen, kid, I’m not your father.”

Charles flinches. That’s not- He never said- “I never said you were.”

“Yeah, but I know what it’s like to carry around that kind of fucking weight,” Jenny says, and the breath leaves Charles’ lungs. “To be scared of other people turning out to be like your old man because you’re worried about becoming your old man. But ask anyone- those guys who are head-over-heels for you, your best friends, your mom, who can’t stop bragging about you- and they’ll tell you that you’re not him. And you’ll never be, because you care too much to let it happen. Screw the past, kid- you can be whoever you want.”

Charles feels like he’s been hit with a truck. That’s not- he can’t be-

Charles shouldn’t be spilling his guts to a woman he barely knows. But he can’t help himself, because how can anyone help but stare at themselves in the mirror and touch their face to check if they’re seeing things or if that creature in their reflection is really them? If you can actually see the truth in your own reflection, or if it’s just lying to you and you’ll never be anything more than the scared little kid haunting you from within your very bones?

“But how- god, how do you know?” Charles asks. “Sometimes, when I look at myself in the mirror, all I can see is him. See his eyebrows, his eyes, his hands- god, how do you know that you won’t end up like them? That your love won’t hurt everything it touches if you’re not careful?”

Jenny purses her lips. “Listen, kid. I’ve had shitty relationships. I’ve had a shitty father. But I’ve made something of myself. And you did too. You and I- we both know something about wounds. We both know something about stitches. I took over my dad’s shop and became a butcher because I refused to let him cut me down. You became a nurse because you refused to let the wounds fester. Neither of us are our fucking fathers."

-aletterinthenameofsanity, it came a flower bright (amid the cold of winter)

@charles-rowland-week Day 2: Comfort

Chapter can be found here!

@pappelsiin @itsbitmxdinhere @rexrevri @sweet-like-h0ney-lavender @saffirez

@the-ipre @sunnylemonss @days-light @agentearthling @helltechnicality

@sethlost @catboy-cabin @secretlyafiveheadeddragon @vyther15

@anything-thats-rock-and-roll @queen-of-hobgobblers @every-moment-a-different-sound

@nix-nihili @mellxncollie @tumblerislovetumblerislife @lemurafraidofthunder

@likemmmcookies @wr0temyway0ut @thelakeswillbreakourfall

@sapphic-corgi @occasionaloneshots @troublegoblin

@cairngorm-ard @petesdragon @spacegirlsgang

@fandoms-are-my-lifestyle

[wardingshout]

Hello! I can’t belive i found a danish person in the same fandom im in at the same time im in it. I love your art and art style it all looks great!

I wanted to ask since i think you talked about playing a link to the past yourself do you think its worth it to play it? Or is it one of those games you just watch as a playthrough? Im currently trying to make my way through the various zelda games myself and trying to figure out which to play next on the list. Hope you have a nice day/night!

omg me neither, hell yeah! I literally just had a conversation with another dane about how rarely we run into each other online! :D

I think I'm pretty biased in this but I think I'd definitely at least give playing it a shot! I personally had a really rough time with it but it somehow added to the feeling the world gave me? it's entirely about my own lack of gaming skills but I enjoyed experiencing it and all the mean little things it throws at you a lot... I must admit though, that I enjoyed it way more after letting myself use the Switch's rewind function esp for bosses, because I might have given up otherwise. I'm also no good at watching playthroughs personally so there's that too...

but yeah if you have Switch online you can always try through the first dungeon and skip to something else if it doesn't without losing too much time :D

I hope you have a good day/night too! here's a Zelda I drew last year that I dug up the other day

[melancholyswayafterdark]

TMNT 2007!Raph x Fem!Reader: Make Me (NSFW 18+)

Anonymous asked: This is kind of weird but would you be able to write 2007!Raph x reader where Raph is trying to dominant and gets shy when he finds out y/n is more experienced?

ya'll im such an idiot and I accidentally deleted the anon request who had asked for this. Luckily, I keep all the reqs in a google doc when writing lol. Here goes nothing! Let me know if you enjoyed this :)

NOTE: this is my after dark blog, and you're going to find smut here. 2007 is a more mature version of the turtles, and they are around their early/mid 20s. MINORS DNI. WARNINGS : dirty talk, doggystyle, and missionary

Imagine Raphael getting thrown for a loop the first time you have sex with each other

It’s honestly so sudden, neither of you expecting it to happen the way it did.

Now, Raph has had his fair share of sex. If the turtles had to take a guess, Raph would have the highest body count out of the four of them (Donnie takes the cake for last place, he’s a scaredy-cat).

He vividly remembers women practically throwing themselves onto him while he was The Nightwatcher long ago

I mean, could you blame him? A mysterious man in metal armor with a sexy accent who protects the city?

He felt invisible, being able to be himself and enjoy life the way it was supposed to be lived

In short, Raph here is no stranger to women- he knows what’s got to be done. 

When you first met the turtles, it was thanks to a clumsy Mikey during patrol one night who came crashing into your bedroom window.

With some panicked explanations, promises to keep a secret, and to fix a window, bonds were made. Friendship blossomed. 

Feelings blossomed. 

You seemed to get along well with each and every turtle, however, something about the smug-looking golden-eyed one who didn’t speak much at first had grabbed your attention. 

As you began to come down to their home often, you found yourself having more opportunities to interact with the second oldest brother: Raphael. He had this bad-boy aura that had you hooked. 

However, it wasn’t what you thought it was.

Raphael constantly teased you, and you constantly did the same back. He had no malicious intent, and neither did you. You had simply piqued each other's interest. 

“Hey shorty,” Raph snickers at you trying to reach for something on a high shelf.

“Hey hothead,” You tease back, “How about you use those big muscles of yours to help me instead of standing there and enjoying the show?” His eyes watched your breasts bounce in your shirt as you struggled to reach what you needed. 

Oh, and he loved it. That you noticed what his game was, and that you were more than happy to play. 

His non stop picking had been his fun way of flirting with you, to which you did the same back. As it went on, a friendly yet flirtatious connection had been made. 

Only, a cloud of sexual tension seemed to follow you around every time you interacted with the turtle in red. 

There was something about Raphael that got your panties in a twist. As time went on, you found yourself fantasizing about how you’d make your move on him. It seemed that your sexual appetite grew hungrier with each and every scenario you imagined in your head. 

You wondered just how Raph was able to get you going. 

Unbeknownst to you, Raphael’s reptilian instincts give him a heightened sense of smell. 

AKA, you didn’t have to tell him, he knew- no- he could smell how down bad you were for him.

Luckily for him, your human senses weren’t as strong. 

He remembered how he tested the waters a bit, trying to see if he was the cause of the smell of arousal coming from your sex. He had to make sure you were actually thinking of him in that way. 

Long story short, he was right. One day, he placed his hands on your waist during training, only for his nostrils to be hugged with your excitement in between your legs. 

And thus, the more he flirted with you, the more he wanted- no- needed you. 

It seemed the feeling was mutual, yet you both went about your days as normal. 

Until one day, you said two words that sent Raph over the edge.

Brace yourself, Y/n.

-------

“Ya ain’t gonna take me down that easily, shorty.” Your eyes follow Raph’s figure, watching as he circles you around the dojo. Since the streets have been getting pretty bad, Raphael took it upon himself to teach you a few things just in case. 

You could almost feel your heart pounding out of your chest. Being pushed to your limits, you weren’t giving up so quickly, either. You could see Raph looking you up and down, his amber eyes stopping right at your chest. You made a good choice to wear a tight tank top today, huh?

Quickly, his eyes shoot back up to look at your own, and suddenly, he’s studying you to see what his next move could be.

“I bet money you can’t take me down this time.” You smirk, albeit you were talking out of your ass; seeing Raph’s devious smile got you going. 

“Oh, so now we’re delusional?” The turtle chuckles as he gets in a fighting stance, “Looks cute on ya, Y/n.” Raph closes the space between you both inch by inch, and suddenly, his fists are flying toward you. 

He was ready to see if you remembered what you practiced. 

You quickly dodge his first hit, brushing the loose hair out of your eyes, “I told you,” Your knees bend, and Raphs last punches don’t connect, giving you the upper hand while he’s distracted. “I pay,” with a sweep of your left leg, you were able to catch Raph off balance. “Attention!” To finish, you hop on his shell from behind, touching the pressure point on his neck with two fingers (thanks, Master Splinter!) He easily topples over, and you pin his arm behind him as you straddle the back of his rough shell. 

Okay, maybe Raphael underestimated you a bit. He had no idea where you’d learn pressure points from, he didn’t teach you those. 

Seemingly defeated, the turtle under you sighs, his breathing becoming regular and less shallow as his heart rate goes down. 

“Did Leo teach ya that?” He huffs, straining under your control. A prideful smile is formed with your lips. 

“Nope, Master Splinter did.” Why would Leo teach you something like that, anyway? I mean, it wasn’t like he trained you alone. It was always as a group with their sensei. Leonardo taught you safer tricks that didn’t require you to get so close to your opponent.

You were enjoying your little victory, and what kind of victory would it be if you didn’t rub it in Raph’s face? 

“Did I really beat Mister Hothead?” You teased the turtle under you, whose annoyed eyes seemed to burn into your skin for you to set him free.

“Aigh’t, ya got me, now, get off.” Raphael’s rough accent was music to your ears, and you couldn’t imagine letting this opportunity go to show him what you were made of. Your grip on his arm becomes tighter, and you lower your lips to his exposed neck. 

What’s the point of teasing the big teddy bear if some flirting isn’t involved, right?

“Make me.” 

Suddenly, Raphael stops struggling and falls silent. You follow suit, alleviating the pressure you put on his body while on top, letting your guard down in confusion. Before you can ask what was going on, you feel yourself being flipped over, with your back hitting the hardwood floor and Raph’s face centimeters away from your own. Your arms are pinned at the top of your head by one of his hands, while the other is placed under your chin. 

“Come again?” He purrs, eyes scanning for any sign of you wanting him to stop. But, you don’t. In fact, you wanted him to keep going. 

“I said, ‘Make me.” You could feel the heat between your legs begin to rise, and your heart practically beating out of your chest. You watched as golden eyes behind a red mask looked into your own before his free hand moved toward your bra strap.

“Ya think ya so innocent, dontcha?” You could almost jump out of your skin from the feeling of butterflies invading your stomach. It felt electrifying with every touch the turtle gave you. 

“Ya think I don’ know?” His face dives into your neck, taking a slow lick before suckling in a spot that causes your body to shiver in desire. “I can smell ya, I know that ya been wantin’ this.” You wished he would let go of your hands to give you free will, eager to take the lead and surprise him. 

It wasn’t long until your soft whimpers caused a throbbing erection to emerge, and when his hand let go of your wrists bound at the top of your head, your fingers found their way to his biceps, giving them a light squeeze. 

“Like you haven’t been wanting it, too” You challenged, trying to keep all composure. Raph comes up from working on your neck, his eyes darting to your lips that continue to tease him even though he has the upper hand. He couldn’t wait to shut you up. 

He did just that. Before you could think of something slick to say, his green lips crashed on yours, not coming up for air once. It seemed all the pent-up sexual frustration was being let out in this very moment in the middle of the dojo. 

Speaking of, it’s amazing how nobody came in by now. 

“I’ll take you right here,” You knew he would. Name a time or place and Raph would be down. You could feel tingles up and down your body from the friction, your nipples hardening from the arousal, and Raph's tongue intertwining with your own. 

It was a long time coming, and before you know it, Raph’s three-pronged hand moves one of your thighs over, only for them to rub circles around your clothed clit. Now sensitive, you wondered just how you could get Raph crumbling beneath you. “You’d like that, won’t ya?” Oh, he knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. Every sentence he said in between kisses drove you up the wall, the strong desire to ride him until the wheels fell off seemed to take over, and you knew you had to prove yourself. Raphael has no idea who he’s messing with. 

