#「 ic . 」─ history has its eyes on you .

[windsofcourage]

HE HADN'T LET GO OF her hand save the few spare moments he had to — & . then only to ghost his palm against the back of her shoulder . first , guiding through the coda corridors / shifting past glowing ruins / squeezing through patterned corridors . then , OUT INTO THE TWILIGHT where the sun bleared . link squinted , raising his free hand to shield from the glaring horizon line . shadows cast long across the path , falling dizzyingly into focus . better THAT than the inside of that blasted tower at any rate .

STILL , HE MARCHED ONWARD , feeling the weight of her hand in his hand around a numb palm & . the prickling in his fingertips . the cityscape shifted — & . link was used to that by now . the way the roads twisted & . the back alleys turned — like stumbling over forgotten things / floors & . steel blade slick with the waters that dripped off the hovering blight's horned - helm . HE DIDN'T REALLY KNOW WHERE THEY WERE GOING / where he was taking her / knew it didn't matter / circling back to ragtime way was E A S Y irregardless of whether he could feel his own feet ( were they his feet ? ) on the ground . as long as they were safe , he didn't care .

WHAT EXACTLY COUNTED AS "SAFE" , HERE ?

the best he could offer was familiar .

SO HE PRESSED ONWARD . at least long enough until the rising tomb tower was far behind them . taking the dead with it . until the familiar sights of ragtime way's pavilion sprawled around them . HERE , at least link knew where he was going . roughly speaking , anyways . it did not ease the rattling in his bones the way he'd have liked it to — but having slowed his step and swept his sights over the perimeter , he NODDED SLIGHT anyhow .

it would just have to suffice .

THE SILENCE BREAKS . link heard his own voice a beat delayed .

❝  — . . . you okay? ❞

@silentaura / omerta nostra

[spectorgram]

FAN BEHAVIOR

characters: dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake summary: batboys with a celebrity! reader content/warnings: fem! reader, fluff

DICK GRAYSON

You’re an actress who has had a meteoric rise, moving from doing small, one-off parts in TV shows to becoming a breakout star on a particularly popular series to being cast in major movie productions

Your stardom is still a little surreal to you and when you’re invited to a wayne enterprise charity gala, you contemplate not going — what business do you have being somewhere with people far more famous than you? But when you tell your agent this, she gives you a look that says you’re insane for even considering declining

You’ll forever be grateful that she urged you to do so because that’s where you meet Dick

He’s standing with Bruce Wayne, chatting with some frequent donors, dressed in a perfectly-tailored navy blue suit when he sees you out of the corner of his eye and he lights up. He approaches you first with that megawatt smile and introduces himself with an extended hand and says, “I’m a huge fan! I’ve been watching your stuff since you were in Legends of the Kingdom!” And the rest is history

Dick goes to every red carpet event you invite him to and he makes it a point to attend every private premiere screening and public opening night

He definitely shushes anyone who talks during your movies or TV shows and does not care if people think he’s obnoxious.

You’re definitely the ‘it couple’ and your faces are plastered constantly on magazine covers and two-page spreads

There are people who try to sow discord in your relationship and their go-to is either pointing out how different you are to Dick’s former girlfriends; that you’re not his type, that this isn’t going to last, etc., or that you’re not talented enough for the fame you have or to be dating Dick Grayson

It definitely gets to you and does nothing to whatever lingering imposter syndrome you harbor but Dick is such a grounding force, reminding you that it’s all just noise and that he loves you completely and unconditionally

At home, he likes to rewind your scenes in shows and movies, and it flatters you as much as it flusters you

He also likes to read through scripts with you when he can and his voices for the various other characters bring you to tears from laughter 

So many intentional and unintentional thirst trap couples pics. Like, a selfie you post one morning — Dick is shirtless and you’re in one of his old t-shirts and its sliding down your shoulder and showing your collarbone and you’re both laying on your stomachs in your shared bed, hair sleep (and sex) tousled with the morning sun making both of you look like you’re golden and glowing 

JASON TODD

You meet Jason as Red Hood first when you’re running from the paparazzi but you don’t know it’s him

They chase you down a couple of blocks before someone tugs you into an alleyway and you’re about to scream for help when you see who it is. Red Hood shields you as the paparazzi pass and when you ask him why he helped you, he simply says, “I hate the paps and you looked like you needed a hand.”

Once he’s sure the coast is clear, he walks you back to your hotel using the back alleys of Gotham. You make several attempts to strike a conversation up with him in the first few minutes of your walk but what seems to catch his interest is when you start rambling on about just finishing Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment. 

You’re disappointed when you arrive at your hotel and you’re rush inside to find a pad to scribble your number on but he’s gone when you return, disappearing into the night

It’s by chance that you meet him again (unbeknownst to you), this time in his civilian identity as Jason Todd. You’re in disguise at a bookstore in Gotham when you bump into him and spill his iced coffee all over both of you, apologizing profusely and offering to buy him another drink, which he accepts. (His voice is oddly familiar to you but you can’t put your finger on why) 

You two keep in touch and start dating privately. The long-distance is difficult at times given your very different and busy schedules and Jason is pretty cagey about what he does but you both make time for each other as much as possible

He tells you that he listens to your music during his workouts and in the background while he’s doing stuff around his apartment. He hums along too.

He recommends your songs to anyone who listens, which raises suspicions in the Batfam, and it obviously doesn’t take long for them to figure out that he’s dating you but he makes them promise to keep it to themselves. 

Whenever you have a concert in Gotham, which you make a point to do frequently, Jason is in the VIP box, bobbing his head and mouthing along to your songs. When it ends, he’s right there backstage with flowers and a thermos of tea for your throat

Your relationship goes public when fans capture of video of you two leaving one of your concerts together, Jason’s leather jacket draped over your shoulders

You eventually move to Gotham to be closer to him and the two of you spend every free moment either of you have together, making up for lost time. 

You still try to keep your relationship as private as possible but fans eat up any crumbs they get, including the occasional selfie of you both 

He is your biggest inspiration for songs and also your biggest help. You love bouncing ideas off of him and he likes sitting with you when you pick at your guitar strings and mumble a half-formed melody

(You eventually do find out that he’s Red Hood when he tumbles through the window of your bedroom, bleeding profusely, and you have to take his helmet off to assess the damage)

TIM DRAKE

You’ve known Tim since you were kids given that your parents ran in the same social circles

You started out as a child model in department store clothing catalogs. Tim did some shoots with you too but while his parents eventually stopped auditioning him for such jobs, you continued until the present day, and you’re now a well-known supermodel 

You two have been friends forever and the internet laps up your interactions together. There are compilations of videos and photos of the two of you at banquets and red carpet events and memes with text like “when will someone look at me like that?”

Before you two even started dating, there were articles about a supposed romance and sexual tension between you two. In interviews, you would vehemently deny anything asked about it and reiterate that you two are just good friends

At some point, however, you start seeing your childhood friend in a different light. He’s kind, brilliant, funny, attentive, and very handsome. It’s not that you didn’t know that before but it’s different now. You find yourself shying away his casual touches and suddenly conscious of your actions around him — did you laugh too loud? Is your hair in your face? Does he know how you feel? Can he tell?

You don’t want to ruin your friendship, as cliche as it sounds, so you did your best to keep your feelings under wraps, which resulted in you distancing yourself. When Tim would text to congratulate you on your latest Vogue cover or runway show, you would simply shoot a simple ‘thanks!’ text back instead of the usual ‘THANK U’ followed by five heart emojis. 

He confronts you about it one day and you’ve never really been a good liar in front of him so you tell him, bracing for a gentle rejection but instead receiving a kiss. 

You made a hard launch post with him on Instagram and received hundreds of DMs of people saying they were vindicated in believing that “friends don’t look at each other like that”

Tim is in the front row at every single runway show you have, dressed impeccably in an expensive suit. He takes pictures of you and visits you backstage with your favorite sweet treat.

After fashion shows and other events, you return to his apartment to let your hair down and put your feet up. You do your skincare routines together, sheet face mask and all, and snuggle on the couch for some TV or just to hang out and talk endlessly

You’re very active on social media with him and you two have a lot of couples posts together. When you both have time, you do Instagram lives where people watch you two make dinner together or answer some questions from viewers. A fan favorite is when you choose outfits for each other.

During a runway, you blow a kiss at Tim in the audience and the camera zooms in on his face, where he just watches you with a lovestruck expression and bright red ears — it’s in almost every video compilation that’s titled something like ‘15 minutes of Tim Drake being a simp’

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

can i request cregan stark modern au, with jaces younger or twin sister and maybe they like hide the relationship and its like fluffy and maybe smutty

Request: five times cregan and jace’s sister almost get caught and one time jace does find out about their relationship. I don’t think he would be too mad. He knows cregan is a good guy and would treat you well. 

I usually dislike body hair (personal preference) and beards, but Cregan has a short beard in this one (as he does in all of my fics for him) because I said so, and because he’s a Stark. I think it is mandatory and missing for his character — manifesting for a beard in season 3.  Also, this is 6.6k words...idk how that happened

p.s. You can find this fic on AO3 under the title Who are we to fight the alchemy

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f receiving), mention of a fight and blood, short appearance of Larys Strong (he needs his own warning),

—

When you started college and moved in with Jace, he had warned his teammates that his sister was off limits and that if he caught any of them looking at you, he would not be afraid to throw hands. He may be smaller than a lot of his teammates, but Jace was very protective of you. 

They were good guys, brothers to Jace, but he also knew their history with girls. He knew the dirty secrets; the dramas, who they had sex with, where, and details that he wished he could forget about. They were not boyfriend material — at all. 

You were not going to lie, Jace’s teammates were hot hockey players. It was tempting to turn your life into a cliché book trope and hook up with one of them, but you refrained from doing so. They were not worth being another name on their list. 

Until one of them changed your mind. 

It was a Tuesday night. You were in your room, reading on your bed while Jace had friends over playing video games. You could hear them shout at the TV and each other. After a few chapters, you wandered to the kitchen to get a cookie from the cookie jar, but found its content empty. 

‘’Jace,’’ you said under your breath. 

Living with your brother had a certain strange familiarity to it, a comforting echo of home despite the newness of being on your own. But some things hadn’t changed. Like how Jace never mentioned when he emptied something. Like that one time you wanted to make spaghetti, only to discover he had left an empty pasta box in the cupboard. Or when he used your shower towel because his was in the laundry. These moments made you miss your mom's presence — she’d always been there to keep the peace and enforce some order.

As you stared at the empty jar with frustration, one of Jace’s friends walked in behind you, his eyes immediately landing on the same spot. You could not see who it was, but his tall shadow was towering over you and you could smell a faint woodsy cologne. 

‘’If you’re looking for a cookie, Jace ate them all,’’ you said, throwing your brother under the bus.

‘’That was me, actually,’’ admitted a deep voice with a northern accent from behind you. You turned to see Cregan standing there, his expression sheepish. ‘’Jace said to get anything I wanted. Sorry.’’

You forced a smile, the irritation fading as your eyes met his gray ones. ‘’It’s fine. I’ll get something else.’’ 

Cregan watched as you moved to the freezer above the fridge to get the ice cream out. You opened the lid and saw that it was almost empty, so there was no need to put it in a bowl. 

‘’Did you make them?’’ he asked as you reached for a spoon in the cutlery drawer.

‘’I did,’’ you answered with a smile. 

‘’They were really good.’’ 

‘’Thank you. If Jace baked them himself, they would have turned out like hockey pucks: black and hard,’’ you joked.

Cregan offered a light chuckle as he stepped towards the counter, his gray eyes studying the details of your face. He hadn’t really looked at you until now, respecting Jace’s warning, but now he was struggling to look away and go back to the living room. 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

Two months later, you found yourself making out with the Wolves’ captain in his big jeep. His hair was damp and he smelled strongly of soap and deodorant, having showered twenty minutes ago after practice. 

The windows were beginning to fog as you were kissing, your hands all over Cregan's shoulders and chest. His tongue slipped into your mouth, causing you to grip his shirt when it grazed yours. You could drown in his kisses. 

Getting frustrated by the gear shift separating you, you attempt to climb over it and fumbled your way to the driver seat onto Cregan’s lap without breaking contact with his lips. You bumped your head and legs along the way, and let out a little curse. Cregan laughed, pulling back his seat as far as it would go so the steering wheel would not press in your back. 

From his new angle, you could feel the warmth of Cregan’s body against yours. It wasn’t as effective as cuddling in bed, but Jace would get home soon and Cregan’s small dorm bed was not made for two. He barely fitted himself. 

He slipped his large hands under your shirt, his thumbs inching up and up your sides, feeling your soft and warm skin while his mouth locked itself to your jaw. ‘’Your brother would kill me if he knew about us,'' he said as his mouth trailed down your neck, leaving wet kisses up to your collarbone.

You rolled your hips to meet his, the friction causing Cregan’s breath to stutter. His hands were still in your shirt, large and warm, leaving trails of fire over your back. He felt like he was sixteen and in high school all again, not twenty-one and in college. 

‘’Gods, you’re going to kill me if your hand keeps going rubbing against me like that.’’ 

You smirked and tipped your head back to give him more room. ‘’Jace is not the boss of my relationships. I can see whoever I please,’’ you replied, raking your hand through his hair and grazing the side of his short beard.

Cregan scoffed against your neck. ‘’Then what are we doing in my car instead of your bed?’’ 

He was only teasing, but it still made you sigh. You didn’t think living with Jace would put a wrench in your dating life. He meant well, but gods was it frustrating. 

Not waiting for your response, Cregan continued to shower your neck with kisses, his teeth nipping at the skin before his lips soothed it. You didn’t think kisses would make you feel like this, but this man had an effect on your body that you could not explain. You pulled at his hair when he bit at the sensitive flesh there, leaving a small mark you will have to conceal later. 

You wished you didn’t have to hide your relationship. You wished you could kiss him whenever you desired, go to his games and wear his jersey and cheer for him loudly when he scored a goal, cuddle with him on the couch without looking at the door every five minutes to check if Jace was coming home. 

Cregan pulled back suddenly, looking up at you with his gray eyes. ‘’I should go, Jace is gonna come home soon. Walking from campus to here takes less than thirty minutes,’’ he said in a hushed tone, his breath coming in short puffs. 

‘’Just a few minutes more,’’ you bargained, stealing a few kisses from his lips, not yet ready to part. ‘’I have a class at 8pm tomorrow and you leave for your away game Saturday morning. I won’t be seeing you until Sunday or Monday.’’ 

He let out a sigh, also dreading the moment he’ll leave you, and held you for a moment, his hands gently running up and down your back. You drinked in his scent and warmth, winding your arms around his neck and pressing your head in his neck. 

The moment was ruined as you shifted and accidentally hit the horn with your ass, the loud sound echoing  in the parking lot. 

Startled, you jumped and then burst into laughter, but Cregan didn’t join in. His expression was stone serious as he stared intently at something in the distance. Confused, you followed his gaze and spotted Jace standing by the doors of your apartment building, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He was scanning the parking lot, clearly trying to figure out which car had honked, but with the lights off and the evening darkness, there was no way for him to tell which one it was.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

The second time you almost got caught together was before a hockey game. The team the Wolves were playing against was strong and Cregan texted you to come outside the locker room and give him a good luck kiss.  

You smiled at the text and sent a quick ‘coming’ to your boyfriend. ‘’I’m gonna get something to drink,’’ you told your friends. 

You snaked your way through the students and families waiting in the entrance to get to their seats and quickly made your way down to the locker room. You knew where it was from bringing over Jace’s skates last Saturday at practice. They were essential for getting on the ice, how could he forget them? 

Family, friends — and girlfriends — were not allowed in that area of the arena, so you kept an eye out for anyone from staff. You could always play the ‘I was looking for the bathroom’ card, but it would add another lie on top of the others you and Cregan were piling up since the beginning of your relationship. 

You found him leaning against the wall, waiting. He was in his compression pants and an old Wolves tee shirt, looking like a complete snack. You could see everything in those tight pants. And the way his hair was tied at the back made him look sexier. 

He looked up when he heard someone approach and a soft smile curled on his lips. ‘’There you are,’’ Cregan said, his voice low and gravelly as he stepped to you and pulled you to his chest. You fit against him perfectly, like a missing piece snapping into place. 

He leaned down and pulled you into a kiss, his hand cupping your face gently. It was supposed to just be a quick kiss — a quick ‘good luck’ smooch, not anything too serious. But the moment your mouth met his, you both got carried away. 

Cregan grabbed you with ease by your thigh, lifting you up, and you winded yours around his neck, almost forgetting that he had a game to play in twenty minutes.  

‘’Okay, that’s enough,’’ you decided, breaking the kiss. ‘’You’re gonna be late for pre-game talk.’’

Cregan sighed but gently lowered you back down. Your boots hit the floor, but he didn’t let you go without stealing one last kiss. You smiled into it, then stepped back just as Jace came barreling down the hallway, clearly in a rush.

He came to a stop, frowning when seeing you. ‘’What are you doing here?’’ His gaze shifted to Cregan, suspicion creeping into his voice. ‘’And why are you talking to my sister?’’

Cregan didn’t miss a beat. ‘’She was looking for you, actually,’’ he lied smoothly. ‘’Baela asked her to tell you she wouldn’t make it to the game tonight. She and Rhaena drove home for the weekend for their dad’s birthday.’’

You made a mental note to thank him later for the quick thinking. Baela had mentioned her trip, and Jace had been sulking and pouting ever since, upset that his girlfriend would miss a big game. 

Jace nodded, still catching his breath. ‘’Yeah, I know. She already told me.’’ 

‘’Oh?’’ you played along effortlessly. ‘’She must have forgotten that she already told you. She has a lot on her mind right now, you know.’’ 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°  

Your breathy 'ah's and whimpers were bouncing off the walls as Cregan's strong hands gripped your thighs and held you in place while he lapped at your pussy like a starved man. The intensity of pleasure forced you to grip the headboard. The scruff of his beard was rubbing against your sensitive skin, chafing, but you kind of like it. 

It was your first time having the apartment to yourself for more than two hours, and you were going to make the most out of it. Jace was at a bar in the city with some guys from the team. He won't be back until at least 1am...or even later. 

When you heard about the night out at the bar, you texted your man and let him know so he could come over after Jace leaves. His teammates were disappointed that he was not joining, but Cregan told them to have fun for him. 

He’ll have his own fun with you in the sheets.

The moment he crossed the door, your mouth was on his and you were unbuttoning your shirt, eager to feel his hands on your tits. 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mewling at the way he was suckling on your clit. No one ever made you feel this good before. Not that you had a lot of experience to compare with.

His sweet assault on your pussy continued, the sounds you were making making him rock hard. He loved it — pleasing his girl. 

''I'm gonna— I'm gonna come soon,'' you whined, feeling your core tighten and rocking you body forward in the same rhythm, fucking yourself on Cregan's tongue.  

The hockey player let out a low grunt below you, encouraging you to use him how you wished. He let go of one of your thighs to run the back of his hand up your stomach and grab your breast the way you liked, his calloused thumb and finger capturing your peaked nipple, rubbing it as he flicked your clit again. 

Your orgasm hit and you made circular jerks of her hips, pushing down on Cregan’s tongue and chin, drenching both. His name fell from your lips and you continued on like this for a moment, toes curling and legs tensing. Until you had nothing else to give.

He pressed a last kiss to your sensitive clit, then helped you clamber off him. ‘’You remember when I said the cookies you made were really good?’’

You hummed, although confused where he was going with this. 

