#I have no evidence for this I just feel like it

[tokoyamisstuff]

Random thought how good do you think each invincible variant would be at eating 😺 is there any of them who would be an actual munch

18+ explicit content

Sis, don't- it's not worth it...

Other variants under the cut!

Omnivincible is more skilled than most of them. I just feel like he's got a mature approach and wouldn't just mindlessly delve in like some horny teenager.

He'd take his sweet time, enjoying himself without necessarily wanting something in return. In general he takes great pride in causing you pleasure. Is also pretty creative. After all his strenght allows him to eat you out in positions you didn't even know were possible.

Thought you can only come once at a time? He'll prove you otherwise.

Movincihawk constantly brags about his 'superior technique' but at the bottom line he's not all that good at it, sorry.

It's not like he isn't skilled, but he's pretty selfish and impatient. Any kind of foreplay is not a priority for him in general, he likes to go straight to the point.

Fucks pretty well to make up for it though.

Sinister Mark acts like he's doing you a favor, but with how eager he buries himself between your legs it's evident to say he enjoys this as much - if not even more than - you.

This man pins your thighs apart and eats you out like a man starving. Your taste drives him fucking crazy, so yes it could happen that he bites down harder than he intended to.

Likes to eat you out on your period. No I will not elaborate.

Striped/Target Invincible is super vocal during the whole thing. His grunts and groans vibrate against your folds, he doesn't even notice the effect you have on him.

Hope you're ready for the whole range of dirty talk, mostly degrading but occasionally throwing in words of acknowledgement. Tells you how this is your place - beneath him, completely at his mercy.

Uses his fingers better than his tongue, but is fairly good at both. The combination will send you straight to heaven.

No Goggles Invincible is probably the biggest tease on the entire planet.

This man will push you to your absolute limits, reducing you to a whining, moaning, begging puddle of lust. But he's got no mercy, prolonging your sweet torture for as long as he can - you're only allowed to cum if he says you're done.

With him the thin line between pain and pleasure is blurred into a mixture of pure overstimulation, but goddamn it's worth it.

Viltrumite Mark isn't familiar with earth's customs of intimacy. In their culture, canonically, they solely have sex for procreation. Though we never saw Debbie complaining about Nolan either, so I'm confident he can learn.

Gets the hang of it pretty fast, and quickly grows insateable with this new form of closeness he never got to experience before. He's an absolute mess, almost breaking the bedframe as he pathetically humps the mattress, wanting more more more of you.

Needs lots of cuddles and to be told he did a good job afterwards, pretty please.

Prisoner Mark was in solitary confinement for over a year - prepare to be destroyed. R.I.P.

He'll dive in between your legs and won't leave this place until he's got his fill of you, which could take him a while so get cozy.

Not an inch of your body is left untouched, as if he intents to memorize every detail, just in case you'd slip from his grasp once again.

Be prepared to cum until your body gives up. Man's got to make up for the time he spent away from you.

Unmasked Mark is very gentle, almost cautious in his efforts as if you were a fragile flower one needed to properly care for or it'd wither. He still can't fully believe you're here with him, so he's extra anxious about doing something wrong.

You'll slowly and sensually be guided towards your orgasm, his eyes never leaving yours as he reverently observes your every reaction.

Expect some premium aftercare!

Fully Masked Invincible knows you inside and out, has memorized all the weak spots that make you sing for him. He is completely and utterly devoted to your pleasure, maybe even a little too eager in his efforts since he tends to forget himself in the process.

To him your body is a temple meant for worship, so you'd relentlessly get showered in praise and compliments while he explores your body.

Will initiate at every given opportunity, but never pushes it. He just wants to make you happy, really!

[n0vazsq]

Promise me | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x gf!reader

summary . . . When you ask your boyfriend an innocent question, you never expected that it'd nearly give him a heart attack

request . . . no!!

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . !PART OF MINI FIC SERIES! it's a bit shitty and kinda rushed bc i have a lit exam after this </3 i'm gonna try to write a lot bc i won't be uploading much so yes!!

. . . "What if we broke up?"

Oscar froze. His whole body went stiff, brown eyes widening like you’d just yanked the ground out from under him. To you, it was just a random, hypothetical question. To him? It was the worst thing you could have possibly said.

"What?" His voice came out hurriedly, almost breathless, as he sat up a little straighter. His eyes flicked across your face, scanning for any indication that you were actually serious.

Completely oblivious to the chaos you’d just thrown him into, you only grinned. "I said, what if we broke up? What would happen?"

Oscar just stared at you, dead silent. He looked like you’d confessed to murdering his entire family. His jaw clenched before he took a deep breath, shaking his head as if he was trying to get rid of the thought.

"Love… is something wrong? Did I do something?" His voice was softer now, a little unsure.

You blinked. "Huh?"

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "You just asked what would happen if we broke up, so I thought that you meant…" His voice trailed off, his panic still evident on his face.

And then, realisation hit you.

"Oh," you said, fighting back a laugh. He actually thought you meant it.

"Osc, I didn’t mean it like that," you said quickly, reaching for his hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and soft, but you could feel the tension in them. "It was just out of pure curiosity, you know?"

Oscar let out a deep breath, shaking his head again. "That’s not funny," he muttered, his lips turning into a slight frown.

You bit your lip, barely able to hold back a laugh. "I thought it was."

"Well, it's not." He huffed and shifted closert to you, free hand cupping your cheek, thumb tracing slow, gentle circles against your skin. "Because if we broke up…" He hesitated, voice dropping to something quieter, more real. "I don’t even want to imagine it."

Your chest tightened at the way he said it, it was so serious and genuine. You suddenly felt slightly bad for asking that question in the first place.

"You’re such a sap," you teased, but your voice was softer now, with undertones of something warmer.

"Only for you," he muttered, eyes flicking between yours before he leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to your forehead. His lips lingering there for a second before he pulled back, resting his hand against yours.

"Promise me you'll never say that again?" he questioned. "Even as a joke?"

You smiled, your hands coming up to cup his face. "Yeah, okay. I promise."

"Good."

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaaa ,, @httpsdana ,, @paucubarsisimp ,, @justaf1girl ,, @awritingtree ,, @freyathehuntress ,, @chilling-seavey (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

[iphigeniacomplex]

[Transcript:

Twenty-One Things You Don’t Say to a Transsexual by Riki Anne Wilchins

[...]

Don’t # 4: “I consider you as much a woman as ANY of my friends.” What a treat for them, especially your male friends.

[...]

Don’t # 6: “When did you decide to become a woman?” Well, when did you decide to become a woman? Oh . . . I see; with you it is normal. Um-hmmmmm.

Don’t # 7: “Can you have an orgasm?” Yes, but only when I’m asked this question.

Don’t # 8: “Can you have an orgasm?”

Don’t # 9: “Can you have an orgasm?”

Don’t # 10: “Can you have an orgasm?”

[...]

Don’t # 14: “This is women-only space.” This is usually said to me by a rather red-faced lesbian, who probably believes she is confronting the live penis-monster (moi) as it approaches her very doorstep. But then, these things are so difficult today; perhaps she is really a straight woman complaining bitterly about a lack of men. The only correct response I can ever think of is, “Well I certainly feel better knowing that.”

Don’t # 15: “How did you know you’re a woman?” Well, how did you know you were a woman? Ah-humm: breasts and vagina. Well, I can introduce you to some very handsome, bearded, muscular young men of my acquaintance who began life with the very same equipment, so that’s not particularly compelling evidence, is it? . . . I see, inside you just know . . . Call me sometime, we’ll have lunch.

[...]

Don’t # 19: “You look just like a REAL woman.” How splendid, especially when you recall I’m composed almost entirely of compressed soy byproducts. And you look just like a real transsexual. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that was an insult.

Don’t # 20: “Isn’t it AMAZING you’re the ONLY transsexual I know.” Yes, and isn’t it amazing, when you came out to your mother, you were the only homosexual she knew. Ho-hum. The fact that I am the only transsexual you know only emphasizes that: a.) you probably know a few hundred of us, but you don’t know you know us, and we won’t tell you that you do; b.) there are tens of thousands of us, and more all the time; c.) we are secretly plotting to take over the planet Earth, and infiltrating your prevailing nontranssexual culture is just our first step; d.) while we are waiting to take over your planet, we are amusing ourselves at your expense by seeing just how much we can fuck with your heads.

]

Twenty-One Things You Don’t Say to a Transsexual by Riki Anne Wilchins.

The fact that I am the only transsexual you know only emphasizes that…we are secretly plotting to take over the planet Earth, and infiltrating your prevailing nontranssexual culture is just our first step

In TransSisters: The Journal of Transsexual Feminism, issue 3, volume 1. 1994.

[jaylaxies]

ENHYPEN: random tropes

pairing: enhypen hyung line x fem!reader

genre/cw: smut, unprotected sex, (semi?) public sex, fingering, kissing, usage of nicknames, everything is consensual!

wc: 1679 words.

warning: 18+ content, minors dni.

requested: here.

a/n: heyyy my lovely angels :3 i’ve been gone way too long (moved countries) but boy do i miss writing, be prepared to see more of me soon and i hope you enjoy this lil reaction fic <33

Heeseung:

⤷ Academic rivals

There’s not much that bothers Heeseung. However, your mere existence, your presence, heck even the sound of your name being called pisses him off to a great extent. Which extends tenfold when you score more than him, doesn’t matter if it’s by one mark.

He doesn’t notice much in the midst of all the rivalry. In fact, he finds you a bit annoying actually. The way you barely have to do anything to get such a perfect score, the way you taunt him, tease him to your heart’s content whenever you get a chance to boast about your own achievements.

It’s safe to say, Heeseung can’t help but want to push you against the wall and smash his perfectly sculpted lips on top of yours just to shut you up—to make use of it in a way that you’ll be moaning his name, begging for more only to never get enough of him.

Which is exactly what he did after you got a better score than him. He simply pulled you into an empty lecture room, closing the door shut behind you before pushing you against it, successfully trapping you with his body, a smirk plastered on his face, “yeah? Been studying like a good fucking girl, hm? Jumping around about how well you did to be rewarded by me? Fuck yes baby, I’ll reward you,” he whispers in your ear, his fingers working on your pussy, cupping it tightly which elicits a moan out of you.

“Hee—” he shoves his tongue in your mouth to shut you up, your mind spiralling with how good it feels, even more so when his thick cock’s tip finally enters your dripping cunt, his arms holding you up with ease as your legs give in to the abysmal amount of pleasure. He doesn’t shove his length into your cunt till you’re crying and begging for it, and then he doesn’t stop till you’re a leaking mess on the floor, a pretty little doll just for him.

Jay:

⤷ Rival families

Attending grand parties was something Jay enjoyed, only if you take out the part where he had to interact with your family, which usually ended in arguments, something the guests quite often looked forward to, especially because of the high ranking companies; both your families took care of.

The sight of you, all dolled up in your silky dress with that long slit which displayed your leg so perfectly, as if you were there to flaunt every inch of your beauty and everyone, especially the gentlemen, seemed to only talk about you, which irked Jay.

Jay stood in the empty hallway, watching you strut around. He clicked his tongue in annoyance, grabbing your arm the second you came close to him, pulling you inside and closing the curtains in the very same second as you gasped with surprise evident on your face.

“You love it, don’t you?” He whispered in your ear, the touch of his fingers warm against your skin, “prancing around like you own the place, hm? Everyone’s looking at you like you’re a piece of meat they can’t wait to devour.”

You scoff with amusement after overcoming the initial shock, “I see you’ve been quite observant too, Park. It seems as if you are,” you paused, looking into his eyes, the same ones you’ve always seen burning with passion for the hate he harbours for you, “jealous. I can’t say about others but you sure look like you wanna devour me,” you chuckled.

“Fuck you,” he seethed out, hating just how right you were before grabbing your nape to kiss you hard enough for his lips to be tainted your shade of lipstick. It was hard to stop, so hard to keep your hands off of each other, especially when his hand landed on your thigh, the slit of your dress making it easy for him to slide his hand up, inching closer to where you needed him the most.

You both weren’t sure if it was hate or the passion that riled you both up to the point you both were eating each other’s faces. It was hot, the noise of music dimmed as Jay breathed deeply near your ear, your eyes closing as you let him shove his digits into your dripping cunt, gasping at how perfectly rough he was being with you.

He soon had you wrapped up in the silk sheets in a room, the softness of the bed juxtaposing the harsh strokes of his cock inside your cunt, the perfect friction had you being a crying and moaning mess, squirting all over him as he smirked, giving you no mercy before going for round two as you both gasped and said, “I fucking hate you.”

Jake:

⤷ Forced proximity

The last thing you expected today was to be stuck in your best friend’s apartment with her brother, simply because she forgot to inform you of her absence for the night. The weather didn’t help either, cliché thunderstorms and hail graced the night, leaving you there with the only guy in the world whom you couldn’t stand. At all.

Jake stood by the door with a devilish smirk plastered on his face, clearly basking in the joy of witnessing you losing the last bit of your sanity. “Why, just why does it have to be you?” You almost cried in distress, while he chuckled, repositioning his glasses which sat perfectly on his angled nose. “Why? Can’t handle being with me, is that it?” He rasped in his deep accent, “I know I'm hot but you gotta chill, princess,” he smirked.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” you seethed out, pointing your finger at him as a warning. “What? Princess?” He asked, sliding his tongue on his plush bottom lip, “nah i’ll pass,” he teased further, not helping your temper clearly. “God, I hate you so much,” you mumbled, walking into the room to go to sleep, not wanting to deal with Jake anymore. Only for him to grab your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked. “To sleep of course, let go Jake I swear—” he pulled you into him, “shh, princess. You can’t sleep there,” he whispered, lips touching your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as you froze for a second, trying to move out of his grasp right after, “why the fuck not?” You asked, obviously having had enough of him.

“Cause you’re sleeping with me,” he says, making your heart best out of your chest, face getting warm, “w—what?” you asked, eyes wide. “You want me,” he whispered, and you let out a “oh no, I don’t,” as he leaned in to kiss you, your eyes closing on its own accord, betraying you. He stopped right as his lips touched yours—barely so. “See, what I mean, princess.” He isn’t joking anymore as you open your eyes.

You clearly see how he’s struggling to control himself, as you smirk now, playing with the collar of his shirt, “I think it’s quite the opposite, Jakey, you wanna sleep with me,” you whispered, watching him gulp, mumbling, “fuck yes, princess, I do.”

Safe to say, it didn’t take him long to cup your cheek, his plush lips kissing you with hunger, you were quick to reciprocate, letting all the sexual tension out. You spent the night in his room, head buried in pillow as he fucked you senseless from behind, spanking your ass as you came all over his cock, more than thrice.

Sunghoon:

⤷ Fake dating

A mutual fake contract, especially when it involves dating, is never supposed to get this serious. It was beneficial to you and Sunghoon both, classic in a way how you both wished to make your exes jealous, the fact that they hated each other was more than convenient. Then Sunghoon wasn’t sure why he felt this dull ache in his heart once he saw your ex talking to you.

He got so used to it, your presence, your essence, how real it felt and how much he looked forward to spend time with you, except now that he’s finally woken up from his daydream, he realizes that it was nothing but a fake relationship, his jaw clenching, mind regretful for even bothering to come to this party.

Scoffing in distress, he went upstairs to simply sit in his friend’s room in silence, not noticing how you had seen him already, he was fuming, wondering why he was so upset about it, knowing fully well why. You rushed up and into the room to hopefully find Sunghoon there, scared to see him look so upset when you opened the door, he simply didn’t expect you to come to him.

“Back with him?” He asked, looking at you for a second before looking away, jaw clenched. You were confused, “what?” You asked, walking closer. “Yeah, that’s what you wanted, right? Our deal is over then?” He breathed out. You were out of words, scoffing before you smirked at him, confusing him, almost to the point where he was infuriated.

“Why? Are you perhaps—” you stepped closer, dragging your fingertip on his jaw, “—jealous?” you chuckled, followed by him grabbing your wrist, pinning you to the wall, eyes dark, “don’t.” He warned and you laughed, “don’t what? Are you scared of admitting it? You wanna kiss me, don’t you? I don’t even like him anymore it’s adorable how you’re jealous—”

The confirmation of you not being with your ex was all it took for Sunghoon to smash his lips onto yours in a fervent urgency, as if you’d disappear if he let’s go, your moans filling the room, something he wanted to hear from ages, it was pure ecstasy as you both let go, only to get closer, no space in between you both as you shifted to the bed, him perfectly slotted between your legs, thrusting deep into your cunt which only sucked his cock further, urging him to stay there as he marked you all over, making sure everyone knows you belong to him now.

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[lov3lyl3tters]

“For Science”

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer has a theory. A theory that, apparently, requires kissing you to confirm.

Warnings: Pure fluff, Spencer being an adorable overthinker, lots of nervous rambling, a very sweet and scientific first kiss.

♖⸻♖⸻♖⸻♖⸻♖⸻♖⸻♖

Spencer is staring at you.

Not just looking—staring. Like he’s running a full-scale analysis of your existence, his brows furrowed, his fingers twitching at his sides.

You glance up from your book, raising an eyebrow. “Spence?”

No response. Just more staring.

“Spencer.” You wave a hand in front of his face. “Earth to genius—are you okay?”

He blinks rapidly, like he’s just now realizing you can see him. “I—yes! Yes, I’m fine. I just—I need to test out a theory.”

You shut your book, intrigued. “Okay?”

“I require your help.”

You grin. “How so?”

Spencer swallows hard, shifts his weight, fidgets like crazy. Then, finally, he looks you dead in the eye and says, “You need to kiss me.”

…

Excuse me?

“I—what?” you stammer, sure you misheard.

Spencer immediately panics. “It’s not—It’s not what it sounds like! I mean—it is what it sounds like, but it’s not—it’s scientific.”

You fold your arms, fighting back a very amused grin. “Oh, really? Enlighten me.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Okay. So, there’s a theory that kissing someone you have romantic feelings for releases a surge of dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin in the brain, reinforcing emotional bonds and—”

“Spencer.” You interrupt, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Are you saying you think you like me?”

Spencer freezes.

His ears turn pink.

His lips part slightly.

He looks like he just blue-screened.

“I—” He clears his throat. “I have reason to believe that I may… potentially… have romantic feelings for you, but I need empirical evidence to confirm.”

Oh. Oh.

You grin. “And you think kissing me will prove it?”

He nods, nervous. “Yes.”

“Spence,” you whisper, stepping closer. “You do like me.”

“I—” He exhales sharply, eyes flickering to your lips. “I think so.”

You shake your head, smiling. “You know so.”

And then, before he can overanalyze it, you kiss him.

It starts out soft, slow—like you’re giving him time to process. But then Spencer melts into it, his hands finding your waist, his breath hitching as he kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this his whole life.

When you finally pull away, he just stands there—dazed, breathless, utterly wrecked.

“So?” you murmur, brushing a curl from his forehead. “What’s the scientific verdict?”

Spencer exhales, grinning like an idiot.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I really, really like you.”

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I'm in many leftist spaces and I've seen many goyim in these spaces complaining about how often jews talk about leftist antisemitism.

The thing is that this is the consequence of claiming to be advocates or in support of another group of people - when you ostensibly prove you aren't for us, we're going to be harsher than we are to people who never pretended in the first place.

For an analogy, here's a similar situation: I am harsher toward "pro-trans" people who are transphobic than I am to people who are not. This is because the pro-trans person told me they were better than that. I am already aware that the anti-trans person is going to be anti-trans. Their anti-transness is self-evident. What isn't self-evident is a person who claims to be pro-trans and then proves otherwise.

This post is addressed toward leftist spaces because I occupy these spaces the most. It makes me wonder just how safe I am in these spaces when leftist begrudgingly acknowledge that this conversation keeps happening. I feel like a lot of leftists treat those of us who open these conversations like we're an "I left the left" rightist when... Most of us are still in leftist spaces. We have not left the left and through pretending we have, you absolve yourself the feeling of responsibility.

[reiding-writing]

Can you write something for Spencer and cold reader where they’re on a case and a police officer has been flirting with Spencer heavily the whole time and he’s just been laughing it off and being his typical self but reader is jealous and finally realizes she wants to be more than friends who kiss. Ur cold reader fics r soooo good btw like u ate.