His fingers then move to the hem of your leggings, dropping the hint he wants them off.

“Make sure it's locked, big guy.” Your voice hoarse from a dry throat. Looking at you one last time, Raph makes the conscious decision to listen to you. Sure, he could take you to his room and get it on, but he couldn’t wait. He wanted you now. As he makes his way to lock the dojo, you undress behind him, tank and bottoms discarded in a pile off to the side. Your red bra teasing the red-banded turtle, almost begging him to snap it off you. But before he could even think about doing so, he watched you motion for him to come over sitting on the workout bench by the dumbbells. 

“My turn,” Your body naturally gravitates toward Raphael’s sweet spots when he sits beside you. Before he can take control, you straddle his waist before he can go anywhere. Arms around his neck, your back arches in pleasure as his hands go up and down your exposed sides, heating you up as he does so. Now, Raphael didn’t expect you to take control of him that easily. If anything, he didn’t think he had it in you. But, here you were, caressing his body and grinding yourself on his throbbing cock, a wave of sinful thoughts making up his mind as he felt the pre-cum leaking onto his thigh. You must’ve noticed, because you dip a finger in the sticky substance, placing it in your mouth as the turtle’s cheeks heated up from watching you taste him. 

“Sweet,” You teased, giggling at the sight of a shy yet enticed Raphael.

You really knew what you were doing.

But, shyness aside from not being the only experienced one, he’s ready to show you just what you’re in for. With the help from you, his erection springs up after a swift movement of his lower plastron. His dick stood up with pride, begging for warmth as it throbbed once exposed to the cold air. Once in your sight, it had your own sex wanting to welcome it home. Raphael could smell it, how your pussy soaked your panties, and he couldn’t wait to take them off and make you his. 

Picking you up and laying you on the hardwood floor, you unclip your bra as Raph’s fingers find the band of your panties, throwing them to God knows where in the dojo. You’ll get them later. They didn’t matter right now. What mattered was the way Raph admired your excitement, watching you let out a submissive moan as he dipped his head in to taste you. 

“Sweet,” He comments huskily, words vibrating your cunt that sends a signal to your brain to ask for more. You didn’t just want his tongue, you wanted him inside of you.

“Stop teasing~” You murmur, your chest heaving after each and every lick your sensitive bud takes. It was enough to get your cavern dripping, and Raphael wasted no time in flipping you over onto your stomach and getting your ass up in the air, arching your back as his hands gripped your hips. You could feel his tip pressing against your tight hole, and as he took your wrists to hold them behind your back, he slowly inserted himself, your pussy squeezing him tight as he stretched you out to the max. He wanted to go crazy, but he knew he needed you to adjust before doing so. 

Your body aching for more decides to meet him halfway, your ass coming into contact with his plastron in an instant, swallowing him whole. He was so big, and he knew it, too. Your loud moan after taking him all in caused Raph to hesitate. 

“Not too loud, pretty.” His hand then frees your arms, and almost immediately you clasp a hand onto your mouth, muffling all sounds you were making. Once Raph got into the swing, his wild side came out. Before he knew it, he was thrusting in and out of you at an animalistic speed. He was a rough lover, and you loved every second of it. His praises on how good you felt and how wet you were caused shivers throughout your body and mind. The sound of skin slapping against skin was enough for you to be in a trance. You could feel how his curved dick hit you in the right spot deep in your cavern, pressing against your G-spot. How his hands continuously guided your hips and ass to back up against his plastron, and he smirked as he observed you crumble beneath him. You were practically biting your lip to keep yourself from shrieking in pleasure. The last thing you needed was anyone knocking and destroying your high. 

“You’ve always wanted me, huh?” “Fuck, you’re so tight,” All of his remarks whispered into your ear as his hand moved toward your neck, choking you lightly. Your hands went over his own, begging for his grip to tighten. He stopped for a moment, then gave into your noiseless demand. 

“Didn’t take ya as a freak, Y/n,” He chuckles, watching you turn around to face him. If the sound wasn’t enough, your flushed, fucked-out face was enough to drive him wild. 

He was close, but he couldn’t finish like this. He needed to see all of you. He needed you facing him, tits bouncing with every thrust. His hand around your windpipe and your eyes rolling back into your skull. 

So as he unexpectedly stops, your legs begin to shake. “W-wha?” You strain your back, trying to get relief. It isn’t until Raph uses his strength to flip you over as if you weighed nothing that you knew what was about to happen. 

He wasn’t done, he was just getting started. 

“I wanna see ya beggin’ fa me, got it?” Raph grips his member, placing it in between your wet folds as he churrs, locking eyes with you to make sure you understood the assignment. 

“Y-yes.” You were hypnotized by Raph. How his girth was enough to stretch you out, and was long enough to hit places you didn’t think were possible. A smirk plays along his lips, and you feel his tip at your entrance once again. He leans in, lips crashing into yours before you feel him fill you up once more. Only this time, he was hitting your sweet spot even better. You felt yourself nearing the top of the hill, waiting for just the right thrust to send you over the top and back down again. 

“Tell me how much ya wanted me, baby,” You see Raph’s focused look as his hands gripped your cupped breasts, ripping them clean off before tossing them to the side. He plays with your hardened bud, alternating from the left and the right. 

“Shit.. a-a lot! I wanted this so bad, Raph~” Your sweet voice had created the music he wanted to hear, and you felt him slam into you harder. It wasn’t until his hand left your breasts and moved down to your swollen clit. Looking up at you, then back down at your sex, he gives you a smirk before getting to work. “Oh! Fuck, Raph!” His finger quickly flicking your clit like it was a bell, making it ring in ways that caused you to reach the top of the hill. 

“Fuck, please,” Your breathy moans became uneven, and your body came millimeters away from your well-needed orgasm, “Don’t fucking stop,” Your words became slurred and sloppy, and Raphael wouldn’t want to have it any other way. “You’re doing so good, Raph, fuck.” You were copping pleas, just like he wanted. Your sweet voice interrupted by unsolicited wonton moans caused Raph to fuck you like there was no tomorrow. He studies your face, and your half-lidded eyes watch as beads of sweat litter his emerald skin, the sweet sinful smell of sex filling the air as you finally come to your senses. “Think you could fill me up?” You had asked so innocently despite the obvious whine in your voice. You sounded so needy and sexy, that Raphael couldn’t hold it in any longer. All of his senses were being simulated, and the sight of you was the cherry on top. He had you exactly where he wanted you: crumbled, fucked-out face, rosy cheeks, and begging for him to cum.

You tightened around him, a wave of pure euphoria taking over you as you came to the squelching sound of you finishing all over Raph’s member. Your body shakes as he doesn’t stop, moments go by before he slows down, allowing you to ride out your orgasm. You lean up to lock lips, and his thrusts quicken before he groans huskily into the sloppy kiss. He had reached the top of his own hill, and he couldn’t wait to fill you up and paint your insides white. 

When he’s finally ready, he puts his forehead on yours, and you watch as he becomes weak at the knees, bucking his hips to meet your pelvis one last time before you feel something warm shoot through you. The thought of Raph’s cum filling you up alone caused you to moan in ecstasy, never mind the feeling of it.

Raph shifts his weight, holding himself up with his reserved strength. It wasn’t like he was finished. No, Raph’s libido was so high and mighty, this was just the pregame. 

“I kind of feel bad…” You trail off. You felt Raph’s cum leak from your pulsating cunt, pooling onto the floor under you. Droplets of sweat littered the hardwood, “We made a mess.” But before you could get up, Raph lets out a throaty chuckle, “Ya think so? We could do bettah than this.” His accented voice teases a new idea. Maybe he was right, you guys could make an even bigger mess.

The smell of sex wasn’t leaving the dojo anytime soon, and with the way you went uninterrupted for what seemed like hours, what made you think you’d be stopping here? You sit up on your knees, pushing Raphael back onto his shell. Straddling his waist, his member jumped in response. Once again, he was ready to give it to you. As he watched you grab it at the base and align it with your sex, cum still dripping from the previous activity, you sat down on it slowly until your pelvis met his own. 

It was your turn to fuck his brains out, and you were ready to do just that. 

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[hellishjoel]

boy next door

711 words / pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

← masterlist | notifications blog | seasons of life challenge masterlist

word: spring cleaning

warnings/information: fluff!! literal fluff!!

a/n: sorry (not really) that I keep choosing Frankie as my inspiration for many of these prompts, he is just so lover boy!! my banners are by @saradika-graphics. shoutout to @berryispunk and @lady-bess for putting this together on @fanfictionoverload!

Francisco Morales has always been the boy next door. From grade school to high school, your lives ran parallel. You shared the same school bus stop and the same backyard fence. 

It all began when he saw you cruising the cul-de-sac on your Razor scooter, his shy smile lingering until you rode up and asked if he wanted a turn. That was the moment your friendship truly began—joined at the hip from that day forward.

High school changed things. Francisco turned into Frankie, and Frankie got… hot. All sharp features and soft brown eyes with floppy curls often nestled under a hat. Meanwhile, you were navigating the awkwardness of acne and insecurities, and your circles didn’t quite overlap the way they used to. 

Life pulled you in different directions—you went to university, and Frankie enlisted. You assumed he’d forgotten about you, imagining him making new friends, finding someone special, and leaving your shared past behind.

Then, last Christmas Eve, Frankie appeared at your parents' doorstep, clutching a tin of cookies his mom had baked. The surprise visit turned into hours of catching up over hot cocoa and nostalgia. 

That night rekindled something neither of you had realized you missed. A year later, he wasn’t just the boy next door anymore—he was your sweet, goofy boyfriend, and today, he was helping you tackle early spring cleaning at your parents' house before they moved to Florida. 

“Florida must have subliminal radio waves for retirees.” He grunts as he yanks down the rickety wooden ladder to the attic, shifting around boxes until his eyes land on one with Barbie stickers and childish scribbles with a marker. “What do we have here?” he teases, descending the ladder with the box cradled against his chest.

Your heart sank. “Frankie, no,” you warn, lunging forward to grab it.

“I spy some diaries!” Frankie beams, heat rushing to all parts of your body in panic.

“Please don’t read those. I’m begging you.” 

Frankie holds up the thickest one, a compound notebook with a black and white cover that has your name and the year scrawled over it in a gel pink pen. 

Frankie scoffs playfully, eyeing you over curiously. “What’s the worst it could say? Did you confess to a crime in here? With a pink glittery pen?”

“Frankie, please,” you groan, face buried in your hands.

Those pages hold so many memories from high school. You remembered bits and pieces of what could be inside, but you knew at least a few pages described your torrid girlish crush on Francisco. Your boy next door. 

His playful grin softened as he studied your expression. He placed the notebook back in the box and set it on the floor. “Okay, baby. I won’t look. I was just messing around.” He crossed the room, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry.”

The relief you feel gives you the courage to flip through the journal, finding one page in particular. “One page. And one page only. Okay?”

Frankie’s eyes lit up as he slid behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. Together, you found the page—his name, scrawled in a big heart pierced with an arrow.

He tightened his hold, and you felt the warmth of his blush against your cheek. “You had a crush on me?” he murmurs, his voice low and awed. “I used to have a crush on you. You were so cool, and I never told you how I felt. You always just seemed so much smarter than me, and you didn’t care what anyone thought. No way in hell did I think you’d be into me.”

You turn in his arms, both of you smiling like teenagers again.

He shakes his head and pulls you in for a deep kiss, his rough hands melting at the hold he has on your jaw, taking in the love notes scattered throughout your journal. “I could have had you all this time.” 

You shake your head and squeeze his hands assuredly. “Our timing is just right.” The attic, the journals, and the past faded away. In this moment, it was just the two of you—and the love that had finally found its time.

← masterlist | notifications blog | seasons of life challenge masterlist

[trollbreak]

Man I need an unhappy but stubborn marriage ship huh

[esyra]

After the hospital bombing, I finally heard back from my grandmother and confirmed that several of my relatives were murdered by Israeli bombing. Seven of them, to be precise. Three are still going, including her. We've been talking constantly ever since.

