#I love the stage depth of the blur

[papiliotao]

꒰ 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✩࿐

pairing: lyney x gn!reader

content: fluff, modern au, high school au, friends to (almost) lovers, mutual pining, theatre kids, lyney and the reader rehearse a kissing scene

summary: playing the role of his lover in a drama production is easier said than done, especially when you’re just beginning to realize the nature of your feelings for him.

a/n: i had no inspiration for a while but then lyney came along. i’m so normal about him. anyway, i hope you enjoy reading!

When you were told that you had to kiss your best friend for a school play, you were in shock and disbelief — not because you were repulsed by the thought of playing the part of a couple, but because you realized that you didn’t mind the idea of his lips pressed against yours.

You’re not quite sure when the feelings crept up on you, dawning in your heart like the hazes of peach and azure that dust the horizon at sunrise. It feels like it’s been an eternity since you started loving Lyney, but you’ve just never noticed that your adoration was beyond platonic. 

However, after experiencing your epiphany, you’ve been wondering if he shares your rose-tinted sentiments. Slowly but surely, you observe that the lines between friendship and romance have become blurred, fusing together in a myriad of watercolour hues.

Every once in a while, Lyney will hold your hand for no reason, the softness of his skin akin to the caress of gilded threads of sunlight. There are also instances where he’ll hug you for just a little too long, clinging onto you as if he never wants to let go. And of course, you’ll never be able to forget the sentimental nights spent gazing up at murals of sparkling constellations dotting pristine navy skies, where you cuddle with your best friend in an attempt to stay warm.

In these instances, a simple question lingers in the short silences, an untold inquiry that neither of you care to utter in fear of shattering the status quo.

What are we?

So now, as you sit across from Lyney atop the velvety cushions of his living room couch, ready to rehearse very kiss that sent you spiraling into a bout of infatuated hysteria in the first place, your heart can’t help but race. The melody it sings is one that speaks of perplexing feelings and a hope for fairytale endings, and it only amplifies as you look into pale violet eyes that sparkle as iridescent petals flutter about in their depths.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” Lyney whispers, smiling at you reassuringly. There’s something soothing about the expression on his face, embodying the serenity of a marine zephyr in the midst of a cruel summer.

“How can you be so calm when we’re about to practice a kiss?” you ask, voicing your thoughts out loud. “What if we’re not good enough?”

Truthfully, you’re a nervous wreck. Your fingers tremble, and your mind feels blank. You’ve always known that Lyney was born to be on stage, but you didn’t think he’d be so nonchalant in a situation like this. His disposition is completely composed, not a single spark of anxiety shining through his tranquil demeanour.

On the other hand, you’re constantly pondering the what ifs.

What if you mess the scene up? What if it turns out looking awkward? What if it’s so horrendous that it makes the audience uncomfortable.

However, in total contrast to you, Lyney simply chuckles, his voice ringing out in a clear and soothing fantasia.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures you, keeping his gaze fixated on you. “I’m sure our chemistry will be absolutely perfect. After all, even Lynette has mistaken us for a couple.”

“She has?” you blurt out, both shocked and embarrassed that Lyney’s twin has had her misconceptions about your relationship. The two are practically telepathically linked, so the tall order of fooling Lynette would more or less be akin to deceiving the heavens above.

“She has,” Lyney confirms, a mischievous spark of violet electricity blazing through his irises, “and that’s why I’m certain we’ll be able to pull this off flawlessly.”

He gently laces his fingers around your hand, bringing it up to his chest.

“Besides, it’s not like I’m not nervous at all.” From beneath the soft fabric of Lyney’s clothes, you can feel a gentle thrumming, a beat that resounds at a tempo matching that of your very own heart. “You know, even the greatest of performers get stage fright sometimes.”

In a mystifying twist, you feel more comfortable now that Lyney has told you that you’re not alone in your anxiety. Your relief defies all logic, but perhaps it’s the knowledge that your feelings aren’t entirely unreasonable that soothes your nerves.

“I see,” you whisper. “Well I’m sure you’ll do great. We’ll get through this together.”

Lyney nods.

“I’m just glad it’s you,” he says, pausing for a moment as if deep in thought. “Actually, ‘glad’ would be an understatement. ‘Beyond overjoyed’ is more accurate.”

Your breath hitches, and for a second, the world seems to still, suspended in a momentary utopia. But despite your giddiness and the euphoric feelings that arise in your heart, you shrug Lyney’s words off, trying your best not to get your hopes up. After all, if you expect too much, you might find yourself disappointed in the end.

“The feeling is mutual, but maybe we should get to rehearsing now. I think I’m ready,” you tell him, pulling your hand out of his grasp in a light motion, clinging onto the last of his warmth as his skin grazes yours. It’s reminiscent of fading sunlight, comforting you with the dazzling radiance of a dying crepuscule, lulling you into a daze as it parts in shades of twilight that waltz in a dance of fantastical wonders.

“Your wish is my command,” Lyney responds playfully.

However, after only a few seconds, his features shift into a more serious expression. Although the same smile is still adorning his lips, it’s softer now, more sincere.

Is this all part of an act, or is it real?

Additionally, an unidentifiable emotion now glints in a display of diamond lights, illuminating the seas of amethyst contained within Lyney’s eyes. Locks of platinum hair, composed of starlight essence, frame his face in a way that makes him look undeniably handsome. Once again, your heart, which had just barely stilled, begins to beat in a frenzy.

You want nothing more than to freeze time, stay in this ephemeral moment, relish in the sensation of his breath gently tickling your skin and engrave the ethereal sight before you into archives stored deep within your memories. But unfortunately, it’s impossible to pause the scene before you. Reality, unlike the countless movies and videos you’ve watched to study your part, stops for no one.

And before you know it, the divide between your lips and Lyney’s is diminishing, the blank space fading at a pace that feels both far too rapid yet far too prolonged at the same time.

Closer.

Closer.

And closer.

Until your lips meet in a clash of opalescent sparks, shedding light and embellishing the magical moment with an atmosphere worthy of any stage. The lilac butterflies that dance in the pit of your stomach prompt sensations of glee to arise within your heart.

His skin is soft and warm, and the feeling of his lips against yours is just so right. There’s no one else you’d rather kiss. There’s no one else you’ll ever long for. There’s no one in the world you’ll ever love more.

No matter how much you deny it, your relationship has crossed the line from platonic to romantic, gradually edging closer and closer to a thin border before finally falling over onto the other side. Your kiss with Lyney confirms everything. There’s far too much passion, far too much care and longing exchanged in a single act of affection.

Best friends don’t kiss each other like this.

At this point you’re certain the feeling is mutual. Now, all you have to do is wait until one of you inevitably confesses, and you’ll both be able to finally live happily ever after, basking in the splendor of true love.

thank you for reading <3 if you enjoyed this fic, i would really appreciate it if you could comment or reblog!

[lokideservesahug]

Leave a light on

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Warnings: The reader is really struggling, crying, depressive thoughts, but Max is an amazing comforter and an even more amazing boyfriend:)

Notes: Based on a request by @a-beaverhausen. This is based on Leave a light on by Tom Walker (brilliant song) but isn't really. However, I listened to it, it inspired me and here is the result.

Summary: Being kept to your own thoughts is dangerous. Especially with how negative they currently are. However Max is amazing at putting a stop to both those thoughts and your unhappiness all together.

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Numb.

That's all you feel.

It had been a while since you'd felt like this. The low hum on the fan in the bedroom hits your skin but even the sound blurs into nothingness as you tumble deeper into the depths of your mind. You feel the darkness envelope you. Another unexplainable wave if sadness makes you shake your head and sit up in bed, singing your legs over the side.

You know it's useless. Your self loathing. But you feel unable to do anything. As you break from your almost coma like state, everything hits you all at once, the sound of the fan, the feel of it on your lower calf, the depressive thoughts that threaten to stain your mind forever and the low snore of Jimmy.

You turn to your left to look at the small bundle of a cat lying at the end if where your feet were moments ago. Your vet had advised against having either Jimmy or Sassy in the bedroom but when you tried to enforce it, you found that unsurprisingly, Max's resolve was far to fine especially when it came to his "children". You wish you could be that serene. Blissfully naïve to the world around you. Just a small cat living a luxurious, pampered, loved life with not a single stress in the world.

The ruffle of bedsheets catches your attention. Max turns slightly, allowing you to stare at the side of his serene figure. You trace the bridge of his nose with your eyes for what must be the millionth time, yet you never seem to get tired of it. In his sleep he finally looks calm, at one with tranquility. Well he looks calm all of the time when it's just the two of you. Even Lando has pointed out that "Mad Max" doesn't exist when you're around which usually just makes you giggle and hide your head in Max's shoulder.

But now? It just consumes you with a feeling of inescapable guilt. So that's what you try and do, escape. You softly pad out of your shared bedroom and head into the living room. The darkness is broken only by the soft ray of moonlight and when paired paired the silence, makes you feel even more melancholic. Your eyes skim over the gorgeous sights of Monaco outside of the window, many buildings emmiting a warm comforting glow from the windows. You turn away, desperate to not taint the memory of the gorgeous skyline, that you'll see for a long time to come in the following years (until you and Max move to support whatever next stage of your relationship you choose).

You look at the dresser and are greeted by the familiar cerulean of Max's eyes. The light hits the photo frame in just the perfect angle to make his smile appear as if it were glowing. It also highlights the photo next to it. One that despite your protests, Max was adamant stayed on the dresser. It depicted you on a cold day in winter out in the mountains skiing (Max was influenced by Charles' many stories about the snowy peaks). The tip of your nose and the tops of your ears are a different shade to the rest of your face due to the cold and you're gazing lovingly at Max. You dislike the photo because of your out of place hairs and the angle that gives you much more of a double chin than you'd like but Max adores the photo. He often gushes about how warm it makes him feel inside (his words, not yours), and that knowing that you loved him that much just filled him with unbridled joy.

Gosh how you wish you could feel any of that emotion now. The moment you feel your lip wobble, you turn away, desperate to not cry, goodness knows you've held it in for this long. You tuck into the dark end of the sofa, away from the light (to anyone looking at the image, it looked like you were trying to hide). And maybe that's what you were trying to do. Hide from the world, hide from your thoughts and hide from yourself.

You almost feel yourself slip into yet another spiral however you are instead greeted by the familiar feeling of Max's hand on your shoulder. Your head slowly lifts and you meet his half asleep yet clearly concerned gaze. You open your mouth ready to talk, but you feel your breath catch in your throat and your eyes well up will unshed tears. How pathetic.

Yet instead of looking at you with disgust, Max just tilts his head and mumbles a quiet "Oh, Schat." His words make your resolve crumble instantly and you feel all of the emotion flood out of you. Happiness, sadness, despair, distress all manifest in hot, wet tears and an embarrassing runny nose.

Before the first tear even has a chance to fall, Max just envelops you, covering you with his arms. You stay there for a while, Max comfortingly stroking your back and muttering soft reassurances, until your tears subside. You pull away slightly to stare at him. You go to speak and fell your voice break but Max just shakes his head. He pulls one of his arms away from your waist, the other still rubbing circles on your back, and lifts it to the apple of your cheek. He runs it under your eye and his thumb follows the remnants of your tears to which he places a small kiss on the trails afterwards.

He pulls you back into his arms.And in that moment, you know that no matter what, you will always be safe in the comfort of his arms.

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Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee

[rootedinrevisions]

Masterlist: Glen Powell

Whether it’s Glen Powell himself or the unforgettable roles he brings to life, this section is dedicated to all things Glen.

From standalone one-shots to multi-part series, you’ll find stories exploring the charm of Glen as an actor and the personalities of his iconic characters, like Jake Seresin from Top Gun: Maverick and Tyler Owens from Twisters.

Whether you're in the mood for quick reads or something a little more in-depth, there's plenty here to dive into. Enjoy the journey, and feel free to leave your thoughts!

GLEN POWELL (HIMSELF)

**ONE-SHOTS**

More Than a Game (Glen x Reader)

When you join Glen Powell for a night under the bright Texas stadium lights, you expect an evening of football and fun—but what you don’t expect is the sting of an offhand comment that shakes your confidence. As Glen’s world of fans and flashing cameras surrounds you, he’s quick to remind you of where you stand: by his side, as the one who holds his heart. With every protective gesture, from offering you his jacket to placing his prized Stetson on your head, Glen shows the world that you’re not just another face in the crowd—you’re someone special. FLUFF.

Texas Orange (Glen x Reader)

Heavily based on the song "Tennesse Orange" by Megan Moroney. You're in the early stages of your relationship with Glen and he takes you to a Texas football game with him. FLUFF

Between Sets and Scenes (Glen x Reader)

As a dedicated personal trainer in Washington D.C., you've worked with high-profile clients before, but when actor Glen Powell steps into your gym, life takes an unexpected turn. What starts as a simple fitness transformation for Glen quickly evolves into something more when the lines between professionalism and attraction begin to blur. A chance encounter outside the gym leads to late-night conversations, unexpected connections, and the realization that sometimes the best chemistry happens off-screen. But with Glen's rising star and your grounded life, can you keep things casual, or is something deeper already taking shape? FLUFF

**SERIES**

In the Wings (Glen x Reader)

When you're offered the chance to work as a hair and makeup artist on Top Gun 3, it feels like a dream come true. Leaving behind your routine for a Hollywood blockbuster, you arrive on set with high hopes but little expectation of the whirlwind to come. That all changes the day you meet Glen Powell—charming, grounded, and quick to make an impression. As your professional relationship grows, so does a spark between you, but you're still keeping things strictly work. For now, the only thing you're certain of is that this job will be like no other. FLUFF

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4

TYLER OWENS (TWISTERS)

**ONE-SHOTS**

Painted Him Perfect (Tyler x Reader)

Inspired by Alexandra Kay’s song "Painted Him Perfect." Tyler and his soon-to-be ex-wife grapple with the stark reality of their crumbling marriage as she makes her way to Oklahoma to finalize their divorce. Despite the façade of a perfect relationship portrayed to their fans, her heartfelt video revealing their separation exposes the cracks hidden beneath the surface. ANGST.

I'm Comin' Over (Tyler x OC)

Ashley is sitting at home one night, staring at her phone. She knows she shouldn't call him. She knows it's a bad idea. But she can't resist and gives in. She sends Tyler a late-night text, and his response is immediate. Tyler arrives at her place and the two try to work out the issues in the relationship. SMUT.

Begin Again (Tyler x Reader)

Based on the song Begin Again by Taylor Swift. Just Tyler being a southern gentleman on a blind date to a girl who had written off love after her last relationship. FLUFF.

Drunk Girl (Tyler x Reader)

Based on the song Drunk Girl by Chris Janson. You and your boyfriend break up, and you go out for a couple of drinks to try and not feel anything. You start the night out with friends planning on just having a couple, but by the end of the night, you've had a few too many. Your friends call Tyler, and he steps in, making sure you get home safe. He takes you back to your place, gets you to bed, and then leaves. ANGST. FLUFF.

**SERIES**

Twisted Fate (Tyler x OC)

In the aftermath of a devastating tornado that ravages her hometown, Lexi finds herself trapped in the rubble of her destroyed home. Years ago, she and Tyler Owens were inseparable until he went down a path of storm chasing and YouTube fame. Now, as fate would have it, Tyler is chasing the very tornado that has torn through her town. Miraculously, amidst the chaos, Lexi manages to call out for help, and to her disbelief, Tyler hears her cries. Risking his own safety, he navigates the debris to reach her, pulling her to safety just in time. In the moments of relief and gratitude that follow, old feelings resurface, reminding her of what they once shared.