‘’This is better.’’ 

Your face flamed up at his words, not expecting such a vulgar thing to come out. ‘’Shut up.’’ You smacked his chest, his laugh rumbling under your palm. 

The sheepishness he sported in the kitchen that day had disappeared, revealing a dirty sense of humor you never expected from him.

You thought you would get a breather, a moment to catch your breath between your last orgasm and the next, but Cregan — insatiable — had other plans. He rolled onto his side, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and began kissing your body with a slow, deliberate intensity. His lips trailed all over your chest, down to your breasts, and then to your stomach, each touch igniting your desires all over again. You arched into his touch, the warmth of his mouth and the gentleness of his caresses melting away any resistance.

Under his tall and broad stature, Cregan Stark was a teddy bear. A Costco sized teddy bear. On the ice, he was known for his strength and leadership, but off it, he was all heart. He was kind, caring, and protective. His caresses were gentle, and his kisses tender and loving. It was impossible to not feel his love.

Speaking of feeling his love, you felt his hardness twitching and poking at your thigh through his tight boxers. You reached down to slip your hand inside, jerking him slowly. In response, Cregan squeezed your hip and let out a low groan.

‘’I need you,’’ you gasped, feeling him suck at the skin under your left breast. 

It was one of your rules: no leaving visible marks that could raise suspicions. 

He gave one last swipe of his tongue over your nipple and peeled off his boxers, his delicious cock springing up immediately. Your pussy was weeping at the sight. 

You spread your legs to accommodate him, offering yourself to him. He teased at your entrance, his movements deliberate as he bumped against your clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you that made you whine. His amused chuckle filled the room, clearly tempted to draw out your anticipation even more, but as you shot him a warning glare, silently urging him to stop teasing. 

Cregan shushed you, rubbing your thigh, and just as he was about to breach your walls, you heard the door of the apartment open and Jace’s voice echoing. 

You froze, eyes widening in panic, and Cregan cursed under his breath, realizing that Jace was back much earlier than expected. ‘’Shit. That’s Jace.’’ 

He called your name again and you quickly slipped on a shirt and got out of bed, answering your brother's calls of your name. You couldn't risk him coming into your bedroom and catching his best friend in your bed in his birthday suit…with with a raging hard-on and your juices all over his beard.  

‘’You’re home early,’’ you pointed out, coming down the hallway. 

You studied him as he grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry, trying to guess his state of inebriety. He seemed barely tipsy. 

‘’Drama at the bar. Ben got into a fight with some guy over a girl — which he did not know was someone's girlfriend — and we all got kicked out,’’ Jace explained, rummaging through the bag of chips and taking a handful to pop into his mouth before leaning against the counter. 

You shook your head with a sigh. ‘’Typical Ben. He really needs to stop going after girls that are taken. Has he not learned his lesson?''

Your brother laughed, taking more chips. “Whose shirt is that?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he glanced down at the large shirt you were wearing, then back up at you.

You followed his gaze and saw that you had grabbed Cregan’s tee shirt instead of your sleep shirt…

‘’Dad’s,’’ you blurted out quickly.

Jace frowned, not remembering your dad ever wearing that shirt, but let it go. ‘’What were you up to? I thought you would invite the girls over.''

‘’Eh, no. I...I was having fun by myself,'' you stammered, clenching your thighs and hoping your face was not too flushed. 

It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn’t true either. You were having fun, just not by yourself. 

His face twisted in disgust. ‘’Ew, that’s gross! I did not need to know about that.''

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°  

Unlike Ben, Cregan wasn’t the type to get into fights — especially on the ice. He thought it was stupid and pointless, a quick way to end up injured or benched for a few games. As the father figure of the team, he was usually the one stepping in to break up the scuffles, keeping cooler heads prevailing. But sometimes, no matter how careful you are, you get caught in the crossfire and take a punch that wasn’t meant for you.

You shot up from your seat immediately, your heart sinking to your stomach as Jason Lannister’s gloveless fist accidently connected to Cregan’s face. It was aimed at Ben — unsurprisingly —, who had played a foul, unnoticed by the referee, and got his brother Tyland in the penalty box.

Chaos erupted on the ice. The referees were shouting and blowing their whistle, trying to break up the fight. Seeing Ben implicated, Cregan had rushed over, taking it on himself to pull him back, but that's when Jason punched him. 

More players skated over, helping the referees. One grabbed Jason, and another went for Ben. He was lean but feisty, a scrappy fighter who never backed down. He shot a taunting grin at his opponent and spat blood on the ice, right at his feet. Jason tried to free himself, but the closest referee put his hand on his chest, shaking his head. Enough.

Cregan turned to Ben and wiped the blood off his nose, glaring at darkly.  

You didn’t see him until Sunday afternoon. You were coming back from the laundry room, arms full with a basket of freshly cleaned clothes, and forgot how to breathe when you saw Cregan sitting on the couch across from Jace. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a hoodie, and his pretty face was decorated with a bruise close to his nose. 

Your feet froze, unable to take another step. You wanted to fucking punch Jason Lannister.

‘’Hey, you’re back,’’ Jace noticed, turning his head towards you.

You nodded, trying to regain your composure. ‘’Yeah. I was doing laundry,’’ you explained, lifting the basket slightly as if to prove your point.

‘’Can you do mine next time? I’ll pay you ten dollars,’’ Jace offered with a grin.

You scoffed, shaking your head. What did he take you for, a housemaid? ‘’Ten dollars to wash your dirty underwear and smelly socks? Never.’’ 

‘’Fifteen,’’ he countered, still hopeful. ‘’My clothes smell better when you do it. It’s like when Mom used to do it.’’

‘’That’s because I use fabric softener,’’ you replied, rolling your eyes.

Jace frowned, clearly puzzled. ‘’What’s that?’’ 

Before you could explain it to him, his phone beeped with a notification. He paused the game and checked his screen. ‘’Food is here. I’ll go get it,’’ he said to Cregan.

The taller one nodded, waiting for Jace to be out the door to glance at you. Without saying anything, you set the basket of clothes down on the beanbag chair that had seen better days and went straight to Cregan, cupping his face gently. His eyes softened at your touch, seeing your look of concern. He reached up with one hand to lightly hold onto your wrist as you examined the bruise on his face.

Cregan gave you a soft smile. He could see that you were worried about him. ‘’I’m fine,’’ he said, yet you couldn’t help but notice a hint of stiffness in his expression. ‘’I’m fine. I promise.’’ He kissed the inside of your hand. 

‘’I’ll fetch you some ice.’’ 

He tried to protest, saying that it wasn’t necessary, but you were resolute. You hadn't been able to take care of him after the game, so you’ll do it now. 

You put some ice cubes that you used for your iced coffees in a plastic bag and brought it to the living room, gently pressing it to the bruise. ‘’Here.’’ 

Cregan winced at the cold, his face sensitive. ‘’Thanks, love.’’ He reached out and put a hand on your hip, tugging you closer, but retracted it as the door opened and Jace returned with the food. 

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

During the course of your relationship, you found yourself in a lot of risky situations, but letting Cregan sleep over was playing with fire. 

You didn't mean to. It was an accident. 

The two of you were watching a movie in your bed while Jace was on a date with Baela, and he fell asleep forty minutes in. You should have woken him when your phone showed close to 11pm, but you didn't have the heart to. You locked your door, turned off your laptop and cuddled against him. 

When you woke up to pee at 1am, you saw that your brother was back and was asleep on the couch with his phone in his hand, the TV playing some older kids cartoons and his leg off the couch. Jace was a light sleeper, it would be too risky to sneak Cregan out.

Morning came and you woke up alone. A sad pout graced your lips. It was your first time spending the night together and you didn’t even get to have morning cuddles or hear his sleepy voice. 

You grabbed your phone, checking if he left any messages, but there was nothing. Just a text from your mom asking if you were coming home for your dad’s birthday this coming weekend. You rolled over, breathing in the sheets where Cregan slept in last night, and left her on read and got up. 

Your morning coffee was calling your name.

Running a hand through your hair, you walked down the hallway, looking forward to that first sip of coffee, and grinned when you found Cregan in the small kitchen, standing in his tight boxers and a tee shirt and drinking black coffee from a Disney mug. It looked Polly Pocket sized in his hands. 

You wrapped your arms around him from the back, your body flush against his. You pressed your face into his back, and the warmth of your body against his made his shoulders relax. 

He smiled to himself, covering your hands with his free one. ‘’Good morning,’’ he said in a groggy voice.

‘’I thought you had left. What of Jace? If my brother sees you in your underwear in his kitchen he’s gonna flip.’’ 

Cregan set his coffee down and turned, his gaze soft as his eyes met yours. The bruise on his face had significantly faded, barely there. ‘’He’s not here. I heard him leave.’’ 

His strong arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you close, and you let yourself relax against him. The warmth of his body seeped through his tee shirt, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. Cregan's hand slowly traced down your back, his fingers rubbing gentle circles at the base of your spine.  

‘’Don’t you have classes?’’ you asked, glancing up at him with a small smile.

He hummed softly. ‘’Not until later. My 10am class got canceled. I thought I’d hit the gym instead...but there’s no rush.’’

‘’I’ve gotta leave in one hour,’’ you sighed, wishing you could linger in this moment longer.

Cregan’s grip tightened slightly, as if to keep you close for as long as he could. ‘’I can drop you off,’’ he offered. ‘’That way we’ll have more time together.’’

You nodded, pressing a kiss over Cregan’s sternum in thanks. ‘’I’ll make us breakfast...in five minutes.’’ 

To ruin the moment, you heard the loud buzz and a voice coming from the intercom. 

‘’Are you up? Please be awake. I tried texting you and calling but you didn’t respond so I’m taking a chance here.’’ Jace called your name again, louder. 

You groaned in annoyance and went to the door to press the intercom button. ‘’What do you want?’’ 

‘’Yes! You’re awake! Eh, I left my laptop on the counter, and I also forgot my keys...’’

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・° 

When Jace left for college, your parents didn’t see the use of getting a car when everything was close to campus and within walking distance. What they didn’t think through would be the possibility of the bus riding home being full and not being able to make it for your dad’s birthday. 

Jace: Pack your bag. We’re leaving at 4pm. I already told Mom

You: You found us bus tickets? 

Jace: No. I found a ✨chauffeur✨

You: Please tell me it’s not some random person you found on a co-driving forum. I don’t want to spend two hours in some creep’s car 💀

Jace: He’s not

You should have known it would be him. 

Jace called shotgun, forcing you to take the backseat. You didn’t mind. In fact, you preferred it. If you had sat at the front, you were scared your hand would have slipped and revealed your relationship. Or that Jace would have noticed the familiarity between you. You were supposed to be his best friend’s little sister, not someone he knew like the palm of his hand.

Although it was only two hours, the drive felt never-ending. Your back ached from sitting in class all day and your stomach was impatient to be filled with your mother’s cooking. Every now and then, Cregan would sneak glances at you through the rearview mirror, and each time you couldn’t hide your smile. Your brother didn’t see, too busy on his phone or switching the music. 

This weekend was looking to be long and difficult. 

Your mom was more than happy to have another guest over. Cregan was as polite and charming, easily winning her heart when he complimented her infamous lasagna and asked for a second serving. 

''Of course! Help yourself,'' Rhaenyra said, smiling warmly. She glanced between Cregan and Jace, who both emptied their plates quickly. ''It's like they don't feed you at college.'' 

''I live in a dorm,'' Cregan explained in defense. ''It's hard to cook when the only appliances allowed are a mini fridge and a coffee pot.''

Your mother turned to Jace with raised eyebrows, clearly waiting for his excuse. ''And you? What do you have to say for yourself?'' 

Jace grinned sheepishly, swallowing his last bite. ''Can I take the leftover back to college?'' 

At the head of the table, your father let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head.  

When you were seven, you used to sneak out of your bedroom at night to eat a bowl of cereal. It took your parents several months to figure it out. At eighteen, you were sneaking to join your boyfriend in the guest room. 

You waited for everyone to be fast asleep, and avoided the creaking floorboards in the hallway. It was dark inside as you closed and locked the door behind, but you made it to the bed without stubbing your toe on any furniture. 

Cregan stirred when you pulled the covers and slipped in, feeling your cold feet on his calves. ''What are you doing?'' he asked, half-asleep and eyes still closed. He didn't need to see you to know it was you. He simply knew. 

You said nothing and cuddled against him, sighing happily when he reciprocated. 

Morning came faster, the early rays of sun peeking through the curtains. You cursed at yourself, having once again slept longer than planned. You checked both sides of the hallway, and once you deemed it safe, you exited. What you didn’t see was Luke leaving the bathroom, his hair unruly and barely awake. 

‘’I…’’ you stammered, not knowing what to say. 

He was fifteen, you could not trick him like Joffrey. He knew what you were doing in the guest bedroom. 

So you bolted to your own, praying he would keep his tongue.

‘’Luke knows,’’ you blurted out as you descended the stairs for breakfast, the weight of the confession lingering in the air.

Downstairs, your mother had gone all out, setting up a massive brunch spread — eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, and even pancakes. Grandfather Lyonel would be coming over...along with your uncle Larys. The thought of him made your stomach twist; you had never been at ease in his presence, but he was your father’s half-brother, and that meant you had to force a smile and be nice. 

Cregan furrowed his brows, concern creeping across his face. ''How?''

You quickly recounted the incident, watching as Cregan ran a hand through his dark hair, his expression growing tense. ‘’You think he’s gonna tell Jace?'' he asked, his voice dropping. ''Or worse...your dad? We got along well last night, but when he’ll find out—’’

‘’My dad is not the one we need to worry about,'' you interrupted softly, trying to ease his anxiety. ''Sure, he’s protective of us, and he might look like the kind of guy who could knock someone out with one punch, but he’d never do that to someone I care about. Not unless he had a damn good reason.''

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, Joffrey got down from his chair and dashed over to you, his small face lighting up with excitement. ‘’Mommy made pancakes!’’ he announced, his big brown eyes practically glowing. ‘’There’s blueberry ones, your favorites.’’ He grabbed both your hand and Cregan's, tugging insistently, messing up your plan to arrive separately.

At the table, Luke was talking — bragging — to grandfather Lyonel about school while Jace was helping your mom bring all the food to the table. And of course, Uncle Larys was just sitting there, observing everything with his usual quiet, unsettling presence.

At Joffrey’s urging, Cregan took a seat next to him. The little one had taken a strong liking to the hockey player, and you couldn’t help but hope that this budding friendship might work in your favor when it would all blow up. 

‘’Careful, it's hot!'' Rhaenyra called out, entering with a plate full of bacon. ''Jace, can you bring the orange juice? Oh, and a small fork for Joffrey?'' 

You interrupted Luke and made your way to Grandfather Lyonel, wrapping him in a warm hug like you always did. ‘’Where’s Dad?’’ you asked, noticing his absence.

The burly man looked around for his son, not knowing either. 

‘’I'm here, I'm here,'' Harwin’s familiar voice rang out from the sliding door as he entered, carrying a bowl of freshly picked strawberries. On top of his head was a handmade birthday crown, obviously crafted by Joffrey. ‘’Your mother forgot the strawberries. I had to fetch some from the garden.'' 

You grinned, stepping up to greet him. ‘’Happy birthday, Dad,’’ you said, kissing his cheek as you wrapped him in a hug. 

Everyone sat around the table, and began filling their plates with food. 

You mostly took blueberry pancakes, and some fruits from the garden. You had a sweet tooth this morning. From the corner of your eyes, you could see Joffrey talking a mile a minute between bites of pancakes and bacon. Cregan was trying his best to listen to your little brother — what he could make out of his words, anyway — but his attention was completely focused on you.

Two seats down from you, Luke was watching. You could feel his gaze on Cregan, and there was an unsettling tension beneath the surface. He knew something. He could let it slip at any moment and throw the whole breakfast into chaos. But, for now, he stayed silent.

‘’So,’’ Grandfather Lyonel began casually as he sipped his coffee, ‘’how's your first year of college treating you? Found yourself a boyfriend yet?''

The word 'boyfriend' had your bite of pancakes catching in your throat. Grabbing your coffee, you took a long gulp to wash it down, buying yourself a moment.

You shook your head, managing a calm smile. ‘’Not really. I’m keeping my focus on my academics,’’ you replied, briefly raising your eyes at Cregan, who was focussing on eating the content in his plate. The last time he had a home-made breakfast was with you. 

You thought you were being discreet, but your grandfather noticed the short glance, as did your father who was right next to you. 

Joffrey, oblivious to the tension, piped up, ‘’Jace has a girlfriend. Her name is Bella.’’

‘’Baela,’’ Jace corrected with a fond smile, shaking his head at the enthusiastic six-year-old.

Grandfather Lyonel smiled, happy for his grandson. ‘’That’s a lovely name.’’ He then turned to Cregan. ‘’And you, Cregan? Got a girlfriend? A handsome, well-mannered lad like you cannot be single.’’ 

Before he could answer, Joffrey piped up with the bluntness only a child could muster. ‘’I think you should date my sister,’’ he declared.  

Jace’s head shot up, eyes wide. 

Before him, Cregan chuckled uncomfortably, clutching his fork. ‘’Why is that, little one?’’

‘’Because you look at her like papa looks at mommy.’’ He said it so pure and innocently, yet it was true. 

The silence that followed was so loud it didn’t take long for Jace to connect the dots. The truth hung in the air, undeniable and clear. Cregan shifted awkwardly in his seat, and you felt your heart pound in your chest.

Jace glanced between you and the one he called his best friend. His nostrils were flared, shock and outrage painted across his face.  ‘’How long has this been going on?’’ His brown eyes glared daggers at Cregan, waiting for an answer. ‘’How long have you been keeping this from me?’’

‘’Jace,’’ your father’s voice cut through the tension, firm but gentle, an attempt to stop the situation from spiraling any further.

But Jace wasn’t listening, angry at his friend’s betrayal. ‘’How can you betray me like that? I would have expected it from Robb or Theon, not from you. You pride yourself to be loyal and honorable, but where is your loyalty in this? Where is the honor in disregarding my one and only rule?’’  

He was allowed to be upset that you and Cregan spent the last two months seeing each other behind his back. It’s a reaction that was expected. But you hated that he was painting his best friend as the villain. Cregan never used you, it was never his intention. He knew what he was risking when he kissed you back that rainy afternoon in his car. Yet, he couldn’t ignore his feelings — and neither could you. 

‘’How can you make this all about you?’’ you asked, shaking your head in disbelief. ‘’Can’t you see past your own selfish feelings that maybe Cregan does love me for me and not just to piss you off? This is exactly why we didn’t tell you anything.’’ You gestured around the room.

Cregan, who had remained silent until now, took a deep breath before speaking, his voice calm but firm. ‘’You know I don’t play around with girls. I would never use your sister the way you think I am. Come on, Jace. You know me.’’ There was a pause, allowing Jace to absorb his words, then he continued. ‘’I’m truly sorry for keeping this from you, but can you blame me? Put yourself in our shoes. You think I wanted to sneak around and lie to everyone about the girl I love? It might look cool in movies, but it’s not in real life. It’s just stress and pain.’’  

The room was so quiet you could almost hear a pin drop. No one dared speaking around the table. It was only silent glances. 

What a way to ruin your father’s birthday…

A few hours later, you found yourself sitting outside, your heart heavy. The house had grown quiet after the earlier commotion, the celebratory mood from the family gathering long gone. Grandfather Lyonel and uncle Larys had left. The former had apologized for starting the conflict, but you told him it was not his fault. It was bound to happen anyway. 