Asked if it was possible to head south, and was told they did but were also bombed there. So they decided to go back home, in Zeitoun. Their home was bombed and they were pulled out of the rumble, then driven by ambulances to the al-Ahli Arab Hospital. There were people in every corner. Gazans sheltering, sleeping on the floor. Gazans dying on the floor, waiting for beds.

Four were declared dead on arrival, three were in need of surgery and other three were just bandaged. Then, a bomb was dropped in the parking lot that made parts of the ceiling collapse, like Dr. Ghassan Abu Sittah reported in that horrific conference/interview. Those in need of surgery died.

By the way, just in case you didn't know: the Church of Saint Porphyrius, the third oldest in history, bombed by Israel a few days back, was located near the hospital.

When looking for new shelter, they saw schools with signs hanging outside, "We can't take any more families." They met families, sympathetic but already sheltering too many people. They're now staying in an apartment building they found empty. Sleeping in the corner of the living room. If the family comes back, they'll apologize and leave.

Told me she was saving her phone battery for when the bombing stopped, and she had to ask for help to rebuilt the neighborhood. But she doesn't think it's gonna stop anymore. The ones still with her are mute most of the time, like they're saving energy, but she feels lonely and wanted to talk. There's no internet and to connect to WhatsApp, people are buying "a card from the supermarket, there's a password and username." Not sure what she meant. Still, the internet is inconsistent and won't load neither videos or images nor pages, so she doesn't know what's happening on the outside world.

Told her there were a lot of people protesting to stop the genocide, she replied, "The bombings are getting worse by the day." The bombing yesterday was the worst she ever witnessed. The entire neighborhood is infested with the smell of death, of decomposing bodies. Bodies are piling up in the streets and she's not sure if it's because they ran out of places to store them, but most of them are in bags. The smoke of the bombings hide the blue sky—she hasn't seen the clouds for a while.

Asked if I could share their pictures, names and dreams with people and was told, of which I partly agree, "they're not entertainment." If anyone genuinely cared, they would be alive—I'd argue there are people who do care, but I'm not gonna lecture her pain. And they don't deserve to be used to fulfill someone's sick fantasy. Told me to remember what some Israelis do with pictures of dead Palestinians. And I do.

For those of you who are not familiar, many times before settlers got together to celebrate the murder of Palestinians. For one, in 2015, Israeli settlers set a house in Duma, West Bank on fire. An 18-month old baby, Ali Dawbsheh, was burnt alive. Both parents later died of wounds and only a 5-year-old, Ahmad, survived, although severely injured.

Two celebrations of their murder are widely known, one at a wedding and others outside the court in which two were indicted for the terrorist attack. In the wedding, guests stabbed a photo of the toddler, Ali, while others waved guns, knives and Molotov cocktails. Israel's Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir, was present.

That's what happens in an apartheid. Palestinians are so abused by authorities that their "innocent civilians" come to accept the brutality as necessary or are desensitized by our suffering. After all, it's been 75 years—get used to it!

So I won't risk the image of my loved ones, in fear they are used in these kinds of depravity. I will say, though, the world lost a young footballer. Lost a female writer and an aspiring ballerina. Lost a kind father, who was also a great cook, and a loving mother that enjoyed sewing and other types of handicraft art. Lost a math teacher and a child that wanted to become one.

People think Israel is testing new weapons on them. There's civilians arriving at the hospital with severe burns, which they thought was from white phosphorus, but apparently the pattern is different from the one caused by white phosphorus. It's widely believed Israel tests weapons in Palestinians.

Jeff Halper, author of War Against the People, a book on Israel's arms and surveillance technology industries, said: "Israel has kept the occupation because it's a laboratory for weapons."

They've ran out of drinkable water and the "aid" Biden sent was only for the South of Gaza and no fuel, for hospitals, was allowed in. Many shelves in the supermarket are empty. She said many are convinced that if they don't die from the bombing, they'll die from starvation or dehydration, or whatever disease will develop from the dirty water they're drinking.

Told me all people do now is pray, cry and die. Told me she hopes West Bank is spared. Told her Israel bombed a mosque in West Bank and dozens of Palestinians in West Bank are being murdered by settlers, so she bided me goodbye.

[suni-writings]

Smart mouth.

jude bellingham x fem!reader

wc: 1.1k

+18!! mdni

(content warning: arguments [kinda], make-up, smut, fingering)

realized it's been a while since i showed up! might not be that good, but hope u enjoy it :)

You weren’t even sure why you and Jude kept constantly fighting. You both worked well together — he was a good, consistent partner and he never took anything out on you. Everyone around you could go on about how the two of you were almost a match made in heaven, with tempers that combined, made a great couple. However, those tempers were exactly what led to so many pointless, useless arguments.

You had been arguing the whole ride back to your place, where he was supposed to sleep at that day. Neither of you remembered exactly how it started — the meaning losing somehow behind the amount of alcohol both of you had while clubbing. You were complaining about something while Jude tried to take deep, long breaths before always replying drying and sarcastically.

When you arrived and left the car, you turned to him after you opened the door up.

“You know what, Bellingham?” You asked. He always hated when you called him by his last name. “Just turn around and go home. I don’t want you here.”

“And I—” he held the door as you tried to shut in his face, failing miserably considering how taller and stronger he was, and he walked inside your place. “Don’t care. I’m staying here, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed as he sat down on your couch. He was just as bothered as you, if not more, but you were too mouthful when it came to fighting. You stood in front of him once he turned on your TV.

“You’re sleeping here. On the couch.”

He laughed dryly at your attempt to command him. Since you were on his way of watching the TV, he held your waist and, in one, swift move, pulled you onto his lap.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” He muttered in your ear as you began to shift uncomfortably on his lap. You had always hated how easy it was for him to manhandle you, to move you around; but, above all, you always hated how much it affected you, despite every attempt of yours to ignore it. It was like the words you said before were nothing to your body and mind.

You got quiet, and you could hear the movie he had put on behind you. The quieter you got, the calmer you got. Jude still held your waist on a tight grip, not wanting you to move nor leave his lap.

You shifted on his lap once again. Except, this time, you found yourself between one of his thighs, and your skirt and the thin piece of fabric protecting your cloth were doing only so little to avoid the friction, and you gasped before you could process it. Your boyfriend, of course, noticed it.

“You okay there, darling?” He asked, his cocky tone showing once again because he could tell where you mind was when your eyes met. “Aren’t you the one who always says sex doesn’t solve fights?”

You knew he was teasing you, but getting a rise out of you was always too easy.

“I swear to God—”

Jude chuckled, leaning his head against your couch and using his hand on your waist to move you around his thigh, guiding the moves your hips made and the friction of your covered cloth against him.

“Shh,” he hushed you gently in your ear. “Know how much you like it. Just shut for a second, alright?”

It was not like your body had any will to say no when he was moving you against his thigh so deliciously. Your head fell to his shoulder once the friction got to your clit, and that was when his hand began to slide lower down your body.

His fingers worked their way to your core, tossing your panties to the side as the fingertips of his middle and ring finger collected the wetness in your slit, teasing you up and down as you squirmed. You could already feel yourself panting, and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, Jude or the meaningless argument. Perhaps a combination of both, considering how much, deep down, you loved when he shut you up.

“Can’t resist you when you wear those skirts around me.” He mumbled against your collarbone as he spread kisses. His fingers were now moving in circular motions against your clit, and your hips subconsciously moved to follow his movements. You whined in his ear, and he could feel his uncomfortable bulge growing on his pants.

“Jude—”

You didn’t even need to ask. Not when he knew what you wanted. Slowly, his two fingers were inside you, but he didn’t move them. You were more frustrated than ever – having his fingers inside you was better than nothing, but you needed him to move them.

“I won’t do a thing. You’ll have to ride them by yourself.” He whispered in your ear, and you moaned out of frustration and arousal. “And you’ll be really, really quiet.”

Before you could protest, two fingers of his other hand were inside your mouth. He moved them enough to make you gag, and your hips were moving again. At first, slowly, to see if Jude would do anything. When you realized you were truly all by yourself, you began to move faster, erratically and desperately, trying to find the right angle as you used his fingers. He watched as you squirmed and clenched around his fingers, and he wanted to fuck you so badly.

But he needed to teach you how to shut up at times. Maybe it’d stop the nonsensical arguments – though a part of him didn’t want that to change.

He curled his fingers inside you just enough to reach the spot he knew you needed, and you rolled your eyes back. When he noticed your moans getting louder, he sank his fingers further down your throat, and you rode him faster until you finally, finally came.

He took his fingers out of your mouth and chuckled once you crumbled down on top of him.

“You sound so much better when you’re quiet,” he joked in your ear as you tried to catch your breath. You whined when he took his fingers off you and led it to his mouth, tasting your juices like it was the last thing he would be able to do.

“Maybe I should stop arguing.” You agreed with him after a while, your eyes shut as you kissed his neck softly.

“You know,” he smirked. “If I get to shut you up like this, I don’t mind having you bitching in my ear at every 5 seconds.”

You laughed softly and rolled your eyes, leaning away just enough to stare into his beautiful, big brown eyes. At moments like this, you were sure there was no one else in the world for you but Jude.

“Dickhead.” You mumbled.

“Careful, smart mouth.” He smiled. “Because I’m not leaving any time soon and, as far as I’m concerned, I’m always very keen to shut you up.

[sturniqlo]

POLAROIDS- MATT STURN

summary: it's your wedding and your bridesmaids give matt a spicy polaroid picture of your throughout the night

cw: cursing, slight suggestive material no smut

an: based on this tiktok i saw | lowercase intended

masterlist

-----------------------------------------------

polaroid one

the night was going great. matt and y/n were enjoying their wedding reception, they had been tied to the hip all night long. y/n had this one particular plan all planned out ever since her best friend, gia, had mentioned it to her. "hey, what if instead of a boudoir book at the end of the night, why don't you give him boudoir polaroids throughout the night?" she had suggested. "that's a great idea! but, why don't i have you and the rest of my bridesmaids give them to him?" gia gasped. "you dirty girl! you're going to get him riled up!" she lightly slapped your arm.

later that week, gia went over to take the pictures for y/n while matt wasn't home. neither of them found it weird, they had been friends their whole lives and considered themselves sisters and they had seen eachother countless times. "he's going to love these. can't wait to accompany you in the delivery room in nine months" gia placed the stack of six picture in her bag, she was going to keep them safe so they wouldn't risk matt finding them. "gia!" y/n scolded her and laughed and she put her hair back up.

"don't try and use them to get off." y/n joked as she walked gia to the door. "i'll try not to." gia playfully frowned. that was about a month ago. "you ready?" gia asked y/n as she handed a picture to each bridesmaid. y/n gave gia the last picture matt would receive and would probably be his breaking point and he'll race them home. "yeah. clem, you can give it to him in about five minutes." y/n tells the first bridesmaid. "okay!"

five minutes go by and y/n gives clem, who's standing nearby, a nod to give it to him. y/n scooted a bit away from matt as she saw clem get closer. he was currently having a small chat with chris. "hey matt." clem goes next to him pats his shoulder and grabs his hand, placing the picture face down and closing his hand around it. "hey?" he furrows his eyebrows, looking down at his closed hand. "chris! let's get a drink!" clem pulls chris away from matt.

somewhere nearby, gia is filming matt's reaction on y/n's camcorder. she zooms in on his face and giggles. matt, still confused, looks at his now wife and she directs a head nod to his hand. "what is it?" he says. "look at it!" she says over the loud music. he opens his hand and flips the small picture around and gasps, quickly placing the picture down on his lap. he feels himself get flustered and looks back at y/n who is giggling. "woahh!" he says. matt looks back down at the picture and flips it back and looks up to see if anyone is looking.

polaroid two

it had been twenty minutes since clem last gave matt the polaroid and matt was ready to go home and love on his wife. he had to excuse himself from y/n to go the bathroom to splash water on his face and cool down. y/n laughed at matt's reaction to the first picture, it was barely anything. she doesn't know how he'll react to the rest of them. in those twenty minutes, matt had slowly forgotten about the picture in his pocket until he saw kay, another one of y/n's bridesmaid come up to him with a smirk on her face. "matthew, i have something for you." she places her hands on her back. "wait let me prepare myself."

gia records again, zooming in on the interaction. y/n, now next to her giggles at matt's closed eyes, taking a deep breath. "okay, i'm ready." he places his hand out and kay places the picture faced down on his palm and he quickly closes his hand around it as he sees chris go over to him. kay, long gone, goes to the two girls laughing. "i love his reactions."

chris goes up to matt and matt tries to hide his hand. "what'd she give you?" he asks, taking a sip of his second pepsi. "dude, shoo out of here." matt shoos him with his empty hand. antsy to look at the new picture. "let me see." chris says. "fuck no!" he walks away from chris to a secluded corner. he flips the picture and cups his hand around. "holy fuck." he mutters. taking a better look at the picture. he starts to feel his pants get tight around his cock. suddenly and hand on his shoulder startles him, hiding the picture.