MAKE IT OFFICIAL. /spencer reid/

the limits of your patience are pushed further than usual seeing spencer’s oblivious kindness whilst being flirted with.

cold!reader 1.7k flangst series masterlist. main masterlist.

a/n | thank you girliepop 💅

You’re halfway through a sip of bitter coffee when she laughs again. It’s the same laugh she’s been using all morning—breathy, melodic, and entirely directed at Spencer.

It flutters too long in the small space of the precinct, stretching over the clatter of keyboards and the low murmur of detectives briefing each other. You tilt your head slightly, observing from your spot near the evidence board.

The officer—Mitchell, her name tag says—leans closer to Spencer than necessary. She rests her hand on his forearm, which should be a brief touch but somehow lingers long enough to make your fingers tighten around the paper cup in your hand. Spencer’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at whatever nonsense she’s just said.

You press your thumb against the edge of the cup, hard enough that the cardboard buckles slightly.

“Wow, you’re really good at this,” she purrs, too saccharine, too eager, watching him fill out some report. “All those big words,” She laughs again.

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling the sharpness of it cut into your skin. The burn is grounding.

Spencer just chuckles softly, light and disarming, probably completely unaware of how deliberately she’s touching him. He barely reacts when she pushes a strand of hair off his forehead, her fingers lingering too long for a casual gesture. His attention is on the paper, and he doesn’t pull away. Of course he doesn’t. He’s Spencer.

You glance at the clock. 3:37 PM. You have been here for hours. You’ve combed through reports, stared at maps, gone over timelines—and still, none of that has been as frustrating as standing here watching her flip her hair over her shoulder every time she speaks to him.

Spencer looks up and catches your eye. His smile brightens automatically, a familiar warmth in his eyes. But you turn away before it has a chance to land. You shove the rest of your coffee into the trash and stride toward the conference room without a word.

—

You hear Spencer before you see him. His voice carries softly into the conference room, spilling through the half-open door.

“Hey,”

You don’t turn. You’re shuffling papers across the table without focus, avoiding looking at him as he steps inside. You hear the faint click of the door closing behind him.

“You okay?” he asks lightly, but there’s that soft edge of concern under the surface.

You nod, once, briskly. “Fine.”

You’re not.

Spencer hesitates for a moment. You know he’s searching your face, trying to interpret the sharpness in your voice. He’s always been annoyingly good at reading you. It doesn’t stop you from keeping your eyes on the case files, scanning words you don’t actually see.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again. His tone is teasing. “You stormed out of the room so fast, I thought maybe you remembered you left the car on or something,”

You exhale sharply through your nose. He’s trying to lighten the mood. You know it’s meant to be endearing, but it irritates you instead. You stack the papers into a neat, rigid pile and stare at them.

“Why didn’t you just give her your number?” The words slip out before you can stop them.

Spencer blinks. “What?”

You don’t look at him. “The officer. Mitchell. She was all over you. You could’ve saved her the effort.”

He lets out a breathless laugh, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

You finally glance at him, and his expression is one of genuine confusion. His lips are slightly parted, his brows furrowed just enough to create that little crease above his nose. The one you’re too familiar with.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Your voice is flat. Measured.

Spencer’s head tilts slightly, blinking at you in that slow, owlish way he does when he’s processing. “She was just being nice,”

You let out a short, humourless laugh, shaking your head once. You stare down at the case file again. You’re gripping the edge of it so tightly that the paper threatens to crumple.

“She touched you like four different times,” you say, tone clipped. “And you didn’t seem to mind.”

Spencer frowns. “I didn’t even notice,”

Of course he didn’t. Because he was too busy being Spencer—kind and soft-spoken and so oblivious that he doesn’t even register when someone’s blatantly flirting with him. The worst part is that he probably doesn’t even realise why you’re angry.

There’s a stretch of silence. His eyes are still on you, searching.

You finally look up at him and hold his gaze. Your voice is steady, cool, and unyielding.

“I want you to be my boyfriend.”

The words come out without any warning. Blunt and matter-of-fact, like you’re stating a weather report. There’s no emotion in your voice, no softness, no trace of vulnerability.

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. He blinks once. Then twice.

“What?” he says softly, and you can see the confusion flit across his face. Like he thinks he misheard you.

You exhale sharply, irritated by the way your chest tightens. You keep your eyes on him, refusing to look away, even when you feel the weight of your words hanging in the space between you.

“I want you to be my boyfriend.” you repeat evenly.

There’s no flourish to the statement. No tenderness. It’s clinical and cold, like you’re stating a simple fact. Like you’re asking him to pass the salt.

Spencer blinks again. You watch his throat bob slightly as he swallows. His voice is careful when he speaks, slow and measured.

“Why… are you saying it like that?”

You cross your arms loosely, feeling exposed despite your detached tone. “Does it matter how I’m saying it?”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Yeah, it kind of does,”

You clench your jaw. You’re suddenly aware of how loud the blood is in your ears.

“It doesn’t have to be a big thing, Spencer,” you say plainly. “I’m just… telling you what I want.”

His eyes are soft, searching. His brow furrows slightly, and you can tell he’s trying to read between the lines. You hate how easily he can see through you.

“Do you—” He stops himself and exhales slowly. He tries again, quieter this time. “Do you mean that?”

You scoff softly, feigning exasperation, even though your hands have curled into fists at your sides. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

He takes a half step closer. The warmth in his eyes softens into something gentler, something achingly familiar.

“Hey,” he says quietly. His voice is so soft it almost makes your throat tighten. “Your tone isn’t really… reassuring,”

You roll your eyes slightly, trying to keep your voice steady, unaffected. “I didn’t realise there was a proper tone for this sort of thing.”

But Spencer’s still watching you, gaze steady, almost too steady. His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, “You sound like you’re scared of it,”

Your stomach tightens sharply, and you hate how exposed you feel. You glance away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

“I’m not scared,” you say quietly. It’s almost convincing.

Spencer steps closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s right in front of you. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his body, close enough that his scent—faintly woodsy, familiar—pulls at you.

“Then say it again,” he murmurs softly. “But… more— genuinely? Vulnerably?”

You let out a sharp breath, heart tightening. You stare at the floor, feeling your pulse in your throat. Your hands are cold and damp, and you want to shove them into your pockets, but you don’t.

You force yourself to look at him, and the moment you meet his eyes, your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper.

“I,” You breathe. “would like you to be my boyfriend,”

It’s softer this time, but the edges of it are still stiff and unfamiliar. You sound uncertain, and you hate it.

Spencer’s lips part slightly, and he exhales slowly, eyes impossibly gentle. He reaches out, carefully, deliberately, as if giving you time to pull away. But you don’t. His hand skims over yours, fingers brushing lightly against your knuckles, and his touch is steady, grounding.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

You blink at him. “Okay?”

His mouth curves into the faintest smile, and his voice is barely above a murmur.

“Yeah,” He nods. “Okay,”

For a moment, you just stare at him, unsure if you’ve even heard him right. But then he’s leaning down, slow and deliberate, and your breath catches when his lips brush softly against yours.

His hands frame your face, tentative at first, as though afraid you might bolt. But when you don’t, his fingers settle more firmly along your jaw, thumbs brushing lightly over your skin.

And when you pull back slightly, breath unsteady, his eyes search yours with a quiet intensity.

“No one’s going to see,” he murmurs softly against your lips. “It’s alright,”

Your chest tightens sharply, and you hate how warm his words make you feel. You pull him down again, into a kiss that makes the papers on the table blur into nothingness.

And this time, you let yourself want it.

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The weekend you came home ˎˊ-

This is a one-shot but could be read as a fic for what happened before -ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand's sister!reader

Years back when your mother and sister were alive you all had a dynamic. The boys would leave for training in the morning, your mother and sister would sew together while you would read. That's how it was for a very long while before everything happened. One weekend when you have to be at the cabin all alone Azriel fights for a weekend pass and you're glad he did because when you thought someone was breaking in it was just kittens and maybe those kittens are the official start of your relationship.

Warning: Fluff, cursing and mentions of cruel past.

Word count: 10.2k

500 Years Ago — The Illyrian Cabin

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the scent of burning pine mixing with the delicate fragrance of fresh linen. Your mother sat at the small wooden table, her fingers deftly working a needle through a swath of fabric, her expression calm and focused. The rhythmic motion of her hands was something you had grown up watching, something that had always made you feel at home.

Beside her, Kaia was muttering under her breath as she helped sew, her frustration evident in the way she kept glancing at you.

"You’re useless," Kaia finally huffed, yanking the thread through the fabric with more force than necessary. "Sitting there like some pampered noble, reading your books while we actually work."

You didn’t even glance up from the pages of your novel, leisurely turning another page. "I am working," you murmured.

Kaia scoffed. "Oh, please. How exactly does reading some dusty old book help the family?"

"Knowledge is power," you replied, smirking slightly. "Unlike you, I plan on using my brain to get out of this place one day."

Kaia gasped in mock offense. "Are you calling me stupid?"

"I didn’t say it literally."

Your mother clicked her tongue, not even pausing in her work. "Both of you, stop your bickering," she said. "Kaia, let your sister be. And you," she glanced at you meaningfully, "perhaps you could take a break from your books and help with something."

You groaned, slumping further into your chair. "Mother—"

"No ‘mothering’ me," she interrupted smoothly, reaching for another spool of thread. "You can at least prepare the tea."

You sighed dramatically but set your book aside, standing and stretching before making your way toward the small kitchen space. The floor creaked beneath your feet as you moved, the old wood worn down by years of footsteps.

Outside, the winds howled through the mountains, rattling against the cabin walls. The Illyrian war camps were far enough away that you couldn’t see them from here, but you knew exactly where Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel were right now—training until exhaustion, getting tossed around by the warlords, covered in bruises and dirt.

They’d be home tonight.

You bit the inside of your cheek at the thought, pushing it aside as you focused on preparing the tea.

Kaia, meanwhile, kept complaining. "I swear, it’s like you’re allergic to actual work," she muttered.

You rolled your eyes, pouring hot water over the leaves. "And yet, I don’t hear you complaining when I help with strategy meetings with Rhys," you shot back. "Or when I make sure you don’t get scolded for sneaking off to see that boy from the next village."

Kaia’s cheeks flushed. "That is not—"

Your mother just sighed. "Cauldron save me from daughters who can’t go five minutes without arguing."

You and Kaia exchanged glances before bursting into quiet laughter. Your mother tried to look stern, but you could see the flicker of amusement in her eyes as well.

The cabin smelled like fresh fabric, tea, and the lingering traces of the lavender sachets your mother always tucked into the linens. It was small, but it was home. And tonight, the boys would be back—bruised, hungry, and full of stories from the camps.

For now, though, it was just the three of you, the hum of needle and thread weaving its way through the quiet.

You leaned against the wooden counter, watching the tea leaves swirl in the hot water as a smirk tugged at your lips. "I think knowledge will get me further than pricked fingers," you mused, glancing at Kaia.

She let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to her chest as if you had mortally wounded her. "Oh, so now you're insulting mother’s work, too? The audacity!"

Your mother didn’t even look up from her sewing. "You do have a sharp tongue, my love," she said, amusement lacing her voice.

"I prefer to call it intelligence," you replied smoothly, lifting the teapot and setting out the cups.

Kaia rolled her eyes. "And yet, for all your ‘intelligence,’ you still don’t know how to stitch a straight line."

"Because I have you to do it for me," you said sweetly, handing her a cup of tea.

She groaned, but took it anyway. "One day, you're going to regret not learning these skills."

You shrugged, taking a sip of your own tea. "Maybe. But I’d rather outthink my enemies than stab them with a needle."

Your mother chuckled under her breath, shaking her head as she continued her work.

Kaia huffed, setting her sewing down just long enough to shoot you a pointed look. “Outthink your enemies? What, you plan to sit them down and bore them to death with all those books you hoard?”

You smirked behind your teacup. “It’s a solid strategy. Imagine it: I hit them with the full history of Prythian’s trade routes, throw in some political theory, maybe a bit of philosophy—”

Kaia groaned loudly, slumping against the table. “Mother, please, make her stop.”

Your mother only chuckled, her fingers deftly working through the fabric she was stitching. “Your sister has a point, Kaia. A sharp mind will take her far.”

Kaia scoffed. “So will a sharp blade.”

You hummed, flipping a page in your book. “Why not both?”

She narrowed her eyes, studying you like you were some difficult puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “You’re really never going to learn how to sew, are you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Your mother sighed, though there was no true disappointment in it. “At least try to learn a few stitches, love. I won’t always be here to mend your clothes.”

The thought of a world without her sent a pang through your chest, but you masked it with a light shrug. “I’ll figure it out.”

Kaia grinned. “Or you’ll find yourself a mate who’s good with a needle.”

You made a face. “If I ever meet someone who enjoys sewing, I’ll know the Cauldron made a mistake.”

Your mother only smiled knowingly, the same way she always did when she sensed things you couldn’t yet understand.

Kaia rolled her eyes and flicked a bit of thread at you. “You’ll regret that when you’re out in the wilds with a torn tunic and no way to fix it.”

You waved a dismissive hand, eyes still on your book. “I’ll just make Rhysie do it.”

Kaia scoffed. “Rhys? Our future High Lord? You think he’s going to sit there and stitch up your clothes like some dutiful little seamstress?”

You smirked, finally glancing up. “If I’m cold and miserable enough, he might.”

Your mother chuckled softly at that, shaking her head as she continued working. “That boy would do anything for you.”

Kaia sighed dramatically. “It’s disgusting, really.”

“You're just jelly that I'm his favourite sister.”

You just grinned, but before you could come up with a proper retort, the front door creaked open, a gust of cold wind blowing into the cabin.

Cassian and Azriel stepped inside first, shaking snow from their wings and stamping off their boots. Rhys followed right after, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“Mother above,” Cassian groaned. “It’s freezing out there.”

Azriel just huffed, pulling off his gloves. “It’s winter, Cassian. That tends to happen.”

Rhys, though, barely looked at them. His violet eyes landed on you immediately, a slow, familiar smirk curling his lips. “What? No warm welcome for your favourite brother?”

Kaia let out a sharp laugh. “Favourite? Please. I’d sooner claim Cassian.”

Cassian grinned. “I do have my charms.”

You ignored them, tilting your head as you met Rhys’s gaze. “You’re late.”

He shrugged, unbothered. “We were training.”

You set your book down, eyeing the bruises forming on his knuckles. “So I see.”

Azriel, ever the quiet observer, watched you closely, his hazel eyes flickering between you and Rhys as if reading something neither of you had spoken aloud. You met his gaze for just a moment before looking away.

Rhys stretched out his wings, rolling his shoulders. “Mother, that smells good.” He walked over to the hearth, inhaling deeply. “Did you make enough for an army?”

Your mother smiled, giving him a fond look. “I made enough for three very hungry Illyrians, yes.”

Cassian beamed. “Have I mentioned lately how much I love you?”

Kaia groaned. “Can you three at least clean up first? You smell like sweat and regret.”

Azriel shot her a look, but Rhys just grinned, ruffling your hair as he passed. “Don’t worry, dearest sister. We’ll be on our best behaviour.”

You highly doubted that.

As soon as Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel disappeared down the hall to clean up, Kaia let out an exaggerated groan and flopped dramatically against the back of her chair. “I swear, between the three of them, we’ll never have a moment of peace.”

You smirked, picking your book back up. “You say that like they don’t make life more entertaining.”

Kaia rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. Nothing’s more entertaining than sweaty Illyrians stomping in here like wild animals.”

Your mother chuckled softly, finishing the last few stitches in the fabric she was working on. “They’re boys. And Illyrians at that. What do you expect?”

Kaia made a face, but before she could reply, the sound of heavy footsteps returned, and soon enough, the three of them emerged from the back rooms, hair still damp but looking slightly more presentable.

Cassian flopped into the chair across from Kaia, stretching his arms behind his head. “So, what’s for dinner?”

Kaia smacked his arm. “You could at least help set the table first.”

Cassian pouted but stood, dramatically grabbing some plates while Rhys just rolled his eyes. Azriel, as usual, remained quiet, though his gaze drifted to you once again as he moved to help your mother.

You ignored the look, flipping a page in your book. But before you could focus, Rhys plopped down beside you, draping an arm over the back of your chair. “Still burying yourself in books, I see.”

You didn’t even glance up. “Still getting your ass handed to you in training, I see.”

Cassian burst out laughing while Azriel smirked faintly.

Rhys gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I—”

“You lost to Devlon today,” Azriel cut in smoothly, grabbing a set of utensils.

Cassian cackled. “Oh, that’s right! I almost forgot about that.”

Rhys scowled. “That was a fluke.”

You finally looked up at him, raising a brow. “A fluke, huh?”

Rhys huffed. “Yes. A fluke.”

Kaia snickered. “Right. And Cassian actually thinks before speaking.”

Cassian gaped. “Hey! I do think before speaking.”

Azriel muttered, “Not often.”

Cassian turned his glare to him, but Azriel only shrugged, completely unbothered.

You laughed, shaking your head as you closed your book. Rhys watched you for a moment, his smirk softening into something almost thoughtful.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

He just smiled. “Nothing.”

But something in his gaze told you he was thinking about something. Something important.

Before you could press him on it, your mother clapped her hands. “Enough bickering. Sit down. Eat.”

The group grumbled but obeyed, falling into their usual places at the table.

And for that brief moment, everything felt perfect.

Dinner was its usual lively affair, filled with Cassian’s booming laughter, Kaia’s sharp remarks, and Rhysand’s ever-present smirk as he baited anyone within reach. Azriel, as always, remained mostly quiet, but his occasional remarks cut sharper than any blade.

Your mother, ever the calm presence among the chaos, waited until the plates were nearly cleared before setting down her utensils and glancing between you and Rhys. “Kaia and I will be going back to Velaris this weekend,” she announced, her voice even. “Your father wishes to see us.”

You looked up from your plate, brows furrowing. “Both of you?”

Kaia nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes. And before you start, it wasn’t my idea. He actually asked.”

That had you pausing. Your father—requesting their presence? That was… rare.

Rhys, sitting beside you, leaned back in his chair, twirling his goblet between his fingers. “How long?”

“Just the weekend,” your mother said. “We’ll be back Sunday night.”

Rhys nodded slowly, but you could see the gears turning in his head. “And Y/N?”

Your mother glanced at you. “You’ll stay here.”

Your frown deepened. “Alone?”

“Well, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel have training all weekend,” your mother reasoned. “You’ll manage.”

Cassian grinned. “You scared to be all by yourself, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I’d probably enjoy the quiet without you three stomping around like wild beasts.”

Azriel smirked faintly, but Rhys didn’t look as amused. His violet eyes flickered to your mother. “Are you sure?”

Your mother gave him a pointed look. “She’s more than capable, Rhysand.”

You crossed your arms, raising a brow at your brother. “Do you doubt me, dear brother?”

Rhys sighed, rubbing his temple. “No, but—”

“No buts,” your mother cut in. “Y/N will be fine. And the three of you will be too busy getting your asses kicked in training to even notice.”

Cassian snorted. “That’s fair.”

You leaned back in your chair, pretending to consider. “A weekend to myself… no Cassian yelling, no Rhys brooding, no Azriel sneaking around like a shadowy menace. Oh my cauldron and no Kaia! Sounds peaceful.”

Azriel arched a brow, his voice smooth. “You’ll miss us.”

You huffed. “Doubtful.”

Rhys sighed again, but he didn’t argue further. “Fine. But if anything happens—”

“I’ll be fine, Rhys,” you said, exasperated. “It’s two days. Not a lifetime.”

Your mother nodded in approval. “Good. Now eat before the food gets cold.”

And just like that, the conversation shifted, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhys still wasn’t entirely on board with the idea.

-----

The next morning, your mother and Kaia were already packing their things, preparing to leave for Velaris. You stood in the doorway, watching as Kaia fussed over which dresses to bring, her nose wrinkling at a pale blue one your mother held up.

“Not that one,” Kaia said flatly. “It makes me look washed out.”

Your mother sighed but folded it into her bag anyway. “It’s just for two days.”

Kaia groaned. “Two days with father.”

You didn’t comment, but the thought sat heavy in your mind. Your father requesting them was strange—almost unsettling—but you pushed the feeling down.