You apologized to your father — and mother — for ruining his birthday. It was his turn to shake his head and pull you in his arms. 

The air had gotten colder as it neared sundown, but you didn’t want to go inside. You liked the soft stillness of the open air. It was a calming contrast to the fight from this morning.

The drive back to college was going to be tense tomorrow. You already dreaded it. 

Unbeknownst to you, Jace was watching you through the glass of the sliding doors. He stood there for a moment, observing you and Cregan sitting quietly together on the patio furniture. Your head was leaned on his shoulder, curled up at his side, and his left arm wrapped around you. He recognized the Wolves hoodie on your back, Cregan’s number and name on it. 

It wasn't until he saw Cregan kiss the top of your head and the soft smile that instantly bloomed on your face that Jace realized that maybe Cregan was good for you.

—

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[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[toms-cherry-trees]

Cracked || Jacaerys Velaryon x Twin!Wife! Reader

Summary: No one ever said duty would hurt like this

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Twincest targcest (Velaryoncest?), angst, spoilers if you haven't watched S2E2, for anti hating purposes is not explicitly stated but all characters are above 18.

Author's note: Won't you look at me, 7 months since my last HOTD fic! That scene with Jace tearing up definitely did something to me. My very first time writing for Jace, hopefully won't be the last!

Also a massive massive thank you and all my devotion to @moris-auri for beta reading this!

No one welcomes him when he lands in the Dragonmont. 

The flapping of Vermax's leathery wings is amplified, booming throughout the massive cavern, swirls of steam rising from the cracks on the dark stone. The only ones to witness his arrival are the dragon keepers, but even they are distracted, their focus on the exhausted dragon and not his equally drained rider. When they stride past him, they don’t acknowledge him at all, almost as if he doesn’t exist. Jace wonders if he is a ghost, because only in death could someone feel the agony that seeps from his bones and still be standing. 

He feels like a foreigner in this place. 

Even though he has lived on Dragonstone half his life, he feels like a foreigner. The fortress is not theirs. He doubts it never truly has been. They are just keepers of these ancient walls and the history they carry within. Dragonstone is a relic that will stand on that island for a thousand years to come, as welcoming as a gush of Northern wind on bare skin. The only warmth comes from its very core, from those who habit it and who've made the great fortress a home. 

But the home he left weeks prior is not the one he now returns to. The warmth has been snuffed and the hearth has been shattered. 

He walks with his head held high and his back straight, gaze always ahead and chin lifted in a gesture of near arrogance. He walks like an heir, because he is. He is now his mother’s heir and he must play his part, even if all he wants to do is lay his head on her lap and weep like a boy of ten. 

A moon ago he was just Jacaerys Velaryon. He was a son, a firstborn son, but with no more responsibility than studying and learning, mastering skills that would serve him purpose in 30 or 40 years. His greatest concerns were training Vermax properly, what desserts would be served after supper, and how to avoid falling into another of his siblings’ silly pranks. He had been betrothed long ago, but marriage itself was something distant, something that could wait out a few more years.

He was a brother of five with another sibling on the way; a sister. While most in the castle pined for a son, another boy, he secretly supported his mother’s longing for a little girl.

And now he is Jacaerys, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to his mother’s throne and crown. He is more Targaryen than Velaryon now. He is an envoy, a messenger, a warrior if needed be. He is a strategist and a politician. He is an asset and a threat; someone who has forged great alliances, but also has found strong enemies, their weapons aimed directly at the target behind his head, target painted there by his grandsire many a year before his birth. A wedding , hastily arranged, to strengthen their cause and their line of inheritance. 

He is a brother to just four now, and the crib has been left empty. 

Cregan Stark had been the one to break the news to him. Standing on a cramped lookout on the edge of the world, nothing but whiteness as far as the eye reached, Lord Stark had said that the Wall did more than keep savages and ice at bay. It held back death.

But death came nonetheless.

Jacaerys had managed to maintain his stance as a man and a Prince, receiving the news with unyielding stoicism, even when his knees felt weak and his body chilled, like ice had spread down his spine. But this ice was nothing like the one surrounding him, there on the edge of the North. This one burned, burned like dragonfire while stabbing him with a thousand knives, leaving him to bleed out while not allowing him to die. It stole the air from his lungs and the blood from his veins, and filled him with snow. His lungs couldn’t breathe, his heart couldn’t beat yet somehow he didn’t drop dead right there where he stood.

He recalls little of what occurred after, nothing more than brief, precise memories. Receiving Cregan’s condolences, and feeling the firm squeeze of the older man’s hand on his shoulder. Northerners parting silently to make way for him in the courtyard, where a restless Vermax awaited, his screeches rattling the windows of the nearby towers. Someone handing him a parcel, hastily wrapped, containing a sleek wolf pelt as a present for their Queen. The thunderstorm he traversed in the Riverlands, and the toll it took on Vermax to fly through it. 

The painful tightening on his throat as he wondered if he had encountered a similar one, not far from home.

Servants and courtiers make way for him, as he approaches his mother’s chambers. They bow and curtsy, and offer words of courtesy, lamenting the loss of the young Prince. Some stare out of the corner of their eye as he passes, waiting to see if the new Prince of Dragonstone will crumble like sand before their very eyes. But he never betrays himself; not a tear brimming in his eyes, not a wobble of his lips. The occasional flaring of his nostrils is the single telltale of the sorrow that simmers just beneath his skin. 

He hesitates briefly, pausing at the end of the vast hallway where the royal apartments are. Up the winding staircase, past the single set of double doors to the left, his mother awaits. No, not his mother, the Queen. She stopped being his mother the day the crown was placed atop her head, and the court of Dragonstone bent the knee before her. Grief and loss shaped her, morphing her into the leader and ruler she had been born to be. Jace can only admire her, and hope that he will be able to embrace his new role as effortlessly as she has done hers.

The double doors are pushed open by Ser Erryk. The Queen sits alone, gaze downcast and thoughts troubled, that much Jace can tell by the nervous fidgeting of her hands, twisting her rings almost compulsively. When her eyes rise to meet his, Jacerys sees in them a mirror of himself, the same exhaustion, the effort to push back and bury the wrenching misery, the bleeding wound left behind by their loss.

They are alone, just the two of them in that silent alcove. Jace could break down, weep like he hasn’t done in years and lay his head across her lap; let her slender, motherly fingers card through his hair as she assures him that all will be well in the end. But he can’t, he can’t because she’s more Queen than mother now and she’s grieving too, grieving deeper than he is and if she can keep it together then so can he, because he is her heir and he has to make her proud and be a man worthy of respect. 

The Prince doesn’t cry; the heir doesn’t cry. 

A man remains immovable and imperturbable.

He straightens his back, head held high and hands laced before him as he recounts his triumphs, the Houses he convinced to pledge for them and what each one has offered and asked them in return. This moment should have been his shining glory, with himself striding through the castle with pride and confidence, ready to announce to the council how he had secured the allegiance of the Vale and the North for their cause. He would bask in his wife’s admiration, drink the praises from her lips and show her he was ready to one day be a great King, with a great Queen by his side. 

Instead it is just them two, hidden behind doors, picking up the pieces falling from their carefully built masks before they completely fall apart. He brings good news, great news, but they matter little and now taste like ash in his mouth, burning and bitter. His victories mean nothing to him because his little brother is dead, gone 60 years before his time, and they don’t even have a body to burn and Jacaerys feels it should have been him, because he is the eldest and he should have protected him better. He should have faced their rageful uncle and died instead, but he didn’t and now he stands there, moving and doing because if he stays still the grief will swallow him whole and bury him in a pit of sand.

And then his voice breaks, the facade cracks and they both stop pretending, because pretending hurts, like gripping a white hot rod with both hands and refusing to let go even if it’s hurting you.

Her embrace is warm; her arms feel like home. With his head tucked under her chin, his cheek pressed against her chest, he feels young again. He feels the sobs racking her body, the tears dampening her face and his hair, her fingers digging on the fabric of his cloak. They sway slightly, rocking from side to side like when he was a babe of just a few days old, fussy and restless, keeping the whole holdfast awake at night because he refused to settle anywhere but on his mother’s arms. 

But now Jace suspects the motion is meant for her more than for him, to transport her to days past when she held her babes in her arms and they were safe under her wing and no one could harm them because she would sooner tear the world to pieces. Discreetly the places shift, now it's her forehead against his shoulder and his arms holding her steady. Jace feels the tears stinging his eyes and the lump blocking his throat, but he cannot break down because his mother is broken and someone must stand strong and whole and it has to be him. 

Soon, too soon,  his mother has dismissed him, sending him to his chambers to bathe and rest because they will have the funeral at sunset and they must not show weakness before the court. The cracks must be patched and hidden, no matter how deep they run. Not a single piece can fall out of place.

He drags his feet now; the weight on top of him has grown heavy. His posture slackens, his shoulders slump, the pretence is harder to hold. Sunset feels like a death sentence, because a funeral makes it real. It makes it true. Burning what they have because there is not even a body left behind to burn. That way he can no longer pretend that is not happening, that is all just a tale. And then, he will crack. No willpower will keep him whole because his brother, his little brother is dead and he has to face a future where Lucerys will not be a part of it.

He pushes his chamber door open with one shoulder, his mind blank of any thought; the encounter with his mother affected him deeper than he had anticipated, because even she is cracking and now is just him holding it together because he has to. 

And then he sees her. 

His wife sits before the hearth, so ethereal with the glow of the fire illuminating her face. Her head turns as soon as the door opens, and he immediately notices the red around her swollen eyes. At first he thinks she’s mourning, but she’s had her time to mourn and Jace knows she’s crying for him, crying because she feels the agony straining to break through his flesh. Just like they have felt each other’s every emotion for as long as they have lived, have anticipated each other’s words and read their thoughts. Connected by a bond that runs deeper than marriage, because they are of the same blood, come into the world together.

The last time he saw her before his departure, they had an ugly fight. Jacaerys had convinced their mother to keep her at Dragonstone rather than allow her to fly as an envoy, claiming they could not leave the fortress unguarded and with the larger dragons going in and out on their missions, they had to pile up their remaining strength. The Queen had agreed, and her word was final. 

She could not argue with Her Grace, but she certainly made Jacaerys know how she felt about what she perceived as a betrayal and lack of trust in herself and her abilities. Jace pleaded with her to see reason, to see things from his perspective. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in her, he would never dare to doubt her strength. But he didn’t trust the men she would encounter on her journey, nor did he want her to risk taking a long flight on her dragon and run into danger. She, always the hot headed one, had called him every name under the sun and refused to see him off, choosing instead to sulk in her chamber. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, to leave on bad terms with her, but he trusted they would talk it out upon his arrival. That all would be well and their problems would be solved.

He stands silently before her, and for the first time he feels small. So small and diminished, unwilling to look her in the eyes. His gaze is fixed on the floor because the tears are winning the battle and if they do he will crack open like a dragon egg, but no great beast will emerge, only his insecurities and his failures.

His lower lip wobbles, and he bites it so hard he leaves the imprint of his teeth. His nails dig deep in his palms in his attempt to steady their accusatory trembling. He breathes in and out, slow and steady, his eyes squeezed shut as he feels himself losing control. He cannot allow himself to lose it, not in front of her of all people, not when he is supposed to be her pride, not her embarrassment.

He hears the sharp drag of the chair as she stands, the thud of the heavy tome she had been reading being thrown rather carelessly over a table. Her steps are slow and calculated as she moves across the stone, approaching him cautiously like he is some wild beast ready to lash out. Like he is some fragile thing, so fragile that a gush of wind could break him apart.

Her hands are soft and warm as they cradle his face, gently coaxing him to look up, to meet her eyes. But he can’t, he fears he will see disappointment in them, he will see accusation, he will see her blame him for Luke’s death, for forcing her to remain back when it was their little brother who needed his protection the most. 

For failing the family.

He succumbs in the end, brown eyes gingerly rising to meet her own, bracing himself for the worst. But he sees nothing of what he expected. He sees no anger, no resentment, no pity. Just worry and tenderness, and a desolation that matches his own.

The first tears he has been holding back since Winterfell finally escape the barrier of his willpower and roll down his cheeks. He attempts to blink them away but they cannot be stopped, nor does he have the strength to stop them no more. His wife brushes some away with her thumbs, and smoothes back his hair in a tender gesture

“Jace.”

That little world, the call of his own name coming from her lips is all that it needs for the dam inside him to burst. The violent sobs rack his body, tears blurring his vision and he chokes on them, while also feeling like he’s breathing for the first time since that raven arrived at the Wall. He tries to hide his face but she won’t let him, and tears shine in her eyes too and that only makes the crying worse, because his wife is suffering and he cannot console her because he’s also suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

His legs weaken and his stance falters. The same apology falls from his mouth, the small words tumbling over each other and getting lost in the incessant weeping. His knees falter and he drops down; his forehead rests against her body and his hands are on her hips, fearing he will lose her if he lets go. He sobs onto her dress, not caring anymore about being the perfect Prince and heir, about being the man everyone will respect and be proud of.

His wife drops to her knees too and holds him close, allowing his head to lay against her shoulder. The scent of her body fills his nostrils, aroma of camellias and toasted sugar. It smells of happy memories and easier days, and it evokes a sense of safety in him, of tenderness, of the happiest days of his short life. His cry doesn’t stop, but it is not only for Lucerys now. It is for his mother, for his younger brothers, for himself and for all the losses to come. He cries for his twin, his wife, for now the fear of harm coming her way has increased tenfold, and the mere idea of her being cruelly ripped from his side tears a gash on his heart.

He cries until he’s sure there are no tears left to cry. Until the weight has been lifted from his chest and he is sure he can breathe again. They remain there for what feels like mere seconds and a lifetime at the same time, locked in each other’s embrace. Her fingers card through his hair and her lips press tender kisses to his temple; his arms wrapped around her, hands pressed against her back to keep her close, as close as he can to his own heart. He would gladly stay there forever, spend the rest of his days encased in her warmth and basking in her love. But the moment is broken all too soon when a servant knocks on the door to let them know that courtiers are already gathering in the outskirts of the castle for the funeral.

Jace lets himself be guided by the hand like an obedient child to sit before her vanity. She moves around him silently; unneeded words would only break the feeble spell of calmness surrounding them.

She takes care of everything for him. Wipes his face clean with a damp cloth, presses a cool spoon to his eyes so they will not appear swollen and bloodshot. He changes into a fresh tunic, and allows her to comb his hair and powder his face to disguise the redness of his cheeks and nose. 

They stand together before the ornate mirror, both of them dressed in matching red and black. She helps him pin the cloak onto his tunic, fastening it to his right shoulder with a silver dragon brooch. Jace holds her gaze in their reflection, hoping to convey with gestures the emotions words fail to do. She understands; she always does.

He is rewarded with a kiss on the cheek, and while it does not manage to coax a smile out of him, it fills his veins with a pleasant tickling warmth, the same he felt after their first kiss and the one he hopes to feel until his last breath. 

Her fingers run up his arms gently, tracing the embroiders and trimmings of the doublet. They come to rest on his shoulders and gently push them back, straightening his posture and puffing out his chest. The right index continues the ascent, tracing the curve of the neck and the still sharpening line of the jawline before settling under his chin, pushing upwards ever so slightly to lift his head. Urging him to hold himself with pride. To unapologetically show the world that he is cracked, but not broken.

She comes to stand before him at last, smoothing down nonexistent creases from his clothes until nothing but pure perfection remains. They hold each others’ gaze for a few moments, before she reaches up to steal from him a gentle kiss.  

“All ready, My Prince.” 

This time, he smiles.

[pearlywritings]

In father's embrace

synopsis: Genshin men as dads and what your family dynamic is like.

pairings: Ayato, Thoma, Alhaitham, Kaveh, Tighnari x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, mentions of pregnancy

word count: 7.2k words

a/n: I really wanted to write Diluc and Kaeya, but realized that I can't create something new since I already have a family AU with them. Here's the materlist's link if you are interested! Also you can find the HSR version of this here!

Ayato 

This man is a dad of twins - a boy and a girl. Both babies took more in their mom’s appearance, but have his soft violet eyes and honestly? This man adores you, his wife, so when he sees your kids develop more and more of your features as they grow - his heart can’t be fuller.

He is a fun and patient dad - he will teach them anything they ask him to, and offer guidance, yet still leaving space for them to learn some on their own. He also enjoys when they sneak into his study during his working hours (because mom decided to take a nap, and Thoma went out grocery shopping, and they are so-so boooooored), letting them wander around the room for the nth time, touching all the trophies and scrolls he has there (all the things that could be of danger were long removed), and when they eventually feel sleepy, crawl closer to him to nap, resting their heads on his thighs while he stays in his kneeling position, writing.

Even if they look a lot like you, it’s so easy to tell that they are his kids - the mischief babbling in their little bodies is untamable for the longest time, and Ayato loves it. Sure, sometimes it is a headache, and mostly for you, but at least they didn’t develop strange tastes in food like their father. More than once they used their similar looks to play pranks on the staff members or their parents, dressing in each other’s clothes and going about their day like that. What does their father think of it? Two words - “promising” and “entertaining”.

They are also their aunt’s absolute delight. Ayaka adores them, showering the two with gifts and attention. And even though she and Ayato are not twins like her niece and nephew - she still feels warmly nostalgic whenever she witnesses their interactions.

Best aunt - thanks to her Vision the twins experienced the joy of ice skating, lessons of etiquette became more fun (though still effective), more days off were granted to her brother to spend time with his family (she practically started stealing his paperwork at some point to fulfill it on her own). She and Thoma are making your life so much easier and for the first time Ayato truly feels at peace and like he is living his life at its fullest. The quiet rooms of the Kamisato Estate are finally filled with joyous laughter and summer warm happiness - his kids are bringing back the light to the gloomily strict atmosphere of the family house.

But sometimes the two only add the workload to his plate in the most wild ways possible.

Ayato closely observes one of his kids - presumably the son - as both the parent and the child are sitting in the room dedicated to the twins’ studying. They have the best tutors Inazuma could provide and both showed exceptional results in all their classes. Even if one of them failed an examination on the first try - the second one was always a success. That was until you walked in on your daughter rewriting her history test, only to discover your son in her place, with his sister’s clothes and blue locks tied in her manner. And that’s when the truth came to light.

Honestly it was no surprise their teachers never suspected anything - only four people could tell the twins apart easily - you, Ayato, Ayaka and Thoma, though the latter had trouble with that occasionally, and your children made sure to speak as similar as possible once the idea of replacing each other appeared. Of which you also learned that day Ayato and you sat them down and urged to tell you everything. The scolding about cheating from you and a lecture from Ayato on the topic of how important it is to do as good as you can on your own were provided, but in the end you just hugged them and said that you do not expect them to be perfect in everything, which left the kids relieved.

But from then on Ayato has been in charge of supervising the twins during their exam retakes. Just like today.

“Public diplomacy, national security, diplomatic etiquette, hm…” the head of the Kamisato clan skips across the paper with questions the tutor gave him beforehand on the latest topic of international relationships. He notices how his child doesn’t fidget and doesn’t even let the eyes run across the room - the straight posture and neutral expression etched on a thirteen-year old’s face is admirable. But he does note the uncharacteristic stiffness. Along with another major thing.

“Princess, where is your brother?”

Eyes widen slightly, but that’s enough to prove that he is correct. He watches his daughter hesitate for a moment, though there is no doubt in his mind that neither of his children would ever lie to him or their mother. And the defeated sigh shows as much.