PART 1 I Part 2 I PART 3

Chasing Us (Tyler x OC)

When Hannah needs a date to her sister's wedding, she turns to one of her best friends and fellow storm chasers, Tyler, for help. What starts as a simple favor quickly turns complicated as the lines between pretense and reality blur. With the backdrop of a beautiful seaside wedding, Hannah and Tyler navigate their growing feelings for each other, facing moments of heartache, unexpected confessions, and the realization that they might be more than just friends after all.

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 I PART 6 I PART 7 I

PART 8 I PART 9 I PART 10 I PART 11

One of Them Girls (Tyler x Reader)

After a long day of Tornado chasing, Tyler Owens and his crew head to a local bar to unwind. At the end of the bar sits a woman who sparks Tyler's interest. Despite her initial reluctance, Tyler's persistence leads to a playful evening of banter, pool games, and dancing. As the night progresses, the barriers between them begin to fall and begins the start of something beautiful.

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 I PART 6

PART 7 I PART 8 I PART 9 I PART 10 I PART 11 I PART 12

PART 13 I PART 14 I PART 15 I PART 16

Enough for You (Tyler x Reader)

After months of chasing storms and harboring unspoken feelings, the moment of truth finally arrives. When Tyler returns to the team with someone new by his side, it shatters the hope you secretly held onto. In the aftermath of his abandonment, you're left grappling with heartache, wondering why you were never enough for him. As Tyler tries to make amends for leaving, the conversation takes a painful turn when he confronts the feelings he never knew existed. But some apologies can't fix what’s been broken, and all you want is to go back to the way things were—before you let him into your heart.

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5

Never Left Me (Tyler x OC)

Lauren is working at the law office she shares with her fiancé, Jonathan, when she receives the heartbreaking call from her father about her mother’s passing. Overcome with grief, Lauren struggles to process the loss, and Jonathan is by her side, offering unwavering support as she begins to prepare for the trip back to Arkansas. As she packs, Jonathan notices her unease, suspecting that something beyond her mother’s death is weighing on her. The tension between them grows when he gently pushes her to open up about why she’s avoided returning home for so long, but Lauren remains vague, unable to reveal the real reason: her unresolved past with Tyler. The car ride to Arkansas is heavy with silence, broken only by Jonathan’s attempts at conversation, but Lauren’s thoughts are far away. When they finally arrive at her childhood farmhouse, Lauren is hit with the weight of both her loss and the past she’s been running from for eight years.

PROLOGUE I PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4

JAKE "HANGMAN" SERESIN

(TOP GUN: MAVERICK)

**SERIES**

Rooster's Shadow (Jake x OC)

When Carly Bradshaw, Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw’s younger sister, starts college near her brother’s TOP GUN base, she’s excited for a fresh start. A surprise night out with Rooster introduces her to Jake Seresin, the charming and cocky Navy pilot known as Hangman. As Jake’s attention shifts to Carly, their undeniable chemistry leads to a series of flirtatious encounters that challenge Carly’s feelings and Rooster’s protective instincts.

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5

Cop Car (Jake x Reader)

You and Jake enter a restricted area to watch the planes take off. It's all fun and games until the two of you end up cuffed in the backseat of a car. Things only get worse when your dad, Pete "Maverick" Mitchell arrives on the scene. Loosely based on/inspired by Cop Car by Keith Urban because apparently my thing lately has been making fics out of songs.

PART 1 I PART 2

Unplanned Journeys (Jake x OC)

You’ve been feeling off—tired, anxious, and full of doubt. When the realization hits that you could be pregnant, your world shifts. As you struggle with the weight of the situation and avoid Jake, the truth becomes impossible to ignore. When you finally tell Jake, the conversation is filled with tension and fear.

PART 1 I PART 2 I PART 3

[ginxyy]

Backstage Encounters

Falling for an idol over backstage encounters is so cringe but here we are

MISSING JEONGHAN HOURS

It was a sweltering summer night in Seoul, the kind that made everything seem more vibrant than it really was. Lights bounced off every surface, creating a dazzling array of colors that swirled like confetti around the bustling buildings. I was merely a cog in the grand machine of the entertainment industry, working as a personal assistant for a few idols. My days were filled with schedules, rehearsals, and, occasionally, a touch of romance that lingered like the artificial perfume in the air.

Among the many faces that populated my chaotic world, Jeonghan stood out from the very first moment I saw him. With his cascades of golden hair that seemed to reflect the neon lights, and a smile that could melt ice, he was an idol in the truest sense. I would catch sight of him at various shows, his presence magnetic, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity.

He was charming, of course; that was part of his allure. Those moments when we shared friendly hellos were fleeting, but they held a softness that seemed to linger long after he had turned away.

At first, our interactions were polite casual exchanges shrouded in the whirlwind of performances and the buzzing energy of fans. “Hey, how are you?” he would ask, his head tilted ever so slightly, his smile like a secret waiting to be shared. My responses were the usual rehearsed niceties, but deep down, my heart would flutter like the wings of a captured butterfly. I knew I was more than just a personal assistant in those moments; I was a curious spectator watching a love story unfold.

Our conversations slowly began to grow, evolving from polite small talk into actual exchanges of thoughts and feelings. We shared laughs over absurd backstage moments, and I learned about his passions beyond music, the places he longed to visit, and the little things that simply made life beautiful for him. I found myself enchanted, fiercely drawn to the depth behind those glimmering eyes. The chemistry was undeniable; little proving grounds where we danced around our mutual attraction, verbal sparring that felt like a prelude to something much deeper.

The flirting began uncharacteristically an odd comment here, a lingering look there. I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, bold yet gentle, igniting a heat that coursed through my veins. Jeonghan had a way of making the ordinary feel extraordinary, and every quirk in his smile turned a simple hello into an electrifying moment that sent shivers through me.

It was during one particularly lustrous evening after a music show that the world coalesced into a dazzling blur of emotions. The green room was alive with laughter and chatter, a symphony of voices echoing off the walls muddled with the remnants of excitement from the stage. I was busy tidying up, ensuring everything was in order when I felt his presence behind me. It was as if time slowed down, the air thickening with unspoken words.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and laced with an oddly intimate timbre that made my heart race. I turned to face him, his frame framed by the soft glow of backstage lights. The laughter and noise around us faded into the background, leaving only the two of us in this charged bubble.

“Hey,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, knowing all too well the potential tremor that lay beneath such a simple word. Our eyes locked, the kind of anchored connection that made the world spin away until we were left with nothing but the unspoken tension hanging in the air.

“Can I steal you for a minute?” He stepped closer, the spaces between us evaporating. My breath caught, a flutter in my chest resonating wildly. His smile was both inviting and mischievous, a silent promise echoing between us. I nodded, unable to trust my voice now, as he guided me toward a quieter corner of the room.

The moment the door to the green room sprang shut behind us, reality transformed. The noise of the world faded, leaving just the two of us in a cocoon of intimate silence. In that small space, something shifted, like the electricity before a storm. The casual banter we’d shared morphed into something decidedly more heated, and I could feel the blush creeping into my cheeks, warmth flooding through me. His gaze danced across my face, searching, teasing, asking questions that words failed to convey.

“This is where the magic happens, isn’t it?” he said, his eyes shimmering with laughter as he gestured around me. I chuckled softly, the laughter spilling from my lips like a wave breaking on the shore. “I guess so,” I breathed, the proximity of our bodies igniting something in the air that made every nerve in my body sing.

And then, almost as if the universe had conspired to bring us to this moment, he stepped closer. The air thickened, pulsing with anticipation. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while,” he murmured, and before I could decipher the meaning, he closed the gap between us, his lips brushing against mine in a tender yet electrifying kiss.

It was soft at first, a cautious exploration of the uncharted territory we had danced around for so long. Any reservations melted away like snow in the sun. Mustering every ounce of bravery, I deepened the kiss, my fingers weaving into his hair. Our breaths mingled and hearts raced as if we were trying to outpace the very universe that brought us together.

Each heartbeat echoed louder than the chaos beyond the greenroom doors. This kiss was unlike anything I had ever experienced, filled with the passion we had kept at bay, an intoxication that filled my senses and made the world outside dissolve into a mere memory. It was a collision of longing and tenderness, excitement and vulnerability, echoed perfectly in our two souls colliding.

The moment stretched, time making fools of us both as neither of us seemed eager to pull away. Jeonhan’s hands found their way to my waist, firm yet gentle, pulling me closer as if trying to fold me into the very essence of him. I could taste the sweetness in the air, the heat rising, unraveling everything we had carefully crafted over the months. And in that green room, amidst the echoes of music and memories, I knew that what had started as mere hellos had blossomed into so much more.

As we finally parted, our foreheads resting against one another, I could see it in his eyes the unmistakable understanding that we had crossed a threshold, and there was no going back.

Jeonghan s forehead rested against mine, our breaths still mingling as if they shared the same rhythm. The silence that had enveloped us in those few precious moments felt like a cocoon, warm and safe. My pulse echoed in my ears, gradually slowing but still carrying the rush of what we’d just shared. The taste of him lingered—a mix of sweetness and something utterly intoxicating that was uniquely his. I felt his thumb gently trace a line along my cheek, his fingers brushing strands of hair behind my ear in a gesture so tender that it nearly unraveled me.

He let out a small, contented sigh, his eyes flickering open, dark and soft as they searched mine. “You… you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured, his voice low, each word carrying weight. His hand lingered on my jaw, the warmth of his skin seeping into me like a quiet fire.

I swallowed, barely finding my voice. “I thought… I thought it was just me,” I whispered, realizing just how deep those words cut. The longing, the uncertainty, the late nights replaying every moment we’d exchanged a glance or a word. And now, here we were, closer than I’d dared imagine.

His fingers traced my jawline as his lips curved into that irresistible, knowing smile, a hint of amusement in his gaze. “Only you could think that,” he teased, his voice soft, affectionate. And then, his face grew more serious, his thumb caressing my cheek slowly. “But I meant it. It was always you… from that very first time I saw you backstage, trying so hard not to look at me.”

I blushed, heat flooding my cheeks. “I wasn’t trying not to look…”

“Oh, no?” His hand slid to the nape of my neck, fingers weaving through my hair as he tilted my face slightly closer. His breath feathered against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. “You thought you were being so subtle,” he said softly, his words grazing the shell of my ear. “I could tell from across the room.”

He closed the remaining distance between us, his lips brushing mine once more, soft but with a hint of restraint. This time, though, there was no hesitancy in my response. I leaned into him, my hands finding their way to the cool fabric of his shirt, fingers clutching him as if to keep him from slipping away. His hands moved to my waist, holding me as though I were the only thing grounding him, the world outside forgotten.

The green room felt like it was shrinking around us, the walls pressing close, trapping the heady warmth that pulsed between us. Everything beyond this space had faded, the music and lights from the outside world a distant hum. His lips traveled along my jaw, tracing a path to my neck, his breath hot against my skin. My fingers gripped his shoulders, feeling the firmness beneath the thin layer of his shirt, the tension in his muscles mirroring my own.

Time seemed to stretch and bend, our breaths merging as we lost ourselves in each other’s closeness. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his gaze intense, eyes darkened with a mixture of desire and something even deeper, something unspoken that lingered in the space between us.

I searched his face, a silent question forming on my lips. But before I could voice it, his hand moved to cradle my face, his thumb sweeping gently across my cheek. “I don’t want this to end,” he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice catching me off guard.

My heart softened, and I found myself lost in the sincerity in his gaze. “Me neither,” I whispered, surprised by the depth of feeling those two words held.

He smiled, and something in that moment shifted. His lips met mine again, deeper this time, all traces of hesitance gone, replaced with a passion that had been simmering just below the surface, waiting for this exact moment to break free. The kiss grew urgent, a silent understanding passing between us, an unspoken promise.

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. My fingers traced the outline of his shoulders, his back, feeling the strength beneath my touch, the heat radiating through him as he pressed me gently against the wall. He held me with a kind of reverence, as though I were something fragile yet fiercely precious. Every touch, every kiss felt like a confession, a revelation of the feelings we had kept guarded for so long.

Our breaths grew ragged, and he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against mine once again. His hand moved to brush a stray hair from my face, and his eyes softened, his expression unguarded. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for this moment,” he said, his voice barely a murmur.

I could feel my heart clench, every word he spoke sinking deeper. “Me too,” I replied, and in that moment, there was nothing left to hide.

As the intensity ebbed just slightly, he took my hand, intertwining our fingers with a gentleness that belied the heat of the moment. His thumb brushed over my knuckles as he looked at me, a soft smile gracing his lips, one that made my heart stutter. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice a gentle invitation.

A thrill ran through me as I nodded, feeling the warmth of his hand in mine, steady and sure. We slipped out of the green room together, each step punctuated by shared glances and quiet smiles, as though we were carrying a precious secret, a memory made in whispers and warmth.

The dim glow of the single light in the dressing room cast shadows across his face, highlighting the soft, intense look in his eyes as he stepped toward me, closing the space between us. My pulse quickened, each beat echoing in my ears as his hand lifted, his fingers grazing my cheek in a touch so gentle it sent a shiver down my spine. He tilted my face up toward him, his thumb sweeping over my cheek as his gaze held mine with an intensity that made everything around us blur.

Without a word, he leaned down, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that was both soft and fierce, a blend of longing and restraint that sent warmth flooding through me. My hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers tracing the muscles there, feeling the tension coiled beneath my touch. I pressed closer to him, drawn to his warmth, his presence, as if I could somehow merge my own heartbeat with his.

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us, our bodies molded together as if they were meant to fit this way. I could feel the heat radiating from him, a slow, pulsing warmth that seemed to sync with my own, our breaths mingling in the charged air between us. His lips moved with an intensity that matched the quickening pace of my heartbeat, a silent promise wrapped in every gentle, yet insistent, brush of his mouth against mine.

As our kiss deepened, his hands traveled down my sides, his fingers trailing along my waist, leaving a line of fire in their wake. I felt his hands settle on my hips, his grip firm yet gentle, and he pulled me even closer, our bodies pressed together in a way that felt both thrilling and grounding. His touch was a blend of passion and restraint, every move of his fingers a careful exploration, as if he wanted to memorize every curve, every line.

He broke the kiss only briefly, his mouth moving to trace a path along my jaw, leaving a trail of warmth with each kiss. My breath hitched as his lips found the hollow just beneath my ear, and he lingered there, his breath hot against my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. His hands slid up my back, fingers splaying across my shoulders, holding me to him as he continued his slow, tantalizing exploration. I let out a quiet sigh, tilting my head back as he moved to press his lips to the sensitive spot on my neck.

With each touch, each brush of his lips, my senses seemed to heighten, the room shrinking until it was just us, wrapped in each other, the air thick with unspoken need. His fingers trailed down my spine, his touch featherlight, yet igniting sparks that radiated through me, settling low and deep. My hands moved of their own accord, sliding down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine, darkened with the same longing that mirrored my own. For a moment, we simply looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between us, the air thick with anticipation. He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering, his thumb tracing slow circles on my cheek.

“I don’t want to hold back anymore,” he murmured, his voice rough, yet softened by something deeper, something vulnerable. There was a rawness in his gaze that left me breathless, my heart swelling with the realization that this moment meant as much to him as it did to me.

I didn’t respond with words; instead, I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips to his with a fervor that matched the heat simmering between us. This time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. His arms tightened around me, his hands moving with purpose as they traveled down my back, his touch both firm and tender, grounding and electrifying all at once.

I felt his hands slide beneath the fabric of my shirt, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of my back, and a shiver raced through me at the contact. His touch was warm, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against my skin as he pulled me even closer. Our kiss grew more heated, more urgent, a silent confession in every movement, a melding of longing and tenderness that left us both breathless.

My fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as I deepened the kiss, feeling his sharp intake of breath, the way his body responded to mine. His hands slid to my waist, lifting me slightly as he pressed me back against the wall, his body leaning into mine in a way that made every nerve in my body sing. The coolness of the wall against my back contrasted with the heat radiating from him, amplifying the intensity of the moment, heightening every sensation.

His lips left mine, traveling down my neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses along my collarbone. Each touch was deliberate, a silent declaration that seemed to say, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. My hands roamed over his back, feeling the strength beneath his skin, the way his muscles tensed beneath my touch as he pulled me closer, as though he couldn’t bear to let even a breath of space exist between us.

The world outside this room, the noise, the lights, everything faded away, leaving only the two of us locked in this intimate, electrifying embrace. He lifted his head, his gaze meeting mine, his eyes softened with something deeper, something that went beyond the heat of the moment. He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my lips as he whispered, “I’ve never felt this way before.”

Those words, simple yet filled with so much meaning, sent a thrill through me, my heart pounding with a realization that left me dizzy. I tightened my grip on him, a silent answer, a promise that mirrored his own.

As our breaths slowed, the initial fervor giving way to a quieter intensity, he cradled my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gentle circles on my cheeks. His eyes searched mine, his expression softening as a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and in that moment, I saw not just the idol, the image everyone adored, but the person beneath, raw and real, vulnerable and open.

We stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, our foreheads pressed together, our breaths mingling in the quiet that settled around us like a warm blanket. His fingers tangled in my hair, his touch tender, reverent, as though he were afraid that if he let go, I would disappear. And as I looked into his eyes, my own heart laid bare, I knew that I was falling..falling deeper than I’d ever thought possible, into something that felt too big, too real, too beautiful to fully comprehend.

He pulled me into another kiss, this one slower, more tender, filled with an unspoken promise that sent warmth flooding through me. His hands roamed up and down my back, his touch gentle yet lingering, a constant reminder that he was here, that this moment was ours and ours alone. We lost ourselves in each other, in the gentle rhythm of our breaths, in the warmth of our embrace, in the quiet promise that bound us together.

When we finally pulled back, our foreheads still pressed together, he smiled, his eyes bright with a mixture of wonder and tenderness. He lifted a hand, his fingers brushing over my cheek, tracing the line of my jaw, as though memorizing every detail.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet awe that made my heart ache with the depth of my own feelings.

I smiled, my hand moving to rest over his, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. “So are you,” I murmured, my voice barely a whisper, but the words carried everything I felt, everything I couldn’t yet say.

In that quiet, intimate moment, we held each other close, a sense of peace settling over us, grounding us in a way that felt as natural as breathing. And as I looked into his eyes, my heart swelling with a love that was both thrilling and terrifying, I knew that this was only the beginning.

[doumadono]

For sinful sunday, can you write shoto under aphrodisiac? Probably rough seggss

Warnings: aged-up Shoto

SINFUL SUNDAY

Shoto, always one to explore new ways to kindle passion, decided to try something different. He had read in a magazine about the potential allure of aphrodisiac scents, and tonight he was determined to create an unforgettable atmosphere in the bedroom. With a devilish grin, he lit a candle infused with an aphrodisiac scent and let the soft, alluring fragrance fill the room. The warm, sensuous aroma seemed to dance through the air, setting the stage for a night of unbridled desire.

Amidst the hazy shadows and flickering candlelight, Shoto's eyes locked onto you, his girlfriend, with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He had been acting strangely all evening, a teasing glint in his dual-colored eyes. As he leaned in closer, you felt a wave of heat emanating from him, making you acutely aware of the desire simmering between you two.

"Shoto," you murmured, your voice a breathless whisper as his fingers traced the contours of your cheek. "You're being so… intense tonight."

A sultry grin tugged at the corner of his lips as his breath caressed your ear. "I thought we could try something a bit different tonight, love," he purred, his hand sliding down to rest on your thigh. "Something to set the mood just right."

As you looked into his eyes, you saw an unmistakable hunger, a yearning that was both familiar and electrifying. Shoto's fingers began to dance along your skin, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He knew exactly how to stoke the fire within you, and he relished in it.

Your bodies moved in rhythm, a sultry dance of desire that left no room for inhibitions. Shoto's lips grazed your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses and teeth that nipped at your sensitive skin.

"Shoto," you gasped, clutching his shoulders as pleasure coursed through your body. "I can't hold back anymore, my love…"

His chuckle was a deep, seductive melody. "Then don't," he whispered, his voice low and riddled with desire.

The room seemed to blur as the two of you gave in to the intoxicating tension that had been building all night. Shoto's lips met yours in a fiery kiss, his tongue expertly exploring your mouth. The aphrodisiac that had lingered in the air only heightened the sensations, making every touch, every kiss, feel like an electric jolt of pleasure.

Your hands roamed his sculpted body, tracing the contours of his muscles and sending him into a fevered frenzy of passion. Shoto's fingers worked their way beneath the fabric of your clothing, igniting a fire within you that grew hotter with each passing moment. Shoto's hands trembled with anticipation as he began to undress you, fingers fumbling with the fabric of your clothing. Every second felt like an eternity as he desperately yearned to have you. With a burning intensity in his eyes, he slowly peeled away the layers, his touch sending electric shivers down your spine.

His breath was ragged, his desire for you palpable. As your bodies were bared to each other, a deep, primal need coursed through him. The urgency was evident in every touch, every kiss, as he couldn't wait any longer to make you his.

As your bodies moved together in a frenzied crescendo of desire, Shoto's eyes never left yours. The intensity in his gaze, the raw hunger, was a testament to the depths of his longing for you. The aphrodisiac had awakened something primal in him, something that made every touch, every caress, feel like pure ecstasy.

Shoto's hands started to glide sensually over your body, his touch deliberate and teasing. He grinned as he cupped your breasts, delighting in their weight, and leaned in to take one into his mouth. His tongue danced over your nipple, drawing out sweet moans as you squirmed, trying to escape the delightful torment. His fingers pinched and caressed your other nipple, while his free hand ventured lower, tracing a feathery path over your ribs. You twitched and giggled at the tickling sensation.

At last, his hand found its way to your heated pussy, cupping it, feeling the moisture building. Two of his long fingers slipped into your pussy, leaing your breathless. Soon, he withdrew his fingers and licked them clean off your jucies, humming. "You're so delicious."

You emitted a sound, a mixture of a growl and a whimper, which gradually transformed into a passionate moan as Shoto's fingers delved into your silky depths. He withdrew his mouth from your breast momentarily, only to lavish his attention on your other nipple with fervent licks and nips. You instinctively moved your body, waves of pleasure coursing through you as you inched nearer to the brink of ecstasy.

Shoto pushed between your legs. You felt the head of his cock nudging your entrance; he pressed forward insistently.

You gasped as he entered you.

Shoto eased into your warmth, savoring the feeling as your body stretched to accommodate his considerable size, gradually sinking until he was completely buried inside you. He paused for a moment, continuing to kiss you, allowing you to adjust before he began to withdraw.

Then Todoroki thrust with determination, prompting a throaty groan from you. He established a rhythm, alternating between deep, powerful thrusts and shorter, shallower ones. With each thrust, the head of his cock pressed against that sensitive cluster of nerves inside you, sending pleasurable waves coursing through your body. Shoto's breath grew heavier as he moved, his hands roaming across your skin.

Your body arched as his pace quickened, and the sensations intensified. "Harder, harder, Shoto, please!"

As Shoto thrust, his fingertips find your clit, stroking insistently. He rolled his hips hard, plunging his dick deep into your welcoming wetness, grunting lowly. "Fuck, you feel so good, so fucking good, princess…" He increased his pace, and soon the entire bed was rocking back and forth with each of his powerful thrusts.

The room was filled with the sound of your combined moans and the rhythm of your entangled bodies. Shoto's breathless words sent you spiraling further into a passionate abyss.

"Let go, love," he whispered, his voice husky and filled with unbridled desire. "I want to feel you lose control."

With his words ringing in your ears, you surrendered to the intoxicating pleasure, riding the waves of ecstasy as they crashed over you. You cried out, convulsing in orgasm.

Shoto felt the clenching of your velvety walls around his girth and he thrust hard and deep, grunting in your ear as he released his warm cum inside you. "Oh, fuck, princess…"

As the candlelight flickered and the room slowly returned to its tranquil state, you couldn't help but smile, knowing that this night had brought you and Shoto closer than ever before.

[prythianpages]

'Cause Somewhere in the Crowd There's You | Lucien

summary: When Tamlin sends Lucien to the Night Court as his emisssary, he stumbles upon a nightclub and finds himself captivated by you. His sweet nightingale.

warnings: angst, mentions of blood and violence (reader is trapped in a nightclub)

a/n: This is part of my ABBA x ACOTAR series (masterlist) where I dedicate a song to a character (: but also was inspired by Lana Del Rey's music and a hint of Oscar Wilde ♥️ This takes place roughly before Amarantha's rule. If I'm going to be honest, I find Lucien hard a bit hard to write for (but this song really gave me lucien vibes) so I hope this doesn't come off a bit out of character for him. also why is it so hard to find pics that match Lucien's vibe on pinterest.

Trapped in the ceaseless rhythm of melancholic blues, you can’t help but feel sick and tired of everything. Days blur into nights. All you do is eat and sleep and sing. The weight of routine presses down on you, suffocating the spark that once fueled your passion. 

You wish every show to be your last.

That is, until you see him.

He emerges from the crowd like a radiant sun breaking through the darkest night. His presence is tall and striking with skin kissed by the sun and a cascade of red hair. Despite the length of scars that run down the left side of his face, there is an undeniable elegance and beauty that surrounds him. His eye holds you captive, drawing you in like a moth to a flame and your voice falters for a brief note. 

**

Lucien knows he should leave. Hewn city is not a welcoming one and his meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court did not go well. But against the warning bells ringing in his head, he decides to linger and wander around the dark city. With no clear destination in mind, his feet guide him through the labyrinthine alleys until, almost as if compelled by an unseen force, he stands before the entrance of a mysterious nightclub. Bathed in an eerie red light, the sign above reads The Rose. 

As he approaches, the entrance, despite being small, appears almost ethereal. Shadows dance upon the towering stone walls. The air is thick with an alluring blend of magic, pleasure and something darker. Inside is just as mysterious and intoxicating. He should leave and he turns around to do so when he a mesmerizing sound stops him and holds him in place.

“In the land of gods and monsters.” 

A beautiful and heavenly voice. It beckons him forward like a siren’s call and he allows the fae lights embedded in the cavern to guide him further. The corners of the nightclub harbor hidden alcoves, draped in luxurious silks and velvet.  

“I was an angel living in the garden of evil.”

Some high fae engage in secretive exchanges and gambles. Some are lost in the enigmatic allure of drinks and colorful powders that shimmer with enchantments. Some are engrossed in the pretty fae females and males on their laps. Others, like him, are captured by the hauntingly beautiful song.

“You got that medicine I need. Fame, liquor, love, give it to me slowly.”

Where ancient stone meets polished wood, Lucien finds himself at the bar and orders a drink. He turns to face the stage in the center of the club, leaning against the bar. His mechanical eye emits a soft whir as his gaze travels to the owner of the voice. 

“Put your hands on my waist, do it softly.”

A silent awe washes over him as he takes in the sheer beauty before him. Dressed in a white gown that drapes over you like moonlit silk, you stand on the stage like an angel amidst the monsters that lurk in every corner of the place. The fabric mirrors your every movement as you sway to the rhythm of the song in small billowing waves.

“Me and the Mother, we don’t get along. So now I sing.”

It’s as if you sense his gaze on you because your siren eyes are searching the crowd. Mirroring the depths of a fathomless ocean, your eyes are pools of sadness and longing, yet there's a vulnerability that softens in them as they lock with his. Your voice slightly falters and for a heartbeat, time seems to stretch.

A tremor courses through you, fingers tightening their grip onto the microphone. Your eyes darken again and then you’re tearing your gaze away from Lucien. He follows it, curious eyes landing on a male who stands on the balcony facing the stage. Even from where Lucien stands, he can tell the male radiates power and money.

“No one’s gonna take my soul away.”

“They call her the Nightingale.” The bartender says to Lucien as he hands him his drink. Lucien’s gaze returns to you. “She’s off limits. I suggest finding another female to warm you for the night. There’s plenty to choose from here.”

Lucien says nothing in return. Those hadn’t been his intentions upon seeing you. He simply found himself struck by your presence. And as the enchanting notes of your song continue to soar, there’s a rising desire to learn more about you. The thought of extending his stay begins to take root, a subtle whisper tempting him to linger a while longer. He’ll write to Tamlin to reassure him and continue to negotiate with Rhysand further.

**

The gamble Lucien took to stay in Hewn city is a winning one with each passing night yielding more promising signs of Rhysand's willingness to compromise. It brings him relief as it gives him an excuse to visit the nightclub again. He returns the next night and then the following, noticing something new about you every time. 

On the second night, he realizes the male you had glared at the first night he saw you was the owner of the nightclub. Lucien learns that he was right in his first impression of him. Benedict is a wealthy man, both in money and in connections, and is not subtle about the power he holds over this part of the city. Everyone in the nightclub bows down to him but not you. There’s a look of defiance in your eyes every time you look Benedict’s way.

On the third night, your usually hauntingly melancholic voice takes on a different, lighter tone. It’s still just as beautiful but now, harbors a sense of hope. And your eyes find Lucien’s with ease. You don’t break eye contact with him throughout the entirety of your performance that night, as though your song is a serenade meant solely for him.

It’s on the fourth night that he finally gets to talk to you. 

Breaking from your routine of disappearing behind the stage curtains after performances, tonight, you grace the bar with your presence, drawing stares from some of the high fae. His grip tightens on his glass when he recognizes a dark hunger in most of them but even so, none dare to approach you.

“What will it be, lovely?” Lucien hears the bartender address you.

Taking the empty spot beside Lucien, your presence and proximity captivate him. His heartbeat falters momentarily as you graciously flip your hair, surrounding him with the divine scent of the sweetest rose.

“Just a water,” you reply and he hears the rustle of your dress as you turn to face him. “You’re not from here.”

Lucien’s lips twitch upwards. “What gave it away?”

“You’re not a monster.”

He finally turns to look at you, a strange warmth spreading through him. Ever since he lost his eye, he had battled with the scars tainting his skin, internalizing a sense of monstrousity. Yet, as you regard him, it feels as though you see an angel where he sees only imperfections.

His eye drinks you in, the mechanical one on the left whirring along. The corner of his lips lift up into a smirk when he catches you doing the same. 

“How do you know I’m not a monster?”

“There’s something different about you. Something good,” your eyes study him carefully and then, with a soft sigh, you add, “It’d do you well not to dwell in places like this. They’ll only dim your light.”

Curiosity getting the better of him, Lucien asks, "And what about you?"

Your eyes widen, as though the question catches you off guard. "What about me?"

Despite the myriad thoughts swirling within him, he restrains himself and settles for, "You, too, don't seem to fit into this place.”

You fall into a thoughtful silence and your brow slightly furrows. Lucien keenly observes the subtle shift in your gaze as you scan the room before settling back on him. Leaning in as though sharing a secret, he instinctively leans closer. However, as he anticipates your words, you’re turning your back to him. Just as he's poised to speak, you sweep your hair aside, rendering him speechless as you show him instead. 

A delicate tattoo is etched onto the skin between your shoulders—a bird confined within a cage.