Rhysand was still brooding about the whole situation, watching from across the room with crossed arms. He had already changed into his training leathers, ready to head to the camps with Cassian and Azriel.

“You could always just come with us,” Rhys murmured when your mother left the room for a moment.

You shot him a look. “And do what? Watch you three beat the hell out of each other? No, thanks.”

Cassian grinned as he passed by, throwing an arm around you briefly before heading toward the door. “It wouldn’t hurt to learn a few things, you know.”

“I know plenty,” you countered, stepping out from under his hold. “Like how to read a book instead of getting hit in the face.”

Azriel smirked slightly from where he stood by the door, sharpening a dagger. “Books won’t help in a fight.”

“Then you've never got hit in the head with one but in fairness neither will your brooding, but here we are,” you shot back.

Cassian let out a loud laugh as Azriel just shook his head, tucking the dagger away.

Your mother returned, brushing her hands together. “Alright, we should get going.”

Kaia sighed dramatically but grabbed her bag. “If I don’t make it back, tell father it was his fault.”

Your mother swatted her arm lightly before turning to you. “Be good, Y/N.”

You smirked. “Never.”

Rhys, still looking less than pleased, pulled your mother in for a quick hug, then gave Kaia a long-suffering look. “Don’t kill each other.”

“No promises,” Kaia quipped before stepping outside.

Your mother gave Rhys one last pat on the cheek before following, and just like that, they were gone, winnowing to Velaris.

You exhaled, stretching your arms over your head. “Well. Looks like it’s just me.”

Rhys gave you another once-over, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Stay inside at night,” he warned. “If anything happens, send a message.”

“Yes, Mother,” you droned.

Cassian chuckled. “She’ll be fine, Rhys. Let’s go before Devlon loses his mind waiting for us.”

Rhys gave you one last look before sighing and stepping toward the door. Azriel lingered a moment longer, his hazel eyes flickering to you.

“If anything happens—”

“I know, I know,” you interrupted. “I’ll call for my big, scary warriors to save me.”

Azriel just shook his head slightly, but you could see the amusement in his gaze before he turned and left.

And then, the cabin was quiet.

Finally.

The silence in the cabin was strange. Not unwelcome, but strange.

You were used to noise—your mother’s soft humming as she sewed, Kaia’s endless complaints about one thing or another, Rhys and the others coming and going from training. But now, with them all gone, it was just you.

You stood in the middle of the small kitchen for a moment, staring at the now-empty space where your mother and sister had been just minutes ago. Then, with a sigh, you turned and grabbed the book you had been reading earlier, settling into one of the chairs near the fireplace.

The hours passed in comfortable solitude. You read, made yourself something to eat, and even went outside for a while, letting the cool mountain air fill your lungs. The Illyrian camps were too far to hear, but you could picture what Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel were doing—sweating, fighting, grumbling about their trainers.

You rolled your eyes just thinking about it.

By nightfall, you had lit a few candles, keeping the cabin warm against the evening chill. You weren’t scared of being alone, but there was something about the stillness that made the space feel bigger.

Then, a sound.

You froze, book halfway open in your lap.

It had come from outside.

Slowly, you set the book down and stood, listening.

Nothing.

Probably an animal, you told yourself. A fox, maybe. Or a bird settling into a tree for the night.

Still, you walked to the door and carefully slid the bolt into place. Just in case.

Then, shaking your head at your own paranoia, you turned back to the fireplace and sat down.

You were fine.

Everything was fine...

Your heart pounded, listening to the silence stretch on. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just the wind or a wild animal passing through.

But your gut twisted.

Azriel always told you to trust your instincts.

Without hesitation, you bolted down the hall, bare feet silent against the wooden floor. You went straight to Azriel’s room, moving with practiced ease. He had shown you where he kept his blades—“Just in case,” he had said, his hazel eyes serious.

You dropped to your knees beside his bed, reaching under the wooden frame until your fingers brushed cool steel. You pulled the dagger free, gripping the hilt tightly.

The weight of it was reassuring.

The door creaked behind you, the wind shifting through the cracks in the cabin. You inhaled sharply, steadying yourself, before standing and turning back toward the main room.

You tightened your grip on the dagger as you crept back down the hallway, pressing your back against the wooden walls to keep your footsteps silent. The flickering candlelight from the hearth cast shifting shadows across the cabin, making your pulse hammer even harder.

The front door was still shut. The windows locked. But something felt off.

You took a deep breath, listening.

Nothing.

Then—

A sound. Faint. Almost imperceptible.

The softest creak of wood outside the cabin, like a footstep trying too hard to be silent.

Your stomach dropped.

You swallowed hard, adjusting the dagger in your palm. If someone was out there, they weren’t moving anymore. Maybe they knew you had heard them.

You exhaled slowly and backed toward the kitchen, reaching for the second knife Azriel always kept in the drawer. Just in case.

Just as your fingers closed around the hilt, the front door handle rattled.

The door swung open, and before you could think, you moved. Instinct and fear collided as you lunged forward, dagger raised, your heart hammering in your chest.

But then—

“Cauldron damn it, Y/N!”

Azriel’s voice.

You barely stopped yourself in time, your arm jerking mid-air as recognition slammed into you. He had jumped back, his own hand flying toward his belt, likely reaching for a dagger of his own before he realized it was you.

You both stood there, breathless, frozen in place. His hazel eyes were wide, flickering between you and the blade in your grip. His chest rose and fell in heavy breaths, his wings slightly flared as if he’d been prepared to counter an attack.

“What the fuck?” he breathed, voice low and sharp.

You swallowed hard, still gripping the dagger tight. Your entire body was trembling with the leftover rush of adrenaline.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you managed to choke out, your voice rasping from fear and exertion.

Azriel let out a slow exhale, running a scarred hand through his damp hair. His training leathers were still on, slightly dusted with dirt, as if he had just come from sparring.

“You were about to stab me.” His voice was still edged with tension, but his brows furrowed as he studied you. “Why the hell are you standing in the middle of the cabin armed like you’re about to go to war?”

You let out a shaky breath, finally lowering the dagger. “I heard something,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “Someone outside.”

Azriel’s expression hardened instantly. His instincts—honed by years in the camps, sharpened by battle and blood—flared to life. His wings tucked in, his shoulders straightening as his gaze flicked toward the door behind him.

“How long ago?” he asked, voice all business now.

You swallowed again. “Just before you came in. I thought—” You shook your head, gripping the dagger tighter again. “I thought someone was trying to break in.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. His shadows curled subtly around him, shifting with his thoughts. He stepped closer, his free hand reaching out as if to steady you.

“I’ll check it out,” he said firmly, voice like steel. “Stay here.”

Your grip on the dagger was still tight as Azriel moved past you, but before he reached the door, you found your voice.

"Why the hell are you here?" you demanded, still slightly breathless. "You were supposed to be in the camps all weekend."

Azriel paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. His hazel eyes were still sharp, assessing, but there was something else there—something almost sheepish. He ran a hand through his hair again before exhaling through his nose.

"I fought for a weekend pass," he admitted, voice quieter now. "Didn’t feel right leaving you alone out here."

Your heart skipped a beat, though you tried not to show it. Instead, you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "Rhys is going to be pissed."

Azriel gave a half-shrug, already moving toward the door again. "Let him be." Then, his voice dropped into something more serious as he reached for the handle. "Stay inside. Lock the door behind me."

And before you could argue, he slipped outside, shadows curling around him as he disappeared into the night.

The moment Azriel stepped outside, you wasted no time. Your hands were still slightly shaking from the rush of adrenaline, but you turned the lock with a sharp click, securing the door behind him.

You pressed your back against the wooden frame, gripping the dagger tightly in your hand as you listened to the quiet. The wind whispered through the trees outside, the sounds of the forest unchanged, but your heart was still pounding.

You hated this feeling. The unease of being alone. Of knowing there was no one else here except you—and whatever Azriel was searching for out there.

Swallowing, you forced yourself to move away from the door. You placed the dagger on the small table by the fireplace but kept it within reach. Just in case.

And then, you waited.

Seven minutes. That’s all it had been since you locked the door behind Azriel, but it felt like an eternity. You had barely moved from your spot, ears straining for any sound from outside. When the knocking finally came, it wasn’t forceful or rushed—it was deliberate. A pattern only you and Azriel knew.

Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap-tap.

Your breath hitched in relief. You rushed to unlock the door, but as soon as you pulled it open, whatever words you had prepared to scold him for scaring you died on your lips.

Azriel stood there, snow dusting his dark hair and leathers, his cheeks flushed red from the cold. But it wasn’t just him.

Cradled in his scarred hands, wrapped carefully in the fabric of his cloak, were two tiny creatures—kittens, barely more than lumps of fur, shivering and covered in clumps of ice. Their pitiful mewls were barely audible, their small bodies trembling from the cold.

“They were scratching around outside,” Azriel murmured, stepping past you and into the warmth of the cabin. Snow melted instantly onto the wooden floors, but he didn’t seem to care. His focus was entirely on the fragile little creatures in his grasp.

You blinked, still processing the sight before you. “Kittens?”

Azriel nodded, his wings tucking in slightly as he crouched down by the fire. He carefully unwrapped them, revealing their tiny bodies. One was black as night, save for a single white patch on its tiny chest. The other was a dusty grey, its fur speckled with damp snowflakes.

“They wouldn’t have survived the night out there,” he continued, voice softer now, as if speaking too loud would frighten them.

You dropped to your knees beside him, watching as he gently rubbed the kittens with the edge of his cloak, trying to dry them off. Their little eyes were barely open, their ears still too large for their heads. Helpless.

And yet, they’d been fighting. Scratching at the cold, trying to survive.

Your throat tightened.

Azriel, kneeling in front of the fire, his strong, battle-worn hands delicately handling the smallest, most fragile things you’d ever seen—it did something to you.

“You—” You cleared your throat, suddenly overwhelmed. “You really found them just now?”

He nodded again, shifting slightly so that the fire’s heat would reach them better. “Heard them crying. Took me a minute to find them.”

The thought of Azriel searching through the snow, kneeling in the ice and cold for something this small—this insignificant in the grand scheme of war and training and power—made your chest ache.

Without thinking, you reached out, gently touching the damp fur of the black kitten. It let out the tiniest squeak in response.

Azriel glanced at you then, watching the way your fingers stroked down the kitten’s back. His lips twitched, something softer overtaking his expression. “We should keep them warm,” he murmured, like he’d already decided you were keeping them.

You huffed, shaking your head with a small smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

But you didn’t argue. Instead, you got up to find blankets, already thinking of names.

Azriel’s low, warm laugh filled the cabin as he glanced over at the two daggers you had laid out on the table—the very ones you had yanked from his hidden stash the moment you thought something was breaking into the cabin.

“All that over two kittens?” he mused, shaking his head as he carefully adjusted them closer to the fire. The black one gave a tiny sneeze.

You crossed your arms, huffing. “I thought someone was trying to kill me, Az.”

His wings twitched as he fought back another laugh, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement. “So your first instinct was to dual-wield my daggers?”

“Yes!” You gestured toward the weapons. “Because I thought I was alone! What was I supposed to do? Politely ask an intruder to leave?”

Azriel’s lips curved into something smug. “And now those daggers are protecting two kittens.”

You scowled, but there was no real heat in it. “I hate you.”

He chuckled, settling onto the floor with the tiny bundles of fur still cradled in his cloak. “No, you don’t.” He rubbed a careful finger behind the grey kitten’s ear, his voice turning softer. “You’re going to love them just as much as I do.”

You sighed, glancing between him, the kittens, and the daggers. Muttering under your breath, you scooped up the weapons and returned them to their hiding place. “Next time, I’m stabbing first and asking questions later.”

Azriel just laughed again, shaking his head. “Sure you will.”

With a huff, you turned on your heel and strode toward your bedroom, muttering under your breath about insufferable Illyrians and their stupid smug faces. Azriel’s quiet chuckle followed you as you yanked open your door.

Your room was dimly lit by the fading embers in the hearth, the cool night air slipping through the wooden walls of the cabin. You made your way to the small chest at the foot of your bed, lifting the lid and rummaging through the neatly folded blankets inside.

Soft, thick wool met your fingers first, the one your mother had woven for you last winter. It would be warm, but you hesitated, thinking about the two tiny, soaked creatures shivering in Azriel’s cloak. You needed something softer, gentler.

You pulled out an old flannel blanket instead, the fabric worn from years of use. It had been yours since you were a child, the one Rhys used to tease you for carrying everywhere. It was warm, soft—perfect.

Still, you grabbed a second, heavier one for good measure before making your way back to the sitting room.

Azriel was right where you’d left him, kneeling in front of the fire, his scarred hands carefully adjusting the tiny kittens nestled in his cloak. They looked even smaller now, their thin, damp fur clinging to their frail bodies.

Wordlessly, you handed him the blankets. His fingers brushed yours as he took them, a silent exchange, a quiet understanding.

“You’re a good liar,” he murmured as he spread the softer blanket out before placing the kittens on it.

You frowned. “What?”

Azriel glanced up, amusement flickering in his hazel eyes. “You say you hate me, but here you are, bringing them blankets.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you dropped onto the floor beside him, watching as he carefully tucked the second blanket over the kittens.

“Shut up, Az,” you muttered, but you reached out anyway, gently brushing a finger over the gray kitten’s tiny head.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pulled the second blanket tighter around the kittens. “This has nothing to do with you,” you muttered. “It’s about them.”

Azriel raised a brow, settling back on his heels as he watched you fuss over the tiny creatures. “Oh?” he drawled, amusement lacing his tone.

You shot him a look, gently stroking the damp fur of the black kitten. “They’re helpless. Alone. No one looking out for them.” Your voice was quieter now, the words coming almost absentmindedly as you focused on the small, fragile bodies curled into the blanket. “If I left them out there, they wouldn’t have made it through the night.”

Azriel was silent for a moment. Then, softer than before, he murmured, “I know what that’s like.”

Your fingers stilled against the kitten’s fur, your breath catching slightly. You swallowed, blinking at the firelight flickering against the wooden floorboards.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I know you do.”

You frowned down at the tiny, shivering kittens, your fingers still smoothing over their damp fur. “What the hell am I even supposed to feed them?” you muttered, glancing up at Azriel.

He blinked at you, clearly caught off guard. “Uh… milk?”

You rolled your eyes. “Brilliant, Shadowsinger. And how do you suppose I get it into their mouths?”

Azriel scratched the back of his neck, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I don’t know—drip it in?”

You let out a huff, shaking your head. “We don’t exactly have tiny spoons lying around.”

Azriel glanced toward the kitchen, brows furrowing. “Maybe a cloth? Like, soak it and let them suck on it?”

You paused, considering it. “That… might actually work.”

He smirked, looking far too proud of himself. “See? I’m more than just a pretty face.”

You snorted, getting to your feet. “Debatable.”

Azriel just chuckled as you made your way to the kitchen, already muttering about warming the milk and finding a clean cloth.

Azriel stayed seated on the floor, his wings tucked close as he gently rubbed the kittens with the corner of a blanket, trying to dry them off. The tiny creatures trembled in his hands, their small bodies barely bigger than his palms. He frowned, his scarred fingers careful as he tucked them closer to the warmth.

You returned a few moments later with a small bowl of warm milk and a clean scrap of cloth. Kneeling beside him, you dipped the fabric into the milk, letting it soak before bringing it toward the first kitten’s tiny mouth.

“Come on, little one,” you murmured, voice softer than you meant it to be. The kitten sniffed hesitantly before its tiny tongue flicked out, lapping at the damp cloth.

Azriel exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly. “It’s working.”

You nudged him playfully. “Told you.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “That was my idea.”

You ignored him, focusing on feeding the second kitten. This one took a bit longer, weakly turning its head before finally accepting the milk. Azriel watched the entire time, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured.

You arched a brow at him. “What, keeping helpless creatures alive?”

His smirk faded, something more serious lingering in his hazel eyes. “Yeah.”

Your stomach twisted at the weight of his gaze, but you pushed it aside, focusing back on the kittens. “Well, let’s hope they make it through the night.”

Azriel nodded, but as you worked together to keep them warm and fed, you swore you felt his attention linger on you a little longer than necessary.

As the kittens curled up in the blankets, finally warm and fed, you leaned back against the wooden floor, watching them with a soft expression. Azriel, still crouched beside them, absentmindedly stroked one with the tip of his finger, his wings slightly flared to keep the warmth trapped around them.

You tilted your head, studying him. “So… you fought for a weekend pass?”

Azriel didn’t look at you right away. He kept his focus on the kittens, his jaw tightening slightly before he nodded. “Yeah.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why fight for it?” You crossed your arms, leaning in slightly. “Rhys and Cassian couldn’t.”

Azriel let out a quiet huff, finally meeting your gaze. “I fought for it because I could.”

You gave him a flat look. “That’s not an answer.”

He sighed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the question. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. “Something felt… off. Like I needed to be here.”

You stared at him, something tightening in your chest. It was ridiculous—there was no way he could’ve known anything was wrong before he left the camps. And yet��

“You’re lucky,” you muttered, looking away. “I might’ve stabbed you on instinct when you walked in.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried.”

You glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Yeah, well, I would’ve gotten away with it.”

His eyes glinted with amusement. “Doubtful.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in his expression lingered. And despite everything, for the first time all night, you didn’t feel so alone.

Azriel leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him. The fire crackled, casting warm light over the small space as the two of you sat in silence, watching the kittens squirm closer together in the blankets.

You fiddled with a loose thread on your sleeve before finally speaking. “So… what did you tell the commander?”

Azriel glanced at you, raising a brow. “For the pass?”

You nodded.

He hesitated for a moment, then smirked slightly. “Told him I had unfinished business in the mountains and he let me fight for it.”

You frowned. “That’s it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t think he cared enough to question me.”

You snorted. “Must be nice to get away with anything just because you can brood well.”

Azriel chuckled under his breath. “It’s a talent.”

You rolled your eyes but found yourself smiling despite everything. Silence settled again, comfortable this time, as you watched the kittens shift in their sleep. You still weren’t sure what to do with them, but at least they were safe for now.

After a few moments, Azriel spoke again, voice quieter this time. “I meant it, you know.”

You glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Meant what?”

“That something felt wrong.” His golden eyes flickered to yours, serious now. “Like I was supposed to be here.”

Your throat tightened slightly, and you looked away. You didn’t know how to respond to that—not without acknowledging the strange comfort that had settled in your chest the moment he’d walked through the door.

Instead, you nudged one of the kittens with a finger, watching as it stirred slightly. “Well,” you said after a moment, keeping your tone light, “good thing you showed up when you did.”

Azriel hummed. “Yeah. Good thing.”

And for the first time that night, you believed it.

Azriel’s gaze flickered to the small table near the couch, where your book lay open, the spine barely holding together from how often you’d read it. He reached for it, careful not to smudge the ink with the faint traces of snow still melting from his gloves.

“You were reading?” he asked, his voice almost teasing.

You scoffed. “What else would I be doing?”

He hummed, flipping the page absentmindedly. “Hiding weapons, apparently.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you watched as his fingers traced the lines of text, his brow furrowing slightly as he read a passage.

“You always read this one,” he murmured.

You hesitated before answering. “It’s a good book.”

Azriel glanced at you, tilting his head. “It’s about a warrior.”

You shrugged. “So?”

“So, I thought you preferred stories about scholars.”

You sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around the kittens. “Maybe I like both.”

Azriel smirked but didn’t push further. He turned his attention back to the book, scanning another passage before finally closing it and setting it aside.

“You never finish it,” he noted.

You swallowed. “I already know how it ends.”

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he nodded, as if he understood exactly what you meant. Then, without another word, he leaned back into the couch, letting the firelight flicker between you.

Azriel leaned back against the couch, arms resting loosely over his knees as he watched you. His hazel eyes flickered with something unreadable in the dim firelight. After a moment, he nodded toward the book still sitting on the table.

"Tell me about it," he said.

You glanced at him, surprised. "You want me to explain the book to you?"

He shrugged. "You read it enough times. Must mean something to you."

You hesitated, running your fingers over the frayed edges of the blanket wrapped around the kittens. You weren’t sure why it mattered, why he cared. But there was something in the way he looked at you—expectant, patient—that made you want to answer.