“Sorry, father,” the girl lowers her gaze in apology. Fishing a hairpin from behind her brother’s kimono lapel, she makes quick work of collecting her hair. Then she looks into his eyes again.

“He is in my room, pretending to be me and probably stressing. Before you ask why we decided to switch - he begged me to.” “Oh?” Ayato puts the papers to the side and rests his chin on an open palm. “Could you please elaborate?” “Remember how we went to the Kujo residence for a playdate?” Her father hums, already getting a vague understanding of what’s going on. “And when we accidentally overheard how the oldest son was being scolded by his father for not doing enough in his studies. And brother got it into his head that if he keeps failing not once but more times, you are going to be disappointed in him. I know he studied for this retake, I helped him with that, but at the last moment he got anxious, and, well, here I am. Like all those years ago.”

“I see,” the man in front of her nods, and she doesn’t see any negative emotion painted on his face. Quite the contrary, he smiles.

“Be a dear, go get your brother and come back together. Change the clothes though. Oh, and tell him I am not mad, okay?” “Okay, father,” she mirrors his smile and relief flashes in her eyes - the girl truly cares for her twin, and that warms Ayato’s heart.

When half an hour later both arrive there is already a table served with tea and sweets, and the head of the Kamisato family immediately invites them to take their seats. His daughter looks calm, which can’t be said about his son - the boy has the most miserable look on his face, holding onto his sister’s hand and staring at the surface of the tea in his cup. Ayato decides to speak first.

“Kujo family is the last people one should take as an example,” his firm, yet reassuring tone makes his son glance at him. “Sure, they are respected, but their methods are too old-fashioned, and the way they treat their children is no good. Do you understand, little blossoms?”

They nod and even if Ayato doesn’t see it, he knows they squeeze each other’s hand.

“You better do, because neither me nor your mother will ever push you to the point of devastation. In studies as well,” the boy bites his lip. “I am serious. I will not be disappointed in either of you if you have to retake one test again and again. Striking for perfection is a good goal, but not when you torture yourself physically and emotionally to achieve it.”

“But father…” his son lifts his eyes and stares right into Ayato’s and it shoots right through his chest how vulnerable the kid looks. “You are perfect. And I don’t want to let you down…” “Me? Perfect? Oh, dear,” the man can’t hold a light laugh back. “Ask your mother and she’ll prove you so wrong, trust me. And none of you is letting me down - you should be proud of yourselves. At such young age you both show bright talents and knowledge - and it’s okay if it’s not the case for every possible field of studies. This is general education, later you’ll get more practice to catch up, or concentrate on your strongest abilities. Listen,” he addresses his son specifically, and the boy cocks his head to the side a little, “be more confident and trust your sister if she insists you are doing well. Don’t be afraid to ask questions and come to me if you feel unsure, alright?”

The boy glances down, letting the words sink in, and Ayato patiently waits. In his mind he admits that it's his oversight - he should've noticed earlier that one of his kids has been struggling. Now he will make sure to change that.

Eventually his son deeply sighs and looks at the adult in front of him with trust reflecting in those pretty eyes.

“Alright,” he nods with a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. Slowly standing up and letting go of his twin’s hand, he rounds the table and steps right into Ayato’s outstretched arms, wrapping his own around the man’s neck.

“Thank you, father,” he whispers right before burying his face into haori-clad shoulder. “I love you so much.”

And the man smiles, whispering those words back and soothingly patting his back, as the daughter shows him thumbs up with the tenderest look in her eyes.

Thoma

This man is such a sweet dad - nearly cried, when your first child, a girl, was delivered. Same was when a couple years later the son was born too.

Juggling his work and caring for his kids was never an issue for him. A big part of it was played by the Kamisato couple, who allowed him to bring first his daughter and then his son to work, when each of them was old enough. Which, most likely, was what prompted the Kamisatos to have their own kids - one day years ago you and Thoma wanted to have a date night - one you haven't had in a while - and Ayato's wife offered to watch your little baby girl. Does it need to be mentioned she wanted her own kids after that?

Thoma's kids are taught to be polite and respectful, but not overly reserved and quiet, no - in your own house the man would literally let them destroy the kitchen in attempts to bake something as an experiment and then turn cleaning it up into a fun game of three, or four, if you decide to join.

He is that kind of dad, who constantly falls asleep with both kids nestled on his chest and his arms wrapped around them, with a book of tales either lying on his stomach or abandoned on the floor. You literally mastered your technique of waking him up without stirring the kids, so you could bring the two to their rooms.

Your kids love walks, whether it’s in the city or admiring the scenery near the Kamisato Estate. When it’s in the city though, the four of you attract attention without a fail. Especially elders, who coo at the image of Thoma holding his daughter’s hand and you cradling your little boy to your chest. You are literally showered in little gifts and are offered many discounts, because everyone adores and respects your family. At some point for a short period of time a rumor was running around Inazuma City, that if you get to see all four members of the Kamisato retainer’s family, luck is going to follow you through the day. Thoma had to ensure it came to an end, wanting to keep you three safe and not being followed around in your leisure time.

To summarize it’s needless to say that this man is a natural when it comes to being a father. He already aced being a great husband, you never had any doubt that the same would be true about becoming a dad. And it brings you so much joy that your kids are aware of it.

Making your husband's lunch is an essential part of your morning routine. Sure, the Kamisato Estate provides its workers with meals and breaks, but knowing how much Thoma loves your home-cooked meals, you'll never refuse him this pleasure. 

On days like today you pack two more lunches, for your kids - yesterday they expressed their desire to go and help their dad. But you are more than aware of the plan they've had in their mind for the longest time. That's why you turn a blind eye and chop fruits particularly loudly, when you ten- and four-year olds sneak into the kitchen and hide something in the wrapper of an already packed lunch.

And when they were leaving and every member of your family gave you kisses, you couldn’t help but notice the decreased stack of small papers you have in the hall to make notes.

Maybe next time, you’ll ask your kids to join.

Thoma bringing his kids to work is always a pleasant surprise to the Estate’s staff. Even the guards by the gates can’t keep their composure, when the girl cheerfully greets them, wishing a good day, and the boy softly chirps a little “hi” and shyly waves his hand at them. Next person they always meet is Furuta - and the old lady adores their greeting ritual and is the one who looks after the fellow housekeeper’s kids when they help or play outside. But if usually the woman just makes small compliments to the children and chides Thoma for not bringing them over more, today his daughter breaks the routine - she suddenly lets go of his hand and quickly runs to her father’s colleague and asks her to speak in the corner. A bit stunned, the blonde watches the two move farther and start quietly talking. The boy in his arms curiously watches them and then, as if realizing something claps his hands.

“What is it, cookie?” But the only answer he receives is merry giggling.

The next strange thing happens, when the three of them arrive in his room - kids, looking as suspicious as possible, start making excuses to go and play first, though they usually insist on following him around unless they get bored, and as they disappear behind the door with his daughter’s bag - Master Ayato requests his visit. 

Getting out of his office only an hour later, Thoma has to rush to his duties, realizing that he’ll have to speed up if he wants to finish everything the blue-haired man has just told him to do. He even handed him a list with tasks, which never happened. What’s going on?

Not finding the children in his room, he decides to start without them, assuming they'll join him later. Okay, what’s the first thing on the list… Check all the chairs. Alright…

Luckily this piece of furniture isn’t numerous in the residence, giving the culture of Inazuma, and Thoma knows perfectly every single room where he can find them. What he wasn’t expecting to find is the folded papers on the seats of some of those. Upon unfolding each revealed a single letter. Strange… Well, at least the chairs themselves are in the required condition.

Tucking the papers in his pocket and fishing the list out of the other one, the man checks his next destination. Check all the bushes around the main building. Blinking, he looks again. No, the handwriting is definitely his master’s, but the contents? In his style, but why so sudden?

Following every single point, Thoma manages to find in total 13 papers with letters on it, before the list stops being weird and advises the housekeeper to dedicate the time before lunch to his common responsibilities. Which he, with an exhale of relief, proceeds to fulfill.

When the time for lunch rolls around, kids, as if magically, reappear at his side and innocently smile at him, asking how he spent his time. He promises to tell them over lunch.

Lunch, that brings him four more pieces of paper. And suddenly, both kids are not that interested in food.

“Make a phrase, make a phrase!” His daughter chants, holding her brother in her lap, and the little boy claps his hands, chanting ‘make! make!’. Already realizing that all of this was their meticulously crafted plan (to participate in which they managed to convince quite a few people), Thoma doesn’t oppose, putting all the papers on the table in front of him. 

S V E E T S I R H E Y B T

And A P A P which he got from his lunch.

“The” is guessed immediately. “Is” as well. When he reaches for the “A P A P” to add it to the pile, the girl suddenly lunges forward, putting her hand on top of it and shaking her head. Alright, not yet.

S V E E T R Y B is left. Okay, maybe “very” and… “best”!

Moving the pieces around in utter concentration, the man puts the words in the right order. And only then the ten-year old lifts her hand. With a baited breath he moves the four remaining pieces a little more and his heart skips a beat, and the summer-green eyes widen.

PAPA IS THE VERY BEST

“Surprise!” The girl beams with the widest smile, hugging her brother. “We wrote it together! See how some of the letters are clumsy? He did it!” She proudly looks at the boy, gently ruffling his hair. “Recently he was trying to learn how to write! You are the first one who sees it, even mom didn’t! And we chose this phrase, because- dad, are you crying?”

Warm silent tears are indeed running down his cheeks and the man nods, not trusting his voice. A whirlwind of emotions overtakes him, making it a little hard to formulate his thoughts, but he reacts immediately when his kids rush to him, opening his arms and catching them in a tight embrace. He'll tell them how touched he is, he'll praise them, he'll declare his love for them again and again. A tiny bit later. Now he just needs to hold them and hear that he, for real, "is the very best papa".

Alhaitham and Kaveh

Listen, just LISTEN - imagine these men’s pure shock when their wives surprise them over a double date at Kaveh’s house with their pregnancies. Like, AT THE SAME TIME. Kaveh is gaping at his woman, but Alhaitham is no better - a glass with wine frozen in air in the middle of his attempt to put it back on the table as his eyes are not blinking, glued to his spouse. The blonde would be the first one to break from his stupor and tightly hug his wife, kissing all over her face all laughter and little jumping in place, while his junior would finally put the glass down and beckon his woman onto his lap and bury his face in her neck with arms around her body, quietly thanking her for amazing news.

The kids are not even formed in the women’s stomachs, but they already have a story to share.

Alhaitham

Despite not giving the impression the man likes the idea of being a father to a child together with you, his beloved. Of course the pregnancy was planned, but even he couldn’t predict the possibility of you and his friend’s wife being pregnant at the same time. Though he does find it a little amusing and can’t lie to himself that watching you and your female friend discuss the nursery designs, the clothes, the gender, the two babies becoming akin to siblings warms his heart.

He always loved quiet evenings with you, but later, as your bump got more and more prominent, he finds himself craving your back pressed to his chest and his palms cradling your rounding stomach. He talks to his kid in there, reads them books and soothes, when they are restless and don’t let you sleep that well. And that’s how early on you understood who’s going to be the one putting your newborn to sleep, because your persuasions didn’t work that well.

And your husband doesn’t mind. He actually loves cradling his daughter - yes, it’s a little girl! - to his chest and lull her to sleep - it gives him an unimaginable sense of fulfillment.

As your little wonder grows older, Kaveh can’t help but comment how similar her scowl is to her father’s - combined with the annoyed sharp glare of the eyes she also got from him. But that’s only when she is being capricious. Most of the time she is calm and sporting your sweet smile, voice soft and eyes lacking the mentioned above sharpness. 

By the way, she is older than Kaveh’s kid, which makes the Scribe just a little bit smug.

Alhaitham is all too happy to be the one educating her. He makes sure to balance her time spending with him and her time spending with you, encouraging her to engage in your hobbies and have a mother-daughter time. But the most he loves the time the three of you spend together - be it as simple as grocery shopping, having a meal together or cuddling in the evening, or going on whole little expeditions, because his girl wants to explore something on the topic she is currently interested in.

Oh, and he is so biased when it comes to her. There is only one non-scholar kid in all of Sumeru who has her own personal access to the House of Daena, research laboratories, research data and the Scribe’s office at any working hour - and that’s your daughter.

“Look, that’s the Scribe’s wife!”

Taken aback, you stop in your way when at least a dozen students surround you. Raising an eyebrow you survey their faces thoughtfully, noting that they seem to be quite desperate. But even before you can open your mouth they interrupt.

“Tell him to let us in! We have applications to submit!”

“And I have questions why mine was declined!”

“I need his signature on my thesis papers!”

“He locked himself inside with your daughter and said not to disturb their nap! Unbelievable-”

“And how exactly can I help?” You cut through the cacophony of their voices. Students look at you as if you’ve just grown a second head.

“...you are his wife? You can influence him.” “First of all, demanding something from a person you barely know is simply rude,” you narrow your eyes and a chill runs down some of the spines - for a moment you looked just like your husband. “Secondly, I am not involved in his work and I don’t plan to. Now, please, step aside.”

“You can’t be so cruel!”

“Oh, and you can? Let me guess, at least half of you missed deadlines, a small portion made mistakes again and the rest are not in an urgent need to see my husband, but decided to stick with others in hopes that getting to him right now will work?”

Leaving them stunned by your easy guess, you finally push your way through, holding a box with food you brought for lunch close to your chest. Once in front of the door you don’t even have the time to raise a fist for knocking, because the door unlocks and opens, revealing the tall man behind it.

Silently and quickly you step inside and the door shuts again, the key turns in the lock and then is thrown on the nearest table. The office meets you with welcomed tranquility, and dimmed lights are a nice contrast to the blindingly white walls of the Akademiya.

“So, you heard everything? They said you were napping,” you question his guess of when to open the door to let you in. Alhaitham rolls his eyes, glaring at the hindrance you left behind the door, and then takes the box from you.

“I was, but since I lent my earpieces I could hear the commotion in the corridor,” with his free hand he takes yours and leads you further into the room. There, on the sofa, you spot your daughter - wearing her dad’s device and napping, curled under his cape.

“Oh Dendro Archon, she is so adorable,” you coo in awe. “Look how big your things are on her!”

“She demanded I take a break and sit with her,” the Scribe hums, putting the food on the table and then locking both of his arms around you in an embrace. “But the more she was reading to me while sitting at my side, the sleepier she was getting, so we decided to nap.”

You listen to him, while observing your precious girl. She seems serene and content, holding onto the gold-embroidered piece of fabric, surely containing her father’s soothing scent. The earpieces are adjusted to hold onto her head and in silence you can even catch the faintest sounds of a melody. Ah, if only you had a Kamera with you…

“Let’s get her her own earpieces and cape.”

“The cape is unnecessary, but I did consider the device. I could make her her own, especially since she’s been complaining about having hard times to concentrate while she is at the Akademiya.” “But with the cape she’d be just like you!”

“Am I alone not enough for you already?” Light turquoise eyes are hard to read, but you manage to catch a shadow of amusement.

“But matching outfits are charming! Like, remember the last time we’ve been to Kaveh’s? The whole family had matching robes!”

“Then you’ll have to dress like me too.”

“If I am to get an intricate cape and a device to block the sounds of you huffing - I don’t mind.”

Alhaitham huffs. Then stops, realizing he’s just done what you were accusing him of, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Kidding, kidding. Let’s discuss it over lunch. Can you wake her while I am setting the table?”

Your husband nods and, receiving a quick peck to his cheek, releases you from his hold, stepping closer to the sofa.

As you busy yourself with the food, you occasionally glance at the two from the corner of your eye, absolutely swooning over how gently Alhaitham takes the earpieces off, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, softly murmurs her name and coaxes her from sleep with the news that mommy came and brought delicious food with her. And when two sets of identical eyes look at you tenderly, a loving smile lights up your face.

Kaveh

Can you see this man sticking his finger in Alhaitham's direction and declaring that his kid is going to be senior to his friend's? Because I can. (Too bad he was wrong).

As well as I can see this man accidentally becoming supportive not only of you but the other man's family as well - and drawing the blueprints for both nurseries is probably only the beginning (but you were the only one whose every suggestion he took without arguing).

From day one his mind is set on being the best dad for your baby, just like he is the best husband to you. He reads books, seeks advice in Bimarstan, even writes letters to his mother in hopes she'll share her experience, that could help you. Though when it comes to shopping for your yet unborn baby, you have to physically restrain him from buying every single cute plushie or onesie he sees. 

When your daughter is born though, it's getting harder, because your own desire to spoil this golden-haired angel is unmeasurable. Maybe it's because she looks so much like your husband and you are projecting your need to shower him in love and affection and give everything you possibly can, but by the end of the day you just simply love her very much.

Kaveh adores doing anything creative with his daughter. She wants a mosaic in a frame on her wall? They'll put it from the little tiles together and Kaveh would hold her in his arms so she could hang it. She wants a dollhouse? They'll spend the time drawing the draft and picking colors and materials for EVERYTHING. And then he'll be building it, while she crafts little furniture. And it doesn't matter if she did it too small or too big - papa will help her adjust it.

But even so, Kaveh doesn't expect his daughter to be some genius or follow in his steps. No, he knows he'll love her even if she stops sharing the creative approach with him. He knows better than anyone how crushing it is to have everyone's expectations to loom over you and predatory gazes watch tirelessly, anticipating the moment you fail. He gives a vow to himself, to you, to your girl, that he will be there no matter what. 

Matching. Outfits. You own so many it's almost worrisome. But your daughter loves them. There were a couple occasions when she drew her own designs for the three of you and you had it tailored, which left her absolutely ecstatic.

On that note, you believe Kaveh's (tiny) fear that she'll lose interest in creativity is going to be short-lived - especially after your visit to Fontaine to let your daughter meet her granny, which the girl spent with wide open eyes and mouth, absorbing everything around her to use it later.

Also having your daughter earned you a heavy supporter in moments when Kaveh starts to overwork. He can't resist the charm of both of his girls and is easily swayed to the nearest sofa/bed to cuddle and share lots of kisses. All his life he has been the anchor for others - now he has two people to be that for him.

Kaveh is easily spooked by sudden noises, and your eleven-year old daughter knows that. That's why she makes sure to tap her feet loud enough to hear their approach through the door of his study. Balancing a small tray with a cup of tea and your special dessert in one hand, she lifts the other to gently knock on the door.

"Come in, baby!" Reaching higher she pulls the handle.

The floor littered with crumpled papers isn't a new sight to her, just as her father's hunched back over the properly lit table. But when the door closes, the architect immediately puts the pencil down and turns around, giving her a big smile.

"Hi, sweety," he is beaming, seeing her adorable face and a growing smile, complementing those precious twinkles in her eyes.

"Hi, papa!" She chirps like a little birdie - her actual nickname - and Kaveh nearly drops his head in his palms and cries. How can he be a father to someone so tender?

"Mama said you are working and made you something! I helped," she lifts the tray, showing him what she has. "We hope you will like it."

Oh, he definitely will, he doesn't doubt it. Carefully wrapping his fingers around the edges, the man takes his late afternoon snack and brings it closer to his face, inhaling the sweet smell of the desert and a soothing aroma of the tea.

"Thank you, little birdie," he puts the tray aside and bends lower to wrap his arms around her and smooch her cheek. "You and mama are the best."

"Hehe, we know," she giggles. "You are the best too."

"Awww," Kaveh can't help but nuzzle against her cheek, gaining another giggle and a cute scrunch of her nose.