“I can’t leave,” he hears your murmur and the ink on your skin appears to shimmer like stars in confirmation. A bargain permanently marked upon flesh. Your flesh and he swallows thickly at what your words imply. 

You’re that bird, the nightingale, trapped in the cage.

“I have to go,” you say suddenly and your hair falls back into place, cascading down your back and concealing the telling tattoo. “Will you come by tomorrow?”

“I thought you said I shouldn’t dwell in places like this.”

“You shouldn’t,” you reply with a wistful smile and Lucien hates the way you drop your gaze.

“But I think I will.”

His words prompt your head to lift, eyes meeting his in surprise. A rush of excitement flushes your skin, transforming the wistful smile into one that is lighter, more promising. A fluttering sensation stirs in Lucien's stomach, and he can't help but return your smile.

A couple more days in Hewn City wouldn’t hurt.

**

Ten days ago, you were stuck in an endless loop of exhaustion and despair, where every night weighed heavily upon you. However, a welcome shift has occurred since then. Sleeping, eating and singing still consume most of your days but a newfound presence has entered the scene. Lucien.

And as the curtains are drawn back, revealing your presence to the awaiting audience, you embrace yourself for the blinding super trouper beams. Unlike nights past where a tinge of melancholy enveloped you, tonight is different. 

You won’t feel blue, like you always do, because somewhere in the crowd there’s him.

Lucien’s presence is like a burst of brilliance, akin to the beaming lights that find you on the stage every night. When your eyes find his amongst the crowd, your pulse quickens and heat rushes to your cheeks. It’s like the sight of him proves to you that you're still alive. 

In his wake, the shadows that linger in the club cower and hide away. He shines like the sun and you find his brightness infectious. It chases away the gloom that had settled over your own light, reigniting the flames of enthusiasm that had long dimmed within you.

Each note you sang resonated with newfound energy, and every performance became an opportunity to embrace the warmth and vitality he brought into your world. As the final notes of your song hang in the air, you can’t help but feel a sense of destiny. You were meant to meet Lucien.

After your performance, you sneak your way back to the bar where he waits for you.

“You came again,” you smile at him.

Lucien smiles back at you but it falters. “I’m afraid it’ll be the last time…for a while.”

The smile doesn’t waver off your face yet the glistening in your eyes reveals the threat of an emotional storm beginning to unfold. You refuse to dwell in it, not wanting to let the darkness that lingers over you like a gloomy cloud to consume you again.

“Okay,” you manage to breathe. You knew this day was coming. Lucien had to return back home, and you, regrettably, can’t go with him. “Let’s make the most of tonight, then. Dance with me?”

“Are you sure?” Lucien asks and you follow his gaze to where Benedict stands, a top of the balcony as always. You feel a rush of relief when you see a pretty female wrapped around him. A distraction. Perfect.

Lucien watches you, taking in every shift in your expression as he awaits for your answer. It’s not that he doesn’t want to dance with you. Gods, does he want to dance with you. Anything to be able to hold you close. To take you into his arms and hold you tight. 

Unfortunately, he’s well aware of the tight leash Benedict keeps you on. He doesn’t let you stray far from his sight. You’re not allowed anywhere near the private nooks lining the club or the rooms at the back where private exchanges occur. It’s for your own safety and Lucien can’t be mad at that. What unsettles him is the way Benedict regards you as his most prized object and Lucien doesn’t want you to face consequences over a dance.

“Yes,” you finally answer. 

There’s a strong certainty in your voice but also a subtle plea that tugs at his heartstrings. It brings forth a tightening in his chest. He suppresses the urge to frown. He plans to return to you but for now, it’s your last night together before he has to leave the Night Court. 

Lucien graces you with a smile instead. He offers his hand to you, his eyes lighting up with a warmth that mirrors the blood coursing through his veins. A delightful shiver travels up his spine as your hand wraps around his. Until now, you’d only share glances, lingering stares and the occasional brushing of skin. 

As the piano begins its enchanting melody, Lucien takes the lead, guiding you onto the dance floor. You’re so close you can feel the warmth of his body and all you want to do is melt into it. Melt into him. But you can’t.

So you bask in the warmth of his gaze instead. Up close, you can now appreciate the depth of his russet eye and you can’t help but marvel at the intricacies of the golden mechanical eye on the left. His gaze never strays from yours throughout the dance and the tender connection between you begins to rise under the brilliance of his gaze, pulling your heart with it.

As he holds you tight, you surrender to the intimate embrace, shedding all inhibitions. Neither of you speak, your eyes speaking for you. It feels as though the world has faded away, leaving just the two of you swaying in harmony. Smiling, having fun, where each step becomes a silent declaration of the unspoken feelings that have blossomed between you.

The passage of time remains elusive as you share the dance, the minutes slipping away unnoticed until the pianist gracefully bows to the audience. Your dance comes to a dreadful stop. Lucien's grasp on you tightens, a reluctant acknowledgment of the inevitable separation.

“I’ll come back for you,” he whispers, his promise carrying a tenderness that ignites a fervent flame within you. “I’ll find a way to help set you free, my sweet nightingale.”

He then pulls a pristine white rose, the same exact shade of white as the dress you wore when he first saw you, from the folds of his coat. He graces you with one last smile as he leans in, placing the rose carefully behind your ear. “Until then,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple and your eyes flutter shut.

“Until then,” you breathe and as Lucien walks away and the shadows inevitably return, you take delight in the way the darkness hesitates to claim you, leaving you untouched.

You can’t even bring yourself to care when Benedict corners you backstage, seething with anger. Of course, he noticed. You don’t even flinch when he throws his glass of whiskey toward the wall behind you, the shattered glass ricocheting. Some of them make their way to you, slicing your skin.

As you settle into the comfort of your small room, you retrieve the white rose from its perch behind your ear, cradling it delicately in your hand. A single drop of blood from one of your healing cuts taints the rose, painting one of the white petals red. Still, you cling onto the slender stem, gripping it as tightly as you grasp onto that fervent flame of hope burning within you. Your light will never dim again…

Because somewhere in Prythian, there’s him.

a/n: I'll admit this took an angstier turn than what I had intended but I hope you still enjoy this darker interpretation of ABBA's Super Trouper lol.

if you'd like to read more about these two, here's a part two.

tagging: @scooobies

[turn3tifosi]

V. super trouper

ollie bearman x singer!reader

even when you feel the lights are all too much, you know you have ollie to come back to

series masterlist | main masterlist

These lights are blinding, like always, but tonight, you don’t hate it as much. Because tonight, somewhere in the crowd, he’s there.

“I can’t do this. What if I'm not good enough Ollie?” You had called him last night from your hotel in Glasgow, your voice breaking over the phone.

“I’ll be there for tomorrow’s show. I wanted to surprise you, but just know that I’ll be watching and supporting you tomorrow, I’ll always do. And you are human, you're allowed to make mistakes"

His words had been a lifeline, pulling you from the depths of your weariness. Now, as you stand backstage, listening to the hum of thousands of fans, you take a deep breath. The roar of the crowd is a mixture of excitement and anticipation, a living, breathing entity that feeds off your energy and gives it back tenfold. You’ve been selling out arenas, performing for thousands of your supporters, yet how is it possible to still feel so lonely?

You step into the spotlight, and the familiar rush washes over you. The opening chords of your hit song echo through the venue, and the crowd erupts. You force a smile, feeling the weight of the stage lights on you, the pressure of expectations pressing down. Your voice carries out, soaring above the sea of faces, each one looking up at you with admiration and adoration. But despite the accolades, the cheers, and the fame, there’s a hollow ache inside you, a feeling of isolation that success can’t fill.

You move through the performance on autopilot, hitting every note, every step, like you’ve done a thousand times before. There are moments when you think you’re going crazy, the relentless pace of tours and appearances blurring the line between reality and the persona you present to the world. But tonight is different. Tonight, somewhere out there in the crowd, he’s watching.

As you sing the chorus, you scan the sea of faces, your heart pounding. There’s a spark of hope, a flicker of joy, knowing that Ollie is out there, cheering you on. You imagine his face, his warm smile, the way his eyes light up when he sees you. It’s enough to keep you going, to push through the exhaustion and the loneliness.

The final song comes to an end, and the arena erupts in applause. You take your bow, the noise deafening, but all you can think about is getting backstage, where he’ll be waiting. You practically run off the stage, your heart racing with anticipation.

And there he is, standing just behind the curtain, his eyes locking onto yours the moment you appear. He looks exactly as you remember, yet somehow better, more real. You don’t hesitate. You rush into his arms, burying your face in his chest as he wraps you in a tight, comforting hug.

“Ollie,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion.

“I’m here,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

The world fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment. The chaos, the noise, the pressure—it all dissolves. In his arms, you find a peace you’ve been desperately seeking, a reminder of why you do this, why you endure the madness.

“I missed you so much,” you say, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring. “I missed you too. But you were incredible out there. You always are.”

You smile, a real, genuine smile, and it feels like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Always,” he replies, his gaze full of unwavering support and love.

In this moment, with Ollie by your side, you know that you can face anything. The loneliness, the exhaustion, the pressure—they all seem a little more bearable when you have him to come back to. And as you hold him close, you realize that no matter how crazy this life gets, it’s going to be alright. Because in the end, he’s there, and that makes all the difference.

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Riley Green X S!nger fem reader

Riley had always loved the road. The hum of the bus wheels, the blur of landscapes passing by, and the energy of performing live for his fans were all parts of the life he adored. But this tour was different. It had a new, exciting edge to it, and the reason was Y/N L/N.

Y/N was an up-and-coming artist with a voice that was both raw and enchanting. Her music had a soulful depth that resonated with audiences, and her lyrics were poignant and heartfelt. Riley had noticed her talent early on and invited her to open for his tour, knowing she would captivate the crowd just as much as he did. What he hadn’t anticipated was how captivated he would become by her.

Rumors had started to spread like wildfire. Fans and industry insiders alike speculated about Riley and Y/N’s relationship. The two of them seemed inseparable, often seen laughing and talking backstage, and the chemistry between them was undeniable. Then came the whispers about a duet a song they had supposedly written together. Fans were buzzing with excitement, and the anticipation was building up to a fever pitch.

Riley and Y/N had been trying to keep things under wraps. They cherished the moments they had in private, away from the prying eyes of the world. They spent late nights writing music, sharing stories, and slowly falling in love. Their song, “You Look Like You Love Me,” was the culmination of their shared experiences and emotions, a melody that told their story.

As the tour progressed, the day of their big reveal grew closer. Tonight, they would perform their song together for the first time, and Riley had something special planned. They had kept their relationship a secret for long enough, and he was ready to share his feelings with the world.

Backstage, just before the show, Riley found Y/N in her dressing room. She was sitting in front of the mirror, her guitar resting on her lap, looking more nervous than he had ever seen her. Riley walked in, his presence immediately calming her.

“Hey,” he said softly, sitting down beside her. “You ready for this?”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. “I think so. Are you?”

Riley took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. “We’ve got this. The fans are going to love the song, and they’re going to love us together. I promise.”

They spent a few more minutes together, going over the song one last time before it was time to take the stage. The venue was packed, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. Y/N performed her set flawlessly, her voice captivating everyone in the room. Then it was Riley’s turn. He took the stage with his usual charisma, performing his hits and thrilling the audience.

Finally, the moment arrived. Riley paused his set and addressed the crowd. “I’ve got a special treat for y’all tonight,” he announced, his voice echoing through the arena. “There’s a new artist I want to introduce to you, someone incredibly talented and very special to me. Please welcome Y/N L/N!”

The crowd erupted in applause as Y/N walked back on stage, her guitar slung over her shoulder. Riley joined her, his guitar in hand, and they began to play “You Look Like You Love Me.” Their voices blended perfectly, the chemistry between them palpable. The audience was mesmerized, completely drawn into the intimate performance.

As they reached the chorus, Riley stepped forward, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s. The lyrics spoke of a love that couldn’t be hidden, a connection that was undeniable. And then, as the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, Riley made his move.

He gently set his guitar down and walked over to Y/N, pulling her close. The crowd held its breath, sensing something monumental was about to happen. Riley looked deep into Y/N’s eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her.

The arena erupted into cheers and applause, the fans going wild. Flashbulbs popped, capturing the moment for eternity. Riley and Y/N stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world around them fading away. In that instant, everything felt right.

As they pulled away, Riley took the microphone once more. “I guess the rumors are true,” he said with a grin, looking at Y/N with pure adoration. “We wrote that song together, and it means a lot to both of us. And yes, we’re together. She’s not just an incredible artist; she’s the love of my life.”

The crowd roared in approval, their cheers echoing through the night. Y/N, blushing and beaming, took the microphone from Riley. “Thank you all so much,” she said, her voice filled with emotion. “This tour has been an amazing journey, and sharing this moment with you all is something we’ll never forget.”

The rest of the concert was a blur of energy and excitement. Riley and Y/N performed with a newfound intensity, their love fueling their music. As the night came to a close, they stood together on stage, hand in hand, basking in the adoration of their fans.

Backstage, as the adrenaline began to fade, Riley and Y/N found a quiet moment alone. “We did it,” Riley said, his voice filled with awe and gratitude.

Y/N smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “Yeah, we did. And it was perfect.”

As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, they knew that this was just the beginning. Their love and music would continue to grow, and together, they would face whatever came their way. The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: they would travel it together, hand in hand, their hearts forever intertwined. The concert was over, and the crowd had slowly trickled out of the venue, leaving behind an empty but still electrified space. Riley and Y/N had basked in the afterglow of their performance, enjoying the lingering cheers and applause that had filled the arena. But now, as the night deepened and the lights dimmed, it was just the two of them again.

The tour bus was parked out back, away from the commotion of the fans and crew. It was their sanctuary, a place where they could be themselves without the prying eyes of the world. As they climbed aboard, the hum of the engine and the gentle swaying motion provided a comforting backdrop.

Riley closed the door behind them, the click of the latch signaling the start of their private time. The interior of the bus was cozy, with plush seating and warm lighting that cast a soft glow over everything. Y/N was still buzzing from the performance, her heart racing from the adrenaline and the kiss they had shared on stage.

Riley turned to her, his eyes dark with a mix of desire and affection. "You were amazing tonight," he said, his voice low and husky.

Y/N smiled, her cheeks still flushed from the excitement. "So were you," she replied, stepping closer to him. The air between them was charged with an electric tension, a palpable heat that seemed to grow with each passing second.

Riley reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she leaned into him, craving more of his closeness his lips inches from hers.

Before she could respond, Riley closed the distance, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. It was as if all the pent-up emotions of the evening were pouring out, a fiery mix of love and desire that consumed them both. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

Riley's hands roamed over her back, exploring the curves of her body through the thin fabric of her dress. The intensity of his touch sent waves of heat through her, and she responded in kind, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed against him.

They moved together, a tangle of limbs and heated breaths, until they reached the back of the bus. Riley guided her to the bed, gently laying her down on the soft sheets. He hovered over her for a moment, his eyes locking onto hers with a look of pure adoration and desire.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N nodded, her heart pounding with anticipation. "I've never been more sure," she replied, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

With a deep, rumbling groan, Riley captured her lips again, his hands beginning to explore her body with more urgency. He slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders, revealing more of her soft skin. He kissed a trail down her neck, savoring the taste of her, the warmth of her skin beneath his lips.

Y/N's hands found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upwards until he pulled back just long enough to strip it off. She marveled at the sight of him, his toned muscles illuminated by the soft light. She traced her fingers over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under her touch.

Riley's hands found the zipper of her dress, slowly pulling it down until the fabric pooled around her waist. He kissed his way down her collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reached the swell of her breasts, he paused, looking up at her with a smoldering gaze.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Y/N blushed under his intense gaze, her body aching for more of his touch. "Riley, please," she murmured, her voice breathless with need.