"It's about a warrior," you started, shifting slightly to face him more. "But not the kind everyone respects. He's—" You stopped, choosing your words carefully. "He's underestimated. Always overlooked. But he never stops fighting."

Azriel's expression didn't change, but his eyes sharpened. "Fighting for what?"

"For himself," you said softly. "For a place in the world."

A long silence stretched between you, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. Azriel’s gaze stayed on you, unreadable, but there was something there—something knowing.

Finally, he said, “Sounds like someone I know.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

A rare smirk tugged at his lips, but it faded just as quickly. “That’s not what I meant.” His voice had lost its teasing edge. “I meant you.”

Your breath caught slightly, but you masked it with a scoff, shaking your head. “I don’t have anything to fight for.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened. “That’s a lie.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Instead, you reached for the book and held it up between you. "Want me to keep going, or are you just going to sit there and psychoanalyze me?"

His smirk returned, softer this time. "Both."

You rolled your eyes but opened the book anyway. And as you read, Azriel sat quietly, listening—not just to the story, but to you.

You read aloud, your voice soft in the quiet of the cabin, the firelight flickering against the walls. The kittens stirred slightly in their blanket, one of them letting out a tiny sigh as it nestled closer to the warmth. Azriel remained where he was, eyes trained on you, though his expression had relaxed into something almost peaceful.

After a while, you glanced up at him. "You’re actually listening?"

His lips quirked. "You sound surprised."

You snorted. "You never sit still long enough for a story."

Azriel shrugged, shifting slightly but making no move to leave. "I like the way you tell it."

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his tone. A warmth spread through your chest, unexpected and unfamiliar. You swallowed it down, rolling your eyes as you turned back to the book.

“Alright, Shadowsinger. Try to keep up.”

You kept reading, and he kept listening, and for the first time in a long while, the cabin didn’t feel quite so empty.

The fire crackled as you continued reading, the warmth of the cabin pressing in around you both. Azriel shifted, resting his forearms on his knees as he listened, his eyes half-lidded but focused. You weren’t sure if he was actually interested in the story or if he was just content to sit here with you, but he hadn’t moved an inch since you’d started.

The kittens stirred again, one of them attempting to crawl onto Azriel’s lap. Without hesitation, he scooped the tiny creature up in his scarred hands, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tucked it back into the blankets. The sight of him—lethal, quiet Azriel cradling something so small—made something twist in your chest.

"You should sleep," he murmured after a while, breaking the silence.

You huffed a laugh. "You’re the one who’s been running around in the snow all night. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?"

Azriel smirked. "I’ve had worse nights."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you closed the book, setting it aside before leaning back against the couch. "Fine. But you’re stuck with these two now," you said, nodding toward the kittens.

He glanced at them, still curled up in their little blanket nest. "Guess that makes us their parents now."

You snorted. "Terrifying thought."

Azriel only chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back, his wings shifting slightly. The firelight flickered over Azriel’s face as he watched the kittens, his expression unreadable. You shifted slightly, pulling the blankets tighter around them, making sure they were warm. The little creatures had barely stopped shivering since he found them, but now, tucked between the two of you, they were finally settling.

Azriel reached out absently, his fingers brushing over one of their tiny ears. “They’re so small,” he murmured.

You huffed. “That’s usually how kittens work.”

His lips quirked, but his hazel eyes remained distant, thoughtful. You recognized that look—the one that meant he was somewhere else in his mind, somewhere darker.

You nudged him lightly with your foot. “Where’d you go?”

Azriel blinked, snapping out of whatever thoughts had stolen him away. “Nowhere.”

“Liar.”

His jaw tightened for a fraction of a second before he exhaled through his nose. “I was just thinking.”

You didn’t push, waiting instead. That was always how it worked with Azriel—if you waited long enough, he’d let you in.

After a pause, he said quietly, “They would’ve died out there.”

You swallowed, understanding now. It wasn’t just about the kittens. Azriel had once been left in the cold, too—left to die, left to suffer. And no one had come for him.

But tonight, he had been the one to save something small and helpless.

“They’re safe now,” you said softly.

Azriel nodded, but you saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed as if he still wasn’t sure if safety was something real, something permanent.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers barely grazing his wrist. Just a small touch, grounding. Azriel looked at you, startled, but he didn’t pull away.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled, the wind howled faintly outside, but here—here, it was warm.

And maybe, just for tonight, that was enough.

Azriel’s eyes lingered on where your fingers brushed against his wrist. You half-expected him to pull away, to close himself off like he always did when something felt too much. But he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled, the tension in his shoulders loosening just slightly.

The kittens stirred between you, one of them curling into your lap, the other nestling against Azriel’s side. His gloved fingers twitched before he carefully, hesitantly, stroked the small creature’s fur. It let out a tiny, contented sigh.

You watched him, your voice softer now. “Why’d you really fight for that weekend pass? I know you trust me to be alone so what's the other reason.”

Azriel didn’t answer immediately. His thumb traced absent circles on the kitten’s head, his gaze still far away. Then, quietly, he admitted, “I just… I didn’t want to be there.”

Your brows furrowed. “The training?”

He shook his head. “The camps. Being surrounded by them.” He didn’t have to say who they were—the other warriors, the ones who had spent years taunting and ridiculing him. Even as Rhysand and Cassian fought for him, as they carved out space for him, there were still plenty who saw him as nothing more than a bastard-born wretch with shadows for blood.

Your stomach twisted. “You could’ve gone anywhere, then. You could’ve gone to Velaris for the weekend.”

His hazel eyes flickered to yours, something hesitant lurking in them. “I wanted to be here.”

Your breath caught. With you. He didn’t say it, but the words hummed in the silence between you, unspoken but there.

You swallowed, looking down at the kitten curled in your lap, stroking its soft fur to distract from the way your heart was suddenly pounding. “Well,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice light, “lucky you showed up when you did. I had just armed myself to the teeth over a pair of kittens.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s a sight I won’t forget anytime soon.”

You glanced down at the two tiny kittens, who were now curled up in the blankets you’d gathered. One of them let out a tiny, sleepy sigh, its little paws twitching as it dozed off.

Azriel was still stroking the other absentmindedly, his touch lighter than you’d ever seen it. His scarred fingers barely skimmed the soft fur, as if he were afraid he might break the tiny creature.

A thought struck you, and you smirked, tilting your head to look at him. “Did you even check what gender they are?”

Azriel blinked, looking up from the kitten like you’d just asked him the most complicated question in the world. “What?”

You grinned. “You heard me, Shadowsinger. Did you actually check, or did you just swoop in, play hero, and assume?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes at you. “I was a little preoccupied with the fact that they were half-frozen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, let’s see then.” Carefully, you scooped up the kitten in your lap, gently tilting it to check. “This one’s a girl,” you announced.

Azriel eyed the one still in his lap. “How are you so sure?”

You rolled your eyes. “I grew up taking in strays, remember? Unlike someone, I know how to check.”

Azriel gave you a flat look but still, hesitantly, lifted his own kitten to check. A second passed. Then another.

“Well?” you prompted.

Azriel sighed. “Another girl.”

You grinned. “Looks like you just brought home two little ladies, Shadowsinger.”

He muttered something under his breath, but you could see the ghost of a smile on his lips as he set the kitten back down.

“They’re going to need names, you know,” you mused.

Azriel just hummed, eyes still on the tiny creatures. “You name them,” he said, voice quieter now.

You blinked, glancing at him. “Really?”

He nodded, fingers still idly stroking the soft fur. “You’re better at that sort of thing.”

Something warm bloomed in your chest at that.

Maybe it was the firelight flickering in his hazel eyes, or the fact that he had chosen to be here, with you, instead of anywhere else. But for the first time in a long while, you felt like you weren’t just a girl in a cabin with her books.

You were his person. The one he came back to.

You turned your attention back to the two tiny, shivering kittens. Their fur was still slightly damp from the melted snow, but they were tucked in so deep in the blankets that warmth was finally settling into their small bodies.

Azriel was watching you closely, his expression unreadable, but there was a softness there—something rare. Something reserved only for moments like this.

You ran a gentle finger over one of the kittens' tiny ears. “Alright,” you murmured, thinking. “How about… Nyra for this one?” You pointed to the smaller of the two, the one with the white-tipped paws.

Azriel considered it for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Nyra,” he repeated. “Sounds fitting.”

That alone made you smile, knowing he wasn’t just humouring you—he genuinely liked it.

You turned to the second kitten, the one currently curled into Azriel’s lap. “And this one… maybe Sora?”

Azriel hummed, running a careful hand down her back. “Nyra and Sora,” he mused. “They sound like trouble.”

You snorted. “Like you wouldn’t take in the most troublesome creatures you could find.”

He smirked, a glint of amusement flashing through his hazel eyes. “I took you in, didn’t I?”

You gasped, swatting at his arm. “I took you in, actually. You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep with these two.”

Azriel laughed, and it was a sound so rare that it made warmth flood your chest. It was quiet, barely more than a breath, but it was real.

For a moment, the cold outside didn’t exist. The camps didn’t exist. There was no looming war, no responsibilities, no future heartbreak waiting in the shadows.

It was just you and Azriel, in your tiny cabin, with two tiny creatures that now belonged to you.

Azriel was still watching the kittens when you hesitated, shifting slightly on the floor where you sat. You fiddled with the edge of the blanket draped over your legs, suddenly unsure if this was stupid or not.

But then you sighed, shaking off the hesitation, and reached beside you to grab something from under the chair.

“When I got bored earlier,” you started, keeping your voice casual, “I actually tried making something.”

Azriel glanced at you then, interest flickering in his gaze. “Oh?”

You nodded, rubbing your thumb over the woven strands of fabric in your hands. “Yeah. I, uh…” You huffed a quiet laugh. “I felt like stabbing something, honestly, but my mother would have killed me if I started hacking at her sewing materials.”

Azriel’s lips twitched. “That’s fair.”

“So,” you continued, holding up the thing you had made, “I figured I should braid something instead.”

You let the piece of fabric unfurl between your fingers, revealing the long, intricate fishtail braid you had spent hours working on. The deep blue and black threads were woven together tightly, not perfect, but solid.

Azriel reached out, running a scarred finger over the braid with an unreadable expression. “You made this?”

You nodded, feeling a little ridiculous now that you were actually showing him. “Took me four hours,” you admitted, wrinkling your nose. “Which, now that I say it out loud, sounds pathetic.”

Azriel picked it up, turning it in his hands carefully. “It doesn’t.”

You scoffed. “It does.”

He ignored you, still examining the braid. “Why did you make it for me?”

You shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed. “I don’t know. I was thinking about you while I was doing it, I guess.” You forced a smirk. “And I know you’re dramatic enough to wear something like this on your leathers.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Dramatic?”

“Yes.”

He shot you a dry look but didn’t argue. Instead, he ran his fingers along the woven strands again before tying it around his wrist.

Your breath hitched slightly as you watched him secure it. “You’re wearing it?”

He looked up at you, something softer in his eyes. “You made it,” he said simply.

Something warm curled in your chest. You looked away before he could see the way your face heated. “It’s not that great.”

“It’s perfect.”

You swallowed, focusing on the kittens instead of the way your heart stuttered in your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

Azriel only smirked, leaning back against the chair. “And yet you’re the one making me gifts.”

Azriel let his arm rest on his bent knee, the braid still wrapped snugly around his wrist. His fingers absentmindedly traced over the woven strands, his expression unreadable.

You kept your focus on the kittens, using the excuse of adjusting their blankets to keep from looking at him. The warmth in your chest from seeing him wear your braid still lingered, and you weren’t entirely sure what to do with it.

Silence stretched between you for a moment before Azriel finally spoke.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever made me something before besides your mother giving me clothes.”

Your fingers stilled. Slowly, you turned to him, brows furrowing slightly. “Really?”

He gave a small shrug, looking down at his wrist. “Really.”

You chewed on your lip. It wasn’t like it was something extravagant—it was just a simple braid. But the way he kept touching it, the way his voice was so quiet when he spoke…

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in your chest. “Well,” you said, keeping your voice light, “I guess that just means I get the honor of being the first.”

Azriel’s lips curved slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow around the room. The snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in white.

After a moment, Azriel’s voice cut through the quiet again.

“You should make more.”

You blinked. “More what?”

He gestured vaguely at his wrist. “Braids.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You want me to make you more?”

Azriel shrugged. “Maybe.” His fingers drummed lightly against his knee. “It’s nice.”

A small, amused smile tugged at your lips. “You’re unbelievable.”

He just smirked. “And yet you’re still sitting here with me instead of kicking me out.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. Instead, you reached over, running a gentle hand over one of the kittens as it purred.

“Maybe I will make more,” you muttered.

Azriel’s smirk softened into something quieter, something you couldn’t quite place. “Good.”

A soft rustling came from the pile of blankets, followed by a tiny, high-pitched mewl. You glanced down just in time to see one of the kittens—Nyra—stretching her tiny paws forward, her mouth opening in a silent yawn. The little black-and-white fluffball wobbled unsteadily as she tried to sit up, blinking groggily.

Sora wasn’t far behind. The little gray kitten, slightly smaller than her sister, let out a chirping noise before nuzzling against Nyra’s side for warmth. But after a few seconds, she, too, pushed herself up onto unsteady paws, her tail twitching as she adjusted to being awake.

Azriel chuckled as he watched them. “Guess they’re finally ready to explore their new home.”

You smiled as Nyra took a brave step forward—only to immediately tumble sideways onto Sora. Sora let out a tiny squeak in protest, batting at her sister with an uncoordinated paw.

“They’re hopeless,” you murmured, reaching out to gently straighten Nyra again. The kitten blinked up at you, her little pink nose twitching.

Azriel smirked. “They’ll fit right in, then.”

You shot him a look, but he only laughed.

Nyra, now more confident on her feet, started sniffing at the folds of the blanket, her ears perked forward with curiosity. Sora, after a moment of watching, mimicked her, the two of them wobbling forward together in tiny, unsteady steps.

You shook your head fondly. “We’re going to have our hands full, aren’t we?”

Azriel hummed in agreement, but his attention was still on the kittens. Something in his gaze was softer than usual, like he was allowing himself to enjoy this moment in a way he rarely did.

You leaned back slightly, watching as Nyra pounced—if you could even call it that—on a loose thread of the blanket. She missed entirely, tumbling into Sora instead. Sora let out a disgruntled chirp, but rather than moving away, she curled up against her sister, blinking sleepily again.

Azriel exhaled a quiet laugh. “Hopeless,” he repeated.

You just smiled.

Nyra and Sora, despite their brief moment of wakefulness, were already curling back up together, little bodies pressed close for warmth. You reached out, gently running a finger over Nyra’s tiny head, feeling the soft fur beneath your touch. She let out a contented little sigh but didn’t stir much beyond that.

Azriel shifted beside you, resting his forearm on his knee as he watched them with a quiet sort of fondness. “They’re going to be spoiled, aren’t they?”

You smirked. “Of course they are.”

His eyes flicked to you, something unreadable in them for a moment before he glanced back at the kittens. A comfortable silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional rustling as one of the kittens adjusted.

Eventually, Azriel leaned back slightly, stretching out his legs in front of him. “You know,” he mused, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this… maternal.”

You snorted. “I’m not maternal. They’re just tiny and helpless, and I don’t want them to die.”

Azriel chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “Right. That’s all it is.”

You nudged him with your elbow, rolling your eyes. “Don’t start.”

He grinned but didn’t push further. Instead, he let his head rest against the back of the couch, exhaling slowly.

For a moment, you just watched him, noting how much more relaxed he seemed here than he ever did at the camps. Maybe it was the warmth of the fire, the soft sounds of the kittens breathing, or the simple fact that, for once, he wasn’t expected to be training or on edge. Whatever it was, you found yourself wishing he could have more moments like this.

“You should get some rest,” Azriel murmured suddenly, eyes still closed.

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”

His lips quirked, but he didn’t argue.

The fire flickered, casting shadows along the walls, and you let yourself relax just a little bit more, listening to the quiet of the cabin.

Without thinking much of it, you shifted slightly and leaned against Azriel’s shoulder. His body tensed for just a moment—barely noticeable—but then he relaxed, adjusting just enough to accommodate your weight.

Neither of you said anything about it.

The fire crackled in the hearth, the warmth of it seeping into your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as comforting as the solid presence of Azriel beside you. He smelled like fresh air and steel, like the crisp chill of the mountains and something else uniquely him.

His shoulder was firm beneath you, the muscles taut from years of training, but he didn’t move away, didn’t tease or make a comment. Instead, he just sat there, breathing steady, his gaze still fixed on the sleeping kittens.

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable—it was the kind that settled in deep, wrapping around you like a thick, well-worn blanket.

Eventually, Azriel let out a soft breath. “You’re going to fall asleep like this.”

You hummed, eyes growing heavier by the second. “Maybe.”

He huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t push you away. Instead, you felt the slightest shift in his posture, as if he were leaning into you just as much as you were leaning into him.

[alchemistc]

Just gonna say from the top I have not been paying much attention to 9-1-1 spoilers or spec so I'm coming at this from a place of Lou posted a rooftop pic around the same time there was bts of 9-1-1 filming on a rooftop. I know nothing else. I also haven't watched past 8x6 so 🤷‍♀️

something in the orange

Buck has never really been one for a lot of quiet introspection. He's done the therapy, worked at it, worked on himself - but at the end of the day his downtime typically means he's got a book in hand, a Substack to dive into, his phone open to distract his brain long enough for his body to relax. He doesn't do quiet time. He needs to have something to do with his hands, needs his eyes focused on something other than a horizon line.

He's at the tail-end of a q-word shift and Ravi's already inventoried half the station, there hasn't been anything to clean for at least an hour, and it's not like he can go bug Eddie to keep himself occupied.

(And that's a train of thought better left for the scones he's gonna bake tonight, even if Eddie's kitchen is laid out terribly for baking.)

The sunset is gorgeous.

It's not - quiet, exactly. You don't really get quiet, in LA, at any time of the day or night, but it's calm. Peaceful. Traffic runs smoothly, for a given value of smooth, down below. There's a soft breeze. The sun has warmed the rooftops of the city all day, and that extra hour baked them well, so even as it sets the gravel beneath his feet radiates just the right amount of heat.

Buck tilts his head back to watch a fluffy cloud drift across the sky, and takes stock.

He's a fucking mess, but that seems to be beside the point, right now.

Chris is pissed at Eddie but reluctantly speaking to him, and it seems like maybe there's something going on with Eddie's mom but it's not like Eddie comes to him until -

Nope.

Maddie's recovering, and the baby is fine. She'll scar, though, and Buck doesn't quite know how to reconcile that. She's been bruised, bloody, terrified, mad as hell, out of her mind and settling back into it but there's never been lasting physical evidence before and he's -

Making it all about himself, again.

Bobby and Athena are circling in on a place to live, finally, and he's happy for them, ecstatic, can't wait to watch Bobby man a grill again and have everyone - well, mostly everyone -

New line of thought, actually.

Chim seems to be holding it together extraordinarily well, considering, but Buck's not entirely sure he'd know otherwise: he's got Hen for that.

Must be nice, he thinks, and then immediately slams a foot down in an attempt to not be such a selfish, miserable bastard.

Two nights ago he'd watched Taylor Kelly do a special news report covering the wildfire recovery efforts, and she'd looked good - beautiful, healthy, with that fire behind her eyes when a story has some juice to it. And he'd watched, start to finish, and he'd selfishly wondered if she ever actually thought about him, other than an aside about the guy who'd kissed another woman and then railroaded her into living with him.

And he never knows what the hell is going on with Ravi but apparently he bought another block of condos.

So it's like -

It's just -

He's so fucking lonely.

It's not a new feeling, exactly. He's been on his own for a lot of his life. Always latching on to whoever holds eye contact long enough for him to start an info-dump. But all of his people are reaching all of these milestones, or dealing with their own shit, and even though he's made an attempt, the casual hookups just aren't doing much in the department of letting Buck unload all of his issues like he wants.

Which is why everyone ends up leaving, apparently. He takes too much, demands too much, makes things about himself, and it's not the first time he's had to square up with that but it still fucking hurts. He still doesn't know how to fix it.