"Daaaaaaaad!"

"Sorry, sorry, baby, you are just so adorable. Just like your mama."

"But mama says I am pretty like you."

"Both can work together," he assures her, but a soft blush covers his cheeks. No matter how many years have passed, he still gets shy whenever his wife uses "pretty" to describe him.

"Okay!" She simply agrees, giving him a big hug. "Sorry, but I should be going now. Mama wants to go grocery shopping and I want to help her."

Now that she says this, Kaveh pays closer attention to her outfit - the white sundress with pink roses is definitely not something she'll wear at home.

"Alright then, let me escort you downstairs."

Standing up, he easily hoists her in his arms and lets her perch on his left one, as her arms wrap around his neck.

When they reach the hall, the girl has managed to make two braids in his hair, now twisting them around each other. Kaveh finds both her and your obsession with touching his hair amusing, but sometimes it feels nice and relaxing. And you did put him to sleep by scratching his head on multiple occasions.

You, who are standing in front of the mirror, and even witnessing just your profile, the architect is in love all over again. 

He should take you on a date later this week.

"Well, I definitely wouldn't mind that," you chuckle, turning to face him and offering your most teasing smile. Ah, he said the date part out loud, didn't he? "But right now I need to go and take care of our dinner's ingredients."

Your husband nods in understanding and puts your daughter down, dusting the skirt of her dress and making sure everything is intact. Getting a quick peck on the nose, he gives her one on the forehead and straightens up to immediately welcome you into his embrace and share a soft kiss.

“Be sure to take a break and enjoy the snack we made for you. And I mean it when I say taking a break. We all remember how you spilled your morning coffee over the blueprint and had to redraw everything again. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

A wild shiver runs down Kaveh’s spine and he feverishly shakes his head. No, if there is one thing he is certain in it’s hating the repetition of this.

“You don’t have to remind me,” his heavy sigh ghosts over your skin. “And it won’t happen again.”

“I believe in you!” You cheer joyfully and it warms his heart.

“I believe in papa too!” Your daughter throws her fists in the air. “Papa can do anything!”

“Of course he can,” you gently nudge her back, ushering her to the front door. “See you soon, Kaveh. We love you.”

“I love you too.”

Waving at your leaving figures he waits until you shut the door and stick the key in the lock, before smiling to himself and returning to his study.

The tea got a little cold and the dessert’s top melted just a tiny bit, but both are still incredibly delicious. Leaning back in an armchair with a plate resting on his knee and a cup wrapped in his hands, the man feels happily at ease and two precious girls are the reason why.

Tighnari 

Frankly, I don't think Tighnari has ever given much thought to becoming a dad, let alone settling down with someone. But taking care of Collei, becoming her mentor, stepping so close to becoming a parental figure, probably played its role as well.

Biggest part, of course, was you - another pretty fennec hybrid, who, due to the same biological background, could share a lot of things with him that the man couldn't and honestly didn't want to bother explaining to others, he sure has other things to fulfill.

It took years of courting from both sides, but eventually, you two settled down together, content with each other as a partner. When the talk of kids happened, the forest ranger was hesitant - he knows he can handle a kid, he can handle ten if required thanks to his immense patience and love for teaching, but since you were different from humans, the man was aware that you could be carrying more than three babies at one time. Even if your body is built to handle it by evolution, he still didn't want to make you go through with so much. Initially. However when you looked so hopeful to have a family with your beloved, swore it's going to be just one time and then you'll keep using protection like before, he was convinced and actually quite excited.

So much nuzzling during your pregnancy. So much nuzzling when the babies are born - three beautiful boys and one girl, with the prettiest fluffy tails and ears of yours or his fur. He immediately jumped to being a father, without any complaint taking care of your kids, while you were recovering. He adores them so much, but at times hardly manages to keep an eye on all four - good thing you moved into a bigger house that is closer to the ground, because little explorers did try to escape outside on multiple occasions.

What gets Tighnari's heart burst like fireworks though? Spotting you napping with all of your babies huddled in your embrace, body practically curled around them and a tail resting on top. The first time it happened - maybe a couple of weeks after you gave birth to them - Tighnari left you alone with the kids to do an examination on the work of forest rangers in his absence, and when he returned back - he nearly collapsed from how adorable the five of you looked. Definitely joined.

From their early age he taught his kids everything about the forest so they would be prepared, and, even he won't ever admit it, it stirred something in his chest when they looked up at him with wonder and fascination in their gleaming eyes. They were also taught to be independent, but at the same time to work as a team, and they are so good at that.

The circle of four is absolutely perfect. Little hands are swift and precise, and the absolute concentration is written on the seven-year olds adorable faces. You and Tighnari even stopped your own grooming of each other’s tails to observe your kids’ routine of doing the same thing, but among themselves.

With four pillows on the floor they once again made themselves comfortable, just like every evening, equipped with different kinds of brushes and safe oils. 

You put your chin onto Tighnari's shoulder, still holding his tail in your lap, with yours resting under his palm, and make a soft sound, loud enough for him to recognize and not alert the kids. Your husband nods, purring in response and rubbing his cheek against your temple.

"They are so adorable, 'nari," you sigh, watching the four being so absorbed with their task that they don't even talk. The male couldn't agree more, lifting the corners of his mouth in a smile and then picking another brush to get busy with the tip of your tail.

"They absolutely got it from you, my dear. And did you notice how much progress they've made in the fur-caring routine?"

Tighnari doesn't see that, but you, still staring forward at your kids, clearly see how four pairs of ears prick up. How cute, someone wants the praise.

"That they did. And I don't know about you, but at the age of 7 I didn't even know that the fur has to be clean and taken care of anyhow. I guess, I never gave it much thought when my mom did it for me. Our little ones are so independent."

Four tails move a little, kids clearly delighted.

"You are right, they are," Tighnari hums, running his fingers through your now well-groomed fur, and your children hold their chins up proudly. "If only this independence didn't extend to trying to escape to the forest on their own against all of my warnings."

Inhumane eyes glare at the frozen bodies of the "explorers" in question, making them lower their gaze and pick up from where they stopped their routine. Oh, they know what they've done.

You can only sigh, fully understanding your husband's concerns, and finish tending to his tail.

Next is the balm you generously scoop onto your palm to rub into the rough texture of your fox-like pads. When you do the same for Tighnari, receiving a tender kiss to your nose, and then to each of your babies, as they walk to you one by one, still with guilty, pouty, but adorable faces, while your husband is putting away all the tools and products.

Soon your bed is occupied with all of your kids, snuggling to your sitting body and drowsily asking to sleep with you two tonight. Even the thought of making a dozen more steps to their own rooms is killing the last energy in them - the routine has an incredible side effect: they immediately become sleepy when they are done and you don't have much trouble with putting them to bed.

Especially when the bed is right here. The bed that became a large one not even a couple of months along their lives, because this has been a common occurrence.

"Mommy, daddy, can we sleep with you tonight, please?" Your daughter lifts her pleading eyes at you, being the one who managed to directly slide into your lap and into your embrace. Three boys, attached to your sides silently lift their eyes too, pouting in attempts to break your resolve. Which wasn't here in the first place.

"What'd you say, 'nari?" Chuckling, you look at your husband climbing onto the bed to join the five of you.

"Weren't we just discussing their independence? They can surely walk to their rooms. Come on, babies, back to your beds."

"Noooooooooo," their hold on you immediately becomes a death grip. "We want to stay with you!"

"Kids, I can't breathe-" you gasp from the crushing hug of at least two pairs of arms squeezing your middle.

"We want to stay, we want to stay, we want to stay!"

"That's what you should've told yourselves earlier this morning when you decided to get to the river with spinocrocodiles. That you want to stay. Home. Until I or your mother could go on a walk with you outside the village."

At his strict tone and at the reminder of them nearly losing their tails this morning to the sharp jaws of wild animals, four little foxes lower their eyes, ashamed. But they do relax their hold around you.

Tighnari sighs, rubbing his temples and contemplating when he's going to get his first gray hairs.

"Okay, I'll let you sleep with us tonight, BUT," he slightly raises his voice to emphasize, especially since the four immediately got in high spirits, "if something like this happens again - you are losing this privilege for a week. Are we clear?"

"Yes, daddy…"

"Yeah.."

"Mhm…"

"Sure, dad…"

And that's the only confirmation Tighnari needs before lifting the covers, because no matter how restless and disastrous your children can be - he has almost as hard a time as you do telling them "no".

[riddlesb1tch]

Loved You First

Azriel x reader

summary: reader and Azriel are in love with each other but too afraid to admit it. What happens when reader gets asked out on a date and is seemingly very interested in the guy?

Loosely inspired by "Loved You First" by One Direction

warnings: this is so fluffy its borderline cheesy. Actually no, it is cheesy. Enjoy the cheese my loves!

a/n: the results from the poll are in!!! and Azriel very obviously won lol so here is a fic that has been in my drafts for like a year and I haven't had the motivation to finish.

Had my chances,

Could've been where he is standing

That's what hurts the most, 

Girl I came so close,

But now you’ll never know, 

Baby, I loved you first 

Ever since you joined the IC a decade ago, you and the spymaster have been close. Rhysand had walked into a coffee shop one day where he found you, sipping on your coffee while lost in a book on the history of Prythian. Rhys had taken a liking to you after a lengthy conversation about the inaccuracies both of you had spotted. He invited you to dinner with the inner circle where you met the infamous Shadowsinger. 

The first time you met, a hum or two of acknowledgement is all you got from him. You felt like he hated you after that first meeting but the rest of the IC had taken a liking to you which led to you being invited to many more dinners. Eventually, he started speaking to you like you weren’t his enemy but was still closed off, keeping the conversation about you and providing as little information about himself as possible. Initially, you weren’t too fond of the spymaster due to his closed-off nature and the vibe you got that he didn't particularly enjoy your company, but everyone in the IC spoke fondly of him and he wouldn’t have been friends with all the kind people in the inner circle if he wasn’t nice himself. Then, you realized soon that he had built up many walls around his heart to prevent himself from getting hurt.  So, you decided to give him a fair chance and struck up a conversation at one of the dinners about a book both of you had read called ‘The Name of the Rose’. It was a safe territory that got him to be surprisingly chatty with you. Suddenly, his whole demeanour changed. He turned his body towards you, asking you questions about your theories while you were reading, proposing his own. The moment you saw his eyes light up when you two agreed on who the culprit should have been, you knew this male was the most precious being you had met.

Since that dinner, you and Azriel were like two peas in a pod, always together, relentlessly teasing each other, chatting amongst yourselves which led to infinite inside jokes. During the inner circle dinners when everyone would be talking about their weeks, random gossip from here and there, and sharing stories, you and Azriel would be sitting together, commenting on the conversations happening around you in the other’s ear and laughing to yourselves. 

Rhysand often said you two were like little kids. 

Both of you often got teased by the other's name by the rest of the IC. According to them, you two should have started dating the moment you met. Feyre even said you two reminded her a bit of Cassian and Nesta with the way you disliked each other during your first few meetings but quickly became inseparable. 

And in a way, they weren’t wrong. 

When your chemistry was that good, you couldn’t help but fall for the spymaster. He was always there for you when you needed him, and you were the first person he let himself be truly vulnerable with, always coming to you after a mission gone wrong. You saw a side of him that no one had seen before: the childish, playful side that took every opportunity to make you laugh, to snatch up the last piece of cake or candy, a side that played pranks on you, a side that loved to laugh wholeheartedly. It was his genuine smile, the boisterous laughter that you loved the most, and did everything in your power to hear it as often as you could. 

The only problem that seemed to be standing in the way of you confessing was that he didn’t seem interested in you. Little things he would do made you think he viewed you as nothing but a friend, such as ruffling your hair, his incessant teasing about how no one would want to date you, and the fact that he never said anything to you about it. You knew the spymaster wasn’t exactly a talking about his feelings kind of person, but then he wasn’t afraid to confess kind of person either, which left you confused and sad that he didn’t reciprocate your love. 

Recently, at a coffee shop, you had been asked out by a fine gentleman who had struck up a conversation with you. He complimented your features, telling you how he loved your hair, and soon, asked you on a date. 

Since the thing with Azriel was never going to happen, you didn't see a reason to turn down the very handsome male who was interested in you. 

“Awesome! There's this restaurant near the rainbow ‘Velarian’, ever heard of it?” he asked. 

You nodded with a shy smile. 

“Perfect! I will pick you up tomorrow at 7 pm, milady.” He gallantly bowed, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles, making you blush. 

“Will do,” you replied. 

The male left after getting his coffee, throwing a wink your way before taking his exit. 

“Y/n, what’s taking you so long?” Azriel stalked into the shop, seeing you standing there staring at the door and smiling like an idiot. A smile of amusement took over his features. 

“What are you smiling about?” he asked. 

“I just got asked on a date!” you replied cheerfully, snapping out of your daze and clapping your hands together. 

His whole world went silent. It had finally happened, the moment he had been dreading: someone was going to come in and take you away from him and he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it because he was too afraid to tell you how he felt. And how could he when you seemed so excited at the prospect of getting asked out? He mentally chastised himself for not going inside with you so he could chase away the male as he’d done countless times before. He could not stand the idea of you dating someone else so he did something he shouldn’t have and threatened any male enamoured by your presence from getting close to you. But when you had that smile on your face when you looked more excited than you had in a while, how could Azriel ruin that by telling you the truth about his feelings? 

So, he conjured that playful lilt back into his voice despite his heart rejecting the playfulness and furrowed his brows. “Hold on, someone actually wants to date you? Like without getting paid for it?” he said in a surprised tone. 

You punched his shoulder hard, making Azriel laugh out loud. 

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” you said with a frown. 

Azriel nodded. “You’ve told me a few times,” he stated. 

“And yet you can't seem to understand it.”  

Understandably so, Mor was very excited when you told her you got asked out on a date and you both set to figuring out your hair, makeup, and outfit for the night. 

“So what's his name?” Mor asked while she put up your hair in different ways, trying to figure out what looked good. 

You blushed slightly, looking at Mor in the mirror. “His name is Damien,” you said in an almost whisper. 

It killed Azriel that this other was able to make you blush like that when it was his right to bring that colour to your cheeks. 

“Oh my, look at the blush!” Mor teased. “I don’t even think I need to put any blush on you if this is how pink you get from just his name!” 

Mor laughed out loud and you hid your face in your hands in embarrassment. 

“Mor, stop,” you chastised, and both of you erupted in giggles.

Azriel watched as the two of you chattered excitedly, wanting to but not having the guts to ask you to not go on the date. So he did the only thing he could and watched you go on a date with a male you met in the coffee shop. 

You looked stunning in a little black dress with spaghetti straps and a wide neck, displaying the beautiful necklace you wore with a reflection of the Velaris night sky captured into a little globe. Your hair was hanging in loose waves down your back and framing your beautiful features, and a beautiful diamond bracelet adorning your wrist that matched the sparkle of the necklace perfectly. Your eyes were lined with kohl and shining bright with excitement as Azriel took you, his heart breaking the brighter your smile got. 

“Wow, Y/n, who knew you could look like a female,” Azriel teased, making you roll your eyes and slightly chuckle. He smiled, moving closer to you with his hands in his pockets. “Good luck on your date, n/n. Have fun.” He moved his hand to ruffle your hair but you ducked, stopping him mid-movement. 

“Please don’t, I spent hours on this hair and I can’t have anything ruin it,” you grimaced. 

“Of course, my bad,” Azriel replied, stepping away from you. 

A gentle rapping sounded on the door and you turned to your friends one last time for a check. They shot you thumbs up before you opened the door and greeted the very attractive male. 

“Ready to go?” Azriel heard his rich, deep voice, feeling a pang of jealousy shoot through his chest. 

You smiled, stepping down carefully and closing the door behind you.

You didn't return till the next morning, hair messed up, heels in your hands, and his scent all over you. 

“So I guess the date went well?” Mor smirked, sipping her coffee as she eyed you walking in. 

You smiled sheepishly before slipping off to your room for a bath and some much-needed rest. 

The next few days, Azriel had been extra broody and everyone was confused about why. He wouldn't talk to even you and mostly kept to himself. 

“Y/n, I think you need to talk to Az,” Cassian said while leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Why?” you asked with your brows furrowed, continuing to butter the bread. 

“He's been…moody these past few days. Like more so than usual, and it's worrying all of us. He won't talk to us, barely looks us in the eye, and he’s been training non-stop. I don't think the training dummies can take much more of this,” he joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere but you could hear the worry in his voice. 

You huffed in amusement before turning to Cassian and nodding. “I will speak to him today. Thank you for telling me.” 

You made another sandwich for Azriel and plated both of them before heading up to his room. The room was shrouded in darkness meaning the Shadowsinger was upset about something, and that concerned you because he didn't come to you this time about whatever was bothering him. 

“Az?” you called out into the darkness. When you didn't get a response, you slowly tracked your way to the bed, estimating from memory how far it would be and avoiding obstacles on the way. 

You set the plates of food down on the bed when you found it, feeling around for Azriel whom you felt sitting with his legs outstretched, leaning against the headboard. Your hand came in contact with his shoulder first and you rested your palm there gently, stroking it soothingly. 

“You okay, Az?” you asked. 

A grunt of acknowledgement was the only response you got. 

“Hey, what's wrong?” you asked, carefully sitting down on the bed next to his legs. “Talk to me.” You took his hands in yours, squeezing to tell him you were there for him. Slowly, the shadows receded from around the room, once again cloaking the room with light and letting you get a view of the spymaster. 

Azriel looked horrible with tired bags and messy hair. His eyes were red as if he had been crying and his shoulders slumped from exhaustion. You reached a hand up to gently stroke his cheek. His eyes lifted to yours and you could see the pain in them. Your heart broke to see him like this and wanted to do everything in your power to take the pain away. 

“What's wrong, Azzy?” you asked softly. 

He opened his mouth to tell you but stopped himself and shook his head. “I can’t tell you.” 

You slightly laughed at that. “Come on, Az, we’re not kids. You can tell me and we can have a mature, adult conversation about it.”

Azriel sighed, dropping your hands and getting up from the bed. 

“You won’t understand, Y/n,” he said and you heard agitation in his voice. 

You turned to where he was standing, your feet firmly planted on the ground and hands fisting the bedsheets at your sides. 

“Then make me understand, Az,” you said softly. “Something has got to be very wrong because you haven’t spoken to me in days, you haven’t spoken to the rest of the family, you’re training yourself to death, barely eating, barely sleeping. I mean, is all that worth it when you can talk to me and we can work it out?” you questioned. 

“It's worth it if it means you’re happy,” Azriel said so softly you barely heard it. 

“You’re miserable, Az,” you said, getting up from the bed and walking up to him. You reached for his hands, giving them a firm squeeze. “I can never be happy knowing something is bothering you. Please tell me.” 

Azriel looked at your concerned face, at your hands holding his, and the feeling of rightness in his chest. Maybe it was reckless, maybe he’d been building up to this moment for a long time, but his chest physically hurt from holding onto what he desperately wanted to say. 

“I love you,” he blurted. 

Your face went slack and his heart stopped. 

“W-what?” you gaped. 

Your grip on his hands loosened, eyes looking up at him in utter disbelief. 

But Azriel was not going to take that back. He’d said it and it felt fucking incredible to be able to admit it. 

“I love you,” he repeated. 

“Really?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I’ve been in love with you since we talked about ‘The Name of the Rose’,” he admitted. “And it's not right that you’re with whats-his-name now because, Y/n, I loved you first. I have always loved you and I cannot hold it in any longer.” 