He didn't need any further encouragement. With a swift, fluid motion, he removed the rest of her dress, leaving her in just her underwear. His hands roamed over her exposed skin, eliciting a moan from her as he kissed and caressed every inch of her.

Y/N's fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, her urgency mirroring his. Riley helped her, quickly shedding the rest of his clothes until they were both bare, their bodies pressed together in a heated embrace. The sensation of skin against skin was almost overwhelming, the intensity of their connection taking her breath away.

Riley's hands were everywhere, exploring, teasing, and driving her wild with need. He kissed her deeply, his tongue tangling with hers in a dance of passion. When he finally moved lower, his mouth trailing kisses down her stomach, Y/N could barely contain her desire.

"Riley," she gasped, her fingers gripping the sheets as his lips found the sensitive spot between her thighs. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and she cried out, her body arching towards him.

Riley took his time, savoring every moment, every sound she made. When he finally moved back up, positioning himself above her.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

“I love you too,” she replied, her voice shaking with the intensity of her feelings.

With a gentle, yet insistent motion, Riley entered her, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through both of them. They moved together in perfect harmony, their bodies finding a rhythm that was both urgent and tender. Each thrust, each touch, each kiss brought them closer to the edge, their connection deepening with every moment.

The world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, lost in their own world of passion and love. As the intensity built, their movements became more frantic, driven by an overwhelming need to be as close as possible.

When they finally reached the peak, it was a wave of pure ecstasy that crashed over them, leaving them breathless and spent. Riley collapsed beside her, pulling her into his arms as they lay there, their bodies still entwined.

For what felt like ages, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the steady beat of Riley’s heart a comforting rhythm against her cheek. The world outside could wait. For now, it was just the two of them, lost in each others eyes.

[cyberslvts]

PAS DE DEUX || w.maximoff

Summary you grapple with the intensity with your feelings for Wanda and through a powerful dance your love and longing for one another are vividly unveiled

Warnings: angst, brief arguing, happy endings, kissing, forbidden love, allusions to homophobia, secret romance, my fav sappic balerinas, they r so cute im gonna sob!!

Pairing: ballerinaWanda! x ballerina!reader

WC: 3.5k

Note: this was sm fun to write i am obsessed

———

In the heart of the cold city, hidden behind a façade of faded grandeur, stood the enigmatic Thornfield School of Ballet. Within its dimly lit corridors and ornate ballrooms, the ethereal art of ballet was practiced with an intensity that mirrored the shadows that danced upon the walls. It was here that you found solace, your delicate movements and haunting grace resonating with the melancholic melodies that echoed through the grand hallways.

The Thornfield Opera House stood silent and grand, its vast expanse illuminated only by the silvery glow of the moon filtering through the tall, arched windows. The night felt like it swallowed you. The silence and loneliness of the dark gave you a heightened sense of focus. Dressed in a simple leotard and ballet skirt, you moved gracefully to the center of the stage. The empty red velvet seats, normally bustling with anticipation, now looked like slumbering sentinels in the darkness.

You were a brilliant and elegant dancer, the prima ballerina of the Thornfield Ballet School. Your every step seemed to weave magic, casting a spell over the audience with each performance. The years of training and dedication cultivated you so that you weren't just a dancer but a conduit for the very essence of the art form.

A sigh escaped your lips as you raised your arms, the opening strains of a haunting melody filled your ears. The music existed within the depths of your memory, each note etched into your soul. It was a melody only you could hear, a secret dance between you and the music of your heart.

With a deep breath, you began to move. Each step was deliberate, each extension of your limbs an expression of the emotions that swirled within you. The moonlight cast delicate shadows that danced along with you, a spectral audience that whispered its approval in the rustling of fabric

Your body twisted and turned across the stage and the opera house felt as if it came alive around you. The soft echos of your footfalls echoed throughout the grand hall, filling the space with a magical resonance.

The empty velvet red chairs surrounded you, blurring into a hue of gold and scarlet as you spun and twirled across the stage. The spotlight illuminated your form, casting long, enchanting shadows that stretched toward the edges of the grand hall. Your body seemed to merge with the haunting music, each note a whispered secret between you and the piano keys

You imagined thousands of eyes on you, each one locked in a mesmerizing trance that only you could break. You lost yourself in the dance, completely surrendering yourself to the music's embrace.

The final strains of the music echoed through the hall, and you froze in a final, breathtaking pose. The world felt like it held its breath for a moment before a figure emerged from the shadows of the audience.

“You know I don't like it when you come and watch me unannounced”

You spoke into the dark crowd. You didn't even need to see her to know who she was. A vibrant flash of red hair was illuminated by the spotlight as she stepped onto the stage.

“You’re glowing my love, How could I not stay and watch” she voiced, coming across the stage, wanting to be closer to you.

Wanda Maximoff, the embodiment of enigmatic allure, graced the Thornfield Opera House with a presence that demanded attention. With each step she took, the air seemed to shift around her, charged with an energy that was at once magnetic and captivating. A vibrant mane of crimson hair framed her face like a fiery halo, accentuating her aura of intensity.

As one of Thornfield's top dancers, Wanda's brilliance on stage was undeniable. Her movements bore the hallmark of a maestro, each gesture calculated and precise, cutting through the air like a sharpened blade. her performances left an indelible mark on the hearts of those who witnessed them.

The contrast between your styles was like a beautifully orchestrated duet: While you danced with the gentle grace of a waltz, guided by the melodies that flowed through your soul, Wanda's dance was a tempestuous tango, a dance with the shadows and the edge of passion. Her movements were sharper, her steps darker, and her presence engulfed the stage like a storm, leaving no corner untouched by her intensity.

Where your dance was a soothing balm, Wanda's was a consuming fire. Your elegance and grace resonated like a sonnet, whereas Wanda's movements told a story of calculated power. In your delicate pirouettes and fluid arabesques, there was a serenity that brought solace to the heart, like a gentle lullaby. But in Wanda's commanding leaps and controlled spins, there was a darkness that beckoned, a realm where passion and pain coexisted.

Wanda Maximoff, with her entrancing presence and mesmerizing dance, had woven her way into your heart in ways you never imagined. From the first time you saw her onstage, you were already hers. The secret romance that blossomed between you two was a delicate tapestry of stolen glances, secret rendezvous, and the softest of touches. Your attachment to her felt like poisonous vines, both intoxicating and dangerous. Squeezing around your heart until there was no escaping its grip.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the intensity of your feelings for Wanda began to stir a twinge of fear deep within you. The opera house, was a haven for your love, a place where you and Wanda could share stolen moments in the shadows. Yet, the world outside those walls was a different story altogether.

The truth was, relationships like yours and Wanda's were not welcomed with open arms within the confines of Thornfield. The Society's rigid expectations and conservative norms casted a long shadow over any love that dared to deviate from the conventional path. If your feelings were exposed, you both knew that you would face the harsh reality of ostracization. Given your elevated position within the ballet company, the fallout could be even more devastating. You yearned to dance freely with Wanda, to hold her close without the weight of hidden affections, but the thought of the world discovering your love kept you trapped in a ruthless cycle of avoidance.

As she began to approach you, you instinctively turned away, a motion that caused a flicker of hurt to cross Wanda's expression. Her smile faltered, and you silently crossed the stage, heading toward the speaker in order to switch to a different song.

“I need to practice, Wanda,” you spoke without facing her, hoping she would take the hint to leave you.

"You've been avoiding me," she suddenly declared, her voice ringing out in the open space. She came to a halt at the center stage, her gaze fixed firmly on your form. The intensity of her eyes holding you in place.

The intimacy you shared with her had grown to such profound heights that the mere thought of it sent shivers down your spine. Each stolen kiss and every whispered promise felt like a thread connecting you to a love that was becoming too powerful to be contained. And so, you found yourself avoiding her, retreating into the shadows like a fragile creature seeking solace from the storm.

In your heart, you knew that Wanda sensed your distance, your absence from her side even in a crowded room. The weight of your unspoken emotions was presence, that casted a shadow over your every interaction. She, with her intuitive nature, surely understood that something was wrong, even if the words went unspoken.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Wanda," you deflected, your voice tinged with a hint of unease.

“Yes, you do.” Her strides toward you were purposeful, carrying an air of frustration and longing

“You've stopped meeting me in the garden. you leave your door locked at night. You won't even look at me during rehearsal.” The light in her eyes dimmed, mirroring the distance that had inadvertently arisen. She, no doubt, grappled with the same intensity of your connection, the love that had burgeoned between you.

The guilt gnawed at you, knowing that Wanda deserved more than your silence, more than your hesitation. She deserved the world, and yet here you were, your heart caught in a tug-of-war between your love for her and the fear that had taken root within you.

"I've just been busy," you offered, your voice lacking the conviction it needed. The truth was, you couldn't bring yourself to lie, especially not to Wanda. Without meeting her gaze, you brushed past her, your eyes fixed on the sea of empty chairs as you prepared for the next song.

"Just as I said, I need to practice. I don't have time for this," you continued, your words slightly rushed, a veil of anxiety underscoring them. The show was fast approaching, and the pressure weighed heavily on you. "The performance is on Friday, and I barely have my part of the pas de deux down, and—"

"Fine then, I'll stay and help you," she interrupted, her voice carrying an unwavering determination. Wanda understood you better than anyone else. She knew that ballet was your lifeblood, your very essence. If that was the avenue she had to take to reach you, then so be it.

As the music began to fade in, she moved closer, bridging the gap between you. You stared at her, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty in your eyes. Was she serious?

Although Wanda wasn't your official partner in the pas de deux, her innate talent and brilliance made it easy for her to memorize the choreography. She had watched the routine countless times, During rehearsals, you'd often catch her gaze fixed on you, burning ache evident in her eyes. You wished it was her presence by your side, her soft, delicate hands on you, instead of the rough masculine ones whisking you through the air.

She took your hand in hers, her touch a warm reassurance that sent a shiver down your spine. You glanced at her one last time before the dance commenced, your movements seeming almost too deliberate, lacking the usual fluidity that came so naturally to you. Every step felt calculated as if you were trying to maintain a distance that your heart was struggling to obey. Wanda's gaze, however, remained fixed on you, unwavering and intense.

With each movement, her eyes searched yours, probing for answers to the questions you hadn't voiced. The emotions that played across her face were a silent plea, a desperate attempt to understand the reason behind your avoidance. Yet, even as you tried to keep your focus on the dance, the intensity of her gaze was a distraction you couldn't escape.

“Relax,” Wanda's voice cut through the tension, her hands on your waist guiding your movements. Your arms extended gracefully on each side, and your toes pointed delicately against the smooth wooden stage

In that instant, Wanda's movements shifted, becoming more edged and intense. She led you through a series of intricate steps, each one a silent declaration of her love and devotion to you. As the music swelled, your bodies came alive, moving in perfect synchrony. You began with a series of intertwining pirouettes, your movements mirroring Wandas with an effortless harmony. With every rotation, your eyes met briefly, a fleeting connection that spoke volumes beyond words.

You battled with your own emotions, your heart warring with your mind. You were determined to maintain the distance you believed was necessary to protect yourself and Wanda from the intensity of your shared feelings. The love you felt for her was a tempestuous sea, and you feared being swept away by its currents.

Yet, As you moved as one there was an undeniable chemistry, an untamed force driving you towards her. Her eyes followed your every move, filled with a love that yearned to be free from constraints.

Wanda's touch was gentle yet firm, her hands on your waist guiding your movements with a confidence that only came from a deep understanding. As you twirled and spun, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a realm where the intensity of your love was matched only by the beauty of your dance.

When the music built to its crescendo, Wanda's grip on you tightened her touch a grounding force in the midst of your internal storm. And in that final, breathtaking pose, as the music lingered in the air, your eyes locked onto each other's, a world of unspoken words passing between you.

As your heavy breathing slowed, the moment was broken when you turned away, walking out of her embrace,

“Why won't you just let me love you,” her voice echoed in the space, a plea that hung in the air like an unanswered question.

"Because I can't, Wanda," You whispered, your voice tinged with a hint of sadness. The reality of the situation weighed heavily, the knowledge that your love existed in a world that did not understand.

“Yes, you can” she countered, coming closer to you.

“People will find out. And when they find out theyll talk.” you exasperated, The weight of the world's judgment pressed down on you, suffocating the love that burned within you.

Wanda turned to face you, her expression determined. "Then hide me. Lock me away from the world if you have to," She breathed out, her voice carrying a plea that mirrored the depth of her feelings. She was willing to sacrifice her visibility, her place in the world, if it meant keeping your love intact. “I just want to be with you Y/n. Why can't you see that?”

It was your deep affection for her that filled you with guilt, knowing that she deserved better than waht you were giving her. You believed she deserved someone who would cherish her openly, free from the shackles of secrecy that bound your love. Wanda's passion, her unwavering commitment, made your heart ache with love for her, but it also filled you with an overwhelming sense of guilt. You loved her so much that it hurt, and you wanted nothing more than to see her happy.

“I can't do that to you, Wanda.” Guilt welled up inside you, emotions spilling over like a river bursting its banks. “You deserve to be with someone different. Someone who can love you without fear.”

“But I don't want that!” Her breathing was heavy and her, eyes burned with anger. "I am yours, Y/n," she declared, her voice sharp with passion. "All I want in return is your love, And you can't even give me that.”

You noticed how her bottom lip pushed out ever so slightly, just like it always did when she was trying not to cry.

The pain of your recent avoidance cut deep into her heart, leaving a constant ache that refused to subside. All she wanted was you, all she ever wanted was you, and your unmistakable withdrawal over the past few months had left her feeling lost in a suffocating pit of self-doubt. Why were you so eager to get away from her? Why couldn't she make you stay, even when she had tried her hardest? Was she not good enough to hold your attention?

These questions ate away at her and she had never felt so small, like an insignificant fragment in a world that once felt whole.

“You ignore me and push me away without any explanation.” Her voice was loud as it echoed across the stage. The hurt and insecurity painted on her face. “You're always leaving me. It's like you don't even care about my feelings!”

“Of course I care about your feelings” You turned to her, your own anger begining to rise up inside you. “You’re all I think about, everything I do is for you!”

Every choice you had made was for Wanda, every step you had taken was to protect her from the storm that could come crashing down upon you both. Your love was genuine, but the fear was suffocating, threatening to eclipse everything

"You think this isn't hard for me?" your voice cracked with frustration, your eyes blazing with a mixture of emotions. "I am terrified, Wanda. Every time I see you or feel you, it's like I'm drowning in the fear of what could happen.”

"You make me feel things I never wanted to feel," your breath came out in rapid bursts, as your vision became clouded by tears. "And I'm afraid that those feelings will be written all over me,” Your emotions began to feel overwhelming, the room closing in around you, suffocating you with its walls and the weight of your fear. “So this is the only way I know how to keep us safe, to keep you safe." Your words were punctuated by a sob, choked and raw. The walls you had erected were crumbling, and you were left standing bare before Wanda.

“and It's hard Wanda, it's so fucking hard. I miss you, all the time.” the confession tumbled out, your voice breaking as tears cascaded down your cheeks, the floodgates finally opening.

At the sight of your panicked tears, Wanda immediately rushed to you, her steps were loud across the stage until she caught you in her embrace, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, comforting hold, Wishing she could take away all the pain and fear you felt at that moment.

“Im sorry, Im sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to yell.” The tenderness in her voice was like a soothing balm, her arms holding you even tighter, as you fell into her body.