Gold melts across the skyline as the sun dips low low low, and the door to the roof opens up, and Buck tips his head back again. Closes his eyes and tries to place the footfalls making their way across to him. Feels his chest tighten around the face that materializes behind his eyes and swallows it back, because that isn't happening.

He keeps his eyes closed and enjoys the last streak of heat as the sun dips below the horizon.

Gravel crunches just behind him.

"Hey," says a voice, soft and warm and always just a little surprisingly pitchy for the barrel of a chest it's coming out of.

When he blinks his eyes back open he's greeted with the underside of Tommy Kinard's chin. In the fading light the dip of his cleft is more pronounced, and his hair has streaks of pink in the barrel of the curl, light bouncing off the clouds and making a home on Tommy's crown, and Buck has to bite back the urge to shove out of his chair and tuck his whole body into the circle of his arms. They're not - this isn't -

Tommy's hand drops, warm and huge and comforting in a way Buck always leaned into like a cat, to the dip of Buck's shoulder.

He can't really find any words. He's had - so fucking many words, things he wants to say, things he wants someone to hear, but now they're all stuck in his throat or lost to the breeze kicking up around him.

God, Buck has missed him.

Tommy's eyes dart back and forth across his face, jaw tight as he takes in the sight, his posture all sorts of uncomfortable, and Buck just wants -

Just five minutes. Just. Enough time to watch the pinks fade to purple and blue. He tips his head back just enough that his skull meets the give of Tommy's stomach, and Tommy's hand squeezes.

They watch the sky streak with color and fade, and Buck thinks: if this is it, at least it's a softer landing than he'd had before.

[skeltnwrites]

A Family Affair ✶ part one!

In a fit of jealousy over Nancy’s perfect new boyfriend, Steve falsely claims to be dating someone too. Robin recruits you to help Steve out, despite the fact that you’re practically strangers. | MASTERLIST

⤷ Fucking Brad ›› Hawkins Elementary puts on Peter Pan, Steve has FOMO, and you have all sorts of crazy plans 8k

Fucking Brad. Brad, with his slim waist and his broad shoulders and his chiseled jaw. Brad, who doesn’t slouch and can grow a full beard and always smells nice. Brad, who is the better version of Steve in every way. He’s the Ken of Barbies. He’s what every man wishes he looked like at thirty-two. He’s like Steve, if Steve had Botox injections and a gym membership. 

And God he has stupidly good hair. All layered and cropped like it’s trimmed every other week. But effortless in the way it sits perfectly on either side of his face. He probably hasn’t had a bad hair day in his life. And even worse, Steve’s yet to find a single gray hair on the man’s entire head.

It’s too good to be true, obviously. You can’t be that attractive and a good person. Steve doesn’t make the rules. 

But Nancy seems happy. And as a good ex-husband and father of her children, Steve’s trying to be happy for her and her new boyfriend. There’s just this sharp little shard of his heart that never quite slots back into its old place. And every time he thinks he’s patched it up, Brad comes along and knocks it loose again. 

The divorce took a heavy toll on Steve. He’ll admit that now, almost a year down the line. He lost weight, then gained twice as much back. He pushed Robin so far away that they didn’t speak for two months. It really changed him. It made him question things he used to be so sure of. 

Nancy was never cruel, not even on their worst nights. But the arguing became constant. Steve slept in the kids’ rooms more than his own. He became obsessed with finding solutions that Nancy didn’t care to try.

She was never cruel, but she did break his heart for a second time. So maybe that’s part of the reason he tells her a little white lie. 

It happened last week. Steve had been out of town for the weekend and subsequently didn’t have the kids for a whole week straight since Nancy couldn’t swap days with him. And this is the longest he’s not seen them in… probably ever, so he’s extra excited to pick them up. He even offers to drive to Nancy’s house on the other side of town rather than meet her somewhere halfway. But guess who pulls into the driveway at the same exact time as him? Brad. 

And Caroline, bless her sweet little second-grade heart, beams across the yard, right past Steve’s car up to Brad’s. Steve remembers watching in a daze, the scene unfolding in slow motion. His heart wrings itself in his chest just thinking about it. Caroline, his firstborn, his baby girl, his own flesh and blood, betrayed him, for fucking Brad. 

It’s not fair. Nancy breaking his heart is one thing, but his daughter? At this rate, he’s not sure he’ll live long enough to walk her down the aisle. And like hell he’ll let Brad be the one to do it. 

Steve steps onto the driveway and quickly receives the same armfuls of enthusiasm Caroline treated Brad with. He kneels to hug her back properly, both arms around her waist as he sprinkles kisses along the side of her head. 

“You’re back!” Steve feels the shape of a big smile through his shirt. 

“I missed you,” he says, pulling back to see her lovely face, “so, so much.” 

Caroline is proof that Steve’s done something right in his life. He finds more and more evidence every day. It’s in her kindness to strangers and her bottomless well of curiosity and her sunbeam of a smile that weirdly looks like a smaller version of his own. He used to hate the way his teeth looked in his mouth but now he wonders why.

He’s received comments about their alikeness since the day she was born. She obtained his hooded eyes, his square jaw, and his strong nose. She has lighter eyes, like Nancy’s, and lighter hair, like Steve’s when he was her age. But still, Caroline’s his carbon copy, his mini-me. 

“Missed you too, like, more than the whole universe.” 

“Woah! More than the whole universe? That’s a lot of missing to do.” His fingers crawl across her chest until she arches away in a fit of giggles. “Is your poor little heart okay?” 

Brad waves incessantly from the top of the driveway until Steve glances up. He’s not an asshole, he waves back, but he can’t help his smile curdling into something sour. 

Caroline, of his two children, is by far the least likely to lie to him. She burst into tears the last time Steve caught her red-handed and over something so insignificant he couldn’t even tell you what it was. But her words feels hollow when the memory of her picking Brad over him still stings fresh. Logically, Steve knows it wasn’t a malicious decision. Caroline’s a daddy’s girl to her core. But just knowing doesn’t make the hurt ache any less. 

Steve pulls Caroline up as he stands. “Where’s your brother?” 

“Mom said he can’t play outside ‘cause he got in trouble at school.” 

“What happened?” 

“He threw rocks at someone.” 

Steve presses his lips together with a hum. “Not good.” 

Caroline beats him to the front door, swinging it hard enough to shake the house. “Dad’s here!” she announces. 

Steve’s still in this weird limbo about entering the house without Nancy’s permission. To his knowledge, she’s never cared when one of the kids has invited him in, but it feels sort of wrong because he hasn’t lived there in quite some time. 

It’s a quaint little home at the top of a hill, purchased in their early twenties when Nancy was pregnant with Caroline. So many years of his life, etched into floorboards and door frames and garden stones that he rarely ever sees anymore. 

In the foyer, a riot of blonde fur slams hard into Steve’s knees. He’s expecting it, delighted more than anything to greet his honorary third child, Daisy. Eighty pounds, a golden retriever with more energy than Steve knew a dog could have. She was a Christmas gift from Steve to the family, a surprise Nancy has slowly grown to love over the years. Still, she would’ve been happy to let Steve take her, Daisy’s always been more his than hers, but signing the lease on a place that doesn’t allow pets complicates things. 

Steve’s crouched on the floor, receiving a face full of wet kisses when someone smaller barrels into his side. 

“Daddy!” 

Steve’s hand catches the carpet before he falls, his free arm slinging around his youngest, Andrew. “Hi, buddy.” He pulls him in for a forehead kiss but pushes him back for a better look at his face.

He’s got big brown eyes, round like Nancy’s, and feathered with a long set of lashes. He’s a fair mix of their genes, Nancy’s button nose and pointed ears but Steve’s thick hair and plush lips. He’s like Daisy, with endless reserves of energy and no off switch, but he’s half the dog’s size, tiny, even for six. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi. How was school?” 

“Good,” Andy smiles, words whistling in the gap his front teeth left behind. “I got something from the treasure box and I had music specials today.”

Steve gives his shoulder a loving squeeze. “That’s fun. I heard you got in trouble though, hmm?”

“Barely. It wasn’t really bad. I had a timeout but mom says I still can’t play.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll talk to Mom.” 

“Talk to mom about what?” Nancy frowns from the doorway, crossing her arms over her chest. 

One thing from their marriage that Steve doesn’t miss is Nancy materializing out of thin air. She’s quiet and quick on her feet, always appearing at the most incriminating moments. He can think of a dozen times he’d gotten in trouble for letting the kids do something she already forbade. 

Steve shifts his focus to her begrudgingly. He presses his lips into a cordial, tight-lipped smile. “Why can’t he play? He said he had a time-out already.” 

“Because he didn’t do what I asked, Steve. I know you like to let the kids get away with everything, but in my house there are consequences.” 

“Okay,” he raises his eyebrows and his smile slips away, “unnecessary.” 

She breathes a quiet sigh, hooking her fingernail under the fresh tear in her tights. “It’s been a long week.” 

“Sorry.” Steve means it because he’s been there, but he doesn’t waste much sympathy on Nancy these days.

Brad fills the leftover silence as he zips down the stairs, his fingers drumming along the handrail in time with his hums. “Steve!” he grins. “How was Florida? Catch some sun?” He cruises over to Nancy with a much gentler excitement, pecking her head with a soft, “Hi, honey.” 

Steve wants to gag. No, he wants to projectile vomit all over their nice floors. He stands and chooses to look at Nancy as he replies the simplest, “Yeah.” 

Nancy stares blankly back at him. He used to have some kind of superpower when they were in love. Could read her mind by looking at her eyes alone. But these days he can’t tell her frown from her smile, let alone her thoughts.

“Is your dad doing better?” she says. 

“Yeah, he’s– yeah, fine. He’s home now.” 

“Good.” 

Andy pulls Brad down to his knees, eager to funnel a “very important” secret into his ear. Steve tries, but he can’t decipher any words over Nancy’s voice. 

“So, can you take him?” she asks.

“Where?” 

“The dentist. Are you listening to me? I said his appointment is after school.” 

A vein pulses on Nancy’s forehead, though Steve isn’t privy. His attention swings across the living room behind her like a compass needle, always pointing to Andy and Brad. They’re both giggling, falling onto the couch like ragdolls. Steve’s never had worse FOMO in his life. 

“Yeah, sorry, yeah. I’ll take him,” he answers finally. 

“He’s been complaining about his mouth since last Tuesday. Think he has a cavity.” 

Steve nods. Nancy nods. The silence is awful. 

She turns her nose to the stairs and he knows she can’t bear the awkwardness either. “Andrew go get your stuff. Caroline!” 

“What!” 

“Come on! Dad’s waiting!” 

Andy shrieks and Steve turns instinctually. It’s a happy shriek, he finds, paired with pleads of, “Again! Again!”

Brad nods knowingly, slotting his hands under the boy's armpits and swinging him up and up and up until he launches him right back into the couch. 

Andy’s thrilled, of course. But Steve doesn't know how to feel. There isn’t a sound he loves more in the world than his kids laughs’, but his body tells him what is happening right now is all sorts of wrong. 

“Oh and don’t forget about the play on Friday,” Nancy adds. 

Steve can’t answer. He can’t fucking think over the sound of his molars grinding against each other. A switch flips in his brain. 

“It’s at six I’m pretty sure. Care’s pretty nervous so just, I dunno, don’t bring it up maybe.” 

“I’m bringing someone,” he blurts. 

Nancy shifts her weight from foot to foot, her stare sharp as a thumbtack, pinning him right to the floor. Why the fuck did he just say that? 

“Who?” she asks strangely. Her mouth is smaller like she’s mad. But her eyes are curious, a sudden softness to them. 

Steve clears his dry throat but finds no relief. He hasn’t fucking thought this through. He shrugs, his chin tipping toward the floor. “Just this girl I’ve been talking to. She’s…” He chances a glimpse up but steers his eyes away from Nancy’s the second they land. “It’s kinda gettin’ serious, so, you know.” 

“Really?” 

He squirms at the way she says it. He feels like he’s in trouble and about to get an earful. “Yeah,” he swallows, “Yeah. She’s great. You’ll like her.” 

“How long?” 

“Hmm?” 

“How long have you been seeing her?” 

His eyes rove across the ceiling as he pretends to count the imaginary days he’s spent with his imaginary girlfriend. “Ya know, a few months.” He frowns for show, “Give or take.” 

Nancy chuckles wryly. She very clearly doesn’t buy it. And of course, she doesn’t buy it, they were married for a third of his life, she knows Steve inside and out. Steve is officially, utterly, and irreversibly doomed. 

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” he slips in nervously. 

“Right.”

“Yeah, so…” 

“Okay, well, I look forward to meeting her.” 

“Okay. Me too. Well– to you meeting her. I’ve met her, obviously.” 

Her mouth twists in a struggle to hide her amusement. “Okay, Steve.” 

This is pathetic. Steve’s never been more embarrassed in his life. Ten-plus years he’s had to make a fool of himself in front of Nancy and nothing will ever top this. 

Tiny arms curl around his legs and he knows they’re Carolines before he’s seen them. She’s a foot taller than Andy and ten times as gentle. Her ear presses into Steve’s side, her hair newly pinned with a set of plastic butterflies. Steve’s positive she gets prettier by the day and he’s just grateful to have anyone besides Nancy to look at. 

Andy hustles down the stairs not long later, sneakers swinging from his wrist by the laces, wearing a backpack twice the size of his chest. And with both kids in sight, Steve cuts straight for the front door, encouraging a round of goodbye hugs and kisses for Mom from the safety of the porch. 

On the ride home, Caroline has a deck of questions about his trip. If Grandma and Grandpa still live in that big house on the water. If the airplane ride was bumpy or not. His favorite– if he ordered the fish tails (popcorn shrimp) from that restaurant they all went to last time. 

Eight years he’s been a dad and to this day the infinite questions never fail to fascinate him. And even more remarkable, how Caroline remembers things from years ago like they happened this morning.

He hadn’t told her why he went to Florida or the real reason she couldn’t come. Steve’s dad had a minor health scare, and if it weren’t for his mom calling in hysterics, he probably would have saved the PTO. He spent most of the trip in the hospital, listening to his dad fuss about every possible thing he could find to complain about. 

Nancy preached honesty when it came to explaining things like this to the kids. But Caroline’s a worrywart. Steve couldn’t let her spiral, certainly not over his dad of all people. 

He’s very happy to be back home. And even happier to be distracted from his poor decision-making by the bottomless pit that is his daughter's brain. But time flies when you’re having fun as Steve apparently says now. Dinner goes fast, and bedtime even faster. 

The kids are asleep and he’s left to simmer alone in his stupidity. He replays the conversation with Nancy on a loop, each turn twisting the words until he can’t tell what’s real apart from what he wishes to have said. He fucked up, that much is clear. And for what? A fleeting satisfaction if Nancy had believed him? He truly can’t think of a time in the last ten years he’s said something so dumb. 

Steve dials Robin’s number and slips the phone against his ear as he opens the fridge. He stares at his groceries, or lack thereof, and listens to the phone ring and ring and ring until he’s turned over to Robin’s answering machine. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Robin! Or, well, it's not, obviously, because you're talking to a machine. Anyway, I’m probably busy doing something incredibly important, so, leave a message, and I’ll call back– unless I forget— which, statistically speaking, is very probable. Sorry.” –Beep! 

“Hi, um, this is Steve.” He shuts the fridge door and swipes the takeout menu from the magnets on the side. “I’m having an… emergency type of situation and if you really, truly love me you’ll call me back, like, as soon as you get this. Yeah, okay, bye.” 

Robin’s at work he’s pretty sure. That or sucking face with her new girlfriend, Lin. She’s busy a lot nowadays, Steve just as much. It’s put a weight on their friendship but Steve can’t imagine his life without her. She’ll surely call him a dumbass or an idiot or the classic dingus for what he’s done. But being snarky with each other is their love language; he looks forward to it. 

Steve’s three or four Cheers’ reruns deep when the phone rings. He rocks himself out of his recliner and takes the half-empty pizza box in his lap back to the kitchen. He’ll be the first to admit, his evenings aren’t all that glamorous. But things could be worse and he’s happy with the majority of his life’s choices– minus the most recent one, obviously. 

The phone slides against the pizza grease on his fingers. He pins it between his ear and shoulder to swipe his hands down the front of his shirt as he speaks, “You know, you’re lucky this isn’t a life-or-death emergency. I’d have been dead hours ago.” 

“Uh-huh. Tragic,” Robin rasps. “I’ll write your eulogy for you. ‘Steve Harrington: untimely death by dumbassery.’” 

“That’s not a real word, genius.” 

“It is now. I’ve made it one.”

“You can’t just make it a word. That’s not how it works.” 

“No, it is. Check your dictionary.” He hears the clinking of pans, water running in a sink. “But wait, what did you do? Lock your keys in your car again?”

“Ha, no. I wish.” 

“Forget to pick up the hellspawns?” 

“No, Rob.” 

“What? It’s happened before,” she laughs in that scratchy way she does. He can picture her whole face like she’s stood there beside him. “I dunno, I’m tired. I give up. What’s the crisis?” 

“Um, so, I told Nance that I’ve been seeing someone and that it’s serious and I’m bringing her to the kid’s thing on Friday.” 

Robin’s silent long enough for Steve to pull the phone back and check if the call’s still connected. But her laughter builds slowly, rattling through the speaker in beats. “Oh no, Steven.” 

“Yeah, so…” He shears the last bite off of the pizza he was working on before and tosses the crust back into the box.  “I’m fucked.” 

“You could say that.” 

“Thanks for the encouragement.” 

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, fuck dude. Why’d you say that?”

“I don’t know, okay? It was stupid. I fucked up.”

“Big time.”

“I have to figure something out.” 

“Can’t you just say it fizzled out? You had a good run, but you weren’t right for each other, cue dramatic sigh, problem solved.”

“No! She knows, Robin. She fucking knows I was lying. She was giving me that look she gives Andy when he’s done something he’s not supposed to.”

“Heh, I know the one. God, that’s hilarious. I love her mad face. Was she doing that weird lip thing, like she’s trying to suck them back into her skull?” 

Steve cuts off his own laughter, “Probably– I don’t know! I was panicking, bad, you should’ve seen me.” 

“Oh, I would pay so much money to see a video of this. Were there cameras? Where was this at?” 

“No, no, I have to do something. I need to bring someone to the show.” 

A beat. Two. “What? You want me to revive straight Robin? I can’t walk in heels to save my life, you know that.” 

“Jesus, no. She knows you're gay, dude.” 

“Then who?”

“I dunno.” Steve throws his hand in the air. “You know people.”

“I know people?”

“Yes?”

“You’re right, hold on, let me get out my address book and just call every single woman I know. ‘Hey, how do you feel about pretending to be my friend’s boyfriend so his ex-wife doesn’t make fun of him?’ Sound good?” 

“Yes! Exactly!” 

“Maybe while we’re at it we just start calling random women in the phone book. I saw a billboard with this sexy lawyer lady today.” 

“Robin.” 

“Steve,” she chuckles. “Come on. This is crazy. You have to see that.” 

“I don’t care, Rob. You don’t get it. Nancy is dating America’s next top model and I’m,” his words feel sticky as bubblegum, “I’m watching shitty TV and eating shittier pizza by myself.”  

Robin sighs. “Don’t act like I haven’t been a good wing-woman. I’ve tried to set you up with people.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not ready to date anyone for real, I just– I just want to pretend for a night, that’s all. I don’t want Nancy to think any less of me than she already does.” 

Robin sighs again, worse. He feels bad about bugging her but she’s his best friend and she bugs him to the same extent with her own relationship problems. He listened to her cry for an hour about a fight she had with Lin last week.  

“If I help you… will you promise me that you will move on and go on a real, actual date with a woman who is not Nancy Wheeler?” 

Steve’s about to say ‘I’ll do anything’, but the sentence catches in his throat. 

Robin complains about Steve’s dating life (or lack of) about once a week, if not more. It’s been a year since the divorce, yeah, but he’s short on time with two kids and a second full-time job that affords him the first. He’s not in any rush to do awkward first dates or even worse breakups again. 

But fuck, he’d rather die than face the consequences of his own actions. “Fine, yes. I’ll do it.” 