Tears collected in your eyes from his monologue. 

“I love you too, Az,” you said. 

It was like he could breathe again. Hearing you say those words to him was the utmost bliss he had ever experienced and Azriel did not want this moment to end. He now stood as stunned as you had been when he’d said that to you. 

“R-really?” he stuttered out. 

You laughed, grip tightening on his hands once again. Nodding, you replied, “Ever since the day you let me hear your laugh and see your smile I’ve been in love, Az,” you admitted. 

Not wasting any more time, Azriel smashed his lips on yours, pulling you closer by the waist. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him down, running your fingers through his hair. 

You both pulled away, panting but grinning all the same. Azriel rested his forehead on yours and took a moment to just breathe you in. Then, he pulled away and asked, “What about whats-his-name?” 

“Oh, the date went horrible. I hated him. Literally one of the most pretentious and presumptuous males I’ve ever met. At the end of the night he asked when our second date was and I said ‘Never. And just in this universe. There is not a single parallel and/or alternate universe where I would consent to see your face again’, then left,” you stated proudly.

Azriel laughed out loud at this. 

“Damn, my little heartbreaker,” he said and kissed you again. “Wait then why did you come home the next morning with hair all messy and heels in your hands?” he asked. 

“Oh after the date, I saw one of my friends coming out of the restaurant and I hadn’t seen her in a while so we spent the entire night walking and talking along the Sidra,” you chuckled. 

Azriel gaped at you. 

“You mean to tell me that I brooded for nothing?” he exclaimed. 

You pursed your lips and nodded. “Yeah. take this as a sign to work on your communication skills.” 

Azriel laughed, making you laugh along with him before he pulled you into another kiss. 

From behind you, you heard a loud whistle then cheering followed. Your entire family stood in the doorway of Azriel’s room, watching the two of you in each other’s arms. 

“Finally!” Mor clapped her hands together. 

“Both of you were insufferable moping about each other,” Cassian said and both of you held up the finger for him. 

Everyone laughed at that and you and Azriel hugged tightly.

tags: @thelov3lybookworm @sarawritestories @berryzxx @milswrites @lilah-asteria

Masterlist

[its-avalon-08]

so seb and y/n broke up after 2011, super messy break up, alot of tears, and they have never spoken after that. she switched jobs into mercedes. he has a panic attack and is gasping for breath and keeps asking for y/n. y/n comes running and seb breaks down sobbing. note the date is the same as the day they broke up. he confesses that he messed up and is so sorry. Thanks! love ur blog <333333333333333333

🍂🍂🍂🍂 one of my fav 🍂🍂🍂🍂

breathe baby breathe (sv5)

The air in the Red Bull garage hung heavy. The tension wasn't new - ever since 2010, ever since the spectacularly messy break-up that left a trail of shattered trophies and tear-stained pit walls, Seb and Y/N existed in an uneasy parallel universe within the F1 circus. He, a stoic German with haunted blue eyes, remained with Red Bull. She, a steely Brit with a heart encased in ice, had taken a high-profile switch to Mercedes.

Qualifying had been a disaster for Seb. A gearbox issue had left him stranded on track, his championship dreams spiraling down like a flaming meteor. Now, back in the garage, a cold sweat slicked his palms. His vision swam, the faces of mechanics blurring into an incomprehensible mess. His chest tightened, a cold vice squeezing the air from his lungs. He tried to take a breath, but it came out in a ragged gasp.

Panic clawed its way up his throat. This wasn't right. This wasn't just disappointment. His heart hammered a frantic tattoo against his ribs, each beat a deafening boom in his head. The air, thick with the smell of burnt rubber and ozone, offered no solace. He fumbled for his water bottle, the plastic slick with sweat in his trembling hand.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. He stumbled back, his vision going dark at the edges. A primal fear, a terror he hadn't felt since he was a child lost in the supermarket, seized him. A strangled cry escaped his lips – not a word, just a raw sound of terror.

Mark Webber, ever the teammate, noticed Seb's distress first. "Seb! You alright?" The concern in Mark's voice barely penetrated the fog of panic muddling Seb's thoughts. He needed Y/N. It was a nonsensical thought, a desperate plea from a drowning man clutching at a straw. But it was the only lifeline he could grasp.

"Y/N," he rasped, his voice a pathetic croak. Mark's eyebrows shot up in surprise. The name had never passed Seb's lips in all these years. But right now, reason had abandoned him.

Mark didn't hesitate. He knew the history, the bitter fallout, but in this moment, all he saw was a teammate in distress. "Y/N!" he bellowed, his voice cracking through the tense silence of the garage.

Y/N was huddled in the Mercedes garage, dissecting the telemetry data from Lewis's qualifying run. The news of Seb's car trouble had filtered through, a bittersweet pang twisting in her gut. She'd long buried the ghost of their relationship, or so she thought.

Mark's urgent yell shattered her focus. "Y/N!" It echoed through the corridor, laced with a raw panic that sent a jolt through her. Memories, both bitter and sweet, flooded her mind. Ignoring the bewildered stares of her colleagues, she surged towards Red Bull's garage, a primal fear urging her forward.

The sight that greeted her ripped the carefully constructed wall around her heart clean open. Seb, usually the epitome of stoicism, was a crumpled mess on the floor. His face, drained of color, was contorted in fear, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His normally steely blue eyes were wide and frantic, searching for something, someone.

The past dissolved. This wasn't about their break-up, not anymore. This was about a human being in distress. Ignoring the initial shock, she dropped to her knees beside him, her professional training kicking in. "Seb, hey, focus on me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. He didn't respond, his gaze flitting around the room like a trapped animal.

Panic threatened to engulf her again, but she forced it down. Taking a deep breath, she mirrored it, holding his hand and speaking slowly, deliberately. "breathe baby breathe for me Seb. In with me, slow and steady." He flinched at the touch of her hand, a flicker of recognition crossing his face, then quickly masked by raw fear.

He tried, or rather, his body tried. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a struggle. Seeing his plight, she knelt closer, gently pushing a stray strand of hair off his damp forehead. It was a simple gesture, born of instinct, and it seemed to anchor him.

"That's it," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. "Slow breaths. You're alright, Seb. You're with me." As the words left her lips, a strangled sob ripped through him, shaking his entire frame. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill, but he squeezed his eyes shut, a desperate attempt to hold them back.

Y/N's heart ached. The sight of his vulnerability shattered the years of built-up resentment. Without a thought, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. His trembling body crumpled against hers, the final dam breaking. Sob after wracking sob escaped his lips, raw and unfiltered.

He didn't care if she saw. In that moment, all he needed was a human anchor, a safe harbor in the storm of his panic. And for the first time in years, Y/N felt the familiar pull of protectiveness surge through her. The past was still there, a shadow lurking at the edges, but right now, all that mattered was calming the storm raging within him.

The tremors in Seb's body gradually subsided, his sobs muffled against her shoulder. His grip on her arms tightened, a silent plea for comfort. Y/N held him close, stroking his hair with a gentleness that surprised even her. The scent of his familiar racing cologne, a mix of leather and adrenaline, flooded her senses, a potent reminder of a past she couldn't fully outrun.

"Y/N," he finally rasped, his voice hoarse. Shame laced each word, a stark contrast to the bravado he usually wore. "I miss you. So damn much." The words hung heavy in the air, a confession ripped bare by his vulnerability.

A lump formed in Y/N's throat. Part of her wanted to pull away, to retreat back into the icy fortress she'd built around her heart. But the raw pain in his voice, the vulnerability etched on his face, held her captive.

"You messed up, Seb," she said, her voice barely a whisper. It wasn't a question, but a simple statement, a truth they both acknowledged.

He flinched, a choked sob escaping his lips. "I know. I know, and I regret it every damn day. Even my parents yell about it. They keep saying I threw away the best thing that ever happened to me." His voice cracked, raw with self-loathing.

Y/N's breath hitched. She knew his parents adored her, a stark contrast to the strained relationship he had with his father at the time. The revelation stung, a reminder of what they'd lost.

A hesitant breath escaped her lips. "Seb," she started, unsure how to proceed.

He cut her off, a tremor running through his voice. "And the worst part? Even after all this time... I still love you, Y/N. Madly." He confessed the words in a rush, as if afraid to hold them back any longer.

Silence descended upon them, thick and heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, a soft, surprised sound escaped Y/N's lips.

"You still...?" She couldn't finish the question, the weight of his confession settling on her chest.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers, a desperate plea for a flicker of reciprocation. "Every damn day," he whispered. "Even now, on our monthaversaries, I still go get your favorite pad thai."

The admission, a small, vulnerable detail from a past they both cherished, cracked the ice around Y/N's heart.

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Y/N's lips, a flicker of disbelief coloring her voice. "Pad thai, huh? You never did learn to like that."

Seb chuckled, a wet, shaky sound. "No, I never did. But seeing you devour it with that look of pure joy... it was worth every forced bite." His gaze softened, lingering on her face for a beat too long.

The weight of his words, laced with a longing that mirrored her own, threatened to unravel the careful control she'd maintained. Taking a deep breath, she confessed, "You know, I used to stalk your social media, Seb. Every model the tabloids linked you with, I'd dissect their pictures online, a jealous wreck." Shame burned in her cheeks as she admitted the truth.

His eyes widened in surprise. "You... you did?"

"Don't judge," she countered, a hint of defiance lacing her voice. "We both have things we regret."

He shook his head, his expression softening. "Never. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I was a colossal idiot back then."

Y/N couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the sound surprisingly warm. "Maybe a little," she conceded. "But even after switching teams, a part of me still wants you to win every race, Seb. It's a terrible conflict of interest, I know."

He squeezed her hand, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes. "Really?"

"Don't get cocky," she teased, a playful glint returning to her eyes. "But seeing you on that podium, the pure joy on your face... it's hard to explain."

A comfortable silence settled between them, a stark contrast to the storm that had raged just moments before. Then, a mischievous thought struck Y/N.

"Speaking of confessions," she began, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Remember those chocolate chip cookies Mark always seems to have a stash of during race weekends?"

Seb's eyebrows shot up, a flicker of recognition dawning on his face. "Wait, you...?"

"Guilty as charged," she admitted with a sheepish grin. "I figured you still loved them, even after all these years."

Seb's lips curved into a genuine smile, the first one she'd seen in far too long. "You have no idea," he confessed, his voice thick with emotion. "They were... a ray of sunshine on some pretty dark days."

Their eyes met, a spark of something new igniting in the space between them. The past, with all its baggage, still loomed, but for the first time, they weren't facing it alone.

two days later

Two days had passed since their tearful encounter in the Red Bull garage. The air crackled with unspoken emotions, a constant undercurrent in the sterile environment of the Formula One paddock. Y/N sat hunched over her laptop in the Mercedes motorhome, the glow of the screen illuminating the dark circles under her eyes. Sleep had been a distant dream, replaced by the whirring of her mind replaying every stolen glance, every hesitant touch with Seb.

A soft knock startled her from her thoughts. Wiping the fatigue from her eyes, she called out, "Come in."

The door creaked open, revealing a sheepish Seb holding a familiar white paper bag. His hair was slightly disheveled, and there was a nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Hey," he mumbled, stepping inside hesitantly.

"Seb? What are you doing here?" Y/N asked, her voice laced with surprise.

He held up the bag, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. "Pad thai. Your favorite. I, uh, thought maybe you could use a break from all that data?"

A wave of warmth washed over Y/N. "You remembered," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the bag.

"How could I forget?" he replied, his voice softer than she'd heard in years. "It's become more than just a dish, Y/N. It's a reminder of everything we were, everything I messed up."

He took a tentative step closer, his eyes searching hers. The vulnerability in his gaze tugged at her heartstrings.

"Look," he continued, his voice thick with emotion, "I know this is crazy, showing up here unannounced after everything. But I can't stay silent anymore. These past few days have been torture. The thought of you... of losing you again..." He trailed off, his voice choked with emotion.

"Seb," Y/N started, her own voice trembling.

He held up a hand, silencing her. "No, let me finish. These past years have been a living hell without you. Every race win felt hollow, every victory parade a painful reminder of what I'd thrown away. My parents were right, you know. You were the best thing that ever happened to me."

He took another step closer, the air crackling with unspoken emotions between them. "Y/N," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I love you. I never stopped. And if there's even a sliver of a chance, I want you back. I want to rebuild what we had, stronger this time."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, blurring his image. She couldn't take his beautiful monologue any longer. With a strangled cry, she launched herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck. The pad thai forgotten, they fell into a desperate embrace.

"Seb," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest. "I love you, I love you, I love you," the words tumbling out in a breathless rush.

He held her tighter, the sound of her choked sobs a balm to his tortured soul. "Never letting you go again," he murmured against her hair, his voice thick with a promise they both desperately wanted to keep.

In the heart of the bustling Formula One paddock, amidst the roar of engines and the relentless pursuit of victory, they found solace in each other's arms. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for the first time in years, they weren't facing it alone. They had each other, a second chance at a love that had weathered the storm and emerged stronger, more resilient than ever before.

[windsofcourage]

❝ THAT'S ... ONE WAY OF putting it . ❞ link adjusted his scabbard where it lay flat against his back and leaned his weight against a tree trunk . arms folded over his chest , and he kept his eyes firmly on their miscreant buddy as the thief struggled against his binds .

❝ not so sure that i envy your job , but . . . yeah . i like helping people too . ❞ and maybe once upon a time , he'd chosen the sword full time , like marcellus did . given what was said of his previous ( current ? ) occupation , THAT MADE SENSE . or at least , the weight of a weapon certainly felt right in link's own two hands . technique came naturally to him , even with only a crooked branch to his name . ❝ what made you gravitate to the , uh- ❞ he gestured at marcellus' badge- ❝ AIPD? ❞

"Every time I think about it, it makes me smile. I've always wanted to help people since I was little." He isn't sure if it's the pressure of what he is (no fault to anyone else but his own) or if it was just that it was something he can control. He knows he enjoys it. Seeing the smiling faces of people when they're helped is such a wonderful feeling.

"I take it you're used to doing things like this too." Link gave off that heroic, justice feeling. The kind of kid that wouldn't give up no matter what it took if it meant making sure someone was saved or safe.

[windsofcourage]

THE SAPENG'S TRACKS HEADED north into the dense shrubbery & . uneven terrain of the highlands . from the looks of it , the poor thing had bolted , SPOOKED OFF by some nearby commotion . link just hadn't quite figured out what .

THE VALLEY WAS blanketed in snow as far as the eye could see . clouds rolled in from the mountain peaks , heavy with snow soon to be upon them . searching through more snowfall would be FINE ENOUGH if link were on his lonesome . . . but a shift to catch the eye of the princess over link's shoulder was ample reminder enough to be mindful .

❝ looks like our friend went further in , ❞ he relayed . then , after a small pause: ❝ i think we'll be fine to keep going . but . . . you'll let me know if the cold gets to you , yeah? ❞

@silentaura / plotted !

[the-winter-spider]

Say Don't Go | Part One

Pairings: College!Hockey star Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Nothing really, pining, slight angst,

A/N: Yall, I can't stop with these AU, once i branched out from typical bucky fics 😅 im not sure if this is ant good, lemme know!

The arena is already buzzing as the hockey team files into the rink, everyone pumped for the big game. The team’s warming up, and from where you stand by the bench—water bottles in hand—you can feel the energy building. You’d taken the part-time photography job with the team to help cover college tuition, although at the beginning of the game you felt like a glorified water girl and while it meant juggling practices, games, and studying, it kept you close to your best friend, Steve.

To anyone watching, it would’ve seemed impossible that you and Steve grew up together. He’s a campus legend now, all bulked-up muscle and effortless charisma, captain of the university’s hockey team and the kind of guy people gravitate to without question. Meanwhile, you’re more comfortable with your nose in a book, an introvert who’s used to blending in. But back when you were kids, Steve was this tiny, sickly kid, the one no one really noticed—except for you. He’d always been your closest friend, even back then when it seemed like he’d never catch a break, and you’d been at his side through every scraped knee and cold. Loyalty was everything to Steve.

A couple of the guys on the team stop by to grab water, giving you nods and smiles as they pass. No one messes with you—everyone knows you’re off-limits, thanks to Steve. And that has its perks; it’s like you’re part of this little family, even if you’re not quite one of them. But lately, there’s been someone who’s become more than just another player in your eyes.

You glance up from refilling water bottles just in time to see Bucky Barnes, who’s over by the goal, tugging at his helmet strap. He catches you looking and grins, that easy, almost lazy smile that seems to light up his face effortlessly. You quickly look away, hoping he didn’t notice the warmth creeping up your cheeks.

“Hey, you ready for tonight?” Steve’s voice breaks into your thoughts, and you turn to see him lacing up his skates. He’s grinning, eyes alight with the confidence he’s built over years of hard work.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you reply with a small smile, trying to shake off the flutter in your chest from Bucky’s look.

Steve nudges you with his shoulder. “You know, sometimes I still can’t believe you’re here, working with the team.”

“Oh yeah?” you tease. “You think you’re too cool for me now, Rogers?”

He rolls his eyes but laughs, shaking his head. “Nah, no way. Just crazy to think back when I was the scrawniest kid on the block, you were the only one who’d even talk to me. And look at us now.”

“No Stevie…look at you,” you correct, smiling softly. “Captain of the hockey team. Practically a celebrity, im proud of you”

Steve shrugs, like it doesn’t matter much. “You’re still the one who got me here, you know. Can’t imagine doing this without you.”

It’s moments like these that remind you how much history you and Steve have. To everyone else, he’s untouchable, this strong, confident leader. But to you, he’s still that scrappy kid from Brooklyn who’d rather eat dirt than back down from a fight. And even now, with a dozen people depending on him, he still looks out for you like you’re his whole world.

“Good luck, Captain,” you say, giving him a small, sincere smile as he heads out onto the ice to join the team.

Just before he steps out, Steve pauses, glancing over his shoulder, and gives you a reassuring nod. “Stick around after, alright? You know Bucky would give me hell if you didn’t watch the whole game” There’s a gleam in his eye, something teasing but knowing.

You brush it off with a laugh, shaking your head as he skates off. But that feeling lingers as you turn back to your work, the excitement of the game mixing with something deeper. Because as much as you’re here for Steve, and of course the job..lately, there’s another reason that’s making these nights by the rink more important than ever.

As the game ramps up, you pull out your camera, leaning against the rink’s edge with your viewfinder pressed to your eye. You know deep down that you most likely got this job because of Steve, and it sometimes made you feel inferior that you didn’t get it all on your own accord, anything from Steve would never be malicious, self doubt was a bitch but any chance you get to shoot action shots is another step toward building your portfolio. Tonight, you’re focused, capturing every pass, every block, and, of course, every time Steve goes for a breakaway. But your camera always seems to find Bucky, catching him mid-skate, the intensity in his blue eyes as he lines up for a shot.

And every time he scores, it’s like he can’t help himself—he glances over to where you’re standing, as if he knows exactly where you’ll be. The crowd roars, girls scream his name, yet his gaze always cuts through the chaos, landing right on you for the briefest second before he skates back to his teammates. Each time, your heart stumbles a little, caught off-guard by that piercing blue gaze aimed right at you.

By the end of the game, the team secures a solid win, and the whole arena is alive with celebration. You’ve filled your camera’s memory with shots of the guys looking their best—sweaty, fierce, and triumphant—and even snagged a few shots of Steve and Bucky grinning like maniacs after a particularly close goal. Steve catches your eye from the ice and gives you a thumbs-up, the proud smile on his face making you grin back.