"baby, it's just me." y/n whispers in his ear, giggling once more from his reaction. "why are you doing this to me." he slips the picture into his pockets to join the other one. "thought it'd be fun." she shrugs wrapping her arms around his neck pulling him down to peck his lips. "can we go home." he looks into her eyes, slowly dragging his hands down to cup her ass over her dress. "not yet, a couple more hours to go. plus there's still more pictures." she unwraps her arms and walks away from in, turing her head back occasionally.

"fuck me." he sighs running a hand through his hair.

polaroid three

another twenty five minutes had passed by and matt has not forgotten about the pictures in his pocket. when he would find himself alone, he would pulls them out and stare and then and out them back once he saw someone coming up to him to congratulate him on his marriage. he would also go up to y/n when she was alone grabbing a drink of water and hugged her from behind begging her to go home. "please baby." he kissed her neck.

for the third picture, lila shook his hand and slipped the picture into his hand, while he was talking to nick. nick being curious, tried to take a peek at the mysterious picture, but matt shook his head. "i'll be back." he said, walking to his and y/n's table with a pep in his step. flipping it around he automatically started to get hard. in the picture, y/n was covering her bare cunt with their comforter. and her tits were able to be seen by the thin top she was wearing. he started to sweat, tugging on the neckline of his button up shirt.

around the corner, the three girls were giggling into the camera as gia tried to keep the camera straight, trying to capture the memories for her best friend. "what's going on?" nick came up behind them. "y/n's bridesmaids have been giving matt picture of her, if you know what i mean." nick gasped. "y/n!" she giggled. "is that why he didn't let me see?" they nodded.

polaroid four (left)

it was time for the fourth picture to be given to matt. this scenario was a bit different. the photographer was near their table taking pictures of them and y/n gave ali the signal to give it to him while the cameras were going off and gia was recording. ali walked over patting his on the shoulder and sliding it on this shoulder signaling him to grab it. matt looks around at the cameras immediately turning red. although she was wearing a plain white set, it was the first ever set matt had bought for her. so to them it was special. his head goes straight to his hands and she shakes his head, y/n laughs, looking at the cameras.

the photographer leaves to get an extra battery and matt lifts his head up. "baby, i don't know how much longer i can wait." he whispers in her ear. "only two more hours, mkay?" she grabs his chin, pecking his lips quickly. "two hours to long." he mutters, going back to look at the polaroid.

matt can't wait to go to their shared home and enjoy their first night as newlyweds. he also can't wait to take her dress off and toss it somewhere in their room along with his clothes. he already plans on keeping the polaroids safe in his wallet.

polaroid five (but the front side wink wink)

it was nearing eleven pm and guest were starting to leave here and there. the couple was once again busy by the guests saying their goodbyes and congratulating them once more. it was the second to last photo of the night and matt was getting antsy, waiting for a new picture to hold him up while he waits to get home. as matt was sipping on his hard seltzer, stella walked over to him with a huge smile on her face. matt downs his drink, giving the empty can to chris so he can throw it away, matt rubs his hands together. "let's see what we got now." he looks over at y/n who is smiling knowing this is a more exposed picture.

stella stood in front of matt, "here you go mister, it's a good one." she hands him the picture before walking away to gia who is once again filming. he looks around making sure nobody is able to see. flipping it over, he gets flustered all over again. her tits are now on display as one of her hand are in her hair. looking around to try and spot y/n he quickly spots her short white dress and she's already looking at him, smirking. gia turns off the camera, going to get her picture she's about to give him in a couple of minutes. matt lifts his finger in a come hither movement to y/n

following matt's motions, y/n makes her way to him. "can i help you?" she acts innocent. "i'm debating whether or not to ditch our wedding and go home." he looks at the picture once more before putting it in his pocket and looking into her eyes. his pupils are dialed and full with hunger and desire, y/n can't help but smirk. "just a bit more, i promise." she goes on her tip toes and kisses him. "i'm taking it you liked this one more?" matt nods, throwing his head into her shoulder groaning.

"i need you now."

polaroid six (middle pic but less clothing iykwim)

the moment matt has been waiting for, the final picture. he noticed that as he was given the pictures they were getting more and more suggestive. he believed that this last one was going to be very different. she was going to be on full display and he was excited, knowing that he'll get to have her in less than an hour. he was thanking their past selves for choosing a close venue to their home. the quicker he gets them home, the quicker he gets to show her how much he loves her.

gia was the last to give him a picture so he went up to her. "i believe you have something for me?" he widens his eyes and gives her a knowing look. "thirsty are we?" she giggles, grabbing her phone and taking her phone case off and grabbing the picture. "have fun, kid. i'll take care of the mess here." she hands the picture over to him and pats his shoulder as she walks away.

like a routine, he looks around making sure nobody can see it and flips it over. he feels the blood rush to his cock. she's completely naked in this one. although her leg is covering her pussy, he can already imagine it. staring a bit longer, he puts in safely in his pocket and looks for y/n so he can get them out of here. spotting her a few feet away he walks over to her. "get your stuff, we're leaving." he grabs her waist from behind.

"yes, baby." she smirks.

[lidiasloca]

hello!! I was wondering if you could write an azriel x reader fic where they've been best friends for centuries and one day the bond snapped for her. And she starts to avoid him because she thinks he doesn't love her so she doesn't show up to things they usually do together and whatnot (or however you want to put it!) but meanwhile Azriel is going crazy because he misses her and has been in love with her for years and then he confronts her and the bond snaps for him as well!! sorry if it's too long hahah but thanks

is it chill that you are in my head?

azriel x reader

friends to lovers

It was curious to think that no matter the strength you applied, no hit you made would ever hurt Azriel.

Yet, the Illyrian seemed intensely determined not to let you get to even touch him.

“Where’s your mind?” he asked as he dodged yet another hit. You took, at least, a bit of pride in his breathless voice.

You also took pride in how much you had made him sweat already, but you didn’t let your thoughts linger there too much—your eyes, neither.

“In trying to hit you.”

“Well, isn’t it frustrating you won’t satisfy your mind?”

“You get cocky—I’ll hit you down there,” you threatened, taking in his amused grin.

“There you can get?” he questioned as he circled you.

You held your fists up, following his eyes as he eyed you like a vulture. “You don’t want to find out.”

“I don’t,” he replied, just as you went to hit him.

He dodged it effortlessly.

And even had time, as you retracted your arm, to take it and pull you toward him, unbalancing you until you fell onto his torso.

As he prevented you from the fall he himself had caused, you found yourself close enough to his body to make out the intention written on his face.

A threat for a threat, you realized as you stared at those deep hazel eyes.

His face lacked any sympathy as he spoke, his voice death and sensuality all in the same honeyed spoon. “Don’t make threats you cannot back up, love.”

Your breath caught at the darkness that surrounded you. The darkness that you faced when you had his lips so close to yours, his eyes so focused on you.

Azriel was that: darkness. Both the dark that scared you as a child and the dark that now let you dream of him without guilt in the depths of the night.

“You’re right. No more threats,” you breathed as you drove your knee upward—

His hand was steel against the futile force of your movement. And a mocking grin on his lips was all you could think about due to the roaring in your ears.

Bastard.

The knee you were going to use to teach him a lesson was held in place with his right hand, which now moved down, and down until it found a place on the back of your thigh. He urged you nearer him.

Close enough. Until your surroundings vanished and you could only see his face, his never-faltering smirk when you made it so easy for him to mock you.

This was the Azriel you had only for yourself.

Not polite shyness, or quiet kindness.

But darkness.

All of it—all of him. Darkness.

Everything, but his eyes.

While you liked to have this flirtatious, dangerous Azriel—which you both called friendship—you still found yourself fantasizing about the light in his eyes and how soft they were, how romantic and intimate, and everything that he shouldn’t feel like.

Where all of him was dark, his eyes were golden.

Lightness.

Like a thread that led you through deeper parts of him, of his soul.

Too intimate.

You let out a long exhale. “I’m not in the mood,” you mumbled.

And it broke your heart the way he immediately released you. How gently he let go of you as a flash of… pain painted his eyes.

Then it was gone in a blink. And that smirk found its way to his face again. “I make you exhausted quite fast.”

“Mhmm,” was all you could mutter as you watched him—those eyes.

That thread.

What was that?

He held your stare with a bit of confused amusement. “What do you find so interesting?” he smiled.

You took all your bravery… and a step, and another, until you were back where you started: looking deep into his eyes, close enough to feel his breath on your face.

He didn’t dodge this time. And neither did he smirk as you placed both of your hands on his face to make him meet your eyes.

Those golden eyes.

There was something in them.

That lightness that guided you through the darkness—his darkness.

As a thread.

A gasp broke through you at the realization, at the feeling in your heart—your soul.

You took a step back, your hands sliding away from his face as gently as a wind’s whisper.

He eyed you worriedly, taking a step toward you as you kept walking away.

“What?” he asked, finally that mask off his face.

But you couldn’t bear the sight of his eyes again. The feel of that thread.

M-

“What is it?” he asked, desperation lacing his words.

Ma…

“Y/N?” he pleaded.

Mate.

You winnowed away before he could pronounce another word.

…

You knew hiding was not the solution. You knew you would have to face him eventually—he was one of your closest friends after all, yet…

“I cannot do it. I cannot see him.”

Another of your closest friends was there to make you think logically.

“Y/N,” Nesta said, taking a seat on the couch in your bedroom. “You’ve been hiding here for almost a month. You can’t hide from him forever. He’s your—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, despite how stupidly childish it made you sound.

Nesta exhaled as if indeed, you were acting stupidly childish. “Mate? You cannot hear the word mate?”

There was a tinge of mocking in her tone that made you meet her eyes with fury in yours. “It’s very easy to look at me and judge me when you don’t know what this feels like.”

“What? Having an Illyrian as my mate?” she asked with a soft smile on her lips, and you knew your friend well—you knew it wasn’t mocking anymore.

Nesta, as if to prove you right, walked toward where you sat on the bed and made herself a place next to you, moving her hand to caress yours like a mother would.

She didn’t say anything, though, so you replied, emotion running your words slowly—unsteady. “You don’t know what it’s like to know your mate… doesn’t want you back.”

“You don’t know if Azriel doesn’t want you back.”

“Yes, I do. I know Azriel.”

“Well, I know him as well. And I know—actually—all the house, and probably all Velaris, knows he likes you. A lot.”

You shook your head.

Nesta went on, “He flirts with you all the time, Y/N. In all honesty, it was about damned time that bond snapped for one of you. It was clear you had something.”

“Exactly: something,” you rectified. “That something, Nesta, is flirting. Flir-ting. Nothing more, nothing else. That’s all he wants from me. Taunting and touching and provoking and friendship. But not love. And most certainly, not a damn mating bond.” You took a staggered breath, not able to meet her eyes anymore. “Not with me.”