“Hallelujah.” 

“Please, just call a couple of your friends for me. One night, that’s all I’m asking.” 

“Honestly, I definitely know a couple of people who’d do it for a hundred bucks.” 

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “If that’s what it costs to keep my dignity then so be it.” 

He hears Robin’s breathy smile. “You’re so dramatic. Shelly might do it for free. She doesn’t exactly look your type though.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“I dunno, Steve. We both know Nancy has a better gaydar than you.” 

“I hit on one lesbian at the height of my divorce-depression. I was desperate, okay?” 

“You hit on two, actually. I do count, still. And she was like the most butch woman I've ever met. You guys basically had the same outfit on.”

“It was a good outfit!” 

Her laughter is loud through the speaker. And before he realizes it, he's laughing too. In retrospect, that woman very obviously was a lesbian and not at all his type. 

“Wait,” Robin gasps, “what about Y/N!” 

“Who?” 

She repeats your name with even more emphasis. “She was at my birthday thing. You definitely met her.” 

Steve describes a vague version of the person he thinks is you. His memory is hazy. 

“Yes! Yes! You wouldn’t stop showing her fucking pictures of the kids.” 

“Excuse me, she wanted to see them.”

“No, I think you need to ask her that again, pal.” 

Steve reconsiders that moment he met you. He recalls a polite smile and how you had several nice things to say about his kids. He remembers you being pretty but it was too soon post-divorce for him to process that information then. 

“Oh my God,” Robin roars, “How did I not think of this sooner? You guys are perfect for each other, I’m telling you!” 

“Wait, wait, Robin. This is just pretend. I’m not actually dating her.” 

She scoffs. “Will you give her a chance? Please? This can count as your real date.”

“No, absolutely not. No. I can’t– I already know her. That’s weird.” 

“Oh my God. You’re making dumb fucking excuses already. You better hold up your end of the deal, Harrington.” 

“I will, I will. Just not her. We’ll figure it out after, okay?” 

The line is silent but he can almost hear the gears in Robin’s head cranking out a new negotiation.  

“I’m serious. Don’t tell her it’s a date.” 

“Ugh. Have you no faith in me anymore?” 

“Will you ask her? Seriously, Robin, please?” 

“Yes, whatever, I’ll ask her. But don’t come crying to me when this blows up in your face.” 

“Don’t tell her it’s a date, Rob. I mean it.” 

“I knowww.” 

“Thank you,” he sighs. He feels like a load of bricks just dropped from his back straight to his stomach. 

“But I really think you and Y/N should come to that romance retreat with me and Lin. She knows the owner so I’m sure she could snag us another couple of tickets.” 

“Mmm. Sorry, no. I’m actually busy that weekend, ‘member?” 

“Oh, I know you did not just lie to me right now. What is this, a compulsion?” 

“Oh my God. I was kidding,” he laughs. “But also hard no. I’m hanging up.” 

“You can’t avoid all your problems forever.” 

“Whatever. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight. Love you, dingus.” 

“Love you.” 

Steve slots the phone back in its cradle and presses his hand into the countertop. He thinks of you again, your face, your clothes, your voice– what had you said to him? He turns you in his mind like an unravelled spool but there are way too many loose ends. 

He agrees with Robin, this is a bad idea. He can’t imagine you’ll drop everything to help a guy you met one time. And if for whatever reason you do agree? You might be really awkward or rude to the kids or a kidnapper! He really, really hopes Robin doesn't befriend kidnappers. 

She assures him you are not a kidnapper when she calls him the next night. She also tells him he’s won the lottery and somehow you’ve agreed to this ridiculous plan. You’ll pretend to be his girlfriend in front of his kids and ex-wife and her boyfriend, just to save him from some embarrassment. Steve thinks you might be crazy but Robin promises you’re a match made in heaven. 

Steve jots down your phone number and thanks Robin until she hangs up on him. But he doesn’t call you yet. He chews on the plan all week and decides it still tastes bad. Very, very bad. But what choice does he have now? He’s groveled with Robin until she gave in and asked you and you’ve actually agreed. He’s in too deep now. 

It takes him three tries to dial your number all the way through. He only works himself up to the final digit with the mental image of Brad and his stupid, sparkly teeth. Steve's stomach starts cartwheeling as the line trills. 

“Hello?” 

He freezes. He doesn’t know what he expected you to sound like but your voice throws him for a loop. Every sentence from his practiced speech erases itself from his memory. 

“Helloooo?” 

Steve forces all the air from his lungs until he makes a strangled sort of noise. “Hey– sorry, um– hi, it’s Steve. Uhh, Robin’s friend.”

“Oh! She said you’d call.” 

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Here I am.” 

You chuckle back but are otherwise quiet, waiting for him.

“So like–”

“How did–”

“Sorry,” you say overtop each other. 

“You go,” he begs. 

“Well, I mean– so Robin gave me the run down already, but like, how exactly do you want this to go?” 

“So,” Steve takes a deep breath, “my kids are both in the school play over at Hawkins Elementary. It’s this Friday from six to seven-ish. All I need you to do is just show up and pretend that you’re my girlfriend.” He cringes through the last part. The more times he explains this plan, the more outrageous it sounds. This might as well be a form of torture. 

“Just show up and watch the play and agree that we’re a couple if somebody asks? That type of thing?” 

“Yes, exactly. Yes. My ex-wife and her boyfriend will be there, so probably just them and the kids.” 

“Right, Robin said. But how much should I– how do I say– should I hold your hand, I guess, kiss you, things like that?”

“No, no,” he swallows so hard you probably hear it too. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

"Would you..." you pause for a while. He fears you’re backing out. “Would you want to meet up, maybe? Like, sometime before the play?” you ask. “We could talk more about boundaries and, I dunno, how we met, our first date, all of that junk. In case it comes up.” 

Steve doesn’t think that’s really necessary. He only needs you for one hour, the majority of which you won’t be talking. You’re really just there to sit beside him and smile. But you are doing him a massive favor, if it makes you feel better, it wouldn’t hurt to discuss it in person.

He lets you pick the time and place and thanks you endlessly before he hangs up, very much ready to crawl into bed and never come back out. 

His second impression of you doesn’t stray far from the first. You’re sweet, maybe a little too sweet for someone who barely knows him. And you must be smart. You have enough wits about you to question him and this plan. Maybe, with you there, it won’t completely fall apart.

But as luck would have it, Steve is forced to cancel on you last minute– thanks to Brad, of course. Well, it’s not really his fault his sister goes into labor but Steve likes to pretend it is when Nancy asks if he can take the kids that night. He reschedules with you once, then again when you can’t make it. But shit happens and things don’t work out how he hoped. Neither of you can make it work before the play. 

So Steve pulls up to Hawkins Elementary with his heart lodged in his throat like a stone. He’s about to make the biggest fucking fool of himself if you don’t show and he’s only about forty-five percent sure that you will. As of yesterday, you were still game, sounded excited, even, to come. But maybe you forgot about the whole thing or maybe you’re chickening out because you never solidified where you had your first date. Steve wouldn’t blame you either way. 

Brad’s already seated in the front row of the auditorium, Nancy likely dropping the kids off at their classrooms. Steve slinks around the back to a denser part of the audience hoping not to be seen. But it’s Brad. He’s got twenty-twenty vision, no doubt. He flags Steve down as soon as he turns around, standing and waving emphatically, leaving Steve no other choice but to sit with them. 

Brad talks his ear off, to no one's surprise, but Steve’s mind is stuck somewhere else. His eyes skip between the lavish rose bouquets in Brad’s lap to the measly assortment of pink and blue daisies in his own. It’s silly to worry the kids would love him less over something like flowers, but he can’t help himself. 

Nancy joins with a knowing smirk and immediately asks about Steve’s plus one. He feeds her some generic, bullshit line about you and how you’re trying so very hard to make it, and he decides Nancy must fucking hate him. She knows it was a lie. She just wants to watch him burst into flames and char into a corpse of embarrassment and regret. 

There are less than two minutes to showtime. The audience is buzzing, the auditorium doors are closing, and the bench space beside Steve remains unoccupied. He turns around for one last pathetic look behind him before his dignity is tarnished forever. 

But there you are! Stood up against the back wall, searching and searching until your eyes lock onto Steve’s and your whole face brightens like a sunrise. 

Steve waves, a little shy suddenly, but largely overwhelmed by the complete one-eighty his heart’s just spun. And it only worsens as you make your way up to the row. 

You look fucking unreal Steve realizes. You pat a pretty dress down your thighs, two big bouquets wedged in the crook of your arm, and shimmy past the family seated beside him with a dashing smile.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say to him, so genuinely apologetic Steve can’t remember the reason you’re there in the first place. You bend to wrap your arms around him, his nose tapping the sugared sweetness of your perfume. 

His brain reboots itself, a blank slate. He’s completely forgotten about Nancy and Brad until you lean across his lap to address them. 

“Nancy,” Steve coughs, “um, this is Y/N. My girlfriend.” The words trip off his tongue slow and he thinks it can’t be more obvious that he doesn’t mean them. 

But while his head is busy imploding on itself, you’re acing introductions. You’re smiling and waving, your voice stays so calm— exactly the reassurance Steve needed. He peels his eyes off your face for a glimpse at Nancy’s and nearly laughs. 

Her brows are up, obscured by her bangs, and she blinks like she’s got something caught in her mascara. Priceless. 

“Y/N, this is Nancy and her boyfriend, Brad,” Steve finishes. 

“Nice to meet you,” Brad smiles, squeezing Nancy’s knee until she does the same. 

The pretending is clumsy at first. Steve’s arm hesitates on its course behind your shoulders. And you go stiff as a board the first time his fingertips brush your bare arm. You overcompensate, laughing at something that’s not all that funny while Steve rambles on about how you met when no one even asked. But eventually, you find a balance somewhere between too much and too little.

And Steve can’t stop fucking smiling. You’re polite, funny, really pretty, you’re perfect. You’re more than what he hoped to have tonight. 

The lights dim and the curtains part, Steve’s excitement shifts toward the stage. His hand remains on your shoulder but his attention is reserved solely for his kids. You cheer for them just as loud as he does, for two children you’ve never met in your life. You remember their names and are eager for Steve to point them out when they appear. You’re a convincing girlfriend. You actually seem to care a whole lot. 

Caroline is a fabulous mermaid. She has a tail made of sequins and glitter gel down her arms. All those hours of practice were worth it, Steve nearly cries watching his little girl recite her two lines to a T. 

And Andrew plays a scruffy dog called Nana. He has no lines but he makes several appearances throughout the show, barking with flawless comedic timing for a kindergartener. Steve’s biased when he thinks his kids are the best actors here, of course, but he couldn’t be more proud. 

Touching you doesn’t become any less strange as the evening rolls on. Your thigh is smushed to his. Your back warms the inside of his elbow. He hasn’t touched anyone like this since Nancy, maybe besides Robin who doesn’t really count. And perhaps that’s pitiful, he’s not touching you all that much. But he likes it, which, is probably even more pitiful, you being his pretend girlfriend and all. 

The main cast of fifth graders bow, the crowd erupts with applause, and the lights flicker back on as the big curtains close. 

Nancy is staring at you when Steve checks her way. It’s not the first time he’s caught her tonight but he still isn’t certain that she fully believes this whole thing. At least you’re here and you seem normal and you’re a much better actor than Robin gave you credit for. That’s a mission fucking accomplished in Steve’s book. 

“They did really good, Steve,” you say in his ear. “They’re both adorable.” 

His smile is immediate. He won’t miss an opportunity to rave about his kids, not even to a stranger. “Did you see Andy’s run? He does this little skippy-thing, I dunno where he learned it.” 

“Mhmm! And Caroline, she’s only eight? She seems so much older the way she talked.”

“I know! She was so worried before, I can’t believe how good she did.” 

Nancy is one of the first parents to her feet. Brad collects her purse and the flowers as she scans each exit for the quickest route. Her face is rigid as she explains, “I’m going to get Caroline if you’ll…”

“Yeah,” Steve nods when she looks. 

Nancy’s eyes veer from his to yours for the briefest second before she turns around. Her chin juts up to Brad. “Ready?” 

He works a hand across the cardigan on her back and starts for the end of the row where parents squeeze and squish by each other toward the hall doors. 

Steve waits until their bodies bleed into the rest of the crowd before he faces you again. His lips tilt into a funny line, his eyes alive under the auditorium lights. “I kinda think that worked?” 

“Are you kidding?” you laugh and knock your shoulder into his. “She kept staring at me! She totally bought it.” 

Steve’s smile pinches up into his cheeks. He thinks you're really quite beautiful. It’s not new information to him, he noticed the first time he met you, bumbling up behind Robin in her kitchen. And he remembered just last week when she brought you up out of the blue. 

But today that knowledge feels different. Today you’re all smiles and sweet touches and sneaky glances. It’s doing something scary to his heart. 

Steve stands quickly. He’s hot all over, uncomfortably aware of the sweat accumulating under his clothes. Being sardined against every other parent in the school will do that. Plus, there’s you and your nice face. Still, somehow, he misses the heat of your thigh pressed to his. 

“She’s smart, Nancy, I mean… I dunno,” he worries. 

You stand too and your hand finds a home on the back of his arm. “No, no. It worked. Trust me.” 

“Trust you?” He can’t help but grin at your nonchalance. He wishes he could be like that, but having kids makes you worry more. 

You grin back and shrug. “Yeah, trust me.” 

Well, he can’t not trust you. Not when you’re looking at him with all the confidence in the world and squeezing his arm in gentle reassurance. 

His cheeks ache from smiling by the time you make it to the hall. He gestures one way and you follow him past doors and bulletin boards and as many children as there are adults. And finally, he turns through an open classroom door and it’s just absolute chaos. 

A ball pops against a ceiling tile, Steve’s heel slides under a stack of notebook paper, and a string of kids fly between his hip and yours, all in one blink. 

You recognize Andrew faster than Steve expects, pointing him out where he’s barking at a child sprawled on the rug. The other boy stops giggling as you approach, prompting Andrew to spin around with the crazed expression of a real puppy looking for trouble. 

His costume is even cuter up close, a painted snout and a fur-onesie with a floppy-eared hood to match. Andrew barks at Steve, crawling across the carpet on all fours until he’s panting at his father’s jeans. 

Steve squats down to his level, a gentle hand on either side of the boy's neck. “Oh, nooo. They didn’t turn you into a real dog, did they? Are we going to have to feed you from Daisy’s bowl now?” 

Andy slurps a rope of spit back in his mouth and rolls his eyes. “I’m just pretending, Dad.”

“Ohh,” Steve laughs, pressing him impossibly closer. “You did so good, bud. Proud of you.” 

“Did you see me? When I barked at the pirates?” 

“I did! I actually thought it was a real dog.” 

Andrew cackles once, throwing his head down on Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve pats his fuzzy back. “Tired?” 

He blinks up at you curiously and shakes his head. 

“Andy,” Steve cranes toward you, “this is my friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?”

He lifts his head and barks, high-pitched and snappy as a chihuahua. 

Steve tilts his ear away and pinches Andy’s side until the barking turns to giggles. “In English, please.” 

“Hi, Y/N,” Andy squeals out between the remainder of his laughter. 

“Hi, buddy.” You kneel beside Steve and fawn, “You did such a good job!”

Andy pokes his tongue through the gap in his smile. He looks you over entirely and bats his long lashes like a paper fan. 

“I got these for you,” you say, tipping the colorful blooms toward his face. “This one’s for your sister. Here.” 

He chokes the plastic-wrapped stems in his tiny fist, half his face hidden behind a rainbow of petals. 

“Here, bud,” Steve takes one of his bouquets from the floor and tucks it in with yours, “this one’s from me.” 

Andy can’t see much of anything with his nose pressed to a daffodil but he loves them all the same. You pick yourself off the floor, your laughter spilling like the sun. 

“Let’s go find your sister,” Steve says, a hand braced on Andy’s shoulder as he stands too. 

Andy looks between you and Steve in amazement. “She was a mermaid. Did you see?” 

“We did,” Steve answers. “She was a great mermaid, don’t you think?” 

“Yes. She was all sparkly.” Andy slips his small hand into Steve’s, then automatically offers you his other.

You find Nancy, Brad, and Caroline outside the school near the parent pickup circle. Brad’s got Caroline’s hand in his, her feet tracing the edge of the sidewalk like a balance beam. 

She jumps off the curb when she spots Steve, tripping over her toes before breaking into a sprint for his arms. 

Steve kneels right there on the asphalt. “Hi, baby,” he laughs. She sets her elbows on his shoulders as he kisses her on each cheek. “Did such a good job up there!” 

“Did you see me!” she yells. “I wasn’t even scared! I didn’t forget my words like I thought I would.” 

Steve thumbs the corner of her crinkled eye where eyeshadow glares silver under the moon. “I know! My big girl. I’m so proud. Know that?” 

She giggles, her fingers scrunching around the cellophane wrapping in his hand. “Are these for me?” 

“They are. For my best little lady.” 

She sticks her smile in the bouquet and sniffs. 

Steve is oblivious to the heart-warmed grin on your face. But you watch the scene unfold, feeling an unexpected fondness for a family that isn’t yours. You’re only a guest in their little world, an outsider looking in— but even from here, it’s undeniable. He’s a great dad.

“Hey, I have someone I want you to meet,” Steve says. 

You’re so enraptured by the moment, you completely forget that’s your cue. Steve beckons you over with features that echo Carolines, not just in emotion but in shape too. They’re cheek-to-cheek looking at you like a pair of very happy identical twins. 

“Hi, Caroline,” you wave and offer the same hand to shake.

She smiles big and wraps her smaller fingers around yours. “You came to see our show?”

“I did! You were a really amazing mermaid, you know? I especially liked the dance with the sea stars.” 

She shrinks away, suddenly sheepish as she thanks you. 

“Oh, here,” you shift the bouquet in your arms toward her, “before I forget, these are for you.”

“Another! Oh my gosh!” Her beaded hair-tie clinks as she pivots. “Mom! Look! I have three flowers now!” She takes the bouquet at the base and books it toward Nancy who’s engrossed in a conversation with Brad. “Can I keep them in my room, please? And can we get some more vases tonight? I’ll water them, I promise, Mommy.”

You have a fondness for his kids Steve doesn’t often see in the eyes of strangers. They're quite rambunctious a lot of the time and while the elderly compliment him and his genes occasionally, this is different. Affection softens every line of your expression and there’s joy stitched in each sweep of your lashes. It’s endearing as it is strange because ultimately you are still very much a stranger. 

Steve trusts Robin’s judgment more than his own sometimes. If love for his kids were a race, she’d take a very close second against him. She takes her duties as an aunt very seriously and so he’s confident you’re as great as she says. But still, he doesn’t know you personally. He can’t know your intentions for certain. And he might feel guiltier about that in the context of introducing you to his kids— if you weren’t so undeniably wonderful.

You idle beside Steve, a short distance from the rest of the crew. He places his hand on the small of your back and you exchange quiet smiles. 

It’s mostly for show. He feels the weight of Nancy’s gaze in his peripherals. But an ounce or two of Steve is motivated purely by his own self-interest.

He misses these simple acts of affection. Tracing the veins in someone else’s palm, kissing their eyelids, counting their lashes. It’s human nature, a need, he supposes. A need he’s been trying to convince himself is much more of a want. 

And you’re so very gentle with him. It’s really driving him mad. 

Nancy must tell the kids it’s time to go because they’re scrambling over in a cacophony of goodbyes. Steve gives them each a big squeeze and a little shake for the road. Caroline hugs you like you’re no different than the rest of them, while Andy, ever the little charmer, asks your name for the third time. They disappear behind the first row of cars, their voices carry far but fade into all the rest. 

When Steve turns, he finds you already looking at him. 

“They’re really great,” your smile worsens and Steve’s stomach capsizes, “your kids. You should be proud.”

The joy is contagious, infecting Steve with the same toothy smile, spreading through every cell in his body straight down to his jumping heart. “I am,” he manages. 

“God,” you shake your head at the stars, “I can’t believe that actually worked.” 

Steve closes his eyes and exhales a rough laugh. “You’re telling me.” 

“Did I make you uncomfortable at all? I didn’t want to do too much.” 