Later, you find yourself at the local bar with the team and some of their friends, the usual spot they head to after a victory. You sit near the back with your drink, watching everyone laugh and trade stories, your camera resting on the table with the freshly captured game photos. Bucky comes over with that same easy, confident grin, sliding into the seat beside you.

“Got some good shots of me tonight?” he teases, tipping his head toward the camera. “You always get my best angles, you know.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Oh, don’t worry, Barnes. I think I got more than enough.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you think?” He leans in, his eyes warm and focused, his voice low. “Did I look good out there?”

Your cheeks flush under his attention, and you struggle to keep your cool. “Not bad, I guess,” you say, trying to be casual. “You only scored three times.”

He chuckles, but his gaze doesn’t leave yours, and you can feel your heart race in that silence that falls between you. There’s something unspoken, a magnetic pull that’s hard to ignore, and for a second, it’s like there’s no one else in the bar.

But the spell breaks when a girl from campus sidles up to Bucky, placing a hand on his shoulder with an almost possessive familiarity. “Bucky! Great game tonight,” she purrs, leaning in close. Bucky turns, flashing her the same easy smile he gave you, and you feel your stomach twist as he starts talking to her, his attention sliding away from you as if nothing happened. He’s charming, just as he is with you, and within seconds, he’s laughing with her, seemingly forgetting you’re even there.

You try to ignore the knot in your chest, focusing on the rim of your glass, but it’s impossible not to notice every time Bucky laughs with her or throws a charming smile in her direction. Other girls come up to him, too, congratulating him and throwing flirty glances, and he returns them all with that same, familiar ease. Each one feels like a little twist of the knife, a reminder that maybe you’re not as special as you thought. The way he looked at you on the rink, those lingering gazes, feels like a cruel joke now, just part of his routine.

When Steve finds you later, you’re staring down at your drink, trying to keep your emotions in check. He slides into the seat beside you, casting a glance over at Bucky, who’s still surrounded by admirers.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Steve says quietly, his eyes understanding. “Bucky…he’s got a lot to figure out, okay? Don’t take it personally.”

You nod, offering a half-hearted smile, but it doesn’t stop the sting. Because as much as you know Bucky’s reputation, you can’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something real behind those looks he kept throwing your way. The kind of look that makes it impossible not to hope for more.

As you watch the guys celebrate the win, Natasha walks into the bar, her presence immediately drawing attention. She’s the girl Steve has been quietly in love with since freshman year, and one of the few people you trust implicitly. Unlike most of the girls on campus, Natasha is genuinely kind to you, never making you feel out of place even though you’re close with the hockey team. She greets you with a warm hug before heading toward the bar, and you see Steve’s gaze shift, his usual confidence faltering as he looks at her like she’s the only person in the room.

You decide it’s time to head out and catch Steve’s attention. “Hey, I think I’m gonna call it a night,” you say, giving him a small smile.

He immediately looks concerned. “You want me to walk you back? It’s late.”

But you catch his gaze drifting toward Natasha, and you can’t help but smile, nudging him. “Go get your girl, Rogers. I’ll be fine.”

Steve grins, his cheeks a little red. “Text me as soon as you get back, alright? Do you still have Find My Friends on?”

“Of course,” you reply with a reassuring smile. “Go on, best of luck.” He wraps you in a tight hug, then heads toward Natasha, glancing back once to make sure you’re okay before diving into a conversation with her.

As you step outside into the chilly night, you take a deep breath, feeling the evening air wash over you. The night is quiet, and you pull your jacket a little tighter as you begin walking back to your dorm. But just as you’re a few steps away, the bar door jingles, and you hear someone calling your name.

Turning around, you see Bucky rushing out, his eyes meeting yours with a playful glint. “You’re just gonna leave like that?” he asks, jogging up to you.

You cross your arms, smirking. “What are you doing? Aren’t you busy flirting with Tiffany?”

He lets out a short laugh, rolling his eyes. “Tiffany? She doesn’t matter to me”

Your stomach does a flip as he says that, and you’re sure he can see the blush creeping up your cheeks, as you breath out loudly “Okay….Why are you here then?”

“Because I saw you leave,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And what, you thought I’d just let you walk back alone?”

“Oh, so Steve sent you?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” he says, grinning. “Steve’s a little preoccupied locking lips with a certain redhead in the corner.”

That makes you laugh. “Well, then, I guess I should thank you for taking up the duty.”

He smiles, taking 3 long strides meeting your side “Its not a duty, its an honour”

You were thankful it was a little chilly so the red rising to your cheeks you could play off as coldness from the slight breeze. As you begin to walk side by side, Bucky shrugs out of his varsity hockey jacket and drapes it over your shoulders without a word. The scent of his cologne lingers in the fabric, warm and familiar, and you feel a surge of warmth not just from the jacket but from the gesture itself.

“So,” you say as you fall into step together, “your parents must be proud, huh? Star hockey player, university scholarship…”

Bucky’s expression falters slightly, his usual confidence slipping away. “My parents don’t care much about that kind of stuff,” he admits, his tone soft. “They don’t really… get it. Never come to games or anything.”

You glance over at him, surprised by his honesty. He rarely opens up, and you’re struck by the vulnerability in his voice. “I’m sorry, Bucky,” you say quietly, feeling a pang in your chest. “I didn’t know.”

He shrugs, brushing it off like it’s nothing, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that lingers. “It’s alright. Doesn’t matter much to me anymore. Great friends and company make up for it.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his words. “I get it, you know? My parents could care less about me or anything I do. It sucks, but as long as I have Steve…” You smile sadly, wishing things could be different.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You two are close.”

“He’s always been there,” you reply, glancing ahead at the dimly lit campus path. “Steve, hes been there through everything, no one knows me or my story better than him...he was the only one who stayed by my side.”

Bucky nods, but a flicker of something crosses his face. “Good friends are important,” he says, his voice low.

You look at him, curious about the thoughts behind his guarded expression. “Yeah, they really are,” you agree, sensing an unspoken weight between you.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, his usual easygoing demeanor giving way to something more serious. “You just… never know who’ll be there when it counts, you know?”

“True,” you reply, your mind drifting to the fleeting moments of connection that seem so rare in college. “Sometimes it feels like everyone’s just looking out for themselves.”

He nods slowly, his eyes drifting to the ground. “Yeah, exactly.” Bucky stops walking, his gaze focused on the ground. “You deserve someone who’s there for you, not just when it’s convenient,” he says, almost to himself. “You’re too good for that.”

You swallow hard, your heart racing at the implications of his words. “What about you, Bucky? You deserve that too.”

He meets your gaze, and for a moment, the air between you feels charged with something unspoken. “Yeah, but I don’t really do that whole… relationship thing,” he admits, the usual bravado in his voice replaced by something softer.

“Why not?” you ask, curiosity bubbling to the surface.

Bucky runs a hand through his hair, frustration flickering across his features. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t know how to do that without messing it up.”

“Is that why you flirt with every girl in the room?” you tease lightly, trying to lighten the mood, but there’s an edge to your voice that betrays your discomfort.

Bucky chuckles but it’s humorless. “It’s easier to keep things casual. That way, no one gets hurt.”

You stop, your heart racing. “But what if you actually want something more?”

He takes a step closer, the space between you dwindling. “Then maybe I’m just scared I’ll mess it up with the one person who means something to me.”

Before you can respond, laughter erupts from the bar across the street, pulling you both from the moment. Bucky steps back, his hands shoved into his pockets, the weight of unspoken words lingering between you.

The two of you continue walking, the silence between you both comfortable and charged with something unspoken. Every now and then, your arm brushes against his, and he looks at you with that half-smile, the one that always makes your heart skip a beat.

Eventually, you arrive at the entrance to your dorm. The clock on the wall says 11:30, well past the time when boys are allowed inside. You stop just outside the door, turning to face him, and tug his jacket off to hand back to him.

“Thanks for walking me home,” you say softly. “You didn’t have to.”

Bucky grins, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a step closer, his gaze locking on yours. “Course I did,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t let a beautiful girl walk across campus by herself, now could I?”

You try to laugh it off, your cheeks warming. “Plenty of other beautiful girls you could’ve walked home instead.”

He takes another step closer, his expression turning serious. “There’s nobody like you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath catches as his hand comes up, his thumb lightly brushing your cheek, tracing a line down to your bottom lip. His touch is gentle, his eyes soft, and for a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you. The sounds of the night fade away, and all you can feel is his hand on your cheek, his gaze holding yours.

“Goodnight, doll,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing once more over your lip before he pulls away, his touch lingering even as he steps back.

You start to take off his jacket again, but he shakes his head, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Nah,” he says, “I wanna see you in that tomorrow.”

Before you can respond, he turns and begins to walk back toward the bar, his hands in his pockets, his pace slow and easy. As you open the door to step inside, you glance back one last time, catching sight of him as he spins around, grinning, and gives you a two-finger salute. You laugh, shaking your head as you slip inside, your heart still racing.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Ace Trappola: Trouble, that Trappola

Wow, different pjs??? I wonder if each student will truly have unique sleepwear or if it’ll be like “everyone in the same dorm has similar sleepwear, just recolored and with a different motif”. I’ve been laughing about how Ace is dressed and posed, it’s very… Justin Bieber-coded. His bedhead though, it reminds me of Sylvain from FE3H.

Fun fact, I have an irl friend that has the same birthday as Ace... Therefore, I am legally obligated to celebrate it with them/j This year, we're going to an Alice in Wonderland-themed afternoon tea, which I think is very appropriate for Ace! Aaaaaah, My Alice in Wonderland-loving heart can’t take it 😭

Rise and Shine!

He was having a pleasant dream.

There was a path, and the longer he walked on that path, the more the scenery morphed into nonsense.

First was a forest full of twisting turns, colorful signs that pointed this way and that. There was mewing coming from the trees overhead, but every time he looked, he’d find no one there.

Next was a field of progressively bigger and bigger plants. The flowers had faces set in them, and they taunted Ace as he passed. He had plucked the underside of a mushroom cap and chomped down on it. A mistake—Ace had an out-of-body experience, ballooning to the size of a giant and then back to his regular size.

Then he washed away in a sea of tea, spilling from a gigantic glass bottle labelled Drink Me. He swam with the sugar cubes drifting in the fragrant rapids. He caught a current of milk and rode it past trees of chocolate. A dollop of grape jam had dropped down from a branch and landed on his nose.

When Ace, at last, fished himself out of the tea, he was left sticky, skin caked in sugar. As he made to wring his clothes of Darjeeling, he spotted an iced cookie by his feet. Eat Me, it said. There was a trail of them, confections dotting the road ahead in a neat trail. He had followed it—followed until the cookies became crumbs and he was left wandering in a white void, a blank canvas.

Wandering… wandering… where?

Just as that question cropped up like an unwanted weed in an otherwise flawless lawn, a soft sound tickled his ear.

Someone was calling his name.

Who is it…?

He picked up his pace. A casual stroll to a speed walk, then a speed walk into a jog, a job into a run, then a run into a full-on sprint.

"I'm coming! I'm coming already, darn it!!" Ace shouted into the blinding white. "I'm coming, so...!!"

Wait for me. I'll meet you there.

I'll definitely, definitely...!!

His eyes snapped open.

He was lying on his back, wrapped up in his comforter and staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Ace blinked several times, slowly adjusting to the sunlight that was spilling in through drawn curtains. A groan escaped him--it was too early for this.

“Mmm… What time is it?” He rolled over in a groggy daze, reaching for his phone. It was still connected to a charger, but it snapped right out of its socket when Ace jolted up. "WHAT?!"

The time, it couldn't be correct. But the line of text messages in his history confirmed the building dread in his stomach.

Gm, Ace! I'll be over soon. Cya then.

I'm here!

Hey, are you up? It's 10 minutes past.

Did you stay up late talking to your bro and sleep through your alarm again?

Hellooooo?

I'm gonna leave without you if you don't come out in 5 minutes.

"Crap, I'm running late!!"

Ace leapt out of bed and flew across his room. The comics and magazines littering his mattress scattered to the floor, but he didn't stop to pick them up.

He moved like lightning, hurriedly dressing and rushing into the communal washroom. While he brushed his teeth with one hand (lest he face the wrath of his vice dorm leader), he teased out his hair with the other. After splashing his face with water (who was going to clock him, Vil?), Ace scribbled on his signature heart, grabbed his backpack, and slipped into his sneakers.

He had his technique down pat thanks to years of practice.

Ace bolted down the hall, stuffing a protein bar into his mouth as he cleared the door. The day greeted him--and so did you, glancing up from your own phone.

"There you are! You kept me waiting, wise guy," you lectured him. It wasn't anything serious--not like his dorm leader's lengthy tirades--just paling around.

"Excuse you," Ace huffed, running a hand through his hair, "I'm fashionably late. There's a difference."

You laughed. Typical of him to always have a snappy comeback prepared.

"Well, c'mon then, fashionably late loser," you urged, playfully nudging his arm, "or we'll both be tardy."

"We'll be late, but at least we'll be late together," he grumbled, nudging you back. "That's fine by me. Wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to be stuck in a room with ya for the afternoon."

"That's a weird way of describing detention with Crewel-sensei."

"What can I say? I'm a poet," he shrugged, letting his sarcasm drip like thick nectar. "Besides, I can't leave you hangin'."

"No?" Your eyebrows hitched. "Funny, cuz I clearly remember you ditching me for cleaning duty on the first day of classes. I almost thought you had left for class without me today too."

"Oi, that was then and this is now! Come on, do you really think I'd do that to you? Me? Really?"

"Absolutely," you said without missing a beat.

"Pfft. You're so wrong about that." He rolled his eyes. "If you were really that worried that I'd gone without you, you could've poked your head in to check on me."

You frowned. "That'd mean I'd have to go into your room."

"So? I've been over at your place and in your room before. What's the big deal? You'd just be returning the favor."

He leaned in, so close that your noses almost touched. Your heart stood still. The corners of Ace's mouth lifted into a smirk. It suited him well, loathe as you were to admit it.

"Or is it that you're being shy?" he asked in a singsong. "Prefect 🎵"

"I-I'm not!" you squeaked, stepping back to put distance between the two of you. "Quit assuming things, Ace! This is why you're so annoying."

"And who is it that's decided to hang out with my 'annoying' ass, huh?" he countered smoothly.

"Urgh...! Maybe I shouldn't have wasted my time waiting for you to get ready after all..." you muttered, turning away from him. "My morning would be way more peaceful without you."

"Way less interesting too," he quipped--getting in the last word.

You shook your head, but didn't bring yourself to argue. However meddlesome his tongue was, he had spoken the naked truth.

He's trouble, that Trappola.

[despacito-uwu16]

The Exposition

Kenji Sato x Journalist! Reader

Enemies To Lovers | Forced Proximity | Pining

start Next ->

“I don’t think they’re ready for the fall, had a little, and now she wants more. Told her I gotta make some calls, This just might be one hell of a night”. - The Walls by Chase Atlantic

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The sports section has always been your favorite part of the newspaper. Reading about athletes making history was so inspiring. This is what ignited your interest in sports journalism. You’d get involved in the school newspaper in high school, almost covering all the sports. You were always on a high, but it came crashing down when you entered college. Entering the Daily Bugle as the only female reporter has its downside. Your male peers would always look down on you, trying to discourage you from touching sports. Quoting your editor in chief, “Leave the sports reporting to the men who take it seriously, and report on something simple, like the upcoming musical”. But you were determined to make your mark in the world as a sports journalist.

You were staring at your computer for the last ten minutes trying to figure out the perfect conclusion for the basketball article. Your eyes wondered towards the time on the upper right hand corner.

4:40 pm

“I’ll finish it during english”.

You shut off your laptop and slid it in your bag

Your evening class is on the other side of the college, and unfortunately, you don’t own a car or a scooter so you have to walk 15 minutes from your dorm to your designated building. On your way to your class, you would usually pass by the baseball field, where the baseball teams begins to prep for the season.

While walking by the baseball field, you hear the sound of baseballs being hit by bats, the whistles being blown by the coach and the players yelling at each other to run.

As you continue your walk down, you hear a baseball being whacked and cheers from other players.

“Way to go Sato”! One person cheered.

You see the baseball fly over the fence, but before you could move out of the way, everything went pitch black.

~

Moments later you wake up in a bright, unfamiliar room. Your head was pounding, and a cold pack was sitting on your forehead.

You try to sit up, but you felt too dizzy.

A woman, who you assume was the school medic, came up to you and helped you sit up.

“What happened”? You ask.

“Isn’t it obvious? You got hit with a baseball. You were out for almost 5 hours”. She said.

“Oh”. You look down, feeling embarrassed.

“Young lady, you shouldn’t be walking near the baseball field. Especially when there’s practice going on. You’re lucky it’s just a mild concussion”. The medic lectured you.

“It’s the only way I get to my class”. Then your stomach sinks. You look at the clock.

9:32 pm.

“Fuck, I missed the lecture”! You cussed in your head. And then the realization settles in.

“FUCK I MISSED THE DEADLINE”! You groaned while you bury your head in your hands. You can kiss your journalism dreams goodbye.

“I don’t care what excuse you have. I swear, you college kids are so careless. As soon as you’re able to, get out of my office and try to find a ride home”. She puts another ice pack onto your head and leaves you to wallow in your misery.

“Well, isn’t she delightful”. An unfamiliar voice says.

You look up to see a 6 ft tall guy with raven hair leaning against the door frame.

“Dorthy is usually snappy at this point. I wouldn’t take it personally”. He enters the room and approaches you.

“Can I help you”? You ask

“I wanted to apologize to you, for accidentally hitting you with that baseball”. He scratched his neck.

“Oh, so that was you”. You glared at the guy while fixing the ice pack on your head.

“Yeah, I guess my strength was too much”. He laughed, trying to lighten the mood. You were still unamused.

“It’s a little late, shouldn’t you be heading home”?

“I wanted to know if you were okay”.

“Aww how thoughtful”.

“I’m Kenji. Kenji Sato. Baseball rookie today, baseball legend tomorrow”. He brags.

“Kenji… aren’t you the same Kenji that scored 5 home runs in a row at that one game against Florida state two years ago”?

He smirks. “So you’re a fan”.

“Not really, but I remember it made headlines for the school paper . You’re pretty impressive for a freshman”.

“For a freshman huh”? He laughs.

“Hey, it’s a compliment pretty boy”. You lean back into the chair.

“You know, I never got your name pretty girl”.

“Y/N. Y/N L/N”. You extend your hand and Kenji shook it.

“Well Y/N. I want to make this up to you. Y’know, I haven’t had dinner yet. You maybe want to join me?”

“Sure. What do you have in mind”?

~

“Wait, so that was you who broke the dean’s window”? Your eyes widened.

“No one knows aside from my buddies on the team. Consider it an inside scoop”. Kenji winks.

The waiter sets down a pepperoni pizza down on the table. The smell of the sizzling meat and cheesy goodness reached both of your noses, making both of your mouths water.

You guys ate all of the pizza in under five minutes. More of Kenji eating everything considering his metabolism. A few minutes later, he pushed the dish aside and leaned back in his chair.

“So Y/N, why journalism? Specifically sports journalism”? He interogates.

“I used to be apart of the school newspaper back in high school. Something about watching the games and interviewing athletes has always peaked my interest. If you ask me, it’s better than reporting on politics or school plays”. You sipped on your water.

“Ahhh, so you’re nosy”.