Nesta watched you silently, then said, “You don’t know that.”

You shook your head, wiping a tear that slid down your face. “You don’t know either.”

“That’s true,” she replied, handing you a tissue with her free hand as the other drew circles on your wrist. “We won’t know until you ask him.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “So, I just ask him if he wants the mating bond with me? That simple? Thanks, Nesta.”

Her eyes narrowed at you in warning to watch your tone, yet her faint smirk provoked one to bloom on your face. “Yes. It’s that simple.”

“And when he says no?”

She shook her head. “What if he says no,” she corrected you.

Your smile grew just a bit. “What if he says no?” you echoed.

“Then I’ll beat his ass on the training ground. And have Cassian beat him afterward.”

You chuckled lightly, imagining the scene.

But the question appeared in your mind, and you took the courage to ask her.

“And what if he says yes?”

By the warm look in her eyes, you knew she had understood. “It’s a long way to go. But one finally learns to let herself be loved, Y/N.”

And by one, you knew who she meant.

You were grateful that afterward, Nesta and you had a more lighthearted conversation. And when it turned dark outside, Nesta gave you a hug and left your bedroom.

You knew you had to also leave your bedroom at some point and face what awaited outside that comfort.

But love seemed to find you just where you thought you were safe.

“Can I come in?”

It certainly wasn’t Nesta’s voice.

Your hand trembled as you went for the knob and opened the door.

“Can I come in?” Azriel repeated, and you realized long seconds had passed of just you staring, unmoving.

“Yes,” you whispered, letting him through and closing the door.

You had prayed he stayed like that—backward to you, staring outside your window. Anything but have his eyes meet yours.

But he turned to you.

He was even more beautiful than ever, even if you couldn’t help but notice the dark circles around his eyes, his pale lips, or his eyes… almost lifeless.

Like the light had deserted him.

Like the bond had abandoned him… because he didn’t want it.

“It’s been weeks,” he eventually said, and his voice carried enough emotion you had to lean on the door, afraid to crumble to the ground. “I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“I’ve been busy.”

He took a step closer to you, making you meet his eyes again. “With what?” he demanded.

You weren’t fast enough to make up a lie before he said, “You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t quite a question. “You are mad at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he muttered, taking another step.

“I’m not, Azriel.”

He stopped his following step at the sound of his name. He looked like he had been slapped, and his face morphed into something unreadable.

“I’m sorry," he murmured.

“What?” you asked, walking towards him when he looked down.

You had to see his face, you had to understand him.

“Whatever I have done. I’m sorry. Forgive me and… be my friend again.”

You stopped in your tracks, not having quite reached him. Friends.

His words both broke and healed your heart. The desperation in them, the vulnerability.

You stared at the selfless male who cherished your friendship in front of you. Maybe you could take that and give up dreaming. Maybe you could convince yourself that friendship was better than nothing, even if it killed you.

“I miss you,” he said, and you decided that was the final blow.

A sob broke through you, raw and desperate, and his expression shifted instantly. He closed the distanced and his hands found your face, those scarred palms trembling as they cupped your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Don’t cry, please. I’m sorry.”

Friends.

Mates.

“What are you even sorry for?” you mumbled, shaking your head faintly.

“The last time I saw you - when you got… mad at me, we were doing what we always do. Well, what I always do. That stupid flirting, that… you know. And I know that bothered you. And I’m sorry. I never knew it made you uncomfortable before and… I’m sorry,” he said again. 

You quietly stared at him, at the sadness and guilt in his eyes. “It’s not that it bothers me...” you said because it never had, but maybe now—maybe now it hurt your feelings - but that was because of you. It was not his fault. 

Yet you couldn’t speak your thoughts before he went on. “It does. I saw it in your eyes… like you were disgusted.” His voice cracked. “And it broke my heart, because… I don’t want it either.”

There it was.

The truth you’d been bracing yourself for.

Friends.

That’s all he wanted you to be—a friend.

He took a deep breath, his hands falling away from your face as he stepped back, as if retreating from his own vulnerability. “It’s all a lie, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched.

“I thought that’s what you wanted—the only thing you wanted from me—and I tried to convince myself that I could settle with that. That it would be enough. But…” His gaze locked on yours, piercing and raw. “I can’t.”

“What?” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The world stopped turning.

“I love you,” he repeated. “And I don’t want to keep pretending I’m okay with only being your friend. I don’t want to keep pretending. I just… I just want you to know that I’ve loved you for so long, I can’t remember what life was before you.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think.

Mate.

“You love me?” you whispered.

He nodded as a tear ran down his face. 

Another sob tore from you and his hands were on your face again in an instant, pulling you close. “I love you, too,” you murmured, the words spilling out.

And at last, the color returned to his eyes again, hazel-golden shining in the dark room. 

And that was it; the light that you needed, the strength that guided you—that encouraged you to tell him. 

“I am… I am your mate.” 

A beat later you realized you weren’t the one who had spoken. 

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

a/n: thanks for requesting, i hope the fic is of your liking, though i took some liberties in the writing. thanks for your request, love!!

[gotta-winwin]

OT13 Reaction -- to you being bullied in the past/highschool

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

tw: this one holds a lot of mentions of verbal bullying and cyberbullying - it's something very close to home for me and this fic will be for anyone who has experienced the same thing. remember that you are strong and the harsh words don't define you! i love you and stay safe <33

he can feel his blood boiling the moment you comment on your past experiences with bullies. seungcheol prides himself to be a level-headed type of guy, but the thought of you getting hurt - even in the past - strikes a chord deep inside of him. he's thinking about buying a plane ticket to your hometown just to find those fuckers and bury them six feet under. however, he's mature enough to know that violence never solves anything, opting to show you even more love than before (if that's even possible) to remind you that you are worth everything in the world.

jeonghan's mind is already whirring overtime the moment he finds out about your past. using his scary, evil, mastermind brain for good this time, he can't help but envision decking the people who've hurt you. doesn't mind listening to you as you rant, knowing that you need a silent supporter by your side. will never tell you about how he sees red just thinking about your so-called "friends" who made you feel so horrible about yourself.

joshua can feel his heart crack with each name you tell him you've been called. takes the time to reassure you that you are none of those horrible things, that you're kind and beautiful and so so so smart. traces his finger across every scar and imperfection you've been bullied over, whispering how much he loves you. doesn't mind giving your bullies the nastiest side-eye the next time he sees them.

although he's doing his best to be present as you tell him about your past, jun is internally screaming at himself because you. are. crying. it's like he malfunctions every time it happens, hating how sad and scared you look. despite his panic, he's awfully calm when he comforts you, explaining to you that no, you are not weak because of this. in fact, you're much much stronger.

soonyoung's somehow found himself perched on top of a chair, his body steaming with anger, holding too much rage to sit still. you can tell he's struggling to hold back the foulest curse words, knowing that he should at least let you finish your rant. the moment you're done however, he's cursing them, their mother, their partner, anyone he can get his metaphorical hands on. it's okay baby. he'd tell you once he's calmed down. they're probably failing in life. but look at you! you're successful and beautiful and you're dating me!

wonwoo's asking you questions in a way that makes you fear for what he's about to do. what's their address? social media? social security number? you have to physically sit him down and remind him that the bullying happened years ago in highschool and that there was no point in trying to get revenge now. he's visibly deflated by the news, but decides to just dote on you even more to prove to you that their awful words were wrong. i'm no good with words, but i'll show you how fucking stupid they were to hurt you.

jihoon doesn't really know what to say when you tell him. he only thanks you for feeling brave enough to share such a painful part of you with him, feeling happy you trust him enough to do so. neither one of you revisits the topic: until one day, you see a suspicious amount of rageful revenge lyrics and comfort lyrics in seventeen's new releases. i guess we can credit the making of Hug to that instance.

minghao's glad he meditated last night because what you just told him would have definitely set him off without it. he doesn't hesitate to hold you, asking you if you need anything from him. i'm so proud of you for surviving all that, my love. they were obviously blind and didn't see your worth. and i'm sorry you thought they were your friends. he makes it clear that he's here for you, whenever you need to talk about it again.

seokmin more than upset when you're finished telling him everything- he's confused. he doesn't understand why anyone would want to hurt you, let alone say all those nasty things and pretend to be your friend. he apologizes for crying, trying to laugh it off by saying idk why i'm crying so hard, it didn't even happen to me but i'm the one sobbing like a baby. promises you that he's never leaving your side and you don't have to ever worry about him turning on you like your friends did in highschool.

all mingyu can think about as he listens is that he could have made it all better if he had just been there. he tells you while gently wiping away your tears that he would've traded places with you in an instant. i wish we'd met when we were younger, love. i would have fought them all back. but most of all, he wishes he was there to protect the younger you, knowing a child didn't deserve all that.

although you're doing a great job already, seungkwan can't help but join in on dissing your bullies and so-called "friends." he nods along enthusiastically every time you throw an insult, preferring always to laugh about it instead of cry. he's hyping you up, agreeing with everything you say as you recount your highschool days. yeah, no she sounds like a bitch. i bet he couldn't even read a chapter book. bro probably stank, you were safer without him. she's sounding like one of those insane kdrama rich ladies - and not the hot ones.

vernon's quietly listening, storing away every single piece of information for the next time you guys return to your hometown. he's already preparing his plethora of insults and backhanded digs, ready to show them a taste of their own medicine. he quietly tells you that he can relate - school had never been kind to him either - and he somehow spins all your shared trauma into something beautiful. we were meant to be, he says, cause you healed me, and now i can heal you. his words make you smile through the tears - and you fucking love him for that.

chan's at a loss for words once you're finished telling him everything. he's overwhelmed by the sheer amount of harsh words and sickening moments, knowing that if he felt this bad just hearing about it, he couldn't imagine how you felt going through it all. you're much braver than i would have been, is all he says after a pause. i love you. chan might be a man of few words, but he knows just what to say.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Respect

Feyd-Rautha x female!reader

Summary: Your betrothed is a son from one of the Great Houses, an awful man who has enjoyed threatening and scaring you since you were children. Feyd makes it known he doesn't appreciate such disrespectful treatment of the woman he loves.

Notes/Warnings: SA (mention of past unwanted touching. Not by Feyd). Violence and blood. Implied or mentioned sexual situations. Feyd is soft for reader and reader only. Typos, im sure. I think that's it. Feel free to correct me.

Words: 1900

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You told him stories of the youngest son of House Kenric. As you lay in Feyd’s arms, you recounted your meetings with your betrothed over the years. The ways he teased you as children, pinching your skin, tugging on your hair, spitting in your face, calling you worthless, stupid, pathetic. Then in the years before coming of age, how he would mock you alongside his brothers. How he would smack you if you defended yourself and force you to tell your father you’d fallen. How he would grope you over your dress when neither your parents nor his were paying attention. But you’d kept one story from him; the most recent of them.

Feyd had met you at a party for a handful of influential Great Houses, and it wasn’t long before he found himself rather attached to you. Over the course of six hours, you’d met, talked, flirted, snuck off, kissed, fell into bed, fucked, and returned to the party with no one the wiser. It was that same night you were able to convince your father of a budding interest in Harkonnen ways, and that if the Houses were aiming for peace and unity, there would be no harm in you spending a few months on Giedi Prime.

At the time, Feyd knew the “Harkonnen ways” you so appreciated didn’t extend far past the attachment the two of you shared and his ability to make you see stars when his cock was inside of you, but it eventually developed into more. Much more. Though never said aloud, he loved you. So much so that when you finally informed him of your betrothed’s treatment of you the week preceding the party—his cornering you, touching you, telling you of his intent to control and use you as he pleases once you become his wife—Feyd struggled to swallow his rage. 

“I’m scared, honestly,” you told him, your hand sliding up from his abdomen over his chest to the curve where his neck met his shoulder, gently squeezing the toned muscle. “How do I become the wife of a man like that? And what about producing his heir? I’ll have no choice but to let him have me.”