“No,” Steve promises. “No, no, it was perfect. You did great. Thank you.”

You throw your hand up in dismissal. “Don’t. That was… weirdly fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, “is that fucked up?” 

“Not any more than me asking you to do this,” he snorts. 

“How long exactly do you plan to do this for? I could probably do most evenings but mornings are trickier with work.” 

Steve blinks unceremoniously. “Oh, I– well, I was just gonna tell her it didn’t work out, actually.”

“Really?” 

He struggles to understand your squinting. He didn’t expect you to question this part. “Yeah?”

“You want it to be believable, don’t you?” 

“Well, yeah–”

“Then you have to sell it, Steve. Give it a little buildup, some emotion. It would be so obvious if you ended it now.” 

He searches your face, not sure what he’s hoping to find. But there’s at least some level of authenticity there. “You’d want to? To keep going?”

“Like I said,” you frown, “weirdly fun.” 

He hums. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Okay.”

“I say we make a few more appearances, you know, as a happy couple. Then, we stage the breakup.” 

“What, in front of her?”

“No, not necessarily. But we plant the seeds. We aren’t as affectionate, we get a little worked up over something stupid. I don’t know. Just enough to make her catch on that things aren’t all that good. That’s believable.”

Steve stares at you for a long minute before his smile turns a sinister shade. “You’re crazy, aren’t you?” 

You huff but there’s no heat behind it. You’re grinning too. “I thought you had more manners than that, Steve.” 

“Yeah, well, if it's any consolation, I also think you’re a fuckin’ genius.”

“You’ve been a nice boyfriend, so, I’ll let it slide.”  

He rolls his eyes like a kid. He likes talking to you but he isn’t sure what else to say. 

“So, see you next time then?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “yeah, I’ll call you. Thank you.” 

“‘Kay. See ya.” 

There’s a beat before you go, a split-second where Steve could hug you, kiss your cheek, touch your arm. He’s not exactly sure what the protocol is for this type of situation, though. He makes the executive decision not to subject you to any more PDA lest you get the wrong idea about him. But the way you’ve got this all planned out, he’s not so worried anymore. 

“Bye,” he waves. 

You walk the same path Nancy and his kids had, the back of your head slipping behind the bed of a truck. There’s something about you. Something fun, something that makes him feel alive again. And a fake relationship isn’t really harming anyone if you’re both enjoying yourselves. So why the hell not? 

[astrologydray]

how each Moon sign really acts when they catch feelings

🔥 Fire Moons (Aries, Leo, Sagittarius) – “Too Hot to Handle”

🔥 Aries Moon – Catches feelings like they’re catching a flight—immediate and full speed ahead. Will text first, show off, and initiate plans within five minutes of realizing they like you. If you play hard to get, they’ll get frustrated but secretly love the chase. Might accidentally scare you off by saying “I like you” too soon, then ghosting to regain their power.

🔥 Leo Moon – Starts acting like the main character whenever their crush is around. Will lowkey flex their achievements, dress their best, and drop hints about how many people want them (but they only have eyes for you). If you don’t gas them up, they’ll act so unbothered but will die inside waiting for your attention.

🔥 Sagittarius Moon – Pretends they don’t care, but you’ll catch them talking about you nonstop. Will flirt shamelessly, send unhinged memes, and suggest spontaneous trips or adventures (”We should totally get lost in another city together”). If they start overthinking or acting nervous, just know they’re down bad.

🌍 Earth Moons (Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn) – “Slow Burn or Nothing”

🌍 Taurus Moon – Acts normal on the outside but is already imagining cuddling with you in a cabin with scented candles and matching pajamas. Will observe you for weeks before making a move. Once they start cooking for you or sending “Did you eat?” texts, it’s over—you’re theirs.

🌍 Virgo Moon – Analyzes the hell out of their feelings and yours. Reads into every text like it’s a conspiracy theory. Will start fixing your life as an excuse to be around—helping you organize, sending you self-improvement tips, or reminding you to stay hydrated. If they start playfully judging your bad habits, just know they’re in love.

🌍 Capricorn Moon – Keeps their feelings under lock and key but will start showing up for you in practical ways. Will make sure you’re safe, send you career advice, and randomly buy you things you mentioned once (“I noticed you like this brand, so I got it for you”). If they let their guard down emotionally, you’ve unlocked a rare achievement.

💨 Air Moons (Gemini, Libra, Aquarius) – “Flirting or Just Existing?”

💨 Gemini Moon – Spams your notifications with memes, random facts, and ”haha this reminded me of you” texts. Will find excuses to talk to you ALL DAY. If they suddenly go silent or act distant, they either like you a little too much and are freaking out or got distracted by another crush for five seconds.

💨 Libra Moon – Starts romanticizing your whole existence and lowkey stalking your socials to figure out your aesthetic. Will flirt with you subtly and test your interest before making a move. If you’re too slow, they’ll start acting uninterested just to regain the upper hand—but if you flirt back, they’ll MELT.

💨 Aquarius Moon – Gets weirder around you. If they start sending you deep philosophical thoughts at 2 AM or randomly trauma-dumping in a way that makes no sense—congrats, they like you. Will act detached, but inside they’re spiraling, wondering if you’re “The One.” If they start saying “You’re not like other people”, RUN—they’re already planning your future together.

🌊 Water Moons (Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces) – “Emotionally Unstable (In a Cute Way)”

🌊 Cancer Moon – Catches feelings like a 2000s rom-com protagonist—deeply, dramatically, and with a hint of delusion. Will make playlists about you, stare at your texts like they hold the secrets of the universe, and secretly get upset if you take too long to reply. If they start randomly bringing up childhood stories, they’re trying to bond with you for life.

🌊 Scorpio Moon – Acts completely normal on the surface but is secretly OBSESSED. Will watch you like a detective gathering evidence. Will test you by pulling back to see if you chase them (if you do, they’ll fall even harder). Once they’re in, they’re ALL in—ride or die, no in-between.

🌊 Pisces Moon – Catches feelings before anything even happens. Already daydreaming about holding hands in the rain before you’ve even had a real conversation. Will drop hints through music, poetry, or vague Instagram stories and hope you just know. If they start being extra shy or spacing out around you, they’re picturing your wedding.

[arylleth]

“Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.” Jonathan Safran Foer’s words echo in my chest like a drumbeat, reverberating in the hollows of my soul. Can you feel it, too? The weight of a thousand unrealized possibilities, pressing upon us from all sides, from every direction, until the very marrow in our bones seems to protest under their relentless force?

We live with the ghosts of our own potential. The version of ourselves we might have become, had we taken the other road, made the other choice. This is the quiet agony of the mind — like an old house, filled with doors that were never opened, rooms that were never entered. What might I have been if I had only dared? What might I have achieved if I had chosen differently?

But it’s not only the untraveled paths that torment us. It’s the lives we didn’t become. “How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become?” How do we make peace with the parts of ourselves we abandoned, the talents we never pursued, the dreams we let slip quietly away into the night? We are haunted by what we failed to manifest, by what we denied ourselves in fear, in doubt, or simply because we were too busy chasing something else.

Perhaps this is the true burden of being human: the inability to live every possibility, to embody every version of ourselves. Dostoevsky spoke of it when he said, “The mystery of human existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.” And how do we find something to live for when the weight of everything we are not has us bent low to the ground?

We go through life, carrying the absence of all the people we might have been. In the spaces between our breaths, in the silent hours when the world is still, we hear the faint whispers of those other lives — the artist, the lover, the adventurer, the one who stayed home. We know them by their absence, by the unfinished symphonies of our souls.

Yet, still, there is beauty in this tragic dance. “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars,” Oscar Wilde once said. Perhaps it is the very unattainability of all those lives — all those possibilities — that gives us room for longing. The ache is not only pain; it is the evidence of our yearning, of our ability to imagine something greater than what we’ve lived.

But forgiveness — yes, forgiveness. We must forgive ourselves for not being everything. “To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you,” said Lewis B. Smedes. What if, in forgiving ourselves for the lives we did not live, we find the freedom to finally live the one we have?

After all, we cannot undo what has already passed, nor can we stretch the limits of time to explore every path. But we can choose — today, now — to embrace the life we have, to cherish the person we have become, and to honor those fleeting, unlived versions of ourselves by carrying them with grace. They are the shadowed figures who made us who we are.

And so, perhaps it is not a question of regret, but of reconciliation — a surrender to the complexity of being, of embracing the full measure of who we are, and who we could have been. The weight of unlived lives can either break us, or it can teach us the art of acceptance. It can become the very texture of our compassion, of our humanity, and in this, there lies a kind of fragile beauty.

When Jonathan Safran said “Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I’m not living.” and when Doc Luben said “How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?"

[hotchnerwrites]

hello this is my first time requesting so sorry if it’s bad😭😭😭. but i was thinking about maybe the reader having a hard day at work (she worked at the bau) and was kinda stress out so hotch sits her in between his legs and fingers her while whispering sweet nothings in her ear ???? i just need him to take care of me😩😩😩😩😩

Reckless

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: NSFW (18+), fingering, mirror sex, kind of established but hidden relationship, no use of (y/n), afab reader

A/N: Hi, hun, thank you so much for taking the chance on me and requesting, especially since this is your first time <3 It was a great request, and I love the idea! I'm kinda new to writing smut. It's definitely a learning curve for me, but I tried my best. I really hope you like this, and it's what you wanted!!! mwah mwah mwah, enjoy. And man, I want Aaron to talk me through it so bad 😩

My requests are open. Send me stuff! :)

You hate Denver.

It’s ridiculously hot. Not even the AC was helping. And to add fuel to the fire, the local sheriff was utterly incompetent. Not only had he lost half the physical evidence, but he was also getting in the way of the team’s job.

And just your luck— you’d been tasked with retrieving the evidence. In a desperate effort to escape from reality, you’d locked yourself in the evidence cabinet, hands still shaking from too much caffeine. You knew it couldn’t last forever, but even ten minutes away from the local police was solace. 

For a while, the only noise in the room was the ruffle of papers as you dug through cardboard boxes desperately, wishing the documents would magically reappear. Mindless work, but it was grinding your gears, and you could feel yourself becoming more stressed by the minute. But you keep at it, hoping against hope. 

Just as you begin to settle into your task, you hear the door creak open. Damn it.

You tense, hoping it’s not that damn sheriff again. You didn’t want to have to punch him in the face. But a familiar cologne of warm spice and amber crowds your space and the tension eases— Hotch. 

Though you were grateful for his presence, the case, the pressure, the exhaustion— it had all built up to a breaking point. The last thing you wanted was to talk, but you couldn’t shake the knot in your chest. Hotch, always attuned to your mood, noticed how you seemed to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders right now. That’s why he’d followed you into the filing cabinet. 

Wordlessly, he slides you a small piece of paper. Before you could open it, he places a soft kiss on your temple and leaves the way he came.

10 pm Knock thrice if you’re feeling reckless. Twice if you want me to behave. Either way, my door is always open. - A

You smile.

———

You lay spread-eagle on your bed, listening for the sound of doors closing. You wanted the team in bed before you went to Aaron. All but one door… and there it was. The last click. The coast was clear. You swing your legs off the bed. Exhaustion racks your frame, but your excitement masks the strain.

You slip out of your hotel room, gently drawing your door close. Aaron’s room is opposite yours— convenient. As you’re about to knock on his door, you hesitate for a second. Twice or thrice? But as the week you’ve had flashes in front of your eyes, your resolve hardens. 

Tap-tap-tap.

The door swings open almost immediately. Chocolate brown eyes meet yours, and the day’s irritation melts away. Aaron takes you by the wrist, guiding you into the room gently. The warmth of his palm was comforting, a reassurance that you were safe, even when your mind was racing.

As you follow him, you take in the state of the room. Files are scattered across the desk. A few are marked with sticky notes, others open to pages filled with dense reports and scribbled annotations. A half-finished glass of bourbon is balanced precariously nearby, and his blazer is draped over the back of the chair. Aaron’s tie is missing, tossed in some dark corner.

A dry chuckle escapes you, “Good to see I’m not the only one going nuts from stress.”

He doesn’t respond, but the small quirk of his lips tells you he heard.

“Sit,” he instructed softly, pointing towards the edge of the bed. With a quiet exhale, you obey, letting yourself be steered. You didn’t want to think anymore. Your knees fall open as you settle in, tension roving through your muscles.

Hotch steps between your legs, presence steady and grounding. Without a word, he places his hands on your shoulders, expert thumbs kneading the knots there. 

Slow. Deliberate.

You can’t help the groan that falls from your lips. It felt heavenly. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and soothing. “Take a deep breath for me.”

The rigidity in your neck eases slowly, and your breathing evens out. For the first time since landing in Denver, you let go.

But just as you begin to get comfortable under Aaron’s ministrations, he moves.

Not far, just enough to sink down on the mattress beside you. Before you could process his decision, his large paws envelop your waist. And he pulls— guiding you effortlessly into his lap.

A quiet gasp escaped you as you let yourself be gathered into his hold, your back pressing flush against his chest, his arms winding around your middle.

“Better?” he murmured against your hair, his lips barely brushing your temple.

You exhaled, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Better.”

“Let me take care of you tonight, honey,” he whispered, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt.

He wasn’t kidding about being reckless. You had never done this before on a case. Despite that, you nod eagerly. You needed this. And something told you that Aaron did, too.

He doesn’t waste any time. Pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hands trail up your ribs, going all the way up under your shirt. The feeling of his fingers on your skin set your senses on fire. Heat blooms across your face and your head lolls back against his shoulders as he cups your tits, the rough pad of his thumbs flicking against your nipples. A low grunt from Aaron conveys that he’s grateful for your decision to forego a bra tonight. 

Without warning, he pinches your right nipple. The sudden sensation catches you off guard, and you gasp, arching into his touch. He’s barely even started touching you, and you’re already losing it.

“The mirror,” he says suddenly.

The words cut through the haze of arousal settling on your brain. “What?”

“The mirror. Look at it.” You feel him indicate with a nod, and you blink, gaze shifting forward to land on the large mirror across from the bed—one of those standard hotel-room fixtures positioned perfectly to reflect the two of you. 

What you see makes heat spread across your face. You, seated in Aaron’s lap, with his arms wrapped securely around your waist. Your face is flushed, and your nipples are pointed through the material of your shirt. Your jaw hangs slightly open, and you’re breathing audibly. You look utterly wanton and at Aaron’s mercy. With a start, you realise his shirt is rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearms.

Just the way you like it.

And the way they strained as they caged you against him? Words couldn’t describe how badly you needed him right now. Sensing your desire, Aaron moves faster. In the blink of an eye, he pulls your thin shirt over your head and discards it, exposing your breasts. Large, calloused hands sweep across your body and whispered sighs fall from your mouth. 

“Touch me, please,” you beg, desperate for his hands to graze you where you need him the most.

Through the mirror, you watch Aaron as he slowly mouths up your neck, settling on that soft spot behind your ears. Impatience takes over, and you grind into his lap, rubbing your pussy into his hardening crotch. You needed him inside you now, and you didn’t care whether it was his fingers or his cock.

“Patience,” he rasps into your ear, “Or I’m gonna go even slower.”

Your retort burns on your tongue, but before you can do anything about it, Aaron slides his hands under the waistband of your pants. He brushes his fingers gently over your abdomen, taking his sweet time.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good tonight, sweetheart,” he continues. His voice is unfairly composed. You have no idea how his brain is still functioning because yours certainly isn’t. All you can think about is the feeling of his thick fingers, preferably buried inside your cunt.

A prolonged moan slips out of you. You couldn’t give less of a damn about who heard right now. 

“Aaron,” you plead, making eye contact through the mirror. He looks so pleased— like a cat that got the cream. And then, slowly— oh, so slowly—his fingers flit over where you needed him the mouth.

“I want you to keep your eyes on yourself, sweetheart,” Aaron commanded, his Unit Chief voice seeping out. “If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

Your breath hitches. You nod. Anything. Whatever he wanted, you’d give it to him. You just wanted him inside of you. 

Aaron rolls your pants down in a deft movement, letting his palms rove over your stomach. Thankfully, he decides to put you out of your misery, and slides his fingers into your panties, groaning in your ear as it slips in oh so easily, creating a wet sound. The friction sends you to heaven, and you stretch your legs further apart, too far gone to be embarrassed by how you look in the mirror right now. 

“My pretty girl,” he rasps, “You’ve been so good today.”

The praise has you whimpering and you grind down on his palm.

“Didn’t even complain,” Aaron grunts, hooking his fingers inside your gummy walls, “Such a good girl.” You whimper at his words and the feeling of his warm breath on your neck. The way he’s scissoring his fingers in your cunt… 

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re so wet for me right now.”

Aaron continues to slide his fingers in and out of you, ever so slowly but oh so perfectly. You bite your lips to contain the noises threatening to escape you, but when he grabs your tit, rolling a nipple between his fingers, your eyes slide shut, letting the sensations take over.

“I said,” he growls, punctuating his words with thrusts of his fingers, “Look. At. The Mirror.” 

Your eyes fly open, and your hips jerk involuntarily, overwhelmed by the feel of his touch. Your body burns in pleasure, and his name falls from your lips, tangled with a soft moan. 

“God, you feel so fucking good, honey,” Aaron groans, “I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re so wet. You’re doing so well, baby”

“Please, yes…” you whine back, body arching to beg for more. His fingers are dripping wet with your arousal and you watch them disappear repeatedly into your cunt, making damp sounds. You bite your lower lip to keep your impending orgasm at bay, but just then, Aaron circles your clit with the pad of his thumb.

The cry that leaves you only seems to incense Aaron. He’s fully hard by now, and you can feel his cock straining painfully against your ass. Pleasure clouds your brain, and you can’t do anything but take what he gives you and grind helplessly on his lap. Despite that, you don’t look away from the mirror, watching indulgently as you bounce on Aaron’s hand and he sucks light bruises into your neck.

Aaron keeps circling your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. The coil in your belly is tightening and you can barely even concentrate on the honeyed words he’s spilling in your ears. He continues to work you, pumping his fingers steadily into your pussy.

“Aaron, I wanna cum so bad,” you sob, hovering over the edge. The pleasure is spreading from your clit to the rest of your body, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold on.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers, “Let go.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. 

Your orgasm crashes into you like a massive wave, walls squeezing his fingers tightly. Aaron groans deeply in your ear as you ride out your pleasure, watching you through the mirror. He continues thrusting his fingers inside you, his other hand holding your waist tightly.

Tears prick your eyes, and your body shakes. You take time to come down from your high, but when you do, you can’t even remember why you’d been in such a shit mood today to start with.

Aaron gently brushes strands of hair away from your face, still whispering sweet nothings. His eyes were still dark with lust, but he was looking at you like you’d hung the moon. You lift a trembling hand and wrap your palm around his wrist. Not pushing or pulling, just holding on.

“There’s my girl,” Aaron smiles, holding you close. “Feel any better?”

“Much,” you admit. 

“You did so good for me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as he peppers your neck and shoulders with kisses.

“Hey, Aaron,” you start suddenly, “I think I know where the sheriff put the evidence.”

“What?” Aaron blinks at you, processing your words. Then, with an exasperated smirk, “You really know how to kill a mood, sweetheart.”

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[crowsofdarkness]

Todays Lesson with Bucky: Fingering.

part two to this blurb. I might make this into a little miniseries.

18 + CW's below the cut(fingering, Bucky licking your arousal off of his vibranium fingers, Bucky being a yapper.

“About time!” Steve called once he caught sight of me underneath the hood of my sweater. “Where the hell did you run off to?” 

I’d been gone all day with errands and finally got back to the Avengers Compound a few minutes ago. Truth be told, I’d been trying to avoid Y/N since last night where she palmed my dick on the couch. I wanted nothing more than to bend her over the couch and fuck her but needed to reel it back. If my plan was to work, I needed to take it slow. 

Grumbling at him while flipping the bird, my gaze immediately locked on Y/N who sat at the table in the kitchen. She was watching Sam and Steve act like idiots with a tiny smile. I fell into the seat next to her, those doe eyes looking up at me. 

“Hi,” I smiled at her. 

My heart lurched in my throat when she returned the smile, slowly licking her lips. “Hi yourself. I missed you today.”