"I can’t-” You gasped, The fabric of her shirt absorbed the tears that fell from your eyes, “I cant loose you wanda”

The sobs that wracked your body were a release, a catharsis of emotions that had been pent up for far too long.

“You’re not. You are absolutely not losing me,” she reassured you, her words slightly muffled as she pressed kisses to your tear-stained cheeks. You instinctively clung onto her, worried she would disappear.

With her arms wrapped around you, Wanda's touch became your anchor. Her hands moved in tender circles on your back, a gesture of comfort that sent ripples of calm through your frazzled nerves. At that moment, the world seemed to blur and fade, leaving only the two of you cocooned in an intimate haven of solace

Your heartbeat slowed and your breathing relaxed against her. Her breath brushed against your ear, her voice was a gentle whisper, "I can't be without you, y/n" she admitted, spilling out the truths in her heart. “I know you're scared but please don't push me away.” The tenderness in her voice deepened as she continued, her words a balm to your fears. “I don't know what will happen in the future but I can swear to you that im not going anywhere.”

In those words, a sense of solace enveloped you, like a gentle embrace for your weary heart. With her by your side, the fear that had kept you captive began to lose its grip, replaced by a flicker of hope and the reassurance that you didn't have to carry the burden alone.

“Im sorry I avoided you” You whispered not bringing your gaze up to face Wanda as if you were hiding from your actions. “I was awful. I should have just talked to you.”

Wanda brought her hand to your chin tilting your face up until your eyes met hers.

"It's okay, I know you're trying to protect us both," she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of sincerity. "But you don't have to do it alone. Whatever happens, We can face it together."

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting Wanda's words melt into your skin. The attentiveness of her understanding touched you deeply, and You started to wonder how you could ever be away from her.

“I love you, so much,” you confessed hoping she could feel your sincerity “And i’m so sorry that I ever made you feel like I didnt.”

Her relief evident in her smile. She cupped your face, her touch grounding you in the present moment. Wanda leaned in, her lips meeting yours in a sweet kiss.

“I love you, more than you could ever know.”

In that stolen moment on the stage, beneath the watchful eyes of the empty velvet seats, your love was a dance in itself – a dance of vulnerability and strength, of passion and tenderness. And as you held each other close, you knew that the opera house, with all its secrets and faded grandeur, held a space where your love could flourish, defying the boundaries of time and circumstance.

[fadyelj]

All Summers End In Beirut

That summer in Beirut was never meant to be a journey inward; it was a time to shed the tension that had been building for years, a silent rage caged behind words, waiting for release. If I hadn’t confined it to words alone, that rage might have carved valleys out of stone. Instead, Beirut had to become the channel, blurring into nights spent chain-smoking in dimly lit pubs, romances that ended at dawn, and goodbyes that lived only on social media — Adieu, my dearest Beirut, though Beirut would know better.

I didn’t come here to romanticize the city or to make sense of my past. Beirut was simply the stage for a deliberate escape, a place to lose myself, not to find myself. Depth? I didn’t want it. Self-discovery? Even less. 

You go to Paris to find yourself, not Beirut.

They say romantics run from reality, but I think the opposite can be true. Sometimes, it’s the realists who are drawn to it, clinging to the poetry of a place like Beirut, knowing full well the inevitable heartbreak. Still, they chase it, how can they live knowing that the greatest art has always been born from the agony of others.

They say romantics run from reality, but I think the opposite can be true. Sometimes, it’s the realists who are drawn to it, clinging to the poetry of a place like Beirut, knowing full well the inevitable heartbreak. Still, they chase it, how can they live knowing that the greatest art has always been born from the agony of others.

Most who know me now might think I loved Lebanon from the very start, that my attachment was unshakeable, rooted in my childhood. And yes, I loved it — loved the version my father painted in late-night stories, those poetic tales he’d spin after slipping me a few bills for my Arabic lessons. My American-born Lebanese mother would look on, quiet but approving, as if to remind me that the language, the culture, was theirs, and that I was the inheritor of this beautiful burden. I memorized Ana esme Fady, w ana mn el Lebnan before anything else, words embedded as deeply in my identity as my own name.

My childhood was grown around Lebanon , a world away, yet vivid, woven from stories passed down like folklore. For years, my father’s tales could hold a magic of their own, sketching a distant land in colors bright and cinematic . But as soon as I began to think critically, that magic wore thin. I dug deeper, searching for something beyond his poetic recollections — and, yes, I found it. I just didn’t like what I saw. The stories, once so full of promise, started to feel threadbare, unable to hold up to the truth I’d uncovered. Resentment crept in. I felt the weight of belonging to a place I’d barely touched, a version of Lebanon that felt faded, passed down like an old newspaper, each retelling dulling its colors.

My father never wanted us to inherit his hate for the ugly parts of Lebanon. But the more I learned, the more I felt its grip on me. My God, as I fell down the rabbit hole of history and politics, the anger took root. I hated it. I hated my people. How could they turn heaven into hell? What gave them the right? I was only a child, but even as an adult, I still can’t find the answers. The unfairness of it all punctured me — the idea of a “home” drilled into my mind, yet always out of reach. Baba’s explanations never quite satisfied me. How could they do what they did? This new idea of Lebanon felt like a burden I hadn’t asked for, a heritage as heavy as it was distant. My anger grew as fierce as my love once was, aimed at my parents for planting this identity inside me, one that felt both too far away to reach and yet too close to escape.

When you’re a child born to the diaspora, there’s a harsh awakening. The stories you once loved take on shadows, and you begin to see yourself as part of a fractured history. A life in the diaspora is unforgiving, forcing you to carry a culture defined by survival and loss, a homeland that calls to you just as it keeps you at arm’s length. And yet, you’re expected to honor it, to love it. But where the hell was it for me all these years?

In those years of resentment, I lost myself in what you might call the most “American” ways possible — masking everything behind a polished exterior, where emotions were kept in check, and vulnerability was a distant concept. I crafted a composed, respectful façade, presenting a calm demeanor to the world while slipping in and out of identities like costumes, each one leaving its mark until the reflection in the mirror became unrecognizable. Certain truths I’ve kept buried, tucked away, left unspoken for the sake of the moshtamaa and a culture that expects us to live in quiet service to its ideals. Those years were a season of cold, each step pulling me further from warmth, further from a true self I could barely reach. Even today, I find myself still living in service to the moshtamaa. If I weren’t, wouldn’t I be writing freely?

But the moshtamaa wins, as it always does, leaving two choices: pretend and save face, or die by its sword. So, I’ve learned to play the game we all know too well, the one practiced behind closed doors. I walk the line between what’s true and what’s accepted, balancing carefully, learning to give just enough to satisfy but not enough to betray what lies beneath.

Today, though, I’m grateful to have found warmth again, in places I least expected, maybe even in Beirut itself. If this story is about anything, it’s about laying the bricks for a return that would come later — a return built on facing myself under a different sun, through eyes altered by time and distance, in a city that doesn’t promise forgiveness but offers, perhaps, the faint hope of reconciliation.

I’ve always considered myself a pessimist — or at least I was. Now, I’m less certain. Do you believe in naseeb? In the idea that everything is maktoub? Most days, I do. When the world throws me down, leaving me to stare at the pieces of something I thought I’d built, it’s almost comforting to believe this was fate, set out by some higher power. It’s a rational way to face my failures, a way to soften the edges of my shortcomings — and my friends, there have been many.

But then, there are other days, those rare days when my focus sharpens or when I’m medicated enough to believe fully in my own power. On those days, I don’t believe in naseeb. In those moments, it’s up to me to seize the world, to mold it, to make it my own. I’ve tasted the highest highs and endured the lowest lows, and somewhere between them, naseeb lingers in the background, watching, almost amused. Funny thing, this naseeb — it’s there when you’re at your worst, a crutch to lean on. But at your best, you realize it’s only ever been a story you’ve told yourself to make sense of things.

That’s why, sometimes, I hated this culture — or is it society pretending to be culture? I haven’t spent hours dissecting the difference. But I still wonder why this culture sometimes feels like a weight. Kindness can be a strength, yet sometimes it feels like a burden, a weakness we carry with pride. We’re so polite, even in revolution, so restrained, so respectful. We humanize everything. As Lebanese, we’re raised to be hospitable, welcoming, open-handed, even to those who come to tear us down.

It’s birthed into our history, in the very fabric of who we are. We’ve been the greatest lovers, poets, philosophers, building legacies out of words, hospitality, and resilience — but at what cost? We’ve shown grace to invaders, generosity to those who left scars, keeping that welcoming face, even as our eyes are gouged out . This hospitality, is it a survival instinct or our own self-inflicted wound?

We offer kindness to those who have broken us, a habit we can’t seem to shake. And that, more than anything, reminds me I’m Lebanese. Not through resilience, but in this weakness, this tendency to submit to fate and rationalize everything through comforts like naseeb. We’ll rationalize until it destroys us, convincing ourselves it’s out of our hands, that we’re powerless in the grand scheme. Maybe that’s the true Lebanese trait: cloaking our wounds in politeness, surrendering to the story we’ve been told is maktoub.

That summer in Lebanon was meant to last just two weeks — enough time to keep my mother from losing her wits and for me to avoid getting too attached. Lebanon was on the brink of a full-blown economic collapse, but somehow it was still the kind of crisis you could strangely enjoy. We Lebanese have a talent for squeezing joy out of hell itself. But the food poisoning was relentless; I swear I had more bouts of it than actual meals. Gas was scarce, leaving me stranded in the Chouf for two weeks alone. The electricity cuts, ones I’d later learn to base my schedule around, were already routine.

In 2021, Lebanon was cheap if you had U.S. dollars. “You could live like a king,” they’d say. A king, perhaps, but in a crumbling kingdom, a decomposing throne on shifting ground. That short, two-week escape stretched into five long months, a summer that took on a life of its own.

What do you do for five months in Lebanon? You put Baba’s folklore to the test. He’d told me he’d lived ahla eyam — the best days of his life — there, so I set out to see if his glory days held up, with my own modern twist, of course. The summer had to commence with the usual formalities: endless relatives streaming in daily (we were foolish to think two weeks would ever be enough), a parade of faces remarking on how much I’d grown, offering life advice I’d never follow, cursing the country I was born in, and reminding me, insistently, that I was Lebanese. Looking back, I wish I could’ve handed them that reminder with the same smug tone they’d given me. They needed to hear it, not me — after all, they weren’t the ones constantly reminded of where they came from. And it showed.

Then, finally, the real summer began: the clubbing, the drinking until I felt out of body, the strange sensuality of Beirut’s nights washing over me. Chain-smoking until my lungs felt scorched, wild kisses with strangers whose names I’d forget, tasting the city on every tongue. By dawn, I’d come home smelling like a chimney, my mother half-wrinkling her nose, half-smiling.My mother, first experienced Lebanon in the aftermath of the civil war, under Syrian occupation. Her homecoming was to a Lebanon in ruins, where she endured nasty, sexual remarks from Syrian soldiers on the streets — a Lebanon that had barely survived yet clung to the hope of reconstruction. For her, the country had weathered war, and through its scars, she could still see its beauty.

I am as doe-eyed as she was, hopeful for Lebanon’s rebirth. Yet, it saddens me to think of her early hopes — built on resilience but weighed down by reality. My mother loved the Lebanon I experienced that summer, perhaps even envied it. Watching me live it seemed to offer her a glimpse of the dream she’d never fully held. But her Lebanon never stood a chance, whether from the war or the expectations placed on her as a Lebanese woman raised in the diaspora.

It’s impossible to put into words how much my mother sacrificed to raise her children as Lebanese. She learned Arabic alongside us, prepared the traditional foods that connected us to our roots, and carried the weight of social expectations with grace, kindness, and love. If my father gave us Lebanon, my mother, in countless ways, taught us what it meant to be Lebanese, especially within the diaspora. For this, she’s rarely received the credit she deserves.

The summer grew lonely fast, and with time on my hands that I barely knew how to use, where better to spend it — or rather, who better to spend it on — than the faces on dating apps? I downloaded them all, swiping through profiles like browsing a gallery. I skipped anyone listing philosophy or psychology as interests — the very subjects I read into alone but had no desire to mix with summer flings. A philosopher would kill my buzz, and a psych enthusiast? Probably too eager to “read” me and fail.

I’ve never bought into zodiac signs, thinking we mold ourselves into those traits if we let them define us. As a Cancer, I’d rather avoid that “complicated” stereotype. And yet, you, my Beiruti lover, slipped through the cracks. There were plenty before you, and to be clear, I am no sex symbol — quite the opposite, really. But I have a certain charm, a mask I wear well, though, it unravels fast when the right string is pulled. I have a bad habit of being too deep for those who don’t care, and maybe too blunt for those who do.

This wasn’t supposed to be a journey of depth, I remind you, but I made an exception. After all, I was the ajnabi, the foreigner with broken Arabic, overly polite, saying please and thank you into every sentence, careful not to get too personal. The one who always leaves.

In a world where everything is instantly accessible, connections too often die before they’ve had the chance to truly live. A few minutes on an app, both revolutionary and tragic, now seem enough to define intimacy. But then again, everyone before you faded into irrelevance; after you, they simply ceased to matter.

You appeared unexpectedly in my swipes. Looking back, it almost disappoints me that it began there, as if it’s an insult to everything that came after. Whatever this was, it broke every boundary of digital connection, beyond anything an algorithm could contain. You shattered every rule, challenged each line I’d carefully drawn to keep people out. I may never write like the legends, but I would later love you with the urgency of those who inspired them.

Have I sold you the groundwork for a coming-of-age love story? God, I hope not. Those stories aren’t written for people like us, and they’re certainly not meant for places like Beirut. I won’t say if we broke that rule, but if we did, it was a story lived in the soul, never meant to be captured for the eyes- certainly not yours.

The dating app was our first encounter, our first in-person meeting the second — both unfolding in a single, impulsive night. It was the only time I allowed myself to be that spontaneous, that open. For once, I let go of who I thought I should be; I just let myself be.

I wish I could reach back, shake that past self, urge them to stay present, to see things as they truly were. Over the past two years, I’ve rewritten this story more times than I’d like to admit, asking myself: What was it about you that’s so hard to release? What keeps me searching for traces of you in others, only to come up emptier than you left me? The answer should enrage me, but instead, it humbles me. I could have cast you as the villain, and in many ways, you were. You shaped so much of who I would become: how I’d love, the person I’d grow into. And yet, here I am, sparing you, as if you were a debt I owed for sins from a forgotten life.

You were never the villain; we were just kids, and all summers start and end in Beirut.

That night replays in my mind like a vinyl on loop, the needle pressing down, cutting through the haze of a post-pandemic fog. I wasn’t nervous, and neither were you. In Beirut, no one knew me yet. Does that sound pretentious? Maybe so, but that probably means you don’t know Beirut. I didn’t — not then, not until a year after that summer. But I learned quickly: in Beirut, everyone knows everyone. It’s a city stitched together by connections, faces you know by name, names you know by rumor. That’s what makes it beautiful and, just as often, unforgiving.

Did we have dinner? I can’t remember. But I remember the abandoned home we tried to climb — somewhere in Gemmayze, or Mar Mikhael, maybe Sodeco. I was hesitant, still too green to embrace the thrill of Lebanese lawlessness. But you, with that maddening confidence, climbed as if you belonged there, as if the city, its people, and even its emptiness were yours to claim. You wore that boldness well, like armor, until, like all armor, it eventually cracked.

We ended up on a bench in Mar Mikhael, talking into the night. I let years of pent-up anger spill out, pouring words over you like gasoline, almost hoping you’d catch fire. Was I that fragile, that quick to unload it all? You, though, you kept your calm, saying so much with so few words, holding back just enough to keep yourself safe. I’d learn to play that game eventually, but never as well as you.