It made Feyd sick to think of another man so close to you. Another man’s hands on you, his lips marring your body, tongue between your folds, sweat staining your skin. Even screwing his eyes shut couldn’t make those images disappear. They only grew stronger, tormenting him. She’s not yours, a little voice whispered. Not your woman, not the mother of your child, not your wife. 

But, fuck, you should be. You should be all of those things. You would make a perfect Baroness; the only one Feyd could imagine himself wanting. You would face hardship with a sturdy backbone and not shy away from what Giedi Prime would request of you. You would be respected as the ruler by his side, as you deserve. Respected most of all by the man who loves you.

“Would you rather marry me?” Feyd asked, lazily running his fingers up and down your bare spine. He felt a sudden uneasiness, like nerves wiggling throughout his limbs. Such an unfamiliar sensation. Unwelcome, but not misplaced he supposed.

“Yes,” you replied to his relief. “But we both know that’s not how this works, Feyd. It’s just not that simple.”

You were right. It wasn’t simple. Your father made an arrangement with House Kenric, but there was no chance Feyd was going to let that old Duke take you from him in two weeks and ship you off to marry an abusive, unworthy pest of a man. If your father wouldn’t permit simplicity for the sake of your happiness, then Feyd would just have to make it simple. 

—

“Why is it again that I’m not allowed to see?” you ask as Feyd guides you down a dark corridor with his fingers covering your eyes.

“I told you it’s a surprise,” he teases. “Don’t you like my presents?” 

You chuckle. “Of course, I like your presents.”

“Then that’s all you need to know,” he tells you. “We are here, anyway.”

Coming to a stop, Feyd removes his hands from your eyes and places them on your shoulders, kneading out the tension that has only worsened in your body as your wedding day grows nearer. You blink once, twice, still curious as to what sort of present could possibly be this far from your rooms, but when your vision adjusts to the onslaught of bright light illuminating the small cell, you gasp at the sight before you. 

“What do you think?” Feyd asks, pressing a kiss to your neck as you take in the badly beaten body of Aldo Kenric—your future husband.

He’s secured to a chair, his arms strapped down to the chairs arms and legs strapped to legs. His head hangs low. His shirt is torn down the front, exposing the deep purple bruises that litter his torso. Blood drips from his nose and split lips to stain white fabric and forge red rivers through the hills of his abdomen muscles. If not for the pink flush to his skin, you would think him long dead.

The hand that raises to your mouth partially conceals your shock, but the rest of your face gives the emotion away. Your eyelids don’t seem to be able to blink anymore, and your brows will not lower from their position high up on your forehead. You don’t know how to swallow what you see.

With a sigh, Feyd says, “Wait a moment. He’s not very lively.” Then he steps around you toward your betrothed, lifts the man's head by his cropped blond hair, and hits him across the face with a smack that echoes throughout the cell. Scarlet droplets splatter across Feyd’s forearm like flung paint from a brush.

Aldo jolts awake, body convulsing in a sharp jerk. His eyes blow wide as saucers as he snaps his head in all directions and struggles against his binds. The gag in his mouth muffles his whimpers of panic. 

“H-How?” you stutter, glancing at Feyd. “When did you—”

“I had some of my men snatch him last night,” Feyd informs you. ‘While we were busy fucking’, he leaves out. “I was told it was done without difficulty. Didn’t put up a decent fight of any sort.” 

He grabs Aldo’s jaw, fingers pressing into the hollows of his cheeks, and forces his head so he has no choice but to look directly into Feyd’s eyes. “We had a long talk about respecting our women, didn’t we, Kenric?”

Tears stream down the man’s face, cutting through dried blood and dripping onto Feyd’s hand. Aldo tries to yank his head free from the tight grasp to look at you. You think he’s repeating your name behind the stuffing in his mouth, but you can’t be sure.

“What are you going to do with him?” you ask.

“What would you like me to do with him?”

“I can decide?”

He laughs. “Of course. I wouldn’t give you a gift and not let you choose what to do with it.”

You almost flinch in shock. You’re not known for choosing things for yourself. Until you met Feyd, ‘choice’ was a word associated with negativity and obligatory sacrifice. He is the one thing you’ve ever chosen. Your clothes, your hair, your studies, your husband—all selected for you. But Feyd…you met him and fell and didn’t want to get back up. 

Maybe now, you don’t have to.

“You’d kill him?” you ask.

Aldo screams behind his gag, more salty wet lines running down his face. His squirming shifts the chair back and forth and forward and back. Unevenly distributed weight nearly causes him to fall on his side, but Feyd sets him upright before he can crack his head on the stone floor. 

Reaching around his back, Feyd pulls out a small knife and in one sharp motion sinks it into Aldo’s thigh with a sickening yet satisfying thick thud. “Stay put,” he growls, then he turns to you with a smile. “Yes, I would kill him, if that would make you happy.”

Water pools in the corner of your eyes. Your bottom lip begins to quiver. Feyd rushes to you and cups your cheeks in warm palms. 

“Do not cry,” he demands as his thumbs brush over your cheekbones. “You know I hate it.”

“I'm sorry,” you say, sucking in a few deep breaths between your sniffles. “No one has ever done something like this for me before.”

His face softens. “I’d do everything for you,” he swears before drawing you in for a kiss; slow and sensual and sweet in front of the broken man who currently has a claim on your hand. You lose yourself to mouths moving in perfect sync until he pulls back. 

“So, do you have a preference?” he asks, giving you one final peck. “Slit throat now, or arena in the morning?”

Your head tilts in contemplation as you observe the distressed, wailing man who has happily hurt and terrified you. By nature, you are not a violent woman, not in the way your man is a violent man, and you were raised to believe that it is improper and rude and disrespectful to wish pain upon someone else—downright cruel or whatever—but there’s a sense of freedom now. Clearer mind, lighter heart, straighter spine, weakened conscience.

You raise a brow. “If I choose the arena, will you make a show of it?”

Feyd hums in agreement.

“And, um…” you pause.

“You can have anything you want,” Feyd says at your hesitation.

You nod, your confidence renewing with his encouragement. Yes, he’s right, you can have anything. With Feyd, it’s anything, and it’s conditionless. 

As you slowly drag your hand down his chest, you peer up at him through your lashes. “Will you go in without a shirt? I’d like to see you come out covered in red.”

Feyd smirks then steps out of your arms and crouches in front of your soon-to-be-former betrothed. “Did you hear her?” he asks Aldo as he flicks the hilt of the blade sticking out of his flesh. Aldo whimpers, pressing his legs together. “Covered, she says. And I will give her what she wants because I love her and this is how I respect her.”

Leaning down, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Let’s go to our room. I want to thank you…properly,” you whisper, softly kissing just under his ear before sucking his earlobe into your mouth. Feyd groans.

“And then I will properly thank you for thanking me, my love,” he says with a grin that falls into a frown when he turns back to Aldo. “See, Kenric? Respect.” Feyd slaps the top of Aldo’s leg for emphasis as he stands. “You can keep the knife for now. Can't have you bleeding out. We have an important day ahead of us and I don’t want it to be too easy.”

“Come on,” you snicker, pulling him by the hand as you walk backward out of the cell. 

Feyd spins and grabs you at the waist to lift you into his arms. You giggle as your legs lock around his hips.

“Will you agree to marry me now?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you tell him, your lips ghosting over his. “You saved me.”

--

tags (let me know if you want to be on the list): @avidreader73

[kiwriteswords]

I kinda need Hotch accidentally hurting shy!Readers feelings…I need angst with a happy ending!

What's Left Unsaid [Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1k|| AN: Love to write some shy!reader/hotch dynamics! Also playing out with the gifs and graphics I make for fics a little bit more. Thanks for the request!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, alcohol mention, team outing, bar setting, fear of commitment (stemming from both sides), happy ending but left a little open to interpretation, shy reader, mentions of Beth, mentions of the breakup with Beth, mentions of Jack, Dad!First!Mentality!Hotch, Friends with Benefits, Secret Relationship, Hotch's POV

Summary: When Hotch reveals to the team the reason he doesn't want a relationship, it hurts your feelings because the two of you have been secretly seeing each other, and you're wondering if it is going anywhere.

Hotch sipped his beer, trying to appear relaxed as he leaned back in the booth. The chatter of the team mingled with the ambient noise of the bar, but his attention was subtly tuned to you, sitting just a bit too far away for his liking. In his peripheral vision, he watched you laugh softly at something Rossi said. The sound was like music, and it made him smile, albeit briefly.

You and Hotch had been seeing each other secretly for a few months now. It started casually, two colleagues seeking comfort in each other after long, taxing cases. But slowly, the physical connection had deepened into late-night talks, shared dinners, and quiet evenings watching movies on the couch after Jack had gone to bed. Neither of you had put a label on whatever this was blossoming into, both hesitant to complicate things further. Hotch, especially, feared the implications of wanting more.

The first time it happened, it was almost by accident. You and Hotch had been the last to leave the BAU after a grueling case that had stretched over several weeks. The weight of the ordeal was palpable, lingering in the air like a thick fog. Hotch had offered to walk you to your car, a gesture of simple politeness, but when you reached the parking lot, neither of you seemed ready to part ways just yet.

"Want to grab a late dinner?" Hotch had suggested, his voice low and a bit hesitant. You were surprised; Hotch was always reserved, focused on the job, rarely stepping beyond the professional boundaries he so rigidly set for himself. But that night, something in his eyes—a shared tiredness, a mutual need for decompression—made you nod in agreement.

That dinner marked the beginning of what would become your secret connection. It wasn't planned or discussed; it just naturally evolved as you both found comfort in each other’s presence outside the high-stakes environment of the FBI. The diner meals became a routine, a way to unwind, and slowly, those meetings shifted to more personal settings. Hotch invited you over to watch a movie one evening when Jack was away at a sleepover. You brought over a classic film and takeout and found comfort in the quiet companionship that filled his living room.

You were naturally shy, a trait that often made you a listener rather than a speaker in the noisy dynamics of the team. Hotch noticed this early on. He learned quickly that you communicated more in silence than most did in conversation. He appreciated the quiet moments with you, how you seemed to understand the weight of words left unspoken. But he also knew he sometimes had to coax thoughts out of you, especially when he sensed something was troubling you.

One such evening, as the credits rolled on the screen, he turned to find you lost in thought, a distant look in your eyes. "What’s on your mind?" he asked gently, careful not to startle you out of your contemplation.

You hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Just... thinking about the case," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. But he knew there was more—you often carried the emotional burdens of your work longer and deeper than most.

"It’s more than just the case, isn’t it?" Hotch prodded softly, giving you the space to open up at your own pace. Over time, he had become adept at navigating your shyness, offering you security in his steadiness.

You looked at him, the trust in his gaze encouraging you to share your fears. "Sometimes, I wonder if we ever really make a difference," you confessed, your voice tinged with the fatigue of the many losses you had witnessed.

Hotch listened, nodding, never pushing too hard, always patient. He shared his own doubts and hopes, a rare glimpse into his inner world that made you feel even closer to him.

These moments deepened your connection, transforming it from a simple comfort into something more profound. Yet neither of you dared to define it. Hotch, especially, was cautious, weighed down by the responsibility of being a father to Jack. His previous relationship with Beth had ended amicably but not without its scars—particularly for Jack, who had grown attached and then had to cope with the loss when she moved away.

So, Hotch held back, fearful of repeating the past, even as his feelings for you grew. And you, understanding his concerns, reciprocated the silence on the nature of your relationship. But as the months passed, the unspoken bond between you became a silent promise of support and companionship, even if neither of you yet had the courage to give it a name.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a reminder of an unread message from earlier in the day—something mundane about Jack's soccer practice. He glanced at you again, taking in your shy smile, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear. He wanted more, so much more, but the fear of another loss for Jack held him back. It wasn't just about him or even about you; it was about Jack, too.