“Y’know if it weren’t for us being nosy, you wouldn’t get your 15 minutes of fame”. You say, making Kenji chuckle

“So, any articles you’re working on”?

“Well, I wrote one on basketball team but I missed the deadline because somebody knocked me out with a baseball”.

Kenji shrunk down into his seat. “Sorry about that. Really”.

“Don’t worry, I usually don’t hold grudges.”

“Well look on the bright side, you got a new story”. He says.

“Aspiring journalist gets knocked out by the famed Kenji Sato”.

You laughed. “As much as that would make a really great story, nobody at that the Daily Bugle takes me seriously”. You sighed, playing with the straw inside your cup.

“How come”? He raised his eye brow.

“According to my editor, and to all the men at the daily bugle, “leave the sports to the men”. You quote.

“That sounds pretty toxic. You deserve a chance to show the world how crazy talented you are with words. You deserve better than that place you’re in Y/N”.

“As much as I want to, I’m willing to stay. I’m very determined to prove myself. Even if I have to get my hands dirty”.

“You are persistent”.

“I prefer ambitious”.

“I like ambitious women”.

“Sure you do”.

~

For the last few weeks, you kept seeing Kenji. He would walk you to your classes, bring you coffee when you had a bad day at the Daily Bugle. Whenever he didn’t have baseball practice, you two would either go out for dinner or hang out at your dorm. There was something about his company that never made you feel lonely.

You came to one of Kenji’s games. Not as a reporter, but as a supporter. Despite being a little sad that the editor will never let you write for the sports section, you showed up for Kenji.

“And here comes number 7, right on the bat”. The announcer says as he walked up to the home plate.

You watched in concentration as he got into position. Everyone’s eyes were on him, hoping he would bring them another win. The pitcher throws the ball and Kenji knocks the ball out of the park.

“AND ITS ANOTHER GRAND SLAM BY KENJI SATO! GIVING THE BUGLES ANOTHER WIN”! The announcer shouts into the microphone.

You cheered the loudest for Kenji as he ran through all of the bases. He made eye contact with you and winked at you, making you blush a bit.

~

You were leaning against the wall of the locker room, waiting for Kenji to come out. All of the baseball players were outside cheering and screaming like animals, celebrating another win.

“I didn’t expect you to come”. You hear Kenji say. He walked up to you, his duffle bag in one arm, and his helmet in another.

“I’m an aspiring sports journalist. Of course I’d show up”. You walk up to him.

“You played well today”.

“Thanks”

You and Kenji walk out of the stadium

“So, any plans after this”?

“Well”… You began to think. “I was thinking about heading back to my dorm, curl up in bed and watch TV”.

“Damn, I was planning on asking you if you wanted to come back to my place, but if it’s that important to you, then who am I to stop you”.

“Well, that also doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But shouldn’t you be with your team, celebrating”? You gestured to the group of men screaming like chimpanzees.

“I don’t usually go out with the team. Win or loose”. He puts his helmet on and walks over to his bike.

“Wow, didn’t take you as an introvert”.

Kenji turns in the ignition on his bike.

“Are you coming or not”?

~

You were at the kitchen in Kenji’s apartment fixing him a grilled cheese and popping a bottle of wine as a reward for Kenji’s hard work. As you set the grilled cheese on the plate, Kenji immediately grabs it and takes a bite.

“Wait, it’s still”- But before you could warn him, the burning sensation has already hit Kenji’s tongue. He yelps at the sudden burn. Tears well in the corner of his eye as he throws the grilled cheese back onto the paper plate.

“You should’ve waited for it to cool down”. You scolded.

“Hey, I’m just really hungry. Cut me some slack will you”? He says, drinking his wine.

“Awww are you crying”? You notice the tear threatening to slide off his face.

“What? I never cry”. He crosses his arms.

“It’s okay to cry every once in a while”. You laugh as you swipe the tear off with your thumb. He leans into your touch as his onyx eyes fixated onto your (eye color) orbs. He leans closer, both of your faces inches apart from each other. And out of the blue, Kenji’s lips landed onto yours. You kiss back, tasting the red wine aftertaste. He lifts you up on the counter, and you wrap your legs around him. The air around you gets hotter, as it turns into a male out session. The next thing you know, he carries you into his room and shuts the door behind him.

~

You woke up with the sun hitting your eyes. Realizing that you were not in your own room and not wearing any clothes, the panic begins to settles in. You tried but there was a strong grip around your waist You turn around to see Kenji sleeping peacefully next to you.

“Oh no, this is bad”. You panicked. If your peers at the Daily Bugle hear about you sleeping with an athlete, they’ll never take you seriously.

You slowly got out of bed, trying your best not to wake up Kenji. As you got out of his room, you were attempting to put your 3 inch heeled boots back on, accidentally kicking the wall in the process.

“Shit”. You muttered while putting on the other boot.

You quickly slipped out of Kenji’s apartment without waking him up, already arranging your ride home.

While waiting outside the apartment building, you remembered what Kenji said, about you deserve something better than the Daily Bugle. Kenji was there for you and now you’re just leaving him. Screw what everyone thought of you. You liked Kenji, and it’s clear that he might feel the same. You went back up to his apartment. When you were about to knock, you noticed the door was slightly open. Peeping through the crack, you see Kenji talking to another guy that was probably his roommate.

“Dude, what happened to you last night? You totally ditched the team again”! The guy asks.

“Let’s just say I scored another one last night”. Said Kenji.

“Oh shiii, Kenji you dog”! His roomate laughs. “Who was it? Was it Tiffany from sports psychology”?

“No”.

“Rosalie from the dance squad”?

“No. Hint: she’s apart of the Daily Bugle”.

It took his roommate a minute, then his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“SHIT YOU DID NOT”.

“I did”.

“You do realize people look down on stuff like this, it’s like an integrity thing”.

“I know, which is why that scores me double”.

“But if word goes out, the coach is gonna have your head”

“It’s not like anyone has to know, anyways she ran off before I could officially walk her out. I wasn’t too attached to her anyway”. Said Kenji.

“But don’t you still care about her”? His roomate asks, a bit of hope glimmered in your eyes.

“Pfft no, she’s some that I accidentally injured. I take her out for pizza one time and she still thinks I’m taking her seriously”. He laughs.

You stood there dumbfounded. The whole time Kenji was just using you to increase his body count?

Before you could hear any more of the conversation, you left the apartment building. You entered the taxi, tears threatening to spill. To think that a guy, let alone an athlete, actually respected you. You were stupid to believe that you had someone care about you.

A fire ignited in your belly that day. You were determined to prove all of the men wrong, to prove Kenji wrong. Even if it meant hurting him, and other people to get yourself on top.

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated!!

A/N: I had a posting schedule for the week, but due to wifi issues, posting will be every 1-2 days until I get back to the US

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

Tag List:

@imconfusedbutok @deadbydad-writes

@introvertthief @rdjsprincess

@boomboom-tanjiro2019 @moyadorogaya

@holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @lovingyeet

@ofichan @nina-from-317 @lunaryasha

@kocho-catt @scarsw1fe @aphroditis-world

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1233

Chapter 33:

The inside of the room reminded you then top of a tower, no corners to be seen, and some tall glass stained windows offering some light.

Everything had a very medieval feel, with old stones and banners; suits of armour, and an odd circular stone table in the middle, with two wooden chairs across from one another.

However, your attention went quickly to the new outfits chosen by the road for your companions and you.

Agatha had been dressed like the wicked witch of the West, dark cliché witch watches, and even a pointy hat. The skin had even been painted green, only the lips having a purple shade instead.

Billy, on the other hand, resembled Maleficent, and you swore he didn't have that sharp cheekbones before.

You would not lie that it suited him.

And yes, despite your history; you had occasionally chosen to watch mainstream media associated with witches. What could you say? You grew lonely, slightly bored, and the Halloween costumes of certain kids had picked your interest.

"Oh! She's based on me, you know." Agatha suddenly said, posing and clearly enjoying her costume.

Billy was sceptical. "Prove it."

"Well, you are what you eat; so" you commented without much thinking.

Your comment and your tone surprised your companions and earned different looks from them.

Agatha parted her lips in surprise, a silent gasp leaving her as she eyed you carefully. She did not expect that from you, and a part of her wondered if this was creeping jealousy because of Rio.

Truthfully, she hadn't fully seen you jealous, but she knew it was there. When you would kiss her with little more force, when you would snuggle closer to her on certain occasions.

And it was always followed after talk of other people or even small socialising you two would happen to-do; never planned but had to play along not to raise suspicions.

Not that you were always successful. Which was perhaps why you had ended changing places of living quite often.

"Well, then I am curious what your preferences are then," she snapped back.

Her words gave you the courage to glance at yourself, hesitating to do so after the last trial. The Road hadn't seem to be that favourable with you, at least not the way you would have expected it.

Perhaps you were simply a picky person, wanting stability through familiar clothes and styles. You shouldn't be judged, though, considering how unstable your life always was.

Constantly changing places to stay undetected, fake names and backgrounds. One should not mention the unstable duo of Rio and Agatha coming up into your life only to disappear soon after... only for the cycle to be repeated again and again.

This time you wore a dress, long and heavy; reaching the foor. The basis was a light grey, its pattern and material reminding you of a more medieval era; which you had lived through. Yet it was the silver extras that got your attention.

They were blended and placed to resemble some sort of fancy female cliché chest armour while the skirt had a more scale like design. You had a rather open cleavage, just enough to draw attention but not as dramatic as the one Agatha and rio had during Alice's trial.

"Hmm," you hummed as you did a twirl around yourself, trying to catch a better glimpse of the full outfit. "Honestly, I am puzzled,"

As you looked at your companions, you saw Billy's eyes lighten up in recognition. "You are the Ice Queen!" He exclaimed happily, the character most likely one of his favourite ones.

"Ice Queen?" You arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, an ice witch that used her powers to become queen. You even have the crown and everything. "

At the mention of the crown, you rushed to the nearest shiny object and got a glimpse of your reflection. Indeed, a beautiful icy blue crown had been worn tightly; going down your temples and giving the impression of grown ice.

"It suits you. White has always been your colour," Agatha commented, having enjoyed watching you walk fast with that heavy but well designed dress; the silvers on it and the crown reflecting the light and giving you a more supernatural look.

An ironic fit in her mind.

You did not wish to continue this discussion and so you tried to find anything to help you change the topic. Thankfully for you, Billy had started to admire his outfit a little too much.

"Well, you seem pleased with your look." You commented as he walked towards you, eager to see his reflection as well.

"Well, if the cheekbones fit..." he replied as he focused on the surprising good contour.

You shook your head, not really in the mood to be amused by his comments. He might enjoy the changes but you didn't, because of two things.

One, you had yet to start the trial.

Two, there was still no sign of Lilia or Jen; a worrisome thing.

In an attempt not to focus on those dark thoughts, you chose to approach this mysterious table and try to get any clues out of it.

You took notice of the card shaped carvings on the stone table. They had been carved to be deeper, acting like some kind of case or place for them to be put on.

The way they were positioned was familiar to you, recognising it as a tarot spreading technique. You had seen it before but never truly focused or bothered with it.

Tarot was never your calling, and you were also never interested in learning of your future. And if you ever need any answers, you would turn your attention to the stars above.

They spoke of secrets that nothing else could, and they only spoke to you after years of training yourself to listen to their mystic, quiet song.

Your hand brushed over the cool surface and above some inscriptions at the side, allap carved on the stone.

"Do you think this is important?" Billy asked him and Agatha, having chosen to finally join you and help you find how the trial worked.

"Your path winds out of time." You mumbled as you read out loud, trying to get some sense out of this rather cryptic message.

Billy took notice of a stack of cards that had escaped your notice, and he grabbed it before flipping one to look at their design.

He could not help but smirk. "It's Tarot. I know this, kind of. I'll read for you, I guess." He said. "To any of you"

"Do her, though I don't think it will work," you admitted, and Agatha rolled her eyes.

"What is it now?" She questioned, one hand in her waist.

She loved you, but sometimes you truly were a joy killer. Especially now. She wanted to get to the end of the road and consider how close you might actually be... she didn't want to wait.

"This is tarot. It's Lilia's trial, " you pointed out.

"But Lilia is not here," Billy commneted.

Agatha did not share the worry. "The kid said he can do it, should be fine. Come on, no time like the present."

Defeated, you let out a sigh and leaned on the table; remaining by the side. Agatha occupied one chair and Billy the other while also shuffling the card deck a few times.

Chapter 34

[windsofcourage]

❝  ADMITTEDLY : I'M NOT really a science guy . that's really more my friend's thing . ❞ link said . nonetheless , he couldn't help but grin toothily , even if he rubbed at the nape of his neck . ❝  but when you think about it : isn't science just TESTING ONE QUESTION with a bunch more questions ? MORE OR LESS . ❞

NOT THAT IT MADE the question of how the tower worked any less of a conundrum .

❝  i'm just saying : if people come out of the tower , then it doesn't make much sense that people can't go IN . ❞

Portal 2 Prompts ٠ ࣪⭑ @windsofcourage ٠ ࣪⭑ Still Accepting!

"i'll be honest. we're throwing science at the wall here to see what sticks."

٠ ࣪⭑ " Um ... I'm..... I'm not sure that's how science works??? " Though come to think of it, there were a lot of things that came to be through trial and error. Something would happen, and someone would try and figure out why.

" A-although I had a teacher that always said, anything is science as long as you write it down! " or maybe that was his dad. It sounded like something he would say, even if his dad was not... well... book smart.

Well, at any rate, he was also kind of curious about this project. So out came the notebook and pen with a puff, ready to write it all down.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik misunderstands Soap's call sign. Ends up in a little heart to heart with Gaz.

CW: none.

They're back at base after a particularly gnarly jaunt through the arse end of the world. Ghost has his arm in a sling, Soap's battered, Price has an ice pack against his lower back, and Gaz has a black eye and lost a molar after taking a rifle butt to the jaw during a scuffle. Nik's sitting rosey for the most part; his bird has a few extra bullet holes but he'd soon patch those up.

They end up in the hanger after medical has finished with them, too exhausted even to drag their arses to bed. They pass around a bottle of Ghost's bourbon, while Nik and Price share a cigar. They're sitting in companionable silence, reflecting on how close they'd come to a six foot and a half wooden box planted in the only bit of real estate they'd ever be able to afford on an army salary, and then...

"Nik," Soap says as he swirls the bourbon around in its bottle, "s'yer call sign, aye? Not yer birth name."

"Da," Nik replies, offering nothing more as he exhales a cloud of smoke and passes the cigar over his shoulder to Price. They're sitting back to back, because it lets Price keep the ice pack in place without holding it, no other reason.

Soap relinquishes the bottle into Gaz's custody and sniffs, leaning back on his palms, legs thrown across at the ankle. "Where's it come from?"

"It is from Nikolai Krasnov. He was a hero fighter pilot in the Second World War. Four hundred sorties, one hundred aerial battles and forty-one enemies shot down," Nik considers the tumbler of vodka in front of him; he doesn't drink bourbon because it gives him heartburn, "also Nikolai Gastello, Nikolai Gusarov... All awarded highest honours. It is a name with, what do you say, a pedigree."

"That's pretty cool, N--" Gaz starts, but Soap scoffs, taking the bourbon back.

"Mate, n'aw, that's proper old man that is. Yer half way t' watchin' the History Channel on a recliner."

Nik raises an eyebrow. "Is better than all of you."

"Oh aye?"

"Da. Price is Bravo-Six because he is boring," Nik says, and Price nods solemnly, clearly a little banjaxed on a combination of the vodka Nik is sharing with him and the bourbon that crosses his path every now and then. Nik gestures at Ghost. "He is Ghost, which is like a James Bond novel villain, no?" Ghost's eyes flicker, "Gaz is new... He gets a pass--"

"Cheers, Nik."

"--you are welcome sergeant, and you," Nik points two fingers at Soap, "you are Soap because you are the lieutenant's bottom."

Soap sprays bourbon through his nose, Gaz barks a laugh and then creases over in stitches, and Price chokes on the lungful of cigar smoke he's halfway through. Ghost pinches his nose through his mask.

"Fuckin' hell, Nik, I can't--I can't breathe!" Gaz rolls onto his back, arms clasped over his abdomen.

Soap blusters. "Oh aye, feckin hilarious. How'd ye figure that one out then?"

"When your diet is as bad as yours, there is a need to--"

"Nik! Tha's not--I mean, me and him, how'd'ye get that in yer heid?"

Nik glances between Soap and Ghost like they're pulling one over on him. "The flirting over the radio, you are always together, you are grumpy when apart, you--Captain, you--"

Price blows a puff of smoke towards the roof of the hanger and passes the remains of the cigar over his shoulder. "Nope, nah," he flaps a hand, hiccups, and rolls onto his front like he's about to low-crawl his way out. "You're on your own 'ere, mate, urgh, fuck... Need a slash... then bed."

"Coward," Nik huffs.

"Yep." Price stumbles to his feet, nearly nuts the tail of the helicopter they're sitting near, and hobbles away with a quiet groan, leaving Nik to face down a red-eared Soap and a stoic Ghost; Gaz is cackling into the bottle of bourbon.

"Nah, he's right, time to call it a night. We're up at 0600 for a debrief," Ghost says finally.

Nik frowns. "Lieutenant, I am sorry if I have offended. I have clearly misread the situation, and--"

"Soap got his call sign because he's good at cleaning house; he's quick, accurate," Ghost rolls to his feet with remarkable grace considering his injury and the volume of bourbon currently in his bloodstream, "besides, I would bottom. I have impeccable gut health."

Soap barks a laugh. "Eh, good one, L.T.." Ghost looks at him; it's a lingering, rather hungry gaze that stretches a little beyond their usual homoerotic banter, but he says nothing and turns before Soap can fully digest it. Soap's smile vanishes into wide-eyed bewilderment, and he stumbles to his feet, calling after Ghost with one outstretched hand. "Oi, sir... Ye... Sir, for real? Was that a--? L.T., wait up. Sir!"

Gaz and Nik watch them leave, and once Ghost's plentiful arse and Soap's flailing self are out of sight, Gaz grins. "Hollow points, RVs and relationships, best fixer in the biz. Well played."

Nik grins back and they clink their bottles together. "It was too good an opportunity."

"Excellent form, mate. Is there anythin' you can't fix?"

Nik hums as he swigs his vodka, glancing towards the door that Price had vanished through moments prior. Gaz sighs. "Oh yeah, how's it going with the captain? You taken him on a date yet?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Mate, mate, being between you two when it's just us three on ops is cringe. Not quite as bad as them," Gaz juts his chin after Ghost and Soap, "but fuck me, I could puke."

"I am sorry."

"Don't be. You're an open book. Captain Oblivious needs to open his eyes. Could shoot a gnat's bollocks off at a thousand metres but he misses you chasing his tail like a puppy. It's insane."

Nik huffs. "I have asked Laswell for advice."

"Oh yeah? I bet she loved that."

"She has said he has a phrase... What is it, 'you should not shit where you eat'," Nik says sadly.

"Oof, yeah, that sounds like Price," Gaz pats Nik on the back of the shoulder, "so, what? Calling off the mission?"

"Nyet, never. I am Russian; the pining and heartbreak, it is all part of the romance. But I will only take a happy ending, no tragedy. Price will be mine."

Gaz laughs. "Fair," he raises his bottle in a toast, "to romance and happy endings."

Nik meets Gaz's bottle. "Of all kinds, my brother." He wriggles his eyebrows and Gaz cracks up cackling again.