That night, we seemed to live a hundred lives in a few hours, time expanding until it felt like it might never end. But, of course, it did. Something shifted in me as it drew to a close, like a new wire connecting deep in my mind, a change I’ve carried ever since. It ended with a kiss, messy and unapologetic, pressed against the walls of Mar Mikhael under a blue streetlight, your confidence outbidding mine, as if we were two revolutionaries daring the world. A soldier watched us, but we didn’t care.

Beirut was a different time then. The soldier couldn’t even feed his kids, let alone care if two strangers kissed in the street. Beirut today, the soldier beats you just so he can feed his kids — and somehow, you understand.

I’ve written about this too many times, penned it as if it were my will and the country its witness.

I‘ve only given you the beginning, and though the story doesn’t end here, for you, it must. Perhaps I haven’t left you fulfilled; Beirut has that way about it — a love in extremes, a city defined by the unfinished, and inhabited by those merely passing through. That summer felt endless, with stories I’ll never put to paper. I’ve come up with countless reasons why all summers must end in Beirut, but in the end, they’re only theories. You’ve seen my contradictions laid bare. Whitman was allowed his contradictions, so why not me? Am I Whitman? No, not in this life, and not in the next. But I’ll contradict, freely.

In the end, there will always be three sides to this story — yours, mine, and the truth.

What I know to be true is this: you shook me in ways I never expected, and here I am, writing about a time that perhaps should have been left unwritten, simply lived. Maybe it was my American politeness, or my Lebanese hospitality, that softened each retelling, but no matter who you are now, you will always be my Beirut.

The summer of 2021 has never returned, yet it left me with more than I bargained for — lessons about life, about myself, about the person I longed to be and what I must never become.

You offered me revolution but gave me meghli ice cream, and I forgive you.

A year later, I moved to Lebanon, learning to love Beirut as you once taught me to , holding it like a secret, forgiving its sins, and embracing it as if I were your sacrifice to the city. If that’s what I was, then I’ll honor it. Beirut always knows better.

I promised myself not to search for you when I returned, not to wish for you in the eyes of strangers. But when I broke that promise, every face fell short — not because of them, but because of us…

My dear, this city without you is like nurturing a lone flower in one hand while severing its roots with the other.

[crumbledcastle28]

Sebastian Sallow: Metallic Blood, Lacewing Flies, and Frostbitten Air

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x fem!ravenclaw!reader (she/her; afab) (house is only mentioned twice)

Summary: Sebastian has pushed it too far and can think of no other remedy than you.

Excerpt: "Do you honestly think I would not be able to answer Ravenclaw's precious riddle?" he questioned. You scoffed, reaching to your left to turn on your yellow-toned lamp resting on your bedside table, and Sebastian's body stiffened. You faced him, eyes widening, and hands coming over your once again wide open mouth. A gash - so deep, red, and bloody that the skin was separated in two- stretching from the top of his left eyebrow to the bone of his jawline was the first thing you noticed. The second was the smile he still adorned. "I lied," he laughed humorlessly, still smiling as blood trickled into his mouth. "I got Amit to tell me the answer months ago."

Warnings: small mention of death, swearing, blood, detailed descriptions of stitching, crying, kissing, so much flirting, AGED UP CHARACTERS.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N; Here we are again. Thank you to @peterwandaparker @ithinkweallsing @intheshadowofthegame @pasukiyo and @slythering-snake-boys for the love on my previous fic. I hope you all enjoy :)

My Writing

If you'd like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

(pic from pinterest)

There was no solace like sleep.

Drifting away in a sea of covers and quilts, the pillow wrapped in your arms your only anchor to the conscious world. Hours go by in fractions of seconds; zeal coats your body and mind at the feeling of its promise. Your frigid hands and tired eyes cured by the touch of a blanket and the warping of a mattress against the curve of your spine. A stage to dream, not to think. Not to feel. Not to worry. Only to coast.

You were ripped from its precipice by a hand as cold as death.

You pulled away from it, your mind too sunken into your slumber to even conceptualize that it was real, until it pulled at you again. As light as a feather, and equally as apprehensive.

You hummed softly, blinking yourself awake, eyes watered with so much fatigue that everything was a blur. You shut your eyes harshly and opened them once more, vision now clear enough to make out the silhouette in front of you.

Or rather, the man in front of you.

Fortunately, you could recognize him by the depth of his breaths alone.

"Sebastian!" you shouted, sitting up completely in the darkness, still wrapped in the sheets of your bed.

"Shhh," he replied, pressing the palm of his right hand against your mouth, and the palm of his left against your cheek. His touch was firm, not rough.

You mumbled something against his skin as he scanned the vacant room, ensuring no being had managed to hear him. You attempted to speak again, and he finally let go of his hold.

"What are you doing here?" you said, managing to somehow whisper and yell at the same time.

"I -" he began, his breath coming through his mouth becoming slower and slower, " - I needed you."

You were grateful for the darkness overwhelming the room. Your mouth opened like a hog. You quickly shut it.

"How in Merlin's name did you even get in here?"

You could see the smirk on his face, even through the night.

"Do you honestly think I would not be able to answer Ravenclaw's precious riddle?" he questioned.

You scoffed, reaching to your left to turn on your yellow-toned lamp resting on your bedside table, and Sebastian's body stiffened.

You faced him, eyes widening, and hands coming over your once again wide open mouth.

A gash - so deep, red, and bloody that the skin was separated in two- stretching from the top of his left eyebrow to the bone of his jawline was the first thing you noticed. The second was the smile he still adorned.

"I lied," he laughed humorlessly, still smiling as blood trickled into his mouth. "I got Amit to tell me the answer months ago."

Your hands still cupped your mouth at the sight of his gaping wound, so fresh blood was still pouring down his neck, as you took a shaky breath in. Your hands dropped from your mouth as his smile slowly dissipated into a wince.

"Seb," you whispered.

"I told you," he replied, bloodshot eyes piercing into yours. "I needed you - need you."

You quickly snapped out of your shock and forced yourself to focus, all remnants of drowsiness replaced with its viger, and stood up. You made your way around your bed and opened the second drawer of your bedside table, pulling out a dusty first-aid. Sebastian allowed his full weight to be seated onto your bed, the frame of it squeaking.

"You're lucky every other Ravenclaw went home for the holidays," you said, dusting off the kit and opening it. You took out what you needed - multiple towels, a needle, a vile of previously boiled water, and string.

Sebastian hummed in agreement. "And I'm lucky you didn't."

You smiled, bringing your supplies over to your bed. You propped him up against the bed frame, and you sat before him, legs crossed. "I suppose you are."

You took his chin into your hands and moved his face around in the light, taking a good look at his injury. The skin was completely sliced, and a bruise was already beginning to form around his eye. His eyes fluttered, obviously trying to mask the pain.

"Magic won't work on this," you said, opening the vial of water and dousing a towel with it. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he responded, and you pressed the towel against the wound. He hissed, balling your sheets up into his fist. The towel quickly became stained with red.

"What happened?" you asked, attempting to distract him in any way you could.

"What do you think?" he responded quickly. "He didn't want me there."

"He" meaning his Uncle Solomon. You hummed, your way of coaxing him to continue.

"I arrived in Feldcroft this morning and went to our house immediately, and Anne was ecstatic," he said, and you removed the towel, satisfied with the wound's cleanliness. You began to thread your needle. "I haven't seen her that happy in months."

You smiled, the image of her smiling filling you with a crackling joy.

Sebastian smiled at your smile.

"She brought me inside, hugging me so hard I could hardly breathe," he continued, and you lined up your needle. He saw it from the corner of his eye, and his body paralyzed with fear. His breath halted, and so did yours.

"I'll be as quick as I can," you whispered, looking him in the eye.

"I know," he replied, but his eyes shut and his face winced, preparing himself for the pain. For some reason, it was that image that finally sunk the situation into your brain. How hurt Sebastian was, both physically and emotionally, and how desperate he was to just get this over with. You felt helpless, tears beginning to culminate into your eyes. You didn't want to be the cause of that look on his face, but you had to be, and you hated yourself for it.

You were all he had.

And it was with that realization that you couldn't help yourself. You kissed his cheek, just to the right of his wound, breathing in his usual musk of fresh pears, butterscotch, and clean linen. This scent was now clouded, however, with the pungent aromas of metallic blood, lacewing flies, and frost-bitten air. His skin was soft against your lips, despite it all, but you did not allow yourself the time to memorize it. Instead, you pulled away, hoping he could understand everything you meant with the kiss. I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I've got you now. You're safe.

You lined up your needle once again, not allowing yourself to see whatever reaction he had to the gesture, and stuck it through the skin, beginning to stitch.

The whimper he released cracked your heart in two.

"Keep talking," you said to him, focusing as best you could. "Just keep talking."

He caught his breath, swallowed harshly, and continued, his voice strained and husked. "She brought me into the kitchen, showing me the meal she prepared. I told her how - how proud of her I was. She thanked me for coming and then brought me to the ta - table, mumbling something about how ha - happy she was to celebrate the holidays as a family."

You had made it to just below his cheek bone, your body sweating and his shaking. Tears still ran from your eyes.

He swallowed again, exhaling deeply. "She set it all up, made sure I was comfortable, and we waited for Solomon. She asked me about - about school. How I was doing. Ho - how you were doing."

You would be lying if you said your focus did not waver.

"I told her everything was great," he continued, hissing once again as you tightened an especially separated piece of skin.

"Over halfway done," you mumbled, and he nodded.

"Finally he showed up, not hi - hiding his shock at my presence at all," Sebastian said. "And we started eating. Everything was perfect. The snow was falling through the window, Anne was happy, I was happy, it was like something out of a novel."

You waited for the catch.

"Until I fucked it up. Like always."

You almost grabbed his hand. Almost.

"I mentioned some of the research I've been doing to - to help Anne," he said, "and Solomon lost it. Yelled that I had to go and ruin the holidays with my obsession with Anne's condition. He ye - yelled so loud that he..."

Sebastian paused, and you paused with him.

"...he made Anne flinch," he said through gritted teeth, "and so I lost it too. I don't even remember what I said."

You looked at him for a moment, this broken boy in your bed, and scoured your brain for any string of words that could make him feel better. Everything you came up with felt immeasurable to his anguish.

So, you finished the final section of stitching quicker than you thought you ever could, not ignoring how Sebastian did not even flinch, and cut the thread. You then placed a fresh, cold-water soaked towel into his wound, attempting to calm it down.

Your eyes never left his, which were now staring off into the distance, haunted.

"Seb," you whispered, trying your best to cradle him with your voice, "then what?"

He sighed. "It's blurry. I know I stormed out, I don't remember what direction I took. Next thing I knew, Ranrok's loyalists were surrounding me, and I..."

He breathed deeply.

"...I killed them all."

You nodded, gently wiping at his wound before removing the towel completely. He turned to look at you, his gaze a mix of fire and pain.

"And I got this during the fight. A moment I wasn't looking," he said.

You nodded again and placed the dirty towels and needle onto a third clean one, and placed that onto the wooden floor of the common room. You looked at your hands in the glowing light - coated in blood, some even dripping down your wrists, a few droplets finding their way onto your sleep shirt.

You looked back up at him, his eyes on your hands as well.

"How's it feel?" you asked him, and his eyes snapped back up into yours.

"Better," he mumbled, wiping at his nose. The wound was yellow, ugly, and swollen, but it was closed. Soon enough, Wiggenweld would work on it, and it would be healed completely. You didn't need to tell him that. "Thank you, Y/N. Really."

You nodded, resting your sticky hands in your lap. "Thank you for being honest with me."

He nodded back, and the two of you sat like that for some time. Neither knowing what to say, but neither wanting the other to leave.

You broke the silence, sliding off the bed and standing up. "Get some rest, Sebastian. You need it."

He looked up at you, eyes caramelized from the yellow lamps and tears, and stood up in front of you. The look upon on his face was a mix of seemingly every emotion, and he licked his lips. You looked up at him and smiled faintly before leaning down to move the blood-soaked towels out of the way.

He stopped you, sliding his palms over your cheekbones, and kissed your lips.

You wished you could say you hesitated, pulled away in shock, or stopped him, asking if this was something he truly wanted or if it was a way to separate from his own brain, but no.

You all but fucking melted.

His lips were like velvet, caressing against your own like a moth to a flame, unable to get enough, not caring if it burned. And yet, he was delicate with the rest of his body - his hands on your face slowly making their way down to your waist. He was a magnet for you, pulling you in like a song. It did not take you long to place your own hands onto his robes and pull the material between your fingers, pulling him closer, closer, closer. He tasted of roast and cinnamon, likely from the dinner he had mentioned.

You whined as he tipped your head back suddenly, allowing him more access to cartograph your mouth. Merlin, he kissed and kissed and kissed you - breathing into your mouth, nibbling on your bottom lip, never letting go.

You didn't want him to.

His hands were in your hair now, massaging your scalp with his nails, sending chills down your spine. Your hands moved to his tie, making it nearly impossible for him to pull away.

He found a way.

You chased after his lips with your own, but he held you back, breathing a laugh against your mouth. You opened your eyes.

His freckles were a piece of fucking art up close.

"Y/N," he whispered against your mouth, centimeters away. "Y/N."

"What?"

"We've got to work on your aim."

You smiled, knowing he was referring to your quick taste of his skin from earlier. "Oh, 'we' do?"

He smiled wide enough to show his dimples, stretching the stitches, eyes darting from your left eye, to your right, to your mouth. "Yes."

"So that's why you kissed me?" you questioned, mouths still nearly touching. "So we could 'work on my aim?'"

His face suddenly turned sincere. "No," he said. "No it wasn't."

You smiled, eyes glowing in victory.

He pulled you back to his mouth, but as you closed your eyes, you caught a glimpse of your hands on his chest, and pulled away with a gasp.

"What?" he said, suddenly panic-stricken, removing his hands from your body instantly. "I'm sorry, what did I -"

"Your robes," you said, pointing at his chest, and he looked down.

His white shirt, tie, and collar of his robe were stained pink, fingerprints visible even in the grim lighting you were standing in. His mouth opened, but before long, he met your gaze with a smile.

"Sebastian I - you're smiling?"

He laughed, genuinely laughed. "Yes, I'm smiling," he said, still laughing.

"But I've just stained your things!" you said, unable to not laugh with him. "I am so sorry, Seb. I'll wash them, I swear -"

"Trust me, Y/N, this is not the first time I have gotten blood on my clothing," he said as he walked closer to you once more and pecked your lips. "But it is by far my favorite time."

You rolled your eyes and kissed him again, and again, and again, the both of you smiling into the kisses so big you could barely even bring your lips together. You hummed contentedly, as did he.

"Sebastian," you whispered against his mouth, and he kissed you again, practically groaning.

"Merlin do that again," he asked, and you smirked.

"Sebastian," you said, and he kissed you harder than he had all night.

"Yes?" he responded.

"You need to sleep. You need to heal."

"I need you," he said, and you kissed him one final time.

"Go to your common room, take a shower, get some sleep," you said to him, eyes dancing across his gash, despite the mind-numbing image of Sebastian Sallow with swollen lips and flushed cheeks you had before you.

You didn't want him to go, but he had to.

He nodded, knowing you were right, but still not removing his hands from you.

"And after you do all that," you continued, "you come and find me. To make sure you are healing properly, of course."

Merlin, if only you could have captured the look on his face that he met you with and kept it in your pocket for the rest of your days. He nodded and pressed one final kiss to your own cheek. You smiled.