The conversation shifted, and suddenly the focus was on him. "Hotch," Prentiss started, her tone light but curious, "you ever think about dating again? It's been a while since Beth..."

The question hung in the air, heavier than the smoke swirling above them. The team's eyes were on him, but his flicked to you. He saw the slight stiffening of your shoulders, the curious tilt of your head as you waited for his answer.

He hesitated, his mind racing. "I... I can't imagine putting Jack through that again," he finally said, his voice more gruff than intended. "Getting attached to someone, and then... if it doesn't work out..." He trailed off, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

The team nodded, understanding his protective nature over his young son, but you didn't. He saw the hurt flash across your face before you masked it with a small, polite smile. You excused yourself to the restroom, and Rossi gave him a knowing look, one that said he might have just made a mistake.

Hotch's heart sank. He wanted to go after you, to explain, but he was anchored to his seat by his own fears and the eyes of his team. He drank more deeply from his beer, trying to wash down the guilt.

When you returned, the barrier between you was palpable. You kept your answers short, your smiles forced, and though the team didn’t seem to notice, Hotch felt every inch of the growing distance.

The night ended with the team going their separate ways, and Hotch found himself walking you to your car. The air was chilly, making him wish he could reach out and pull you into his warmth. "About earlier," he started, his voice rough with emotion. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Hotch," you cut him off, though your voice was softer than usual. "I understand. Jack should be your priority. I wouldn't ever want to come between that."

"But you wouldn't," Hotch found himself saying, the words rushing out in a torrent. "It’s not just about protecting Jack. It's... I’m scared of asking for more and then losing it. But what I said it wasn't fair to you. I do want more with you if you want that too."

You looked up at him, surprise evident in your expression. "Really?" There was a cautious hope in your voice, one that made his heart twist.

"Yes, really," he affirmed, stepping closer. The space between you felt charged, his fear momentarily eclipsed by the need to make things right.

You nodded slowly, considering his words. "I need to think about it, Aaron. I... I want more too, but I don’t know how to... not with how things are right now."

Hotch nodded, understanding. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here," he promised.

As you got into your car, Hotch felt the weight of your words and his own fears. He watched as you drove away, the taillights a red blur in the night. Maybe it was time to confront his fears, not just for his own sake, but for Jack's, and perhaps, for whatever chance he had with you.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

[little-diable]

Forever Mine – Harvey Specter (smut)

Y'all voted on reading my Harvey stuff, so here we go! I am so in love with this man, it's insane. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Harvey and the reader are best friends, but on the night when she asks him to pick her up from yet another horrible date, neither of them manages to hide their feelings any longer.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, jealousy, possessiveness, lots of feelings, friends to lovers

Pairing: Harvey Specter x fem!reader (2.4k words)

“Harvey?” Her voice rang in his ear, drawing his tired eyes towards the clock on his nightstand. It was far past midnight, and even though it wasn’t unusual for Harvey to be awake late into the night, it had been one of those nights where he had passed out the second he had found shelter in his bed, hours ago. 

“(Y/n)? What’s going on?” It took her a moment to reply, to let go of a sigh before finding her voice to answer her best friend’s question. 

“Could you pick me up from somewhere?” Harvey had already set into motion to put on his clothes with the phone balanced between his ear and shoulder. Heavy breaths left her, filled with a sadness that made his heart clench in his chest. 

“What happened, baby?” The nickname left him all too easily, even though it was something he hadn’t called his best friend in years. The sharp intake of air he heard urged him on to move even quicker to find his way out of his apartment.

“Do you remember the bar we went to last month with Mike?” Harvey gripped his car keys tighter, clenching them in his fist. A hum left him as he stepped out of the elevator, letting his shoes meet the cold ground while jogging towards his car. 

“I’m waiting there.” And without another word, (y/n) had ended the call. 

……

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, with her coat tightly wrapped around her frame, and her hands buried in the pockets of said coat. It had been a stupid idea, a fucking stupid idea, she shouldn’t have listened to her friends and how they had urged her to go on that date to finally get over her best friend – Harvey fucking Specter. 

It had been an awful date, nothing but a waste of her time, but deep down she had hoped it’d finally manage to take her mind off her best friend, the man (y/n) longed for with every rising of the sun. The man who’d never be hers. The man who looked at her with a love only family members shared, and nothing more. 

A cry wanted to break out of (y/n) at the familiar pain in her chest, squeezing her heart with its all too familiar grasp. Shaky breaths left her as she saw his car approach, needing to prepare herself for an uncomfortable conversation where Harvey would scold her for meeting up with a man like this, while being all too oblivious about her reasons for that date. 

“Thank you for picking me up.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek before properly sinking into the comfortable leather seat. Harvey’s hand found its rest on her knee, and with his thumb running over the exposed parts of her skin, due to her dress, he began driving. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” (Y/n) could tell that he was driving her back to his place, taking the all too familiar route she could probably walk blindfolded. Her heart was racing in her chest as it whispered to her, begging (y/n) to finally tell Harvey about the emotional chaos growing deep inside of her, while her mind forced her to stay quiet, to not risk a friendship she couldn’t live without. 

“Just a horrible date, nothing special.” The hand resting on her knee stopped moving, frozen to the spot as his eyes flickered to meet hers. For a moment, an uncomfortable silence began to fill the car, it clung to her like a second layer of skin, crawling up its limbs like a parasite. Dates had always been a struggling topic between the two, uncomfortable conversations they both tried to avoid. 

“Do I know the guy?” His voice was husky, growing lower with every further word he spoke. His fingers no longer stroked her skin, they had a tight grasp on her knee as if he was making sure she wouldn’t leave his side, not daring to let go as if he was scared to be alone.

“No, the girls introduced me to him.” Nothing but a hum left Harvey as a reply, letting the sound buzz through (y/n). Only as they arrived at his apartment complex to park the car did they find their voices again, sharing a small “Thank you” while Harvey helped her out of the car and led her to the elevator, with his hand placed on her lower back and his jacket wrapped around her frame. 

“Why do you always go on dates with these men? By now we both know your friends don’t have the best taste.” The question hung in the air, it forced a shudder down her spine while her heart slowly began to win the upper hand to silence her mind. Harvey was intently staring down at her, while keeping close to (y/n) with his hand moving from her lower back to her waist. 

“Don’t ask me this, please, Harvey.” Sadness dripped from her voice, followed by something he couldn’t pinpoint. But something inside of Harvey began to shift, it was whispering to him as if he could tell that whatever he’d force out of her, would change the outcome of this very night, a turning point neither could run from.

“You know I’m not one to back down, sweetheart.” Her tongue kissed her teeth while (y/n) pondered over her choices. She was grateful for the few seconds of silence they were offered as they stepped out of the elevator and entered the apartment she knew like the back of her hand. 

“Talk to me, (y/n), what’s going on?” Harvey was towering over her, even as she kicked off her heels and shrugged out of his jacket to expose the dress he loved seeing on her. His hands held onto her to guide her towards the couch, and even as they sat down next to one another, his hands held contact with her body. 

“Harvey, please, don’t make me do this.” She could tell that whatever he was waiting for her to say was different to what she was about to confess. Harvey was too oblivious, he wouldn’t ever pick up on the love she fostered for him, a secret that would turn their friendship into something (y/n) would curse herself for. Uneasy waters that would swallow them both without giving them a chance to swim. 

“It can’t be that bad, sweetheart. Is there something I don’t know? Did somebody hurt you?” Her glassy eyes got lost in his. She allowed herself to study her handsome best friend for a moment before slowly rising to her feet, desperately searching the now growing distance between the. If she was about to lay this on him, she needed some space, enough room to prepare herself to walk out of his door any moment now. 

Harvey’s jaw muscles ticked, he was growing impatient, angry even – about something he had awfully mixed up. He would burn down the earth for (y/n), would hurt anybody who dared to come too close to her. And yet he still didn't know that he was causing her this pain, a biting sensation that made bile rise in her throat.

“You wouldn’t get it, Harvey. Let it go.” Her eyes found the city below their feet, allowing her to study the numerous lights filling the darkness, the high buildings growing nearby and far away. It was a beautiful sight, a sight that tried to calm her aching heart, though without any luck. She heard Harvey move, could watch in the reflection of his big windows how he rose to his feet and walked up to her. 

“Talk to me, baby.” His muscular front was pressed against back, and for a moment (y/n) allowed herself to imagine being held by him like a lover would cling to their significant other. A thought that guided her next movements as she slowly turned in his grasp to stare up at her handsome best friend. 

With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) shifted her weight to press her lips against his. It was a quick kiss, a simple kiss, and yet it carried more meaning than any other kiss (y/n) had ever given. She felt him freeze at the touch, seemingly not expecting his best friend to cross that invisible line. 

“This is why I don’t want to talk about it with you, Harvey.” A tear dripped from her eye as the words rolled off her tongue. Harvey stared down at her with something so intense, (y/n) couldn’t help but peel herself out of his grasp, set on leaving his apartment and the man she had been in love with for years behind. 

“How dare you!” His angry words made her halt in her steps. Slowly, (y/n) turned back towards Harvey who wore an expression filled with hurt and anger. (Y/n) could only imagine how his opponents in court must feel whenever he directed his anger at them, forcing them to back down from any fight they couldn’t win – not against Harvey Specter.

“How dare you act as if I have no say in this. Have you ever wondered for just a second if I feel the same? If I was forced to carry the same heartbreak for years whenever you called me to pick you up from shitty dates with men who weren’t me?” Even though her heart began to race once again, begging (y/n) to realise what he had just confessed, her anger managed to guide her, letting her voice grow louder just like Harvey’s. 

“Then why didn’t you say something?” He stalked towards her, with eyes so fiery, (y/n) feared he’d burn her on the spot. Almost no space was left between them, with his chest pressed against hers to push her against the door, and his hand pressed to the spot next to her head. 

“Because I’d rather suffer from this heartbreak for years than risk losing you.” She got no time to reply as his lips came down on hers in a stormy kiss. (Y/n) instantly allowed her lips to move with his, letting their tongues tangle while her arms found their way around his neck. Moans rumbled through the both of them, sounds that rang in their ears like a song solemnly composed for this night only. Harvey’s hands found their way down her frame to pick her up without breaking the kiss, guiding them towards the kitchen where he placed her down on his kitchen island. 

“Promise I’ll take my time with you later, but fuck I need to be inside of you now.” Her excited chuckles left Harvey smirking as he shuffled her dress up to her waist, groaning at the sight of her drenched panties. She was mesmerised by the sight of Harvey lingering between her thighs, something (y/n) had only dared to dream of. 

“I bet your date thought he could have you like this tonight, spread out and ready to be fucked. But let me promise you something, sweetheart,” without breaking eye contact, Harvey ripped her panties apart to expose her aching heat to the colder temperatures now stroking her limbs. “No other man but me will ever get to see you like this again, from now on, you’re mine, you belong to me, and I will never share you.” 

“I only want to be yours, Harvey, like you will always be mine.” (Y/n) pulled him down for a kiss while he freed his cock from his dark trousers and reached for a condom. The seconds kept blurring by until Harvey finally pushed into her, letting his cock stretch her walls as his thumb circled her pulsing bundle.

Both moaned at the new sensation, having to adjust to something they had longed for all these years. With her back arched off the kitchen island, she let Harvey fuck her, letting their bodies meet with every thrust as if they were magnets finding together. A storm was rocking through them both, binding them together to forge another bond so strong, neither of them would ever be able to shake it off again.

Harvey’s name rolled off her tongue like a prayer, filling the apartment that would forever keep their deepest secrets. Both clung to the other as if they were scared that this was nothing but a dream, about to evaporate into a bitter nothingness as they’d be ripped from their sleep. 

Wandering hands kept searching the other’s closeness, clinging to the reminder that this was real, that this was not a trick of their brains but something they could forever cling to.