“Oh, really? Did you?” I reached a hand underneath the table towards her knee, giving it a squeeze. 

Oh so quietly, I heard her take a deep intake of breath when my fingers grazed over the inside of her thigh. 

“Bucky,” she rushed out. 

Fuck, the way she said my name made my cock swell in my sweats. 

“What is it?” I asked, feigning ignorance. 

I dragged my vibranium hand up farther towards the hem of her dress where I knew her soaked panties awaited me. Her gaze lifted from the table that hid my actions over to the group of guys that suddenly dissipated. They all wandered back to their designated areas of the compound, leaving her and I alone. 

Again. 

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked when she remained silent, stopping my fingers right at the indeed of her thigh, near her pussy. 

I could see her weigh the battle in her mind yet again. Wondering if she should do this. It was evident yesterday that she was innocent in a lot of aspects of her life, especially sexually. It might have been selfish of me, but I wanted to be the only one who gave her these experiences. 

With my free hand, I cupped her chin so I could force her to look me in the eyes. As sick as I was in the head for getting a thrill from the prospect of corrupting her, I wanted to make sure she was completely okay with all of this. I didn’t want to push her into doing something she didn’t want. 

Instead of answering, she spread her legs wider when I squeezed her thigh and I chuckled while breathing in her scent. 

Tangerines. 

“Your body knows what you want, Doll,” I brushed a finger over the center of her pussy, still clothed by those wet panties. 

God, she was soaked. 

“But I need to hear you say it.” 

She bit her bottom lip. “Will it hurt?” 

“No,” I shook her head. “I’ll go slow at first. I don’t want to push you too far.” 

Not yet. 

Still in my grasp around her face, she finally nodded with a quiet please falling from her lips. My cock swelled again in my sweats as my heart lurched in my throat knowing that she was closer to accepting my request without even realizing it. 

“Spread your legs wider for me. Atta girl, just like that,” I praised when she did what she was told. 

Forcing her panties to the side, I gathered all of her wetness and brought it to her clit to draw circles. Her moan was loud so I forced a knuckle between her lips to keep her quiet. 

“Gotta be quiet. I can’t have anyone hear how pretty you sound,” my voice rumbled in my chest as I slipped my finger down her folds again and pressed a finger inside of her. 

I stifled a groan when her walls tighten around my finger almost immediately. 

“So fucking tight.” 

I slowly fucked her with my finger, dragging it in and out, until her teeth dug deep into my knuckle. 

“Do you like that, baby?” I questioned while leaning my forehead against hers. 

All she did was nod, too far gone in her growing orgasm that I could feel because of the way she clenched around my finger. I fought the urge to add another but knew that would be too much for her so I kept telling myself all in due time. 

“Your body comes alive with my touch. Why don’t you let me show you it all?” 

She nodded again and I gripped her chin. 

“You want that?” I couldn’t help the way I felt alive while teasing her. 

She arched her back off the bench seat when my finger curled up inside of her to press against that spot. Internally I smirked to myself because I knew her body more than she did. 

“Please,” she begged. 

I exposed more of her neck to me so I could brush my lips against her pulse point while my finger picked up pace. 

“Will you let me teach you these things?” I spoke my idea into her skin, reveling in the way her skin tasted. 

“Yes,” she yelled out as her orgasm tore through her. 

Her entire body convulsed on the chair next to me and the urge to drag her into my room to fuck her with my cock was strong. Instead I pulled my finger from her cunt to hold them up to the light over head, her arousal glistening. 

Her eyes widened as she came down from her high when she noticed how slick my finger was. I brought it to my lips, lapping up the taste of her like a man starved. 

One hit of her and I was hooked. 

“Bucky, that was-,” she took a deep breath. “Thank you.” 

Brushing my lips over her forehead, I heard her let out a content sigh before I pulled away. 

“Tomorrow night. My room. That’s when our next lesson will be,” I said before rising from the chair to leave the room. 

I made it all of three steps before her voice called after me. “What’s the lesson going to be?” 

Throwing a smirk over my shoulder, I winked. “Hand jobs.”

[starsinthesky5]

I was wondering if yail reader and Joe ever fought. Like do the long distance ever get to them? or maybe a photo from the wrong angle sparks some concerns for either of them? Maybe the media stirring things up making them question something (not questioning each other loyalty but u k sometimes things might get in their head and they need reassurance)😩

PSA: you are in love V (coming soon) takes place in May so these blurbs are following that timeline! also i got so carried away this is way longer than needed

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they don't necessarily fight, but they do have disagreements here and there just like any ordinary couple :)

usually over mundane things like...

who left the cap off the toothpaste (it was definitely joe)

whether or not he should be allowed to get the same meal three times in a row (we get it. you're a buff football player but chill on the chicken and rice)

him insisting he doesn’t need sunscreen because he "doesn’t burn" (he does, every time)

her spending hours in the studio when she promised she’d be home by a certain time (she makes up for it by cuddling him to death and clearing out her entire day tomorrow to be with him)

him trying to get her to watch interstellar for the hundredth time when she just wants to watch reality TV

his tendency to throw everything in one bag when they pack for trips

her getting distracted mid-story and never finishing it (drives him crazy. but she get's lost in his starry eyes way too often to count)

him getting way too competitive over Mario Kart and refusing to let her win

him taking her skincare products even though he has his own

who takes up more of the bed (it’s joe. he denies it. she has photo evidence.)

the reason for them not fighting fighting is simple.

great communication.

aka, the foundation for every long-lasting, committed, healthy relationship.

he knew what she needed, and she knew what he needed. they always talked, never hiding anything from each other. no feelings were ignored, no conversations were ever left unfinished. if something was bothering them, they talked about it. if one of them felt off, the other noticed immediately. there was no sweeping things under the rug, no letting tension build up until it exploded.

they were honest, always. brutally, if needed. but never in a way that hurt--only in a way that healed.

because at the end of the day, they weren’t just lovers. they were best friends, too. and best friends don’t let anything stew. best friends work through things together.

and for them, working together was easy as breathing.

--

distance:

the distance can get to them sometimes, but not very often. more so in the beginning of their relationship compared to now since they're 9 months in.

home base is cincinnati for her, and has been for a while now since she moved in with him. and they say home is where the heart is, and god she loved him so much...so wherever he was, that was home.

he is home.

and for 90% of the year, that's in the queen city.

but sometimes she needs to travel to new york, LA, out of the country, and even other cities in the states for work, and joe can't come with her every time due to football or prior commitments. her career takes her quite literally anywhere but it had slowed down over the past 9-ish months given she had been away from the public eye and spending all her time in cincy. she still, however, took a few quiet trips to her previous homes during that initial period in their early days (especially because she didn't officially move in with him until december/january).

**they started dating in july. anniversary is july 31st. she moved in around dec-jan. 'i love you' was said between that time as well--written in YAIL chapter 1**

and when she took those trips, they couldn't help but think about each other every second they were apart. for example, those early september nights (just after their one month anniversary on august 31st).

the season had just started, she was in LA for a secret recording session for her new album, and god...the yearning was off the charts.

flashback

"baby," his voice is thick with sleep, scratchy and sluggish, and she swears she feels it in her bones.

"hi, joey," she whispers, curling deeper into the plush pillows on her bed. his hoodie--her favorite one--hangs loosely over her frame, smelling just like him. it’s not the same, though. nothing ever is when he’s not next to her.

joe sighs, shifting on his pillow, phone propped up in front of him. his eyes are barely open, but he’s still looking at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters. "this sucks," he mumbles.

her lips twitch, "what sucks?".

"all of it. you being there, me being here, this stupid ass time difference," he grumbles, frustration evident in his voice. "it’s only been three days, and i feel like i’m losing my mind without hearing your laughter echo off the walls. it's way too fucking quiet, i miss seeing you reading your books in that nook by the window, i can't stand eating dinner...alone, and i just miss holding you,".

she breathes out a soft laugh, but god, she feels it too. this gnawing ache in her chest, this empty feeling that lingers no matter how many facetime calls they have, no matter how many texts they send throughout the day. nothing compares to being wrapped up in him, to the feeling of his hands on her skin, his warmth, his scent, his presence.

"i know, joey," she murmurs, her voice softer now. "i miss you so much it hurts,".

joe groans, running a hand down his face. "i hate sleeping without you,".

aw.

"me too," she admits, adjusting the phone slightly so she can see him better. "your side of the bed here is too cold, and your hoodies only do so much. i swear, if i could teleport, i’d be in your arms right now,".

"wish you could, too," he sighs, shifting again. his voice dips a little lower, sleepier but just as sincere. "but you’ll be home soon. and your box is ready for you, princess. reserved, tinted, no cameras, no seats around it--just you watching me do my thing,".

she smiles, blinking up at him. "i know. you’re the sweetest. my precious, thoughtful lover,".

his lips curve just slightly, but his eyes are still heavy, still glassy with exhaustion. "not as sweet as you," he rasps. "you gonna be there next week, right? you promise?".

"of course, joey," she assures him, her heart aching. "i wouldn’t miss it for the world. you know i live for this shit," she giggled, referring to her deep-rooted love for football tracing back to her childhood.

he hums, satisfied. "good." a pause. "need you there, baby. need you home," he mumbles, feeling sleepier and sleepier by the second.

the words knock the breath out of her chest, her throat tightening.

"i need to be home too," she whispers, voice barely audible. "i need you. being here...it's a lot right now. especially going to extra lengths to not be seen. it's exhausting, but i think i'm okay,".

joe blinks at her, lips parting slightly, something soft and helpless flickering in his gaze. then he exhales, shifting so his head is tucked into his pillow, eyes drooping. "you're amazing, Y/N," he mumbles. "you are so strong, you know that? and i'm so fucking proud of you. i promise you that you'll be back with me soon, it'll be like you were never in LA in the first place,".

her heart swells, her fingers curling into his hoodie. "thanks, quarterback," she coos. "you mean the world to me...what you say means so much. you don't even know,".

"i do know," he says while flashing a lazy smike. "because you mean the world to me, too. more than the world. you’re my everything, baby,".

she pauses for a second, letting the meaning behind his words sink into her bones before saying something. but the thing is, she was staring at him for too long...staring at his beautiful eyes for a heartbeat longer than intended, so by the time she regained composure, he was already out like a light. breath slow and even, face relaxed. she watches him for a long moment, memorizing the way he looks, the way he breathes, the way he just exists.

she misses him so much it’s unbearable.

but in a few days, she’ll be home. in his arms. right where she belongs.

end of flashback

--

rumors:

she wasn't oblivious to the fact that she was dating joe burrow. and he wasn't oblivious to the fact that he was dating her. she knew what came along with dating a superstar football player like him--the drama, the rumors, the chaos. and he knew what came along with dating someone like her--the paparazzi, the headlines, the unwanted opinions.

both had big reputations, no doubt. and with those big reputations came watchful eyes. came relentless chatter. it sometimes prevented them from keeping those boundaries and walls up, making them fear that even leaving the door open a smidge would be enough for them to come in and infiltrate their safe space.

it was a struggle for them individually--maintaining that boundary and keeping things tight-lipped regarding their lives. and together? together it was even harder.

it was mostly for him, though. there was never anything on her since she had been away from the public eye for nearly a year. and joe was one of the most private people out there, yet somehow, there was always chatter. a wrong-angled photo, a hand too close to someone else’s in a candid shot, a lingering glance captured mid-conversation. it didn’t take much for the internet to spin a story.

and for him, that happened constantly. downside of being the heartthrob of the NFL, you could say.

and normally, it didn’t get to him. normally, he laughed it off, rolled his eyes, mumbled something about how people would believe anything. but some days, when he was already exhausted, when he was halfway across the country from her, when he missed her so much it made his chest ache--those were the days when the noise crept in. he'd get worried she'd think something, feel something that would make her feel pain. that pain he'd been working so hard to alleviate. the pain instilled within her because of her past.

he wouldn't ever forgive himself if he made her doubt their relationship. ever doubt him.

she, however, was completely unfazed. she saw everything--every suggestive comment from strangers online, every playful, flirty exchange from celebrities who clearly found him attractive--but she never said a word about it. because she knew who he was. and he knew who he was.

he was hers. and he would always come home to her.

that was it. that was all there was to it.

but still, there were nights when he (surprisingly) needed to hear it, when he’d pull her into his arms the second he saw her, pressing his forehead against hers and murmuring, "you know it’s just you, right?".

and she’d just smile, tucking a hand against his jaw, brushing her thumb over his cheek. "of course, baby,".

because there was nothing to question. no space for doubt.

just them.

and that was all because of communication, clarity, and the support they gave one another.

[hugs4jongseong]

❥ His prettiest work - 황현진

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Synopsis • In which you help your best friend with his artist's block by modelling for him.

Pairing • Hwang Hyunjin x fem reader

Warnings • friends to lovers, fluff, hyunjin paints y/n naked, no actual smut but like... You're naked.. kissing him.., hyunjin can't keep his hands to himself, making out, idk if I missed any 😖

W.C. • 1,636 (give or take)

A/N • Hi lovelies >.< Everyone say happy birthday hyunjin!! I hope you all enjoy, this is not edited so keep that in mind if it's not perfect & i apologize for any bad grammar. Thank you for reading! <3

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Of course you know why you're here, but you're not sure of how 'hey, hyune, why don't I just model for you?' turned into stripping your clothing off piece by piece until you're completely bare in front of your own best friend.

Lately you'd noticed that hyunjin just wasn't acting like hyunjin. The poor boy hadn't painted in weeks, and it was clearly affecting him, so, being the kind best friend you are, you offered to model for him. Hyune jumped at the opportunity, taking the idea and running with it.

You were so happy to see hyunjin excited to paint. It was the most passionate he'd been in a while. He had so many ideas, and you let him talk your ear off about everything he had in mind until the two of you finally arranged a few days where he could just sit and paint the one thing he finds the most beautiful: you.

God, he was so in love with you.

So here you are, deliberately posed on a large sofa chair with your legs over one arm of it and your back against the other, head leaning gently against the cushion and hands resting on your tummy. Every now and then he'd get up and walk over to you, delicately running his long, slender fingers over your bare skin to adjust your pose, muttering gentle words of praise as shivers run up your spine.

"You're doing so good, angel. so perfect," Hyunjin hums softly, eliciting a sheepish giggle as a faint blush of pink colors your cheeks.

Sure, at first you felt slightly uncomfortable about being literally naked in front of your best friend, but you quickly got used to it. You trusted him more than anyone in the world, and he treated you with nothing but care and intent, handling you as if you were a porcelain doll.

"This might be my prettiest work, y/n. You're so beautiful," hyunjin says, glancing up from the canvas, a small content smile on his lips. Your heart stutters at his words, he had always been affectionate, he'd always called you sweet names, but right now just feels so intimate. It's as if he's looking past just your body or your face and complimenting your soul.

"Is it almost done?" You frown, looking over at him, almost not wanting your time together to end. He simply gives a small nod, that small smile still evident on his lips.

"Do you wanna come see?" He asks softly, and you quickly nod, eagerly getting up off of the sofa and wrapping a thin silk robe around your body before scampering over to his art station.

When you finally see the painting, your eyes widen and your soft, rose petal-like lips part slightly. It genuinely is a beautiful piece of art, one so pretty that it renders you completely speechless. Hyunjin had perfectly captured your essence, perfectly captured your femininity, perfectly captured everything. He looks up at you and laughs softly "do you like it?"

His words snap you back into reality, letting out a small hum and nodding, still staring at the painting until you feel like you have to physically tear your eyes away from the canvas. "It's gorgeous, hyune. It's so, so pretty," you smile softly, flinging your arms around his neck and embracing him tightly. "You're amazing."

Hyunjin lets out a soft, affectionate huff and hugs you back, slender hands snaking around your waist and bunching the fabric of your robe up in his fists at your back as he breathes in your sweet scent. When you pull back, he keeps his hands on your body, moving to rest gently on your beautiful hips that he'd spent so many hours perfecting on a canvas. No matter how accurate or how pretty the painting was, nothing could ever beat the real thing.

"I'm so proud of you, hyunjin," you smile softly and bring your hands up to gently cup his face, running your thumbs over the soft flesh. He smiles up at you before one of his hands leaves your hips to grab one of yours, bringing it to his lips and kissing your palm.

Your heart swells at the sight and you let out a nervous giggle "hyune..."

His smile grows at your reaction, he'd always loved your adorable shy side. "Y/n..." He echos your tone with a grin, interlocking his fingers with yours as his other hand rubs gentle circles into the flesh of your hips with his thumb.

"y/n, do you know how beautiful you are to me?" He asks, his voice just above a whisper. Usually you'd giggle and brush off the compliment, but there was something so different about it. His eyes were wide and almost vulnerable as he looked up at you, gently pulling you closer by your hip. Once again, he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

That same gentle blush from earlier returns to your cheeks, sheepishly glancing away from him. He drops your hand and his returns to your hip. "C'mere," he mutters gently pulling you down onto his lap.

Your eyes widen slightly, but you don't try to fight it, letting him guide you down onto his lap. You knew that the line of friendship might've been blurry for the two of you, but you also knew that this wasn't normal behavior. "Hyunjin what are you-"

The man cuts you off with a gentle hum, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to your neck. If you weren't sure before, now you definitely know that this was crossing the line.

His thumbs massage into the meat of your hips and he keeps you firmly still in his lap as his lips begin to travel about your neck, leaving your skin burning in their wake. "Sat so well for me.." the boy beneath you mutters, moving away from your neck to look at you, his eyes, usually so sharp, now soft and sweet as he looks into yours.

"I love you, y/n," hyunjin says softly, and for the moment, you swear your heart stopped. Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn a bright shade of pink, the sight bringing a small smile to hyunjin's lips.

"Hyune.. I-" you feel yourself start to stammer "you mean- Like, actually?"

He laughs softly at how flustered you get, his hand coming up to brush hair away from your face as he waits to hear your feelings before going any further.

After a moment of staring at him, stunned, you finally snap out of it, smiling nervously before speaking up ever so softly "I love you too."

His smile grows and, with his hand resting gently on your neck, he comes forward to kiss you. His lips press against yours firmly, the emotion behind the kiss telling you that he'd been waiting a while for this.

His hand stays resting gently at the base of your neck, the other wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. You melt into the kiss, your lips moving slowly and intently against his, arching your back slightly into him.

His lips start to wander down away from yours, kissing the corner of your mouth, then the small space between your bottom lip and chin, then he peppers a few along your jawline before moving down to your neck. You let out a soft sigh as his lips move passionately against your neck, nipping gently at the flesh.

"hyunjin.." you moan softly, and your hands come up to the back of his neck, keeping his lips on you. He chuckles lowly against your skin, both of his hands now holding your hips, stroking your skin through the thin silk robe.

"loved painting you, darling," he mutters between kisses "your hips... They're so pretty." Then his hands move down to your thighs, rubbing the smooth flesh where the robe had started to fall open. "Mmh, and these legs.."

Hyunjin moves back to look at you, his eyes almost pleading. "Can I see you again? Please?" He speaks softly as his hands run up and down over the slopes of your waist. You giggle at his words, but your heart flutters at how respectful he is.

"you have a perfect painting of me right there, though," you giggle, and you reach teasingly for the strings of your robe.

He's practically pouting at your words. "But it's not the real thing.." he frowns, and the way he's looking at you has you weak.

You giggle as you come down to kiss his jaw, slowly untying your robe until it falls open. You try to make sure that he can't see your face in order to hide any hint of self-consciousness in your eyes, but being the attentive sweetheart he is, he gently hums your name and cups your cheek to get you to look back up at him.

Reluctantly, you lift your head, your cheeks turning a soft shade of red as you watch his eyes roam over your bare body then back up to your face. "Gorgeous girl.." he coos with a gentle smile and leans down to kiss your collarbones, wasting no time to run his hands along your bare skin. "You're stunning... 'm so obsessed with you.."

You feel your entire body heat up, the words making your heart rate accelerate. "Hyunjin.." you say through a breath.

He looks up at you from where he's trailing kisses down to your sternum with a quirked brow. You giggle softly, cupping his face in your hands "you're obsessed with me?"

He nods "terribly obsessed."

You giggle "I love you so much.."

A dumb smile grows on his lips, and you can't help the one that pulls at yours as you come down to kiss him again.