"Of course," he said sarcastically against your skin. "Thank you, Y/N. For everything."

You nodded, and with one final smile, he walked past you to exit the common room. You rubbed your lips together, wondering if you were somehow in a dream the entire time.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, and you turned around to face him. He had made it to the door to the bedroom, one hand on the handle as he spoke.

"I kissed you because I have been in love with you since the day you bested me in our duel."

He left you with only the echo of the door closing behind him, and the realization that no, this was not a dream. Not at all.

Tag list: (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@leahkenobi

[foldingfittedsheets]

So as we’re all losing our shit over the Bumbleby moment I wanted to take a second and talk about it from a production standpoint really quick.

When you’re making media, shows, games, etc, you need to decide on resource allocation. Every single thing has to be planned out and accounted for, the shots, scene length, music, story, framing, environment- there’s literally so much more that goes into animated shows like RWBY because everything they include has to be worth the emotional impact of budgeting for it.

Now after storyboarding there’s a stage of ranking each scene A-C (or however far down you have to go). A scenes will get way more resources and time invested in them but C scenes- well if you’re running behind that’s what you can cut.

And what I’m getting at is that the Bumbleby Bridge scene is AAAAAAA. The animations are also much more in depth than general scenes, environmental factors like the wind are playing a part in the storytelling (and I can’t say for SURE but I’d speculate that Blake and Yangs hair don’t use physics engines based on how they move so every hair moment is being moved by hand by an animator).

So they have lots of follow through and unique actions with their animation. Their eyes, posture, hair, ears are all much more mobile and expressive than casual scenes. They have a custom song that comes in perfectly as the tone of the scene changes. They have a custom VFX with flowers blooming around them. (They get a tiny custom blurring vfx happening behind them too and while I think that’s a lower bandwidth it’s just the attention to detail, really).

So CRWBY just. They LOVED this scene. They spent so much time and energy making this as beautiful and magical as it could possibly be for us, because they recognized (probably ten years ago) that this moment would be huge for the story, for the fans. They heavily invested resources into it. They breathed so much life into it and I’m so grateful.

[crunchycrystals]

still thinking about That Scene in chris grace as scarlett johansson and i want as many people to watch this as possible so under the cut it goes. watch this if you've ever been interested in representation in media and how it affects the way you perceive yourself

anyways so ive talked briefly about how i love a good full utilization of a format (link here) but now i wanna go more in depth on it bc i love it a lot

make some noise

jesus christ the first time i saw this i paused and started jumping up and down on my couch. let me start with basics !!! i love that the video of the show appears on the make some noise tv. its so unnerving to see something completely detached from make some noise now on the tv after watching dozens of episodes. and sam just saying the normal spiel he does every time leaves you wondering for a few extremely disorienting seconds if they just edited the video onto a normal episode until he starts to introduce chris and you see his nameplate is erased. another extremely disorienting thing because we NEVER see the nameplates empty and it ties in so well with the identity crisis currently happening in the show. he has no idea who he is as a performer like is the performer part of him the real part?? how much has been played up for entertainment??? and then after the horror has been slammed into you by the prompt and seeing chris as confused by all of this as we are, he runs off which leads to the thing that kept me standing on my couch for the next 10 minutes

very important people

first off. i absolutely love the coincidence (or intentional detail???? who knows but either way) of chris's first line on the make some noise set being "my name is..." because that's the thing that started vip !!!!!!! and throughout the rest of the existential crisis dropout trip he constantly says "hello my name is" too ough i love that so much thats why i started writing this whole post. very important people is the perfect show to add to this segment it makes me feel a little feral thinking about it. coming out on stage without any alterations to his appearance, again back to the idea of is the chris grace on stage the real chris grace?? can he ever be??? and again his name is gone like in the scene before. vic says "you can be anything you want" like the thing scarjo said to justify playing an asian character and he still can't come up with anything. then the card transition oh my godddddddd

dirty laundry

(side note i did say before that the cards on the vip set were dirty laundry cards. i was wrong they are vip card the designs just look very similar esp compared to s1 of vip)

this is gonna be way shorter than the two rambles above i just think it's really cool to use the dirty laundry question format for some identity crisis stuff. i don't know how to properly express how cool i think it is i don't think i can do it justice. the "who..." format for the cards is a great way of expressing how he is losing grip of his identity

this section of the post is also to point out that i am only noticing now that the "dropout presents" version of chris is seen on the couch at some point also heckling stage chris which is a nice detail especially since part of the card was "who is generally a hypocrite"

gastronauts

gastronauts hasn't come out yet so i can't analyze this as much as i'd like but to me it just seems like an extension of the thing started in dirty laundry of everyone confusing him for scarlett johansson. i initially see this as a reference to the fact that throughout the whole show it's been going deeper than him playing scarlett as she plays him and then her playing him plays her again, etc, but thinking about it more for this post makes me think it's like the line between the real person and character they play blurring. i think everyone in the dropout audience is pretty familiar with this like we know brennan pissed on game changer isn't actually how he is in real life, but it's extremely easy to fall into that parasocial trap. when you put so much of your actual self in a character or performance it's hard to find the line between, even for the performer. chris keeps saying that he's not scarlett but everyone insists it's who he is

[deafeningladyruins]

Carnival of Shadows

2. The Obsession

The days that followed were a blur of haunting dreams and unsettling awakenings. She couldn't shake the memory of the carnival or the enigmatic clown who had silently stolen her heart. The voices in her head grew louder, intertwining with visions of Art the Clown, his presence becoming an obsession that consumed her every thought. Each night, she found herself drawn back to the abandoned carnival, unable to resist the magnetic pull. The whispers in her mind urged her to return, to find solace in the darkness. She wandered the empty streets, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of him. The carnival, once a place of fear, had become her sanctuary—a twisted refuge where she felt understood.

Art the Clown watched her from the shadows, his fascination growing with each passing day. There was something about her that captivated him, a kindred spirit in the sea of humanity. He had seen the world through a lens of chaos and madness, but in her, he saw a reflection of his own tormented soul. She was different from the others, and he was determined to keep her close. One night, as she roamed the carnival grounds, she stumbled upon an old tent. The entrance was partially collapsed, and curiosity got the better of her. She pushed her way inside, the air thick with the scent of mildew and dust. The interior was dimly lit by a single flickering lantern, casting eerie shadows on the faded stripes of the tent walls.

"Why do I keep coming back here?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the persistent whispers in her mind.

As if in response, the lantern's flame flickered, casting a brief shadow that made her heart skip a beat. She turned and found Art the Clown standing behind her, his silent presence both terrifying and comforting. She couldn't understand why, but his closeness brought a sense of calm amidst the chaos of her mind.

"You're here," she said, her voice trembling. "Why do you keep watching me?"

Art the Clown's expression was unreadable, his smile ever present but his eyes betraying a depth of emotion that she couldn't quite decipher. He stepped closer, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her.

"I feel like I'm losing my mind," she admitted, her voice barely more than a whisper. "But when you're around, everything feels... different. Less frightening."

Art the Clown tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. He took her hand and led her to a small stage at the center of the tent. There, he revealed an old music box, its once bright colors now faded and worn. He opened it, and a haunting melody filled the air, the sound both beautiful and eerie. She watched in awe as Art the Clown performed a silent pantomime, his movements graceful and deliberate. It was as if he was telling her a story through his actions—a story of love and loss, of madness and redemption. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, the emotions overwhelming her.

"You understand me," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "You see the darkness inside me and you're not afraid."

Art the Clown finished his performance, his eyes locking onto hers. In that moment, she knew that their fates were irreversibly intertwined. She didn't know where this path would lead, but she was no longer afraid to follow it.

As the music from the music box continued to play, Art extended his hand once more. She hesitated for a moment, but the allure of the dance was too strong to resist. She took his hand, and he led her to the center of the stage. With a gentle yet firm grip, Art began to waltz with her, his movements surprisingly elegant for a clown known for his grotesque persona.

The dance was a silent conversation, each step a whisper of their unspoken bond. She felt herself being swept away by the rhythm, her mind momentarily freed from its torment. As they twirled and spun, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of peace, as if the chaos inside her had found harmony in the darkness of the carnival. The night stretched on, filled with unspoken words and shared silences. As they left the tent and wandered the carnival grounds together, she felt a strange sense of belonging. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be—by his side, in the darkness.

---

Chapter 1

[moonselune]

hello again! Hope your inbox isn’t too full. When you get to this, take your time btw, can we have a lil scene where gith!bard!dancer!tav and laezel head off to the tears w/ voss and orpheus and they like “hes a weird ass motherfucker—he’s dancing? What a dumb—oh my god he’s slaughtering—HOLY SHIT HES GUTTING—*SON OF A BITCH HES MASSACRRING*”

Aw I love this

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel x Gith!Bard!Dancer!reader | Look at him go

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The battlefield ahead would be unlike any other, a treacherous space teeming with Githyanki soldiers loyal to Vlaakith. Lae'zel was focused, her eyes alight with determination. By her side, you, her lover, prepared for the coming fight in your own unique way.

Kith'rak Voss and Prince Orpheus, both seasoned warriors, stood nearby, their expressions hardening as they took stock of the battlefield. They had already voiced their doubts about you considering your background as a bard and a dancer. They found your presence and profession strange for a warrior. You could almost hear their thoughts: A dancer? What use could he possibly be in battle?

As you all graced the battlefield on the legendary Tears of Selûne, you took a deep breath and began your routine. Music emanated from your lute, enchanted to play melodies that bolstered the spirits of your allies. You moved with grace, each step a precise and practiced motion that seemed to defy the urgency of war. Voss glanced at Orpheus, a skeptical look in his eyes.

"Is he… dancing?" Voss muttered, incredulous. Orpheus' brow furrowed, but he remained silent, waiting to see what would unfold.

Lae'zel stood by your side, her faith in you unwavering. She knew the depth of your skill, both in music and combat. As you danced, your movements began to change, growing sharper, more deliberate. The Githyanki soldiers approached, their weapons drawn, ready to cut down any who opposed them.

In an instant, your dance transformed. With a flourish, you spun, drawing hidden blades from your attire. The transition from dancer to warrior was seamless, almost mesmerizing. Your blades flashed in the light, and the first soldier fell, his throat slit before he even realized what had happened.

Voss's eyes widened. "What the—"

"Focus!" Lae'zel barked, slicing through another enemy, her movements perfectly synchronized with yours.

You continued your deadly dance, each step a calculated strike, each spin a lethal flourish. Your blades moved in a blur, cutting down enemies with a precision that left Voss and Orpheus speechless. The battlefield became your stage, the enemy soldiers your unwitting partners in this gruesome ballet.

Orpheus, finally shaken from his stupor, shouted orders to his troops. "Form ranks! Cover them!"

But you needed no cover. You moved through the ranks of the enemy like a phantom, your dance both mesmerizing and terrifying. The soldiers hesitated, their confidence wavering as they faced this unexpected whirlwind of death.

"He's… slaughtering them," Voss said, his voice tinged with awe and disbelief. "How is this possible?"

Lae'zel, amidst her own brutal combat, glanced at you with pride. "He is a bard, a dancer, and a warrior. Underestimate him at your peril."

Your blades continued their deadly arc, and soon the battlefield was littered with the bodies of your foes. The remaining soldiers, seeing the carnage, began to retreat, their morale shattered. You paused, catching your breath, the music of your lute still playing a haunting, victorious melody.

Voss approached, his expression a mix of respect and astonishment. "I've never seen anything like that. You… you truly are remarkable."

You sheathed your blades and gave a small, respectful bow, your eyes meeting Lae'zel's. She stepped forward, placing a hand on your shoulder.

"We are victorious," she said, her voice filled with pride and affection. "Thanks to you."

Orpheus nodded, still processing what he had just witnessed. "Your skills are… unparalleled. We owe this victory to you, bard."

You smiled, knowing that you had earned their respect, which meant you couldn't help but add "And dancer, I didn't do all those years of schooling just to be called 'bard'"

Lae'zel elbowed you in the side, perhaps you had gone a bit far in testing their acceptance but you couldn't help but smile, oh this was going to be a fun revolution.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you all enjoyed this ! Semi sleep deprived whilst writing this so any errors please lmk xx - Seluney xoxo

[ao3feed-piltovers-finest]

i was wondering if you have any knight vi/princess caitlyn (or vice versa) or any sort of medieval au for recommendation?

Hi!

We are VERY sorry for an inordinately huge delay in answering this, but in our defence, we've been dealing with a huge backlog, both of fic notif posts (A03 sends double/triple feeds every time they do a maintenance/backup) as well as these requests. Also, between us – our reading interests dwindled and changed, buuutttt – we DO have a rec for you – and hopefully (because we always try to dig up and promote less known and/or underappreciated authors?) not for something you've already discovered, and enjoyed – yourself?

Soooo, without a further ado, the fic is:

for crown & country by hellboy

It’s set in an exquisitely crafted high fantasy universe where the lines between duty and desire blur, amidst a backdrop of royal intrigue and magic. As the description itself says, it starts as a "catch the princess’s cat to win her hand in marriage, oh she is the cat” trope but the narrative excels in its world-building, painting a vivid picture of a realm where magic and political power collide – Piltover, with its snowy mountaintops, grassy plains, and glittering coastlines, serves as a lush and dynamic setting, while the opposing lands of Noxus and Demacia add depth and tension to the geopolitical landscape. Add the Pegasus-riding warriors, spell-weaving magicians and dragons, and you get a very intricate and immersive fantasy world, of course centered around Princess Caitlyn of Piltover, whose rebellious spirit and noble stature set the stage for a compelling narrative of forbidden love, personal growth, yearning, pining and… well – everything that you might be looking for in such a tale, really?

Now, I believe the author disclaimer’d her as a bit of OOC (a snooty princess?) in the beginning, but I’d rather say she’s portrayed with a nuanced blend of regal poise and youthful impetuosity, and her journey from a sheltered royal to a more self-aware and empathetic leader is both believable and engaging. The assignment of a private guard (shh. spoiler – it's Vi ;) to her – adds a layer of complexity and tension, and as Vi’s steadfast loyalty and hidden depths are gradually revealed it creates rich dynamics and adds that feel of a… well, almost of a fairytale quality? So yeah, it would totally read like one... well, were it not for the very high (explicit, as Cait is a 'naughty pussy' really 🤭) rating. Which, if you don't mind it, it's just as immersive because its very gradual build-up is very true to the characters, as portrayed here (they start almost in their teens, and then it stretches well into their adulthood and maturity), and it's never just gratuitous smut (meaning, it holds intense emotional resonance, tenderness and love) despite still being very very 🔥🥵.

Now, those of you who appreciated our recs before may know that we prefer canon compliant stuff, and specifically – good characterization, true to their original nature. And this one manages just that, it captures their essence – Caitlyn’s intelligence and stubbornness juxtaposed with Vi’s rough exterior and hidden vulnerability, they mirror their original depictions, while adding new layers of depth. So they feel credible, maintaining their core traits while adapting to this new setting. Equally, the romance is marked by a (very) gradual (very) slow burn that captures the essence of yearning – their interactions are charged with an undercurrent of unspoken feelings and growing intimacy, the mutual pining is palpable, the transition from enemies to friends to lovers is handled with care, making their eventual union both satisfying and heartfelt.

In the end, even though we prefer canon-compliant stuff and don't really read AUs very often (hence delay in answering this, for which again - we apologise profusely) I must reiterate that this one stands out as a sophisticated and engaging tale that blends rich world-building with intricate character dynamics, because the author's ability to weave a narrative that honors the spirit of all of the original characters while creating something uniquely its own – is beyond commendable.

And of course, I can only hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did. ❤️🌈