“I love you, fuck, I love you so goddamn much, (y/n).” Harvey’s moaned words left her heart somersaulting, forcing her upper body off the cold top of the kitchen island to meet his lips for a kiss. They were a tangled mess, and yet a mess so sweet, both were high on all the different sensations. 

“I love you too, Harvey.” Her walls fluttered around his cock as he met her swollen spot, pushing her closer to the edge. (Y/n) trembled beneath him, wordlessly begging his thumb to move faster, to circle her bundle with more pressure to push her closer towards her orgasm.

“Cum for me, baby, show me how pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” Harvey’s gritty voice gave her the needed push to cum beneath him. Her moans rang in his ears, filling every part of his body with an unfamiliar kind of pride he hadn't ever felt with another woman. His eyes didn’t stray from her pleasure-drunken features while fucking her through her high, a high he chased with ferocious thrusts.

Harvey came moments later with curses rumbling through him. She clung to him while his cock twitched inside of her, filling the condom with his release. Neither spoke a word as they stayed connected in the most intimate way, clinging to each other while the hazy fog of lust slowly began to lift. 

“Did this really just happen, Harvey?” Her whispered question left Harvey laughing. Slowly, he pulled out of her to toss away the condom before cupping (y/n)'s cheeks with his warm hands. His eyes studied her for a moment before pressing his forehead against hers to let go of a deep, relieved sigh. 

“It did, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with me forever, sweetheart.”

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

Boyfriend!Sukuna was definitely not a shy man.

As someone who had tried every possible way to embarrass him, neither your actions nor your words ever worked. Every time, he’d look at you with the same seriousness—or even mild annoyance. Did you truly believe you could make him blush? It was ridiculous. There was no way someone as towering and unshakable as him would ever feel embarrassed to the point of turning red. It was simply impossible.

But for you, “impossible” was just a word.

You were leaning against his broad chest, sitting in his lap, as the two of you watched the snow falling onto the garden from your terrace. Sukuna wasn’t exactly the touchy type, but when you insisted, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for you.

“So, you’ve never been embarrassed?” you asked, your gaze fixed on the snow as it blanketed the greenery outside. Your question earned a low grunt from him.

“I was wondering how long it’d take for you to ruin the moment,” he replied, pausing briefly before adding, “Three minutes and forty-one seconds. Congrats, brat, you broke your previous record.”

His words made you laugh so hard your body shook, though Sukuna couldn’t understand what was so funny about his dead-serious comment. You were a peculiar one, that was for sure.

Suddenly, you shifted in his lap, moving to straddle him. His large hands instinctively settled on your waist, steadying you.

Who would’ve thought being held by four hands could feel this good?

As your fingers trailed through his pink, messy hair, Sukuna’s eyes fluttered shut—something he couldn’t help but do whenever you touched his hair. It always brought him an unexplainable calm, a sense of peace he found nowhere else.

“I’m good at breaking records,” you teased, a bright smile lighting up your face. Sukuna didn’t open his eyes, but you caught the faintest upward twitch of his lips—a rare, fleeting moment of softness.

“I can see that. You surprise me more and more every day, you cheeky brat.” The crimson eyes that most people found cursed and terrifying locked onto yours, though you found them utterly irresistible. While he’d never admit it, seeing you smile made everything in his world feel a little brighter.

Slowly, he leaned in, nuzzling his head against the soft curve of your neck. His lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear, and he planted a gentle kiss there, letting his teeth graze your skin ever so slightly.

“Just one touch…” His warm breath sent shivers down your spine. “One single touch is enough to turn your neck red. I’d bet your cheeks are even redder than your neck right now.”

He was right. Your cheeks were undoubtedly burning like wildfire. You knew your face had turned a shade rivaling a clown’s red nose.

“Kuna—”

“I want you right here.” His deep voice resonated through you. “Watching the snow while I bury myself inside your warm, tight little pussy.”

If you stayed like this any longer, everything he said would probably happen. You were already sore from last night. Besides, it was Christmas Day, and you wanted to do something other than just have sex with your boyfriend.

With great difficulty, you pulled his massive head away from you. If he wanted to stop you, he could have, but if he did, he’d probably have to endure you complaining to him for two hours.

Still holding his head, you scolded him, “Nuh-uh. Last night you nearly broke my back.” Furrowing your brows, you let go of his head and stood up. “I’m going to make us some hot chocolate, and don’t even try that ‘I don’t like sweet things’ excuse. I know who ate the Oreo Milka I bought two days ago.”

As you walked off the terrace toward the kitchen, you called out loudly, “Be a good boy, Sukuna, and maybe I’ll let you have me on the terrace later.”

Magic words didn’t always have to be “please.” After all, the word “please” didn’t even exist in Sukuna’s vocabulary. But if he had to pick one magical phrase, it would undoubtedly be “good boy.”

Those two words were enough to make your supposedly unshakable boyfriend blush furiously and feel his heart race in his chest.

It wasn’t the first time you’d called him “good boy,” but every time you did, he somehow managed to hide his face, avoiding your gaze.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who made others kneel at his feet, who inspired fear with his towering figure and unmatched strength, could turn into a shy mess with just two simple words from you: “good boy.”

a little note: can i get a little commotion for my red ribbon divider 😌

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[xo100]

hi can i have a request a story about life where lando and his ex finally get back together again 🥹

Unfinished business- LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: request by anon as you can read above this!

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1581

masterlist / community / request

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Lando Norris didn’t mean to fall in love with her. Not really. It just happened somewhere between late-night calls from different parts of the world and the quiet mornings they shared over coffee, bleary-eyed and content. For two years, they had built something beautiful. Something fragile. And like many fragile things, it shattered.

It had been a year since they parted ways. A quiet, mutual decision born from exhaustion, distance, and the demands of their individual lives. She had her career, a demanding one that required its own brand of discipline and attention. And Lando, of course, was always on the move, his life dictated by the calendar of Formula 1. It wasn't anyone's fault. There was no dramatic fight, no harsh words. Just the aching realization that, for now, their lives didn’t fit together the way they once had.

So they let go. They hugged each other goodbye in her quiet London flat, the kind of hug that lingered a little too long, with an unspoken understanding that maybe this wasn’t forever, that maybe one day they would find their way back to each other.

A year had passed since that night.

-

She scrolled through her Instagram feed absentmindedly, stopping when she saw his latest post—a sun-drenched photo of Lando standing by his car, all wide smiles and windswept hair. Her thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating, before double-tapping. The small heart icon appeared, a familiar pang settling in her chest. It had become a ritual at this point—liking his posts, reading his captions, sometimes even dropping a comment when she felt brave enough. And he did the same, always. As if this silent conversation on social media was their only connection left.

She never stopped missing him. Some days it was just a quiet hum in the background of her life, a dull ache that she had grown used to. Other days, it hit her like a wave, out of nowhere, leaving her breathless and wondering how she had ever let him go.

On the other side of the world, Lando felt the same. He never admitted it out loud, not even to his closest friends, but she was never far from his thoughts. He found himself checking his phone too often, waiting for those tiny signs that she was still there, still watching, still caring. Every time her name appeared in his notifications—whether it was a simple like or a playful comment—his heart gave a small, traitorous leap.

They weren’t together anymore, but they were never really apart.

-

The first time they saw each other again after the breakup, it was at a race. Lando had known she might be there, but nothing could have prepared him for the moment their eyes met across the paddock. For a split second, the world around him seemed to blur, everything but her fading away. She looked the same but different—more poised, more confident, but with that same light in her eyes that had always drawn him in.

Her heart stuttered when she saw him, the familiar ache resurfacing. God, he looked good. The year had been kind to him. His hair was longer, his smile somehow brighter. But there was something else, something in the way his eyes softened when they landed on her.

They didn’t approach each other right away. Both too unsure of what to say, too aware of the unresolved feelings still hanging between them like a weight neither could lift. But eventually, they found themselves standing side by side, in the way that used to be so natural. And for a moment, it almost felt like old times.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the noise of the paddock.

“Hey,” she replied, her heart racing.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was heavy. Heavy with everything unsaid, everything they had tried to bury over the past year.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, though the question felt painfully inadequate.

“Good. Busy, you know… work and everything,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit he remembered all too well.

“Yeah… same.” He gave a small nod, eyes searching her face for something—anything—that would tell him if she had moved on. If she had forgotten him.

But she hadn’t. And neither had he.

-

The weeks after that encounter were… confusing, to say the least. They started texting again, slowly at first. Just little things—a funny meme, a quick ‘good luck’ before his races, or a random thought that reminded her of him. But it quickly became more than that. The conversations stretched longer, the topics more personal. They talked about the things they hadn’t talked about during their relationship—how hard it had been to let go, how much they missed each other, how they hadn’t really stopped caring.

One night, after a long conversation, Lando found himself staring at his phone long after the screen had gone dark. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep pretending that he was okay without her. He had tried. God, he had tried. But no matter how many races he won, no matter how many new cities he visited, there was always this empty space where she used to be.

And she felt it too. Every time she saw his name light up her phone, her heart leapt. Every time she saw a post of his, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to reach out and just say it—to admit that she still loved him.

The breaking point came on a rainy night in London, when the loneliness felt unbearable. She was scrolling through her messages with him, re-reading old texts from when they were still together. Before she could overthink it, she sent a message.

I miss you.

-

Lando’s phone buzzed on his nightstand, the soft glow cutting through the darkness of his hotel room. He reached for it, half-asleep, but when he saw her name, he was suddenly wide awake. He stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, his heart racing.

He had missed her too. Every single day.

Before he could second-guess himself, he typed a response.

I miss you too.

The three little dots that indicated she was typing appeared, then disappeared, and then appeared again. Finally, another message came through.

Can we talk? In person?

His heart skipped a beat.

Yes. When?

-

They met in a small café, tucked away from the prying eyes of the world. It was quiet, intimate, the kind of place where people went to have real conversations. The kind of place where they had once spent hours together, laughing and talking about nothing and everything.

When she walked in, Lando felt like the air had been knocked out of him. She looked nervous, just like he felt. But there was something else in her eyes too—hope.

They sat down, and for a few moments, neither of them spoke. It was like they were both afraid to say the wrong thing, to shatter the delicate balance they had found themselves in.

“I don’t know where to start,” she admitted with a small laugh, breaking the tension.

Lando smiled softly, his fingers tapping lightly against the side of his coffee cup. “I’ve been trying to figure that out too.”

They fell into silence again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. It was just… heavy. With everything they had left unsaid over the past year. Finally, Lando looked up, his voice quiet but steady.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you,” he said, his words hanging in the air between them. “I tried to move on, I really did. But no matter what, it always came back to you.”

Her breath hitched, and she looked away, blinking back tears. “I haven’t been able to move on either,” she whispered. “I thought… I thought maybe it was just me, that maybe I was holding onto something that was already gone.”

“It’s not gone,” Lando said firmly, reaching across the table to take her hand in his. “It never was.”

For a long moment, they just sat there, holding each other’s gaze, holding each other’s hands, letting the weight of their feelings settle between them.

“I still love you,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never stopped.”

“I love you too,” Lando replied, his thumb gently brushing against her skin. “I never stopped.”

-

The decision to get back together wasn’t made in that moment. They knew it wouldn’t be that simple. There were still challenges to face, still things they needed to figure out. But what they both knew for sure was that they couldn’t keep pretending anymore. They couldn’t keep acting like they were better off apart, because they weren’t. Not really.

The rest of that night was spent talking, laughing, and crying. They laid everything out on the table—the fears, the regrets, the hopes for the future. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real, and it was honest.

When they finally left the café, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and glistening under the soft glow of the streetlights. Lando walked her to her car, his hand never leaving hers. And when they reached it, he hesitated for a moment before pulling her into his arms.

“I’m not letting you go again,” he murmured against her hair.

She smiled, burying her face in his chest. “Good. Because I don’t want to go.”

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*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know! Also hey anon! If you read this, I hope that this is what you had in mind!

*:･ﾟtags; @spookbusters-jr